“Hullo,” he said. “Are you here, too?”
She nodded. “I’m in the next corridor. I saw you come in, so I waited for you here. It’s a very lovely place, this, Nigger.”
He was delighted that she should have waited for him, and sat down beside her. “You like it?”
She said, “It’s so beautiful. Nobody ever told me that Australia was beautiful, like this.”
He smiled. “I don’t know that we’re very good at propaganda. I love it, of course. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. But then, I was born here, and it’s my country.”
“Is all Australia like this?” she asked. “All the habitable part?”
“I think Canberra is better than most of it,” he said. “It’s fairly high up, for one thing, and it’s got a good rainfall. All the eastern coastal strip grows flowers like this, of course—or it could do, if people planted them.” He paused. “The middle’s very dry, but bits of West Australia are lovely.”
“Big bits?”
“About as big as England.”
She laughed. “It’s so difficult to realise what distance means in a country like this.”
He nodded. “I hope the Queen will go and spend a few days in West Australia this time. She hasn’t been there for three or four years.” He turned to her. “Have you seen Tharwa yet?”
She nodded. “I drove out there with Major Macmahon this afternoon, to fix up the office. There’s a car calling for us each morning at nine o’clock to take us out there.”
“How did you like Tharwa?”
“I only saw a little corner of the house,” she said. “I just got a glimpse of the gardens and the lawns. It’s a really lovely place, David. Do you know who designed it?”
“They had a prize competition, about 1959 or 1960,” he said. “A chap called Somerset who lived at Wangaratta won it—quite an unknown architect in a small country town. He got the right idea, didn’t he?”
“I should say he did. It’s lovely—simple and dignified. And it fits the landscape so well. Did he do a lot of buildings in Australia?”
“He was just a house designer up till then,” the pilot said. “He only did one thing after Tharwa—the Town Hall for Port Albert. That’s the port they ship the brown coal from, in Victoria. Port Albert Town Hall’s rather like Tharwa. He died before it was finished.”
She asked, “What happens up in the mountains behind Tharwa?”
“Nothing very much,” he said. “A few sheep stations in the valleys. Some timber cutting in the forests. Trout in the rivers, and ski-ing in the winter.”
“How far does that sort of country go?”
“Behind Tharwa? Oh, three hundred miles or so. Then you’d come to Melbourne.”
“And not many people in all that country?”
“Not many.” He changed the subject. “Have you got any idea how long we’re going to be here?”
She shook her head. “She’s got the Governor-General coming to lunch at Tharwa tomorrow. Apart from that, there don’t seem to be any engagements yet. I think she’s just resting, trying to make up her mind about something.”
“You’d say we’d probably be off within a week?”
“I should think so, David, but I really don’t know. I don’t suppose she even knows herself. I shouldn’t think she’d want to be away from England very long.”
“Africa, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Could we do that direct?”
“We can make Cape Town from Perth,” he said. “It’s just about the limit of our range. Durban would be easier.”
“I think she may want to go home direct from here,” the girl said.
“Too bad,” he replied. “I had hoped that we’d get enough time here for you to travel round a bit. Sydney’s a good city and so is Melbourne. And I’d like to show you just a bit of Queensland.”
She turned to him. “David, have you got any relations here?”
He grinned at her. “You mean, Aunt Phoebe?”
“Besides Aunt Phoebe.”
He shook his head. “We’re all Queenslanders. I don’t think any of my people live so far south as this. My father and my mother are both dead, you know.”
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve got a brother who makes shoes in a Brisbane factory,” he told her, “and my sister Annie’s married to a chap who keeps a garage in Rockhampton. I’ve got an uncle who keeps a silk shop in Townsville—my father’s brother. That’s about all there are of us—there are plenty more, of course, but those are the important ones.”
“I suppose they’d be thrilled to come down here to see the machine and meet you.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I was asking just now how long we’d be here. Uncle Donald would come down, I know.”
“We may hear something tomorrow,” she replied. “I’ve got a kind of feeling that she won’t stay very long, and she’ll want to get back straight from here to London.”
They dined with the others, and went early to bed.
There followed three days of waiting for the crew of Tare. They refuelled and inspected the machine, and did a little maintenance work, and then there was nothing to be done but to sit waiting for orders and gossiping in the R.A.A.F. mess. Rosemary was out at Tharwa all day, and in the evenings she told David a little of what was going on. On the first day the Queen had seen nobody but the Governor-General for lunch, but the second and third days had been busier. Mr. Hogan the Prime Minister and Mr. Cochrane the Leader of the Opposition had lunched together with the Queen, in itself a curious circumstance, and had stayed for several hours, till nearly five o’clock. The Vice-Chancellor of the University had dined at Tharwa, and other visitors had been Sir Hubert Spence, a Judge of the High Court, Murray Gordon the research professor of Political Economy at the University, the Professor of History, and several other gentlemen of the same calibre.
At lunch time on the third day Frank Cox appeared in the R.A.A.F. mess. “Got a job for you tomorrow,” he said to David.
The pilot nodded. “London?”
