In a Fishbone Church Read online

  Sylvia 7.30 p.m.

  Apr 3 Sat

  Entertained the Treasurer and Sec (Lady) of the Christchurch Lapidary Society for 3 hours looking at stones

  May 1 Sun

  Gene & I put the Mai Mais in position but I don’t think we will be able to use them as the lake is very high in fact I went sour at Gene because he put his in very deep water I would say dangerous Beryl Mum & Carnelian made quite a bit of progress on the rods they are good little workers

  May 8 Sun

  Mothers Day I gave Violet a pair of Stockings she has done all right lately. Fridge, Carpet, Hoover etc so I didn’t spend much. Left for the lake at 10 a.m. A good South Wester. Gene had to vacate the deep water. I shot 38 swans Gene got 26 swans 1 goose 2 ducks making our total for the weekend 116 birds. I did not go out to the deep water as I considered I would get all the shooting I wanted closer in & with more comfort I don’t like the water too deep when the waves commence as it was I used up every cartridge I had

  Marsha 5.30 p.m.

  Sylvia 7 p.m.

  May 11 Wed

  Mum looked after the shop so I got out to the Lake at 2 p.m. Talk about a gale the poor bloody Birds couldn’t fly. I made for an Island 300 yards out in the Lake but after 1 hour my Island sank so I beat a retreat back to shore. Got 2 ducks & 5 swans & missed the goose I so badly wanted. Unable to retrieve 3 of the swans as I never had a submarine with me. Gene wants to come out tomorrow. My advice is take up Indoor Bowls, don’t stand up to your arse in water in a storm Health Fair

  May 13 Fri

  Did no work today. Away I went to the Lake for a days shooting on my own. A Mr McBride of Greenpark walked across his property & drove the Swans off. A lot flew over me & I shot 10 in a few minutes. Finished up with 35 Swans & 1 big Grey Duck. A great bit of fun it is different in a paddock to the open Lake, when you see the Swans in the air you know they are coming right to you getting lower & lower until they are only 20 or 30 yards away. More comfortable in a paddock too, the water was only about a foot deep & plenty of big rushes to sit on, hide in, & great shelter from the wind. The car is left only 100 yards away so you tow the birds through the water to it. I used swan & duck decoys & some of the birds landed right in amongst them. It was a grand sight to see the Swans in the air they showed up plainly against the mountains. After my shooting I drove to Mr McBrides & he is a fine chap & invited me & all my friends to go out anytime & shoot & he offered to take the tractor down to bring the swans back. A Gentleman. Bought more cartridges for tomorrow. What a great sport to see those big birds crash alongside you. It is not cruel there are thousands & thousands of them.

  Marsha 7 p.m.

  May 14 Sat

  I hope you will believe this Swan Story as it is rather fantastic. Gene & I arrived at the Greenpark Paddock at 7 a.m. it was a mild morning & sunny. As we entered the pond we put up a few hundred Swans & some Canadian Geese but we never had a shot until we got into position. We both put decoys out. It was good to be alive on a morning like this & having my son with me. Once again the dark shapes of the Swans could be seen against the mountains. Closer, closer, 100yds 80yds 60yds 40yds hell let loose range zero. Bang – Swan Bang – Swan Bang Bang – Swans more Swans our stockpile grew high. Around 8 a.m. the wind picked up without warning & soon it was blowing a gale but do you think we packed up, no fear. By Mid-day we had 80 Swans. When we got a chance we would have a cup of Mum’s hot soup or some tea & a bite to eat. The way the birds were coming in we could have had a table & chairs & kept the guns beside our plates. Luckily Gene had brought his trailer with him. When we got to 90 we decided we would stop at 100 as the wind was not letting up at times we could hardly stand & that’s tough work. We were back at the car by 4 p.m. Goodness knows how many we would have got had we stayed but 100 had more than satisfied us & we could not carry any more on the trailer, as it was we had 1/2 ton of Swans.

  May 27 Fri

  Etta had a Birthday today so we had a high tea. Mum did a goose that Gene shot on the weekend it had been kept in the coolroom at the shop. It made a beautiful meal, on that we were all agreed. Gene & I appreciated it most as we had seen it fall. Mum & I gave Etta a roasting tin so now she can cook her own birds.

  Marsha 5.30 p.m.

