Do not go gentle into that good night,...
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Dylan Thomas

It all happened so suddenly. I had called over to 'Hey' to visit Jenny. She was fifty eight now, but looked at least ten years younger with her youthful skin. After we had chatted about this and that she suddenly said “I don't feel right, Lesley.”

“You mean you feel sick?”

“I can't put my finger on it. I've lost my appetite, and that's not like me. I'm constantly tired and I have a bit of back pain. As I looked in the mirror to put on my make-up this morning I could swear the whites of my eyes looked yellow.”

I gazed at her eyes, and she was right.

“Right my girl, we've got to have you checked out right away.”

A doctor visited the town twice a week, and thank goodness, this was one of the days he visited. We hurried to the medical centre. It was a new building, opened only six months ago. Jenny sat on a chair while I approached the reception desk. There was a new girl whom I hadn't seen before and she looked doubtful.

“Can it wait until next week? He's very busy.”

“No, I'm sorry, it can't wait.”

“His list is full,” she tried again.

I did something I hate doing, but this was no time for niceties. I pointed to a small plaque on the wall.

“You've read that plaque? It says 'Heyward's Crossing Medical Centre, proudly sponsored by Lesley and John Brodie' (We had argued with the committee about even putting up a plaque, and then about the order of our names and I had lost on both counts).

“Well, I'm Lesley Brodie.”

I felt sorry for the girl as she flushed and picked up the intercom phone. When she put it down, she said.

“The doctor will see you. Please take a seat.”

I softened my tone. “Thank you, and I'm sorry I spoke to you like that, but this is an emergency. It's actually Mrs Green who's come to see him, if you could get out her notes please?” I sat down beside Jenny, mentally kicking myself. Why couldn't I have just said it was an emergency?

We sat there while three patients went ahead of us. When the doctor, Henry Newman, first came into the waiting room, he nodded to me and hesitated for a moment. Then he remembered that John and I had made it very clear we would always wait our turn. I have always hated the idea that money puts anyone at the head of the queue.

Then it was Jenny's turn, and she asked me to come in with her. Henry listened to Jenny's symptoms, and then asked her to get on the couch while he examined her. When he had finished and was sitting back on a chair, I could sense he was uneasy.

“I can't be sure without blood tests and possibly x-rays or scans which I obviously can't do here. I'll write you a referral letter and I suggest you go to see a specialist in Brisbane as soon as possible.”

“It's serious then?” said Jenny.

“Possibly, but please don't press me. There's a number of things it could be and without the proper tests I'd just be guessing.”

We respected his honest. I told him that I could fly Jenny to Brisbane as soon as he could make an appointment, and after he made a phone call and said Jenny could see the specialist at 3pm the following day, we left with his sealed letter of referral. He obviously didn't want us peaking before the specialist saw Jenny. The mere fact that he had been able to make a specialist's appointment so quickly emphasised to both of us that this was serious, but we didn't say anything to each other about it.

We flew to Brisbane the next day. Mr Bradshaw the surgeon was one of Australia's top specialists. He read Dr Newman's letter, examined Jenny himself, and then sent her for blood tests, x-rays and a CAT scan. All this took hours and it was late afternoon when we sat in his consulting room once more. Jenny looked totally wrung out, and I didn't feel too good either. We both braced ourselves for what was to come.

Mr Bradshaw looked at Jenny gravely.

“I'm sorry Mrs Green, but the news is not good. I could try to sugar-coat it, but I suspect you would rather hear it straight?”

“Yes please, doctor,” said Jenny in a small voice.

“Very well. I'm sorry to say you have cancer of the pancreas.”

Involuntarily I caught my breath, and he glanced at me.

“My grandmother had it,” I said simply.

“Can anything be done?” said Jenny, almost in a whisper.

“Unfortunately it's already far advanced. That's no fault of yours. Like ovarian cancer, the symptoms are so vague that it's often diagnosed at a very late stage.”

“Have I got long?” her question hung in the air.

“Without treatment, perhaps two months or a little more. There are a few things we could do that might buy you a little more time, but that would mean you staying in hospital.”

“I don't want that,” said Jenny, and her voice was firm now. “I want to spend the time I have with my family and friends.”

