Brothers? Uncles! Sister? Aunt!

By V. Tamaso

Brothers? Uncles! Sister? Aunt! follows Susie from age nine in the 1930's through to her marriage in the 1940's. Susie discovers that her brothers are really uncles, her sister really an aunt and her Mum is not her mother at all. The reader meets her large family with their diverse personalities and often confusing ways of relating to Susie.

It is the first book in a trilogy which traces a woman’s identity and sexuality from childhood shame, through teenage guilt to thirty years of faithful marriage and on to a final awakening after leaving the marriage to live an independent life inspired by her meeting with Bhagwan Sri Rajneesh.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664104440

V. Tamaso

Tamaso’s writing first appeared at the age of nine in the children’s section of the Sydney Sunday Sun newspaper. Among her published works are nine teenage novelettes for ‘reluctant readers’ on themes relevant to teenagers of the 1960s and 1970s, books on Australian birds, encyclopedia nature articles, short stories and poems in anthologies from UK, USA, India and Australia, and a short novel Skye’s the Limit, telling of a young girl’s fight to save a rainforest. Her writing embraces mid-twentieth century social themes from middle-class respectability through hard-drinking club and working men’s life, juxtaposed against solitary independence among nature and spiritual awakening. For the last thirty years of her life till her death aged 92 in 2020 she lived and wrote in the Rainbow Region, an area in the lush subtropics of northern NSW, Australia.

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Copyright © 2021 by V. Tamaso.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 03/31/2021

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER ONE

Susie raced to hide. The birthday boy was counting fast.

‘Ten, twenty, thirty, forty….’ he called, his head hidden against the kitchen door.

The children scampered around the house searching for hiding places under beds, in the broom cupboard, behind the lounge, under chairs or the table. Susie ran in behind the curtain covering the corner wardrobe in Bessie’s bedroom, wriggled in between a flowery long-sleeved dress and Bert’s navy pin-striped suit and flattened herself against the wall hoping her feet didn’t show. One of the big kids raced in and squashed up against her. It was Danny, from the dairy.

‘Oy! This is my possie!’ objected Susie in an indignant whisper giving him a push. He laughed softly.

‘Shush up, kidstakes. Room about for two.’ He put his arm around her and pulled her close. ‘Give us a kiss?’ he whispered.

Susie was nine, and small for her age. No boy had ever asked her for a kiss before. Adults kissed her often but that was different. Now a boy wanted to kiss her!

Susie giggled and wriggled but the boy bent his head and kissed her lips. It was a little peck, light as a bird’s feather and Susie scarcely realised it had happened before she heard a yell from the birthday boy: ‘Susie and Danny behind the curtain in Mum’s room! I can see your feet.’

Then came the cry: ‘All in, the whippie’s taken!’ and all the kids gathered in the living room again while the whippy-taker got ready to begin counting.

This time Susie hid under a bed and hoped that Danny might follow her but he didn’t.

Soon the party broke up and the kids went home with their mums and dads. Susie watched Danny shyly as he was leaving but he didn’t look her way.

And so the party was over. The birthday boy had cut the cake and they’d all sung happy birthday and given three hearty hoorays. They’d pinned the tail on the donkey, played blind man’s bluff and hunt the thimble and gone on a treasure hunt while the adults sat around finishing off the beer.

Then came the clearing up. Grubby-looking rice bubbles and multi-coloured spots on the tablecloth were all that was left of the chocolate crackles and fairy bread while a smear of tomato sauce in the bottom of the bowl showed how popular the cocktail frankfurts had been and a big wet stain told that someone had been very careless with their lemon cordial.

Susie was staying with Bessie and Bert and their boys for the school holidays and was expected to do her share of the work although, of course, the boys were allowed to play with all the new presents.

‘Gawd! What a mess!’ said Bessie, surveying the room with her hands on her hips. ‘Come on, Susie! You bring all the dirty dishes out and I’ll start on the washing up. Give the tablecloth a shake and soak it in some cold water in the laundry tub. Good party, eh? Did you have fun?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Susie, eyes shining at the memory of her little secret. ‘I had a good time.’

Susie lay awake that night thinking about the kiss. It had felt funny. But nice.