“Not yet. Melbourne.”
The pilot raised his eyebrows. “Not very far. What time do we take off?”
“Ten o’clock. They want to come back in the evening, taking off probably about six o’clock.” He paused. “Which aerodrome will you use?”
“Berwick,” said the pilot. “Essendon and Moorabbin are for regular airlines only. Get the cars to Berwick—oh, about ten forty-five.”
Half an hour later Rosemary rang up from Tharwa. “David,” she said, a little breathlessly. “You know that game of tennis we were going to have? Well, it’s tonight.”
“My word,” he said. “All among the Ambassadors and Prime Ministers?”
“I don’t think so. She came into the office just before lunch and wanted to know if you and I would go up and play tennis with them, and have supper afterwards. I said we would.”
“I’d have thought she’d have forgotten that,” he said in wonder. “She’d have every right to.”
“She’s not that sort,” the girl said. “I didn’t think she’d forget. She wants to start playing about five o’clock. Shall I fix a car for you at the hotel at quarter past four?”
“Thanks, Rosemary. I’ll have to see about borrowing some clothes and a racquet.”
Tennis that evening was not of a very high order. The Queen at the age of fifty-five liked playing on a grass court for an obvious reason, and she played as a plump woman of that age might be expected to play. Rosemary was not a great deal better, sailing dinghies being her pastime, so that the ladies were fairly evenly matched. The Consort, lean and athletic still, played a remarkably good game and kept David on the jump, so that Royalty defeated the common clay six three, six four.
Two sets were enough, and in the fading light they strolled through the rose gardens to the wide lawn before the house, and down towards the river. As they went the Queen said, “Is everything all right for us to g
o to Melbourne tomorrow, Commander?”
“Quite all right, madam,” he said. “We shan’t be able to get up to operating height, so we shan’t go very fast. It will take us about fifty minutes, I should think.”
“It seems such a waste to take such a beautiful aeroplane for such a little journey,” she remarked. “But it wouldn’t be fair to ask Sir Robert to come all this way.”
“Sir Robert?” he enquired.
“Sir Robert Menzies,” she said. “He’s such an old man; I don’t know how many years he was Prime Minister before he retired. He was Prime Minister when I came to the throne, and before that. I always try and see him when I am in Australia. But he’s eighty-eight this year. He keeps remarkably well, but it’s really not fair to ask him to travel, at his age. So I’m having lunch at his house in Toorak with him tomorrow, and Mr. Calwell is lunching with us there as well. He lives in Melbourne, too.”
“I didn’t know Calwell was alive still,” the pilot said in wonder.
“Oh dear, yes. He’s only eighty-six. So funny. In the House those two were political enemies all their lives. Now they can’t fight each other in the House any longer, so they meet and have a game of chess each week, and quarrel over that.” She paused, and stood staring over to the evening lights upon the wooded slopes of Mount Tennant. “These old men have seen so much, and learned so much,” she said quietly. “I always learn something by talking to old statesmen. They get objective when they’ve been retired a year or two, and then they’re really useful.”
She turned to Rosemary. “This is your first visit to Australia, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied. “I’ve hardly been out of England before.”
They turned, and walked back up the lawn towards the long, white house in the evening light. “Do you like it here?” the Queen asked.
“I’ve only seen Canberra and Tharwa,” the girl said. “What I’ve seen is simply lovely, of course.”
“You should see more than that,” the Queen said. “Why don’t you come with us to Melbourne tomorrow? I expect Commander Anderson would give you lunch in Melbourne, if you ask him very nicely. We shan’t be starting back before the evening.”
The girl said, “It’s terrible kind of you to suggest that, madam. I think I ought to see Major Macmahon, and find out how much work there is to do.”
“We’ll speak to him this evening,” the Queen said. “I can’t believe that there’s a great deal of work when we’re away.”
David said smiling, “It’s a bit unethical for me to leave the aeroplane on a strange aerodrome to take Miss Long to lunch in Melbourne.”
“Oh nonsense, Commander. You’ve got Mr. Ryder to leave in charge. If you say any more I shall begin to think that you don’t want to take her.”
The pilot grinned. “I wouldn’t like you to think that, madam.”
“I should hope not.”
Rosemary coloured a little; to break the conversation she stopped, and turned, and looked around. It was very quiet and peaceful in the summer evening light, with the gum trees fringing the river, and the blue, forest covered hills around. “It’s a beautiful place,” she said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this in England.”
The Queen said, “No, my dear. There’s nothing quite like this in England. I love England, and English scenery, very very dearly, but I love coming here to Tharwa, too.” They walked a little way towards the house in silence. “I think I like Australia because it’s new,” she said after a time. “It’s like opening your diary at a clean page. I always feel when I come here that I can start again, and try and do a little better in this clean, new place.”
They went into the house, and the Queen took Rosemary away towards the bedroom side, David had brought uniform with him in a suitcase, but the Consort said, “We’re not changing tonight. There’s quite a heavy day tomorrow, so we thought a little exercise and bed early tonight would be about the mark.” So presently they all assembled in the Consort’s study for cocktails and sherry; a liveried manservant was despatched for a tomato juice for David.
