Disappearing Women

By Barbara E Knight

At the age of 80, Marion has seen the world change.

It is 2070. Climate change and soaring oil prices have taken their toll. Some countries have adjusted and prospered, while others have sunk into poverty and internal warfare.

Marion has seen Australia change from a free democracy to a repressive society ruled by an autoc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sculptural Images
• Release date: Nov 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645357417

Book preview

Disappearing Women

Disappearing Women

©Barbara Knight 2017

Cover illustration: Original artwork by Barbara Knight Proofing and typesetting: Ryan Curtis and Julia Knight Published by: Sculptural Images

Printed by: Ingram Spark

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my strong granddaughters Zara Pritchard

and

Phoenix Bewsher

Disappearing Women I know they are coming but don’t know how long I must wait; how much longer I shall be allowed to live.

There is a soft mist filling the valley and I can see the city lights below glowing softly as through a flimsy curtain.

I pull my ugly brown burlap cloak around me, but I’m still shivering. I tell myself it’s because of the cold but really I know it is fear the chills my bones and causes my old yellow teeth to chatter.

Is there anything I can do to escape what I know is coming?

Should I pack some food and clothes and head up the mountain, hide in the cave Amy and I found many years ago and live like an aged, feral creature? Would they hunt me down with dogs and guns or would they just wait until I crawled out starving from my time in the bush then dispose of me as they would any strange wild animal.

These questions reel through my head, but realistically I know I haven’t the will or the energy to do anything but wait. I was the same all those years ago when I had my chance to escape. Fear and age stopped me then as it does now. I will fight them though when they come for me. I will not go meekly into their big car to be taken away to that ugly grey building, a place of death. I’m not going there. I’ll kick and scream even though I know anyone who might hear me would be too fearful to intervene.

I don’t know if I had some premonition of what was going to happen to me or it is simply coincidental but a week ago I began writing a journal detailing all that has happened to me during my long life and the changes I have witnessed in our society. All I need do now is add this last little bit then put the completed manuscript on a USB

stick before clearing everything from my computer. When they come they mustn’t see what I have written.

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My hope is that this document will be read some time in the future and act as an explanation of the way in which our society changed to those who come after.

I cannot leave it for Jill. Ali would be sure to insist on reading it first and would destroy it. He would not want Jill to know what he has condoned. I will wrap it in a parcel addressed to Amani. Perhaps she will be able keep it safe.

2

Disappearing Women 2070

This was how I spent my day when I started this journal.

I had been to the Centre until late afternoon and when I left there I walked the two blocks to the plant nursery, for I wanted to buy some broccoli and pak choi plants. The rain that had threatened earlier in the day held off and I felt quite warm in my thick burlap cloak as I made my way along the footpath.

The streets in town are so quiet now compared with how they were when I was a young woman. In part this is due to the changed traffic. Vehicles powered by electricity have replaced noisy petrol cars and diesel buses, and they are silent except for the swish of tyres on the road.

The other reason why the streets are now so quiet is because very few women are to be seen walking along the pavements. Those who had ventured outside their homes today passed by silently, singly or in groups like dark shadows. I smiled to myself thinking of how, in the past, we were the noisy ones, laughing and gossiping together, or chatting encouragement to children tired from the hurly-burly of a day in town.

Now the only women you see laughing in the streets are the Madams in their rich purple gowns and shawls. Often three or four of these women walk together when they go to the Correctional Centre to make their selections from the new arrivals. They don’t fear the Militia officers the way the rest of us do. They know most of them, and their individual peculiarities and perversions.

They are the exception though, the only women who are at ease on the city streets. Most of us feel we are trespassing in the domain of men.

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Barbara Knight

I passed a café where my girlfriends and I used to meet for coffee. It is still there and reminds me of the innumerable coffee houses Bill and I saw during our trip through Italy. Those places were also full of men, and Bill and I noted the absence of women.