Fancy a boy wanting to kiss her! Little shivers ran down her body and a tingly itch began in her private parts. She needed to play the game with them. Gently she began the stroking, her fingers sliding on the wetness and a growing excitement filling her body. With one hand she reached out to the bedside cupboard and fumbled around for a bobby-pin. Slowly and teasingly she tickled herself with its rounded head, drawing it gently over her parts, barely touching but sending quivers through her body while her head weaved a fantasy.

It wouldn’t work without a story. She was a very naughty little girl. She must not enjoy this. It was a punishment, being inflicted upon her by some huge unidentified adult who had caught her being naughty. She was both people; the one punishing and the one being punished. The story went on in her head while her private parts responded to the teasing and fondling until she climaxed with a blinding surge of energy that overwhelmed her. She buried her face in the pillow to stifle the sound which she could not stop bursting from her mouth.

Susie never understood why all this happened but knew she couldn’t resist doing it and that it always made her feel good and go straight to sleep. It had started when she had been about three or four years old and been put down for an afternoon nap. She always used to stroke herself then but one day she had looked up to see old Nancy, who was supposed to be looking after her, staring at her around the door. Susie immediately knew that Nancy had been enjoying watching her but when their eyes met Nancy became very angry.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded crossly.

‘I was itchy,’ said Susie in her innocence.

‘You’re a very naughty little girl’ snarled Nancy, ‘You must never, ever, touch yourself there again. Do you understand?"

Susie nodded. After that she knew she was being naughty but it didn’t stop her. She still did it whenever she wanted to, like tonight.

The next morning was Sunday, Susie’s going-home day. To her great delight Bessie sent her over to the dairy for a quart of milk. Maybe she’d see Danny! She skipped along clutching the coins in one hand and swinging the billycan in the other. Would she see him? Maybe he’d serve her the milk. He sometimes did.

The sun had just crept up over the hill and was rapidly shortening the shadows of the cows as they grazed, contented now with empty udders. Dewdrop diamonds sparkled in the tiny cobwebs woven among the grass stems. Misty threads of steam rose from freshly dropped cowpats. From the back of a cow a willy-wagtail darted, snatching insects disturbed by the grazing, while overhead a huge eagle soared effortlessly on a thermal.

As Susie neared the dairy two dogs raced out barking menacingly. She backed off nervously holding the billy in front of her protectively but the dogs quietened as Mr Williams yelled at them.

‘Good morning, Susan,’ he called. ‘Come for some milk?’

‘Yes please, Mr Williams. Just one quart today, thank you,’ smiled Susie, glancing around for a glimpse of Danny. She could see him inside sweeping the dairy floor but he took no notice of her and there was nothing to do but take the milk back to Bessie.

‘Ta-ta, Mr Williams,’ she said politely. ‘I’m going home today’.

‘Oh? Well, bye-bye, Susan. See you next holidays, eh? Be good.’

Disappointed, Susie trudged back across the paddock. Next holidays seemed a long way off.

CHAPTER TWO

Susie ran into Mum’s arms and was swept up in a big hug, her head nestling cosily against the warmth and softness of Mum’s bosom.

‘Hello, love,’ said Mum, stroking her hair, ‘Did you have a good holiday? I’ve missed you. Let me look at you!’

Standing back, Susie pirouetted around for Mum’s inspection, laughing, her pleated skirt swirling out like an umbrella.

‘You’ve grown!’ said Mum. ‘I swear you’ve grown another inch! You’ll be taller than me soon! And you need a haircut. Have to get Wilma to do it before school starts. But guess what?’

‘What?’ asked Susie in glee. There was always some surprise for her when she came home.

‘Nick’s here! He got home last night. He’s over at Jack’s now but he’ll be back later.’

‘Nick!’ yelled Susie joyfully. ‘Whoopie! Can I go over and see him?’

‘No! No!’ said mum, sharp suddenly. ‘I don’t want you going over there. I told you he’ll be back soon. And so will they all!’ She lifted the lid off the huge boiler and stirred the soup simmering at the back of the stove. ‘And the table’s not even set yet! Run quickly and put your bag away and then start the table.’

Mum turned to Bessie and Bert. ‘Did she behave herself?’

‘Oh, yes! She’s such a good girl,’ said Bessie with a shrug. ‘Most of the time, that is. So Nick’s back, eh? More exciting adventures?’ she added with a touch of sarcasm.

‘I bet!’ laughed Bert.