Dr Bradshaw permitted himself the ghost of a smile. “I thought you might make that decision. It's what I would do,” he said.

As we left the consulting room, I had a thought and said. “Can you wait for me Jenny? I just want to ask Dr Bradshaw something.”

He looked up as I walked back into the room. “Yes Mrs Brodie? You said your grandmother had the same cancer. Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“I don't have much time doctor. I don't want to leave Jenny alone. There are palliative care nurses I believe? Would it be possible for one to come out and stay with her for....for as long as is necessary?”

“Yes there are,” he replied, and hesitated “I don't wish to offend you, Mrs Brodie, but it could turn out to be very expensive.”

“I'm not in the least offended, Mr Bradshaw,” I replied, “but perhaps I should explain. My husband John Brodie owns one of the largest cattle stations in Central Queensland. Jenny and Tom Green are our oldest friends, and if we can do nothing else for them, we could at least do this. Would you ask your secretary to make enquiries for me please?”

His eyebrows had risen a fraction at John's name. It seemed he recognised it, but perhaps he hadn't made the connection with me.

“Certainly,” he said “And may I say she is fortunate to have a friend like you?”

“I always thought of it the other way round,” I murmured as I left the consulting room.

Jenny was standing exactly where I left her. She seemed in shock and didn't even ask where I had been.

We went back to the hotel and ordered a meal in our room, although Jenny only picked at hers. Afterwards we sat staring at the television, but really lost in thought,

Eventually Jenny said “I think I'll go to bed.” I did too. We were both emotionally exhausted.

I tossed and turned for a long time, but eventually must have slept because I awoke to hear Jenny crying softly in the other bed. I got up and slipped into bed beside her, holding her body as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Later she said “I'm not afraid to die, but it's the children and Tom I'm worried about, especially Tom. How will he cope? Will you promise me to look out for him?”

“Never doubt it for a moment,” I replied.

“Good,” she said “Or I'll come back and haunt you.” A trace of her old humour had returned, and I knew she was smiling even though it was pitch black.

Dear sweet Jenny. How could she accept this news as calmly as she did and not rage about it? I was the one raging inside although I dare not show it in front of her. Why was life so unfair and why did bad things happen to the people I loved? Indeed was my rage as much about myself because I did not want to be parted from someone I loved, as it was about why it was happening to Jenny?

We could have flown home the next morning, but Jenny had obviously decided that to follow our usual routine worked best for her.

“I'd like to go to La Belle once more to say goodbye.”

Shelley the manager had been a junior when we first went there so many years ago, and she greeted us warmly, then stopped sensing something was wrong.

Jenny said simply “Shelley my dear, it's so good to be here. I'm afraid I've had some rather bad news and I don't think I'll be seeing you again, so this is a farewell visit.”

Shelley glanced at me, and the colour drained from her face, but she composed herself.

“It's always good to see you Mrs Green. What would you like us to do for you today?”

“Just the usual my dear, just the usual. Work your magic on us couple of old chooks eh?”

We sat down in adjacent chairs as always, and the girls fussed around us, and for a few precious minutes we didn't have to think of the world waiting for us outside the salon door. When we left, we were laden down with every cosmetic, spray and perfume they could lay their hands on, and they refused point blank to take a cent for any it. Shelley managed to get a few seconds alone with me on the pretext that I might have left something behind.

“It's bad isn't it?”

“I'm afraid so,” I replied “She has very little time.”

“You will let us know won't you?”

“Of course. You have my word.”

Jenny was waiting for me outside. “She wanted to know didn't she?” she said, and there was understanding in her voice.

“I didn't break any confidences,” I said, wondering if indeed I had, but Shelley was no fool, and would have seen through any attempt to dissemble.

“Such nice girls,” said Jenny “You will keep going there yourself won't you.” She said it as a fact, not a question.

Jenny even insisted that we go to our usual boutiques. Among the few clothes she selected was a beautiful silk nightgown with exquisite lace trim.

“I always wanted one like this,” she said, “And now I'll have it forever.”

