Freedom's Land by Anna Jacobs Page B

convenience before starting building the same sort of fence round the men’s area.
    When she’d finished her ablutions, she smiled up at the weak morning sunshine. Would she ever get enough of it after the grey, rainy weather she’d experienced so often in Lancashire? Then she thought of how much there was to do and went to wash her hands and face in the creek at a place their foreman had marked out, just below where they took their drinking water. She flapped her hands to dry them as she walked back to the tent to rouse the children.
    It was going to be a very busy day, she was sure. Well, she didn’t mind that.
    Bert woke early, or rather, he was woken by someone hammering away, on and on. No consideration, some folks hadn’t. He’d slept badly, as usual, but at least he hadn’t had one of the yelling, shouting nightmares that were his legacy from the war. He stared at Susan, still asleep next to him. Even now, she was frowning. She’d changed so much since their marriage.
    Well, so had he. The war was to blame for a lot of unhappiness in the world. Now he’d survived it, he intended to get what he could for himself and his family, if they ever had any family, that was. Susan wasn’t very fond of bed play, damn her.
    She was still asleep, but he decided to get up and start work. No use lying here thinking. He hoped things would go better here today, but didn’t feel optimistic. So far, this group settlement thing had been one big mess after another.
    When he left the tent, he saw what had caused the banging. Gil was screening the latrines. Bert nodded approval and went to use the men’s, then began to help him, picking up suitable branches and handing them to the foreman. ‘What are we going to do today?’
    ‘Start building the humpies.’
    ‘Humpies?’
    ‘The temporary shacks for you to live in. You need them as much to shield you from the sun at this time of year, because we won’t get much rain till April. That’s what that pile of corrugated iron is for, walls and roofs.’
    ‘They cheated us.’
    ‘So you said yesterday. How long are you going to harp on that? What’s done is done and we have to make the best of it.’
    Bert scowled at him but continued to hand him the leafy branches. ‘What do we do when the leaves drop off these?’
    ‘Pick more branches and thread them through. There’s no shortage of branches round here, but our leaves are leathery, especially the gum leaves, so they’ll last longer than the soft English leaves would.’
    Bert took a leaf or two and tested that out by tearing them up, then continued helping.
    Gil bit back a sharp comment.
    They worked in silence for a few more minutes, then Gil stood back. ‘That should do for now. Let’s go and get a cup of tea. Thanks for your help.’
    Bert nodded and followed him to the fire, where Norah Boyd was once again in charge. Capable woman that, but too tall for his taste, Bert decided. He could see no sign of his wife, so went across to the tent and found her still sleeping, the only one left in bed. He shook her hard and she jerked awake with a squeak of shock.
    ‘Wake up, you lazy bitch! Everyone else is working.’
    She looked at him dopily, then sat up and yawned. ‘I’m no good in the mornings.’
    ‘They get up at dawn here, so you’ll have to change your ways. It looks bad, you lying in bed like this. Did no one try to wake you?’
    She frowned, then nodded slowly. ‘I told ’em to leave me alone.’
    He could imagine it. She had the sharpest voice he’d ever heard when she was annoyed about something and she’d no doubt used language that had shocked the other women. He pulled the cover off her and she complained in that whiny voice he hated. ‘Damned well get up or I’ll tip a bucket of water over you.’
    She called him things his mother wouldn’t have known the meaning of and before he knew it, they were off again, quarrelling. Well, he wasn’t going to let a woman talk to him like that, wife or no