‘Well, Nick’s always there when someone needs help, you know’ said Maggie proudly. ‘Where’s the children?’

Bert laughed. ‘Where do you think? Down the shed playing with the pups.

‘Does Jackie know he’s getting one for his birthday?’

‘Sure! He’s picking one out now,’ said Bert. ‘Room in the fridge for this beer, Mum?

‘Should be. Get some ice out while you’re there.’

‘You don’t know how lucky you are with that fridge, Maggie. Beats the ice chest hands down, I can tell you,’ said Bessie enviously.

‘You don’t need to tell me Bess. I had a drip-safe for years. Remember? Then the ice-chest. I know how lucky I am,’ said Maggie as she sharpened the carving knife, slish-slashing it against the steel and bringing the cat running. ‘But I don’t have to be saying thank you every five minutes, you know,’ she added pointedly. The family had all put in to buy her the fridge for Christmas.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ snapped Bessie defensively. ‘I’ll go and help Susie with the table.’

Sundays were family days. The married ones arrived in the morning with their families and often brought friends with them. Susie looked after the little ones while the women helped Maggie in the kitchen and the men sat around and talked, did odd jobs for Maggie, or practiced their golf putting on the lawns.

The midday meal was always a huge roast of beef, lamb or veal, and maybe a couple of chooks that Maggie had killed and prepared the day before. There were usually two sittings for the meal which was served on the huge extension table that Susie loved. Long, skinny, and gleaming it stood all week with an embroidered runner on it and a vase of flowers. On Sundays it was pulled open to reveal two folding leaves which extended it to a comfortable twelve-seater. Setting it was always Susie’s job and Mum was very fussy that it should look as beautiful as possible.

Bessie came in with the cloth, a lovely large linen one heavily embroidered in orange thread and stiff with starch. Throwing it over the table they centred the pattern and smoothed the corners down.

Bessie brought out the dinner sets from the sideboard, delicate creamy-coloured chinaware with a golden stylised leaf pattern. Susie began polishing the knives, forks and spoons with a soft cloth and placing them neatly in strict order beside the bread-and-butter plates each of which was to have a carefully folded serviette, its pattern matching the table-cloth, topped with a small breadknife.

Next came the wine and beer glasses, elegantly shaped and embossed with leafy designs. Silver salt and pepper shakers at each end of the table were supplemented with cruets, small cut-glass trays holding containers of salt, pepper, mustard, vinegar, and Worcestershire sauce. Plates of finely sliced bread, a silver bread-fork on top, went beside the cruets accompanied by dainty, silver-lidded butter dishes with oddly shaped knives.

Then came the decanters of wine and jugs of iced water arranged near the floral centre-piece, with a space left for the ice-cold bottles of beer and the silver bottle-opener in the shape of a dog’s head.

‘Righto, Susie,’ called Mum from the kitchen. ‘You can ring the dinner bell now.

She and the girls were dishing up the food and putting the plates on the jhinni, a polished timber double-decker tray which would be wheeled to the table.

The bell hung on a chain outside the kitchen door and was the signal for everyone to come trooping in for meals. Susie rang it loud and people came from all directions.

Nick and Jack came in, deep in discussion about horses but Nick stopped when he saw Susie.

‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he grinned opening his arms as Susie ran into them. He picked her up and hugged her close. ‘How’s me little sister? What’ve ya been up to?’

Susie started to chatter on about her holiday but over Nick’s shoulder she saw that Jack was alone, his face was all scratched and had a black eye.

‘What happened to your face, Jack?’ she asked. ‘Did you get in a fight? Where’s Doris and Florrie? Aren’t they coming?’

Jack looked uncomfortable. ‘Oh…well, um…’

‘Susie!’ Mum called sharply from the kitchen. ‘Stop pestering your brother with questions. Sit to the table with everyone. The food’s getting cold.’

It was a small family today, only one sitting. Duncan had gone away for the weekend and this was the Sunday that Bob and Betty visited Betty’s mum.

Mum was at the head of the table with Susie on her right and Bessie, Bert and Pete further down. Nick occupied the other end with Jack, Wilma and Bernie taking up the other side.

The smaller children had their own table in the breakfast room but Susie was allowed to sit with the adults and take part in their conversation although she often did not know what they were talking about and never understood the jokes.