We flew back to Mackenzie Station and then I drove her back to her house. The old ute was there, so Tom was home. I asked her if I should come inside, but she gently insisted that this was a time for her and Tom alone. I watched her walk to the door and inside the house and that was a mistake. I heard Tom cry out once in a voice I did not recognise — like the desperate cry of a wounded animal — it was gut-wrenching and left me physically shaking. I had no business there at that moment. I had to get away. Somehow I got the car into gear and drove down the street, but I had to stop, because I could see nothing through a wall of tears.

John knew something was badly wrong when I arrived back at the homestead. He opened his mouth and then shut it again as I rushed into his arms.

“Just hold me John. Hold me.”

Mr Bradshaw was as good as his word, and I was surprised when it was his voice, not his secretary's on the telephone the next day.

“I believe I've found someone suitable for Mrs Green. Ellen Forbes has over thirty years nursing experience, the last ten in palliative care. She was taking a break when I contacted her with your special request, but she would be free to travel in about four days.”

He gave me her phone number, I thanked him and hung up. Then I called Mrs Forbes and gave her some background on the situation with Jenny. She sounded a warm, motherly person, just what was needed.

“John and I will see Jenny and her husband tomorrow and speak to them. Theirs is the final say of course, but I am confident they will be in agreement.”

That was not strictly true. Jenny and Tom were proud people, and I had overstepped the mark before on matters involving finance. I hoped for both their sakes that they would let us give them this as a mark of our respect and friendship.

John and I drove to Jenny and Tom's house, and I had rehearsed my speech over and over in the car, but when it came to the crunch, of course it came out differently — it always does. The last thing I wanted was for it to come out like the 'lady of the manor' dispensing charity.

As we sat in their comfortable sitting room and Jenny produced some of her delicious scones with tea, I knew I was showing signs of nerves that even Tom, a man, could see.

“You've come to tell us something Lesley, so why don't you spit it out?” he said with a slight smile.

“Not tell you, ask you actually.” and then it all started to pour out. “Jenny, you are back home with your family and friends which is what you want, but you are far away from the medical facilities of a big city. We had an idea, John and I and made some enquiries. Oh this is coming out all wrong.” I wailed in despair. Jenny stood up and walked behind my chair, and started to massage my shoulders, feeling the tension in them.

“You want to give us something. Why don't you take your time and tell us what it is?”

I took a deep breath and started again. “We'd like to do something to bring the hospital to you. There are nurses who specialise in, in.... I've spoken to one, she's really nice. She could bring equipment with her. So we wondered in the spirit of our long friendship, if you would do us the honour,,,”

“Yes”, said Jenny.

I blundered on for a second “the great privilege of.....” and then I realised what she had said.

“You said 'yes'!”.

She smiled. “Why wouldn't I? It's the most generous gift I could imagine, and from anyone else I might have said no, but how could I refuse my dearest friends, especially when you put your case so eloquently?” That imp of mischief was still there.

“Oh Jenny!” I cried, and I hugged her. When we finally left that afternoon, Jenny hugged me and whispered in my ear 'You've taken such a load off my mind. I really didn't know how Tom might cope, later on.'

'Do you remember all those times you came to Brisbane and then Sydney with me? I said I would repay you one day. I just wish it wasn't like this.' I whispered.

As we left John shook hands with Tom in the conventional manner of country men — arms extended, not invading the personal space, and then, extraordinarily, they hugged each other. There's hope for men yet.

Ellen Forbes turned out to be exactly as she sounded on the phone, warm, practical, efficient, motherly. She brought all the equipment she needed to set up a mini-hospital, producing each item as it was needed. With each visit I could see Jenny was sinking.

One day when she was lying on her bed, and I was sitting with her to give Ellen a break for some shopping in town, I suddenly awoke, embarrassed to find I had nodded off, and she was stroking my hair like a mother does to a child. Their son Greg was there by then of course, travelling from interstate and all grown up. Their daughter Angela was in Brisbane and due to have her first baby in a couple of weeks, Jenny insisted that she stay there until the baby was born.

“I just hope I have time to see my first grandchild,” she said, and I knew her heart was set on it. I believe that is what kept her going — the sheer indomitable will in a failing body. A week later, Danielle Jennifer Corbett came into the world, a whole healthy nine pounds, and a week afterwards, they brought her to Heywards Crossing. I have a picture on my dressing table, Jenny, frail but smiling, holding her new granddaughter, and Tom the proud grandfather beaming with a delight that masked the pain in his eyes.