  Jun 29 Wed

  I am turning some agates on the emery wheel. I am nervy while waiting for this visit to the heart specialist, any little chest pains seem very big.

  Sylvia 7.30 p.m.

  Jul 22 Fri

  I went to Mr Green the Specialist tonight about my pulse I prefer to say pulse instead of heart. He took my pulse for a full minute and it was 117 it is now 93 (11 p.m.) the Dr is putting me on Digitalis and I have to go back in 2 weeks he named my complaint (about 1ft long). I don’t like it you know when a fellow dies he loses fear of even Atom bombs, but I think if he is really as brave as all that he should insist on no funeral, nobody likes them anyway, no flowers either, they are beautiful but be truthful who can afford them. All that is wanted is a driver for the hearse & somebody to lift him in. Instead of going to the funeral everybody should go to the house & take along some eats & drinks particularly the drinks a good party has to have the plonk I hereby give 10 gallons of beer.

  – Feb 25 ’59 still beating but only 88 (10 p.m.)

  Jul 30 Sat

  Mrs Chalmer of the Christchurch Lapidary Society called today regarding our exhibition she has notified the papers & they are very interested in it Mum made us a lovely afternoon tea she quite outdid herself Mrs Chalmer complimented her several times on her pikelets

  Pulse 93

  Aug 6 Sat

  Tonight my mother’s brother Norman Black called for the evening he is 80 next birthday & does not use glasses to read with. Had a great yarn. He went to the First World War about 1915 was wounded & shellshocked in France & when he returned his wife had left him so Norm got full of booze & has been on it ever since so don’t tell me booze is unhealthy. His second wife Christina is 20 years younger than him he fetched 4 bottles of beer & is never objectionable.

  Rae 4 p.m.

  Pulse 90

  Unique Collection of Nature’s Beauty in Stone

  One of the finest exhibitions of the rock collector’s art is now on display in Hay’s Roof Hall, City Store. Visitors to this outstanding display are unanimous in their acclaim for the incredible beauty to be seen. The unique collection is provided for your pleasure courtesy of Mrs Rae Chalmer, Secretary of the Christchurch Lapidary Society, and Mr Clifford Stilton, a private collector.

  Here you will see sliced agate and crystals from Kofu, Japan, the unique chrysanthemum stones, and fossil crabs 20 million years old. Also on display is a fossilised groper’s head, believed to be the only one in existence. There are many other interesting specimens too, the beauty of which has to be seen to be believed. Ladies, make a point of viewing this fine exhibition and book for your free makeup consultation at the same time. Bookings can be made at the counter in Hay’s Roof Hall. Take the lift from the piece goods department or the fashion showroom stairways. Hay’s City Store.

  – ADVT.

  Aug 8 Mon

  I had the second appointment with Mr Green (Hearts Repaired) this afternoon. He said my blood pressure was up slightly, but I could fix that if I would get my weight down. I am to go on a Diet for 1 month & then go back to him. Eat everything as usual but about 1/4 less. Hell, the Whitebait is only 3 weeks away. Instead of having 12 Patties I can only have nine, well that will be all right, I will get Mum to make them bigger. Its no good getting old unless you get cunning

  Marsha 7 p.m.

  Aug 17 Wed

  Pulse better, & I am sticking to my diet I weighed myself today & had lost 6lbs in about 9 days. I want to lose a stone yet.

  Marsha 6 p.m.

  Sep 9 Fri

  M was in the shop this morning. Mum refused to serve her enough said. She only wanted 2 chops. The time is now 11 p.m. & I will soon be asleep in the car at the river. Would you leave a nice warm bed to catch whitebait?
It’s hard to explain but those little buggers I just can’t resist pitting my wits against theirs. Gene & Etta getting all geared up for their big day they are not allowed flower girls etc or any guests except the witnesses we all have to wait in the church while they get hitched out the back I wonder how Etta is so agreeable belonging to a church like that hell they won’t even let me & Mum in to the service. They have found a flat in Lyttelton a bit further away than I would like however I have no say in these matters. Gene you could save yourself a few bob if you’d stay on at home. Beryl has made a beautiful lace horseshoe for Colin to give to Etta at the wedding breakfast. Mother Moynihan still refusing to come let’s hope it lasts

  Sylvia 9 p.m.