Before the meal began they all stood and sang grace, Be present at our table Lord… Then they sat down and attacked the food. Jack passed her a small glass of beer.

‘No, thank you,’ she said shaking her head. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘Don’t be silly, Susan,’ scolded Mum. ‘You’ve got to learn to like it. Everybody drinks beer. When you grow up you’ll have to drink it to be sociable so you may as well get used to it now.’

Being sociable was very important to Mum. Susie was often in trouble for not being sociable. She caught Nick’s eye.

‘Drink it up, mate,’ he said, winking. ‘It’ll put bloody hair on ya chest.’

Susie smiled at him and took a few sips of the beer, her eyes adoring Nick.

Nick! The very favourite of all the adults who came and went in Susie’s life. She was never sure who everyone was but she called them all by their first names. Mum did not believe in honorary aunts and uncles or formal titles within the family. She herself was mostly called Maggie by everyone although some of her grown-up children still preferred to call her Mum, or even Mother. People came and stayed for a few days, weeks or months, went away for a month or a year and came back. Or didn’t come back.

Susie found it hard to keep track of them all and was often painfully embarrassed by being greeted lovingly with such phrases as: ‘don’t you remember me, love?’ or ‘don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me!’

Big Nick was one such fly-by-night in her life but Susie had no trouble remembering this huge man, six foot tall and heavy, with tree-trunk legs and giant cricket ball muscles. He would flex them for her to feel and then laugh at her puny efforts to raise a muscle on her own skinny little arms.

Loud-mouthed and roughly spoken, Nick’s every second word was ‘bloody’, and his shouts and curses could be heard on the other side of the river when he did his block. Not that often, to be sure, but often enough to scare the wits out of Susie when she heard him.

But to Susie he was a gentle giant. Last time he had come home she had been suffering from a bout of conjunctivitis which, every morning, stuck her eyelids together with horrible yellow crusty pus. Nick had sat on the edge of her bed and gently bathed them open with warm borax water, swabbing away the crusts and patting her face dry with a soft towel. Then he’d lifted her out of bed in his great arms, danced around the room and thrown her into the air as if she were a small baby, caught her, pretending to let her fall, and tossed her back on the bed.

The house always seemed full of excitement when Nick was home with his many tales of cattle droving, horse breaking, rodeo shows, buck-jumping, droughts, floods, and bushfires. He was the star of every story. It was Nick who halted the stampeding herd after one of his mates was trampled to death. He was the brave hero who swam the flooded river to rescue a small boy stranded up a tree. Nobody but Nick had been able to tame the big black stallion corralled out from the mob of wild horses running free in the scrub west of the Diamantina. Larger than life was Nick. Susie adored him. And so did Mum.

She blossomed when Nick was home, cooking all his favourite meals, mending his clothes, knitting him jumpers, scarves, and some good thick socks and boasting about his latest heroic adventure to anyone who would listen. Although Mum claimed to have no favourites among her sons Susie always felt that she loved Nick the best.

Today, over the meal, Nick held the floor. His latest tale involved a small boy who was lost in the bush. A huge search party had gone out looking for him and had just about given up hope when cries were heard from the bottom of a rocky cliff.

‘Poor little bugger! We could see ‘im on a bloody ledge about fifty feet down. Talk about lucky! If ‘e adn’t a landed there e’d a bin a bloody goner, for sure! Trouble was, ‘ow ter get ‘im out?’

‘Didn’t you have a rope?’ asked Jack.

‘Yeah! Lucky I ‘ad one on me saddle. None of th’ other silly buggers ‘ad one. ‘Course I was the one ‘ad ter bloody go down and bring ‘im up. All the others were scared shitless.’

‘Nick!’ interjected Mum, glancing pointedly at Susie. ‘Language!’

‘Sorry, love. Forgot I’m in polite company. Any road, there I was with the rope round me middle, see? And one end tied to a tree with these other blokes lowering me down the side of this bloody precipice (oh, sorry, Maggie). Talk about ‘airy! I was just as scared as them but someone ‘ad to bloody do it, didn’t they? This poor little kid was down there on the ledge bawling his eyes out.’

‘How old was he?’ Susie wanted to know.