A couple of days later, I went to visit Jenny. She smiled at me.

“I did it. I got to hold my granddaughter.”

I sat with her for a long time and we chatted about old times and all the fun we had together. We even talked about the time when she was my rock right through my transition, something we hadn't talked about in years.

“You made the best decision of your life,” she said “You became a woman. Such a lovely woman.”

Then she laughed “And you still blush so easily.”

I didn't want to leave. We both knew it was the last time, but then Tom came in and the children, and I had to remember they were family and I was a friend. I leaned over and kissed her, and held her thin body.

As I left I said “I'll see you in a few days.” She smiled, that wonderful smile that she never lost. We both knew it wasn't going to happen.

It was early morning two days later when the telephone rang, and I just knew without picking it up. It was Ellen Forbes.

“When did it happen?” I said in a whisper.

“About two o'clock this morning,” she said. “Tom and her children were with her. It was very peaceful.”

“Thank you for telling me Ellen,” I said and put the telephone down softly.

They said later it was the biggest funeral they could remember. The town tripled in population that day. They came from near and far, some I recognised and some I didn't. How strange that it is only when a person has gone, you realise how many lives they touched. The tiny church could not cope of course, so loudspeakers were set up outside, and rows of chairs for the overflow. When John and I arrived, they were already starting to fill, and we were just about to slip into a seat down the back when a youth, uncomfortable in his first suit came up to us and said “Mr and Mrs Brodie?” We nodded and he led us into the church, up to seats reserved in the third row. The church was a sea of colour, looking more prepared for a wedding than a funeral. It was Jenny's wish.

“I hate black,” she said. “There's too much of it. Anyone who wears it must be sent home and told to change. I want the men to look smart, and if they don't have a suit it doesn't matter, and I want the women to wear their prettiest dresses.”

We had taken her at her word. She didn't want mourning, and planned it that way, down to the colour of her coffin — white for hope. I glanced at Tom. He was sitting there at the front row, looking like a stone, his gaze never wavering from the white coffin with the mass of flowers spilling over the sides. There lay the love of his life, and I knew she was wearing that exquisite nightgown she had bought on our last trip to Brisbane.

The minister entered and welcomed us all 'to the celebration of the life of Jennifer Green, or Jenny as she was always known'. Prayers followed and readings. The hymns were well-known even to me — 'Guide me oh thou Great Redeemer', and 'Abide with Me', and she had chosen them too.

Their son Greg spoke of his mother; how she was the rock of the family, her community involvement, her many friends, all the things she loved to do, her cooking (excellent), her golf (not so good), and all the while Tom sat like a stone.

At one moment Baby Danielle cried out for a second, and far from being annoyed, everyone smiled at this contribution and reminder of new life from Jenny's granddaughter.

There was a murmur of surprise when Father Peter, the Catholic priest who shared the church with James the minister, got to his feet. He turned to the assembled congregation and smiled.

“Some of you will be surprised to see me since Jenny wasn't a Catholic, but friendship crosses the artificial boundaries we make in this world, and at her request and with James's support, I would like to lead you all in the Lord's Prayer.”

And I said the old familiar words with the rest. Finally, it was over, and her coffin was carried out of the church to the strains of her favourite hymn 'All Things Bright and Beautiful.”

There is a little stream that meanders around two sides of the cemetery. The water gurgles and chuckles as it runs over the rounded pebbles and willow tree branches brush its surface. It's a very peaceful place, and there, beneath the spreading shade of an ancient Red River Gum, they laid Jenny to rest. Tom stood there surrounded by his family as they lowered her casket, and I held my breath, fearful that he would finally crack and fall, but my prayers were answered, and like the river gum he stood tall.