The Consort asked, “Do you never drink these things, Commander?”
“No, sir.”
“How very wise.” The Consort sipped his sherry. “Is that policy or disinclination?”
“Disinclination,” said the pilot. He hesitated. “I’ve always been afraid of drink,” he said. “I think it might get hold of one. I’ve never started. I think I’m different to other people in that way.”
“It’s quite true,” said Rosemary. “He doesn’t drink at all. I believe he’s the only man I know who doesn’t.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” said the Queen. “I shall feel safer than ever when we’re flying, now.”
David smiled. “I think that must be the reason why they picked me for this job, madam. I can’t think of any other.”
“Nonsense,” said the Queen. “I know why they picked you.”
Macmahon joined them before dinner, and gave his agreement to Rosemary’s day off. They dined at a small table in the bow window of the big dining room and talked principally of Australian gardens and flowers, and of the Queensland drought. They had coffee in the Queen’s drawing room, and then David and Rosemary took their leave, and were driven back to the hotel at Canberra.
They took off from Fairbairn aerodrome next morning punctually at ten o’clock, and flew across the mountains at ten thousand feet with an escort of four fighters of the R.A.A.F. to Berwick, twenty miles to the south east of Melbourne; over the aerodrome the fighters peeled away up into the sky and David put the Ceres down and taxied in. There were few people on the aerodrome because this visit was incognito and no mention of it had appeared in the Press, and the aerodrome was one used only for charter work and private flying. Four cars were waiting on the tarmac; David parked the Ceres near these cars, stopped engines, handed over the machine to Ryder, and followed Frank Cox and Rosemary out down the steps. To his relief there were no pressmen there, and no photographers.
The Queen was talking to two very old men standing by one of the cars, one of them rather stout. David, standing with Frank Cox and Rosemary, could hear what she was saying. “You shouldn’t have come out,” she said. “I was coming to you.”
He recognised the Menzies features in the stout one, who replied, “I hope I’ll never be so old as not to be able to drive out to meet you, madam.” The other said, “Too right.”
The Queen said, “Well, I’m not going to have you standing about in this wind, either of you. Do you want to see the aeroplane? It’s a lovely thing, the most comfortable aeroplane I’ve ever travelled in, and so fast, too. We came from Ottawa to Canberra in less than eighteen flying hours.”
“My word, that’s going,” said old Mr. Calwell.
The Queen turned, and saw David. “Come here, Wing Commander.” To the two old men she said, “This is one of your own countrymen, the captain of the aircraft. Wing Commander Anderson, Sir Robert Menzies and Mr. Calwell.”
David asked, “Would you like to see over the machine?”
The old men glanced at each other. “One aeroplane’s just like another to me,” said Mr. Calwell. “I’ve seen enough of them to last my lifetime.”
Sir Robert said, “I can imagine it.” He paused, and let his eye run over the great silvery thing. “Such a pity Dick Casey died,” he said quietly. “He would have been so interested to be here, and to have seen the Queen come to Australia in an Australian aeroplane of the Queen’s Flight, with an Australian crew …” He turned to the Queen. “This was his private aerodrome in the early days, you know, madam—he owned a lot of land round here. He had an aeroplane of his own, and he went on flying himself as a pilot till he was over seventy—his wife was a pilot, too. I often used to come here in the Forties, but I never went up with him. He had a wooden hangar just over there beside the show ground, where the Shell depot is.”
The Queen cut short this flow of reminiscence by shepherding the old man
back into the shelter of his car. She got in after him herself, and the Consort and Mr. Calwell got into another car, and both drove off out on the Melbourne road.
There was a third car waiting on the tarmac. David said to Rosemary, “This one is ours.” The chauffeur opened the door for her, and David got in beside her, and they followed the other cars up to the Princess Highway and the road to Melbourne.
Rosemary said, “I feel an awful fraud. Do you think this car is ours for the whole day?”
“I should think so,” he replied. “It’s got to bring us back to Berwick by about five o’clock, or the Queen won’t be able to go home. What would you like to do?”
She thought for a minute. “I’d like to drive through Melbourne and see what kind of a place it is.” She turned to him. “I’m so very ignorant,” she said. “It’s on the sea, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” he said. “Not the open sea. It’s on a great big circular bay, Port Phillip Bay, at the north end. It’s about forty miles from the sea proper.”
“Do people sail there, like we do at home?”
“My word,” he said. “We’ve got all the small racing classes that you’ve got at home. I’ve got a Dragon laid up here, in the Brighton Club.”
She looked up at him in wonder. “You told me once you used to sail a Dragon. Is she here?”
He nodded. “This is my home town. I mean, I’m a Queenslander by birth, but most of my Service life has been in and around Melbourne. I was stationed at Laverton before I came to England.”
She said, “Could we go and see your Dragon, David? I’d love to see an Australian sailing club.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’d like to go and have a look at her myself. It’s a year since I saw her. We’ll drive through the city and have lunch somewhere, and then go down to Brighton.”