  Oct 6 Thur

  Went down to the Floodgate at Midnight but I was not early enough Cyril was there so at least if I am mad what the hell is he Gene & Etta back from their honeymoon they went to Lake Wakatipu. Wonder if he got any fishing in I expect he will be visiting us less often now he is a married man & not living under our roof. We have sold the house & will move before Xmas. Mum very upset I am surprised the new place is smaller so she won’t have so much to clean

  Sylvia 7 p.m.

  Rae 8 p.m.

  S very stroppy & keeps asking me. Hell that’s the last thing I’d do, I’ve got it too good at home. If there’s one thing I dislike in a woman it’s stroppiness.

  Nov 3 Thur

  Went to the river at 11.30 p.m. & had a good sleep in the car. Raining like hell. A Police car came at 4 a.m. & put the spotlight on me it is a wonder they didn’t put me into the mental hospital

  Pulse 86

  Marsha 6.30 p.m.

  (S still stroppy)

  Nov 6 Sun

  I was on the beach at 6 a.m. & saw the sun rise caught a small school shark on the first cast. Dolly Randall fished for herring alongside me & we had a lot of fun she is a grand girl. What a difference not stroppy at all when things don’t go her way. Just like dear old Mum. At 12.30 p.m. I landed a 28lb groper & was the hero of the beach there was an earthquake recorded at 1 p.m. perhaps I started it. On the way home at Norwood I saw a soldier lying on the road & another standing beside him it gave me quite a turn.

  Pulse 94

  Nov 7 Mon

  In the paper tonight it says the soldier was killed instantly when struck by a car. Bad luck for him but they were walking on the wrong side of the road some day that will be a very serious offence.

  Nov 9 Wed

  This book is my property so don’t be so bloody nosey. I have a feeling it is not the first time that you have had a peep in here. If the year is 1955 these few lines are for you. However if it is after 1970 read as much as you like & take what advice you can

  Dolly 6 p.m.

  An

  impression

  of flowers

  Etta is running through a field. To the left and right of her are flowers. Tulips, irises, daphne, beds of lavender, all blooming at once. She does not find this odd. Her feet vibrate the ground. Pollen falls.

  There are drawers and drawers in Etta’s room. They are crammed with white pillowcases, made a long time ago by her mother Maggie, before she became engaged to Etta’s father. Maggie never went to school; she was raised to be a lady. At home she was taught needlepoint, and crochet, and the art of conversation. She began making her trousseau at age thirteen, and by the time she met Owen she had a dozen hem-stitched supper cloths with matching napkins (linen); twenty-six embroidered tray cloths; eighteen nightdresses (smocked, pure cotton); four dozen fine lace handkerchiefs; twelve pairs of double sheets (lace-edged, linen); ten crocheted milk-jug and sugar-bowl covers (beaded); two dozen pairs of cotton bloomers trimmed with lace; and forty embroidered pillowcases (crewelled).

  Fortunately, Owen’s house had a lot of space where things could be tucked away.

  Etta does not know how many pillowcases there are in her room, exactly. She knows there are enough for her to use a different one every day for a month, and still not have used them all. She has tried this.

  They are all embroidered with flowers. A discreet bunch in a corner, usually, or slim garlands, or a ring around a butterfly. More occasionally, an initial. They smell of mothballs.

  Etta thinks they are very beautiful. She can’t imagine how her mother had the patience; Maggie is not a patient woman, on the whole. Etta sleeps with her cheek on the stitching, and when she wakes there is an impression of flowers on her skin. In the mirror the patterns are the right way around, the same as on the pillowcases. This is all as it should be.

  They fade in the bath, and by the time the steam has cleared from the mirror they have gone. Etta can go down to breakfast then, and nobody will say a thing.

  She would not call herself a secretive person, but there are some things one simply does not discuss. This is not lying, exactly, but it can lead to a certain awkwardness. Etta reads a lot. She also creeps out at night, sometimes, and goes for a walk.

  She walks down the sharp drive in bare feet, the house growing smaller behind her. It is a relief to reach the road. She avoids the edges, with their dark macrocarpas, choosing instead to walk right down the middle. It is the safest place.

  Mr Hoffmann, their German neighbour, sits at the piano in his front room. Sometimes Etta thinks she can hear him playing, but she’s not sure. Sometimes he just sits there staring at it, his hands folded in his lap.