The hall beside the church holds many more people, but even there they had to open all the doors and the people spilled out into the grounds beyond. The ladies of the CWA, the Country Women's Association (their unofficial motto 'it's not all tea and scones'), were there to serve the refreshments, and of course there were scones, along with sandwiches, cakes, lamingtons and even pavlova, the quintessential Australian desert, and that was Jenny's idea too. I could imagine her looking down at us and smiling and saying 'Now that went very well!' How many people I talked to that day I'll never know, it must have been hundreds. At one point I even came across Shelley from the salon in Brisbane. I had phoned her as promised but I never expected her to make such a long journey. That showed the effect Jenny had on people. And of course I did that most difficult of things at a funeral and talked to the family. What can you say when there are no words? I just hugged Tom and whispered 'She's at peace now.' He nodded, his face a mask of pain. What I said to their children I have no idea.

One thing did surprise me. I called by their house several days later and found that Ellen Forbes was still there. I had assumed she would go back to Brisbane immediately after Jenny's funeral, but when she explained it, it all seemed perfectly logical. She said that she saw her duties as extending to the whole family , and so had decided to stay on for about a week.

“Sometimes the week after someone dies is almost harder for the family than while they were still alive. They have been so busy, and now, suddenly everything stops, and they feel they are drifting and lost. I'm staying at my own expense, Mrs Brodie. I would hate you to think I was extending my stay unnecessarily.”

Money rearing its ugly head once more.

“Call me Lesley please, and I hope I may call you Ellen? Please don't let's fight over this. When we sponsored you to come it was for the whole family, and as you rightly say, you are still helping them, so I see no reason at all to change our financial arrangements.”

“That's very kind of you,” she smiled. “Oh, and if you need to get in touch, I am now staying at the hotel. I always find that's best.” She was being discreet, but I've been involved with a small town long enough to understand what she was saying. She stayed another ten days, and we held a small tea party for her the day before she took the train. Tom had visibly improved by then, so I presume she thought her work was finally done.

From time to time I visited Jenny's grave to tidy it up, lay fresh flowers, and, if there was no-one around I would sit and talk to her. Yes, I know; it makes me sound like a dotty old lady, but after I told her how things were going with Tom, and any little problems I had or decisions I had to make, it was surprising how often the solution came into my mind within a day or two. Perhaps it just did me good to talk about these things out loud, or perhaps there was something more. Who knows, and does it really matter?

Nearly three years passed, and I heard on the grapevine that Ellen had visited Heywards Crossing a few times. It seemed she had grown to love the country, or was that all that she loved? (That 'small town thing' again — is anything ever a secret?)

One day Tom called with the mail, and our little routine was for me to make tea for him to dunk his biscuits in as we sat in the shade of the verandah. He seemed to be coping well enough with his new solo life. When I visited the house from time to time it was always clean and tidy, and that's always a good sign.

Today though he was fidgeting, and finally I said. “Ok, Tom. Why don't you spit it out? You've said that to me often enough!”

He looked like a man coming to a decision. “Do you remember Ellen Forbes, the nurse we had when....”

“Of course I remember her, a charming lady, so bright and efficient.”

“She's been up to Hey a few times, and I've been down to Brisbane a bit. The fact is she's sick of city life and feels some time in the country would do her good.” He took a deep breath “The fact is I've asked her to marry me and she said yes.”

I beamed at him. He looked curiously at me, perhaps even a bit miffed at my reaction.

“You don't seem very surprised.”

I laughed then. “Tom, I'm a woman, or had you forgotten? My only surprise was that it took you so long to get around to it.”

Then I got up and gave him a big hug. Was he actually blushing?

“I'm sorry Tom, you must forgive me for teasing you, but it's been obvious to me for quite a while.”

“You don't think it's sort of disrespectful to Jenny's memory?”

“No I don't and I'll tell you why. One day she told me that she wanted you to marry again, after, as she put it 'a decent interval', and even then it sounded like she was joking. She felt it was the best thing for you, and she said that, secure in the knowledge that you would always love her. 'Someone like Ellen' were her exact words. She even said 'Perhaps I'll be allowed to have a hand in finding someone for Tom'. Now that's prophetic don't you think?”

Tom stared at me. “She told me to marry again too, but for a long time there.... I couldn't even think of it, I just couldn't.”

“And that does you credit, Tom, but now is the right time, and you'll never find anyone as well suited to you as Ellen.”

They married in the little church about five months later. There was only a small gathering, and I was 'matron of honour'. As a young woman, I'd always wanted to be a bridesmaid, and perhaps this was the next best thing.