On our travels we saw women working in the vineyards, fields and orchards, herding a gaggle of geese across a road or hanging out enormous amounts of washing on balconies or makeshift clotheslines. They seemed to be working so hard compared with the men who we saw idling their days away in those delicious smelling coffee houses. Bill and I joked that in Italy the women worked and the men drank coffee.

Now in our country the men work, but they also fill the coffee houses and restaurants while the women remain hidden away, their lives limited to caring for their children and homes.

As I passed the café I sniffed the wonderful aroma that wafted through the door, but scurried quickly past. I would not dare enter that place.

When I came to the corner where I must turn to reach the nursery I saw two Militia officers approaching. They are always in pairs, and the sight of them in their black leather uniforms and the dark shades they all wear sent a tingle of fear through my body. I knew I wasn’t breaking any law by being on the street, but they still frightened me and I averted my head as they passed. When I raised my eyes again I caught sight of a figure reflected in a shop window. I saw a strange, brown bat-like creature scuttling along, and realised with a shock that it was my reflection in the glass. No matter how many years pass I have never got used to the image I must now display when I am in the outside world.

4

Disappearing Women The street I was then in had once been a favourite of mine, because many years ago it had some of the best clothing boutiques, a very classy shoe shop, and the wonderful, little cafe where my friends and I would collapse over delicious cups of coffee and rich cakes after a day of retail therapy.

Now it is so boring. There are men’s wear shops selling suits and trousers and shirts for men and boys, a shop selling sporting goods and another selling computer equipment. The uniforms worn by the Security Service and Militia officers as well as the overalls worn by the workers are not to be seen in the shops so they must be distributed directly from the factories.

There is one shop selling women’s shoes and sandals and lengths of fabric, either wool, cotton or hemp in shades of white or brown. Australia had practically ceased manufacturing clothes by the turn of the century because of the ready availability of cheap clothing from China, Korea and other countries where labour costs were low.

Once trade between countries became almost non-existent new factories were built to manufacture clothing material and to make men’s clothes. Women are expected to make their own attire from the limited range of fabrics available to them. This is why I looked rather bat-like in the shop window. I learnt how to sew late in life and am not good at it so my brown cloak is not very well made.

On the last corner that I had to cross over, a new mosque has been built. As I passed I admired the curves and lines of the building. Many mosques have been built during the past thirty or so years but also Hindu and Buddhist temples and Jewish synagogues.

Before the influx of migrants from many different countries the Christian religion was already losing 5

Barbara Knight

support in Australia, and many churches had been sold and converted to houses or unusual restaurants. This decline continued, for most of the newcomers were followers of Buddhism, Islam or Hinduism and Christianity is now a minor religion. Religious beliefs are not, however, a divisive force in our country. The important dividers are wealth and, of course, gender and these elements are crucial in determining ones place in the hierarchical structure of society.

As I was pondering the lessening importance of religion I passed an old hotel. It has been painted up and the

Hotel

sign

replaced

with

one

that

reads

Accommodation.

After alcohol was banned most of the suburban hotels were turned into dormitory accommodation for the many single men who were required to work in town. More recently they provide family accommodation, for now that the Baby Boomers are getting married and starting families housing is once more at a premium.

The ban on alcohol did not seem to affect the larger, more expensive hotels. They still provide luxury accommodation and first class restaurant service for visiting members of the wealthy elite. I don’t know whether or not alcohol is served with meals in these establishments because they are not open to the general public, but it is rumoured that it is.

After passing the hotel and the car park adjoining it I arrived at the nursery. It didn’t take me long to find the plants I wanted, and I took them nervously to the counter.

Sometimes my shopping card works there, but other times a sale has been refused, and I have had to ask Ali to make a purchase for me.

6

Disappearing Women Today the man behind the counter was friendly and said cheerfully, ‘It’s a good time to get these in the ground,’ as he swiped my card and held out the little machine for me to put in my pin number and code name.

I did this with slightly shaking hands and gave a sigh of relief when the message came up, Transaction accepted

My hands still shook as he handed me my plants and I felt foolish and angry that a simple transaction could make me feel so nervous.

