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talking, Roger, don’t think I’m interested in what you have to say.”

      “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,” mutters Philip under his breath.

      A long moment passes.

      Sue looks on in embarrassed amazement.

      “If Zelda was here might she speak German?” Philip asks Roger with an impish smile.

      “Probably, but only complicated German stuff,” Roger smiles back. “Like mein linker blinker ist kaputt.”

      Philip’s face is alight with interest. “What’s that mean?”

      “My left blinker’s not working,” Roger replies dead pan.

      Auntie Audrey is looking at Roger as if he is wearing a live fish on his head.

      Well meaning though their intentions doubtless are, our emigrants could have done without any of them. Having to make polite conversation, while trying to overcome their apprehension and concerns about what lay ahead.

      Roger draws close to Sue, “I suppose emigrating is a bit like getting married,” he whispers to her, “part of us would prefer to slip quietly away.”

      All around them similar scenes to theirs are playing out. It is as though everyone leaving Heathrow that day is emigrating.

      “Had you been departing Ireland rather than England,” Minnie’s face is full of despair, “a wake may have been more appropriate.”

      “Thanks for that,” Roger replies sensing more hostility. “Maybe this is reminiscent of the siege of Rorke’s Drift, Minnie. Just the overwhelming Zulu army didn’t have our resolve.”

      “You’re talking in riddles again, Roger,” huffs Minnie.

      “Where’s Rorke’s Drift?” asks Philip, “somewhere in Australia?”

      “Good question,” Kevin answers, “No! It’s somewhere in South Africa.”

      “Nothing at all to do with Australia, then,” confirms Minnie.

      “Nothing at all,” Roger responds sadly.

      “So,” Minnie swings her attention back to Roger. “I suppose this silly idea of going to Australia was your brainwave?” Minnie’s unblinking stare continues accusing him sternly as though he is a certifiable fool.

      Roger panics but sees an out. “No! Actually, Min. It was your daughter’s idea.”

      Minnie is thoughtful. “And when did you decide to go along with it, then?”

      “Honestly?”

      “Yes, of course.”

      Roger considers the situation carefully and then decides to go for it. Like a hot knife through butter. Take some of the starch out of the old biddy.

      “While I was sitting on the toilet taking my morning dump.”

      Minnie’s smile falters and drops in wattage. Recovering well she continues coldly. “What job will you do when you get to Australia, Roger?”

      Minnie states the word Australia as if it is a malignancy. Such is her attitude, it is nearly enough, to make Roger’s ears bleed.

      “I haven’t got a clue. About my only preference is to steer clear of catering and pubs if I can. If it all works out, we’ll be better off than here. Otherwise Sue might end up living in a cave, eating tofu and sucking on tree bark? Interesting thought.”

      Minnie ignores Roger’s response.

      Kevin is quick to assist. “Will you get a job in pest control, Roger?” he asks, “they have plenty of bigger pests Down Under.”

      Visions of Roger being chased by spiders so big he could hear their footsteps, and snakes of obscene proportions, terrifies Sue, “Oh, my God, Roger will we be inundated with flies at every turn, and carried away by the ants?”

      “Pests here are surely smaller and less dangerous,” Minnie states with some satisfaction.

      There is a prolonged uncomfortable silence.

      Roger feels about as comfortable as sitting on death row waiting to do the last dance with Mister Hangman.

      “Are you looking forward to the flight?” April asks sweetly.

      “I’d rather be going by train,” Sue replies nostalgically, “that clickety-clack sound can be quite soothing.”

      “Never mind, dear. I expect you’ll be eating the best of foods and off fancy china forever,” April continues. “It’s such a long way.”

      Too late it occurs to Sue that as the children will be seated for such a long time they should have organised some strenuous exercise before the flight to tire them.

      Realising it is too late to break away from the embarkation committee for a Herculean triathlon. That or instal Minnie with an ‘off’ button they prepare to depart.

      They sit and gather their wits for a few more moments. So far the morning had been one to forget as far as Roger was concerned. Sue is looking drawn.

      After they have exchanged a few awkward last hugs, they slink away like bilge rats abandoning a sinking ship. Waving their final goodbyes, they prepare to board their plane.

      In accompaniment Roger hums Roger Whittaker’s recently released Last Farewell but adds his own words; “Our plane lay rigged and ready for departure…far away to a land of endless sunshine…far away from our land full of rainy skies and gales…”

      Outside, the air is cold, the fat clouds holding the promise of snow or sleet. Behind them a sea of faces blur as they are herded towards their BOAC Charter flight.

      Roger shuffles his feet the last few yards.

      Sue giggles “Why are you walking like that?”

      “In sympathy with those who’ve gone before us. I’m wearing ghost shackles.”

      Chapter 6

      EDWARD AND ZELDA

      In the seaside municipality of Brighton, famous for among other things its cobble stone beach, Edward is sitting quietly in his drawing room. After being discharged from the RAF in 1946 without a job to go to, an unfair dismissal from a senior management position in the early 1960s seemed to herald his downward path. He is convinced the last few years have been significantly cruel to him and yet he is able to convince himself, without any difficulty whatsoever, how impeccable his planning has been. His misfortunes are obviously at the behest and instigation of others.

      Zelda, his second wife, who has only recently returned home from full time office work is sitting exhausted in one of her favourite antique leather armchairs.

      “Edvard, vhat vill you do? Ve are short of money,” Zelda barks. “I vork but cannot perform miracles.”

      Zelda is leggy, tall, and elegant with dyed brassy, blonde hair. Edward is thinking her hair today resembles more the colour of dirty egg yolk. Slightly stooped at the shoulders, she is slim almost to the point of being consumptive. Her slightly turned-up, if not judgmental, nose gives her a supercilious air.

      Her physical downsides are the lines of a heavy smoker etched around her bright red lipstick thin mouth that makes her look as if she is sucking on a sour lemon.

      Dressed impeccably as always, Zelda is wearing a long pleated black skirt and white blouse. Her touched up hair and makeup expertly accomplished.

      She is indeed a handsome woman, Edward thinks. After the death of Alice, Zelda was eye candy personified to Edward. A tidy dresser with a 1940s look, accentuated by the way she wears her hair. Her daughter, Charlotte, is one year younger than his own daughter, June.

      “True, we are short of money,” Edward replies slowly, and then with an edge of sarcasm,

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