The Memory Tree by Tess Evans Page B

would play cards for an hour or so before he went to his room for his own private Bible study. On Saturday mornings there was more ballet and Zav’s sport, followed by an afternoon of preaching in the Gardens.
    In that first year, as the football season approached, Hal was torn between his beloved Fitzroy Lions and his divine mission to spread the Word.
    ‘Maybe I could go to one or two matches,’ he said to an impatient Mrs Mac. (He didn’t feel up to broaching the subject with Godown.) ‘That would be okay, surely.’
    Mrs Mac banged down the saucepans rather more loudly than necessary. ‘The Lord’s day is Sunday,’ she said. ‘Saturday is the working man’s day. You know that. I know that and God knows that. The only person who doesn’t know is that Yankee preacher.’
    So Hal sloped off and waited for Godown at the front gate. ‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘if we might go to the footy one Saturday—you know, take a break.’
    Godown had been in Melbourne long enough to understand the role football had to play in that city. He had watched it on television a couple of times but couldn’t make it out. He had to admire the fact that the players didn’t wear helmets or padding, but as for the rest . . . He looked at Hal’s face, all anxious and guilty like a little boy. The preacher’s time in the army had softened the edges of his hard-line beliefs and he knew that men needed to belong. The tribal nature of football couldn’t be denied. At that moment, Hal belonged to the Fitzroy Football Club as much as he belonged to the church. Maybe in time . . . but for now Godown was willing to give football his blessing.
    ‘The Lord likes to see us enjoy innocent pleasures,’ he said. ‘I might even come along with you.’
    So began the years when Hal and Godown (who was soon converted to the game) roared with the crowd on cold, wet Saturday afternoons, wearing the maroon and blue scarves Mrs Mac reluctantly knitted.
    ‘I’m a loyal Magpie supporter,’ she said, as she wound the new scarf around Hal’s neck. ‘You’re very lucky to get these.’ She reached up to do the same for Godown, but with an embarrassed little cough, handed it to him instead. ‘It’s good to see you following a real game. Pity about the team.’
    But no matter what happened on a Saturday, Hal treasured his Sunday mornings when he helped Godown prepare for the service before settling down to listen, rapt, while the pastor read from scripture and preached his sermons. Sometimes when they came home, Hal prevailed upon Godown to sing some more, and was transported as the great voice overflowed into the quiet Sunday streets.
    Godown’s sermons were things of beauty, but his theology was simple. We are children of God. We must obey His word. We can know His word only through the Bible. The Bible tells us to love God, to pray, to keep the Sabbath holy and to love one another. This was the teaching that Hal listened to each week until it pulsed through his blood with every heartbeat. If he did as God commanded, he would earn sufficient grace to enter the Kingdom, where, he had no doubt now, Paulina would greet him with that secret smile.
    Hal’s heart was brimming with gratitude and he decided to give Godown a gift. It had to be a worthy gift, he told Mrs Mac. An appropriate gift.
    ‘A Bible?’
    ‘His father gave him his Bible when he joined the army.’
    ‘Candlesticks? A crucifix?’ Mrs Mac racked her brain. What   would a Protestant pastor need? ‘I know! What about a stole? He wears a stole when he preaches. He showed it to me.’ Her nose crinkled. ‘Very old and tatty.’
    Hal kissed her cheek. ‘You’re a genius!’
    Never one to do things by halves, Hal went to a church supply shop and ordered a whole set of stoles to be hand embroidered by the Carmelite nuns. He chose green for hope, violet for penance, black for mourning, white for innocence and red for the fire of the Holy Spirit. Red also symbolised the blood of