It was time for me to catch my bus so I returned to the bus stop outside the Centre to wait. As I sat down on the plastic bench the threatening storm broke. Water was soon streaming down the gutter, and a strong wind buffeted the rather fragile bus shelter. For once I was glad to be wearing my badly made cloak with its slightly lopsided hood because at least I was warm.

When the bus finally arrived I got on. I looked for Corinne amongst the brown-clad passengers, but I couldn’t see her so took a seat near the door. I had hoped for a chance to warn her about the Carers, to tell her why we have to be careful about what we say when any of them are near. While we were having afternoon tea she heard Suzie and me talking about Ruth not being at the Centre and asked us why we were so concerned. I had given her an evasive answer because Midge was listening to our conversation. Obviously Corinne is rather naïve and doesn’t know what usually happens to widows in our society.

Because the bus had been late it was dark by the time it wound its way up the mountain road and deposited me at my stop. I hadn’t thought to put the torch in my bag, so had trouble seeing where I was going as I crossed the road 7

Barbara Knight

and struggled up my drive. It was such a relief to reach my door and to be safely home again.

My little house felt quite cold so I turned up the heater before I removed the cloak. I was feeling very hungry, as I had only had a cup of tea and a few sandwiches since breakfast. I prepared some vegetables and put a small piece of steak in the pan. At times I don’t feel like bothering to prepare a proper meal, but I know I must eat sensibly if I am to remain healthy.

While the meal cooked I thought about dear Ruth. I wished I could ring her up, but she’s not on my phone list.

Besides Emergency Services and the Civilians’ Service Centre, two numbers that I have never rung, my only other phone contacts are Jill, my granddaughters and Ali.

I feel really concerned about Ruth. I know Gerry is ill and that must be why Ruth wasn’t at the Centre today. I am frightened about what will happen to her if he should die.

Her son defected years ago, and her daughter Phoebe is no longer alive to influence her son-in-law. Without his support she will be killed once she is a lone woman and a family will be moved into her house.

I thought back to those halcyon days of the Mothers’

Group when we were all so young and carefree and could keep our children safe. Would we have treasured that time more if we had known how so many of our lives would be shattered?

The evening stretched emptily before me, for there was nothing worth watching on television, and I hadn’t been able to find any books I wanted to read among the pitiful little collection at the Centre. My walk through those once familiar streets, and the thought that tomorrow I shall turn eighty, had set me thinking about how the world has changed during my lifetime.

8

Disappearing Women I haven’t kept a diary since I was eleven, and then I only put in brief notes like, went to the beach, or maths test.

My Grandma Mary had given me that diary, and I had never been sure what I should put in it. Now, nearly seventy years later, I have decided to start another diary or perhaps a journal to fill the lonely evening before it’s time for bed.

I turned on my computer, opened a new file and commenced to write.

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Barbara Knight

2000

I’m not sure how I should commence this journal. I have no idea if it will ever be read or what the world will be like if or when it is. Will someone get hold of it and think it some sort of fanciful fiction written by an overimaginative old woman? If society has become more Draconian it will probably just be destroyed, but I want to record the changes that occurred to Australian society and how these changes came about.

As a history student I had learnt how rapidly the lives of Afghani women changed during the 1950s when the Taliban retrieved control of their country. Girls who had been receiving an education were once more banned from schools and women lost the freedoms they had gained to dress as they wished and to go out without a male escort and even drive cars. The lives of women in Australia didn’t change as rapidly as in this country but they did change just as completely and I want to explain or describe how this came about. I’ve put the year 2000 at the start of this journal because that was the year I realised from conversations with my Grandma Mary that the lives of Australian women had not always been that great; better than they are now but still not really fair and equal.

At that time I was ten years old and growing up in a household where my parents were equals so this was news to me. Actually I always felt my mother was the more powerful and successful parent. By this I don’t mean to imply that my father wasn’t a success. He was a lecturer in history at the university and his students loved him but it was my mother who received world-wide accolades as one of the top surgeons in the world.