‘Oh, I dunno. Four, five maybe. Just a little bloke. We didn’t know ‘ow bad he might be ‘urt, see? His back could been broke for all we knew. Any road, down I goes, feelin’ fer foot ‘olds and ‘oping to Christ I’d be able to get back up again with ‘im. And when I gets down there, what d’ya reckon ‘e sez?’

They all looked at him expectantly. ‘What?’ asked Susie.

‘Can I ‘ave a drink o’water, please?’ Nick mimicked the little boy’s voice. ‘Course I’d guessed ‘e’d be thirsty and I ‘ad a water bottle on me ‘ip. ‘E guzzled some down and I felt ‘im all over. ‘E looked a bit of a mess. Blood and dirt all over ‘im from scratches but there didn’t seem to be nothin’ broke.’

‘What?’ interrupted Jack. ‘This kid falls fifty feet down a sheer cliff and doesn’t break a bone in his body? Tough kids outback!’

Nick glared at him. ‘You callin’ me a liar, Jack Bradley?’

‘Not yet, I’m not,’ grinned Jack. ‘When the kid gets up and carries you up the cliff, then I will.’

Everyone laughed but Nick said: ‘like to see you climb down that bloody cliff, mate. You ‘av trouble climbing outta bloody bed. Any road,’ he went on. ‘I picked ‘im up and told ‘im to ‘ang on tight an’ the blokes up top ‘auled us up in no time flat. It was bloody dark by the time we got back to the ‘omestead. Ya shoulda ‘eard the way ‘is mum carried on when she saw ‘im, but. Turned on the waterworks no end, she did. Reckoned I was the ant’s pants fer bringing ‘im back.’ Nick smiled proudly and everyone made appreciative noises but Susie noticed Jack wink at Pete.

After lunch was cleared away the afternoon was spent sitting around talking while the men rode the horses, hitting a polo ball around, racing up the big red gate and back or flying over the hurdles, light wooden frames with an adjustable top bar that fell away easily if the horse happened to clip it.

The little kids rode Buddy who was old and fat and not very exciting. He was generally regarded as Susie’s horse but she was tired of him now and wished desperately for a real pony of her own. She sat watching while young Jackie was trying to coax a canter out of Buddy. Nick came over to talk to her.

‘Hey, little sister!’ he laughed. ‘What’ve ya bloody-well been up to while I’ve been away?’

Susie told him about the latest clutch of chickens, and the flying foxes getting all the plums, and the cat having kittens in the big wicker toy basket underneath her bed, and how she hated having to ride fat old Buddy.

‘Ah, ya poor bloody kid! Never mind, love. One day we’ll get ya a proper bloody horse to ride.’

‘I want to ride Midnight.’

Nick roared with laughter. ‘Yer own and bloody Buckley’s! He’d kill ya!’,

‘Pete can ride him.’

‘Gawd’strewth! Th’ little bugger! ‘As ‘e been riding ‘im? I’ll murder ‘im!’

‘No,’ defended Susie. ‘You let him have a ride last time you were home. Don’t you remember?’

‘Oh, right!’ Nick laughed. ‘After I’d just about ridden ‘im into th’ ground and ‘e was too buggered t’ raise a trot. ‘E ‘asn’t bin on ‘im since, ‘as ‘e?

‘Course not. He can’t even catch him.’

‘’E’d better not bloody try!’

‘Can’t I have a go? Like Pete did?’

‘Maybe. If ya good. And when ya bloody big enough.’

He went off to race on Midnight against Pete on his mare Starlight.

Wilma came and put her arm around her. ‘What’s up, Suse? You look a bit sad.’

‘I want a pony who’ll go over the hurdles.’ she said wistfully. ‘Buddy’s too old and fat.’

Wilma laughed. ‘You’ll have to save up your money then, won’t you? How much have you got in the bank now?’

‘Four pounds, twelve and sixpence,’ confessed Susie. It should have been much more. Mum gave her a shilling to bank each week and Wilma often gave her money for doing jobs but Susie had a sweet tooth and often spent it on lollies.

‘Hmm!’ said Wilma. ‘Not really enough for a pony is it? You’ll have to work harder.’

Wilma was the only other girl in the family. Although grown up and married to Bernie now, she was no housewife. With so many brothers she had acquired a masculine outlook on life and had a mind for business. She had persuaded Bernie to open a nightclub nearby, a daring innovation in those days of the barn dance, gypsy tap and