  She strolls past the swings, which are always deserted after about five o’clock. She supposes it is the sort of place odd people might go, but she has never seen any. At the other side of the field is the stream. It is the same one that flows through their farm, but it is wider and deeper here. Sometimes it floods. A boy was swept away once, and all his mother could do was watch, but Etta does not remember this very well. She crosses the field. It belongs to nobody. A couple of years ago there was talk of planting it with potatoes for the War Effort, but nothing was done about it.

  Etta is not afraid of the stream (she should be). She paddles in it during her walks. There are no sharp stones. Then she goes back through the field, and past the swings, and home. She creeps in the back door, which is never locked, and up the back stairs. She knows to start with her left foot, otherwise the ninth stair creaks. Then she sleeps.

  It is almost spring. Already some lambs have been born, and there have been the usual tragedies. Up until now, Etta’s father has always given her one of the motherless lambs to look after – she’s good with them, like Saint Francis, he says – and it has always been called Topsy. Nobody has mentioned that there is a new Topsy every year, and that it never gets any older. Etta is a sickly child; often ill. She has a blood type which, she is told, is strange and thin. Owen likes to give her the occasional treat. He tells her that she can choose her own lamb this year.

  She goes to the sweet-smelling shed and offers a finger to a moist bundle. It stands up, sucking, fluttering its tail.

  ‘I’ll call her Dandelion,’ says Etta. She inserts the teat of a bottle into the pink space. One of the farm cats curls around her legs, then springs off to a corner, where it has spotted a mouse.

  ‘Not Topsy?’ says Owen.

  ‘Dandelion.’

  Owen lights his pipe. ‘Well, don’t go getting too attached, love, will you. She’ll have to go out with the rest of them next year, when she’s bigger.’

  Etta is aware of her clothes tightening. The stitches in her jersey are pulling sideways, opening almond-shaped slits. Behind them is her skin. She will have to mention this soon. They let the air through, especially at night, when she goes walking.

  Owen puffs a cloud into the rafters. ‘Your mother thinks it would be better if you didn’t spend so much time outside.’

  Etta stiffens.

  ‘She could do with your help inside, now that Bernadette and Theresa are out so often with their young men. I’ve got men out here to help me. They’re around here most of the time. We both think it would be for the best.’

  Etta breathes again. ‘All right.’r />
  ‘There’s a good girl,’ says Owen, but he doesn’t touch her.

  Etta tucks Dandelion into a blanket and takes the empty bottle.

  ‘Nip in to the meat safe on your way back, would you Eileen?’ says Owen as Etta is going out the door. When Maggie isn’t around, he sometimes calls her Eileen, which is her middle name. ‘Your mother wants that roast for tonight.’

  Etta passes rows of hanging ducks and rabbits, their necks at strange angles. Their eyes are open. There are a few chickens; a turkey. One wild swan. A string of fat white sausages, untouched. Weißwurst, from the Hoffmanns.

  ‘I doubt even the cat would eat those,’ said Maggie after Mrs Hoffmann brought them over.

  Mrs Hoffmann spoke with a strong accent although she had lived in New Zealand for years. She wore her hair in fat white plaits crossed over the top of her head. From time to time she brought the Moynihans small gifts.

  ‘She means well,’ said Owen.

  Etta’s jersey brushes hanging carcasses, ribs splayed like wings. She prefers these to the smaller ones that are still feathered or furred. There are no eyes. She unhooks the beef for her mother.

  ‘How now, brown cow,’ she says. Sister Michael has told her to practise her elocution regularly. Maggie doesn’t want her ending up with an accent from hearing so much Irish. Maggie was born in New Zealand, but she ended up with one.

  ‘The leaves on the trees leaped in the breeze,’ says Etta. ‘Father started for the dark park.’

  ‘Good Lord, girl, you’re filthy. Into the bath with you,’ says Maggie. She sips her sherry, and does not get up from her chair.

  ‘I brought the roast for tonight.’

  ‘Just leave it on the bench.’

  The Moynihans have a deep, deep bath made of Royal Doulton china. It is dark green on the outside, and paler on the inside. A person could drown in there, says Maggie. Owen’s Uncle Henry brought it out with him from Ireland. Owen says when they got off the boat they couldn’t walk properly for a fortnight. Three months on water will do that to a man, he says. So will three months on whisky, says Maggie, but Owen just smiles at this. He doesn’t drink. When Uncle Henry died, Owen got the bath and the house around it.