Grandma Mary was my mother’s mother and from her I learnt something of how life had been for women when 10

Disappearing Women she was young and how opportunities opened up for them during her lifetime. She saw many changes during her life but subsequent decades since she died have seen the emergence of a radically different society from the one she knew.

How to make sense of what happened to Australian society in just a few short decades? I know the whole world is different now because of climate change, but the earth’s physical changes cannot account entirely for what happened to our society. Climate change and the needs for mankind to adapt to what followed in its wake led to a great influx of people into Australia from other countries, but why did we let men with such different attitudes and values take control? The only way I can make sense of what happened is to write down all I lived through in some sort of chronological order and to do this I must go right back to 2000. This was the year when I really got to know my Grandma Mary as a person, and not just a loving presence in my life.

From her I learnt something of what life had been like for women when she was young and how much things changed for women during her lifetime. She told me that during the Second World War many women worked outside the home for the first time during the war years only to be shunted back into becoming housewives once the men returned and took over the jobs they had been doing. At that time, when I was ten, the term housewife had almost disappeared from the language because most women worked outside their homes. There were a few women, like my friend Janine’s mother who didn’t actually work but she always seemed to be busy doing stuff. No-one would think of her as a housewife.

That summer I was staying with Grandma Mary as I usually did during holidays because my mother was a very 11

Barbara Knight

busy and important doctor and rarely took a holiday and my father, a university professor, only got a few weeks off each year. Normally I loved being with my grandmother but this summer, for once, my mother had planned to take time off and our little family had been going to go to Surfer’s Paradise. At the last minute there had been an explosion in a mine and my mother had flown to the nearest hospital to help treat the men burnt in the blast. I was feeling very cross and hard-done-by and one day I moaned to Grandma about my mother always being so busy.

I was being rather whiny and said miserably, ‘I wish I had a mother who didn’t work. My friend Janine’s mother takes her on holidays every year, and they go shopping or to a film most weekends.’

For once my gentle grandmother looked at me crossly and asked, ‘And what does that poor woman do with the rest of her time? She probably fritters it away filling in empty hours shopping for clothes she doesn’t need and doing things like yoga or Pilates. You should be proud of your mother. She’s one of the best doctors in the country, and has saved hundreds of people from disfigurement with her skills. Anyhow I think every woman should have a chance to work.’

‘You told me that you didn’t work once you married Grandad’, I said rather cheekily.

Two bright red spots appeared on my grandmother’s cheeks and she answered sharply, ‘No I didn’t, but not because I didn’t want to. Your grandfather and I both started work as tellers in the same bank. I loved my job and had been promoted to a customer advisory position before he was, but when we married I had to leave work.

That was the bank regulation in those days. It was so 12

Disappearing Women unfair, but I loved your grandfather very much.’ She gave an exasperated sigh and looked pensive. ‘I always thought I could go back to work after our children went to school, but by then everything had changed in the banking world and I’d been left behind.’

Feeling a bit mean for upsetting her I said, ‘But my uncles and Mum always talk about what a wonderful mother you were, and you’re the best grandmother in the whole world.’

‘Humph! And your grandfather got to be a bank manager,’ she retorted angrily before she turned and left the room.

I sat for a while thinking over our conversation. I hadn’t known there had been a time when married women couldn’t work and was curious to know why Grandma Mary had married Grandad John if it meant giving up a job she obviously had loved.

My opportunity to ask her about this came a few days later when we were fishing in the creek. It was a lovely summer day, and the sun was shining so brightly on the clear water we could see the fish darting around amongst the rocks. As we stood side by side casting our lines into the water I could see my Grandma Mary relax, so figured it was a good time to bring it up something that had been bugging me.

I said, quite nonchalantly I hoped, ‘Why couldn’t you keep on working once you got married?

Grandma turned to face me and said abruptly, ‘It was the law. Not many places would employ married women, and the banks were particularly strict about that. Men were considered the bread-winners and women in the workforce would be taking jobs away from men’.

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Barbara Knight

‘As you liked