Dunbar

Jessie drifted in and out of consciousness. Her mind wandered. She thought she was in field hospitals in France in WWI, stroking the foreheads of dying young men. She loved them, she loved many men. She thought she was on Blackrock beach watching her newfound friend Tom Roberts paint. She was ten years old when they met there, beginning their lifelong friendship, and deciding her course as an artist. She loved Tom. She thought she was in Dunbar's garden, in the shade of the copper beech, looking across to the lillium garden in the front, between the chestnut and the Douglas fir. Her favourite place.
Her friend Willy trusted her and told her many things. She watched him helping the gardener. His clothes were rags and he'd not shaved for years. He lived in a hut somewhere in the bush off Monbulk Rd. He pushed a rusty pram in which he carried things he'd scrounged. He was a mystery to others, 'old Sneezewich', but he wasn't old. Jessie knew the story he'd told no other.
She was in Sydney, etching the construction of the harbour bridge. She was in Hermannsberg Mission in 1932, where young aboriginal Albert Namitjira guided her when she painted in the area. She was at school in Switzerland. She was was in Java in 1911, where she'd gone alone via New Guinea discovering the 'artistic vision of the East.' Back in Dunbar's garden she watched as the gardener gave Willy a bunch of carrots.
Willy was once a member of the Vienna Boys Choir. When WW2 was declared on 3 Sep 1939, the day after their final Australian concert in Perth, the 14 choristers were no longer celebrities but, in effect, Australia's youngest prisoners of war. Board and lodging was arranged for them with local families by the Archbishop Daniel Mannix who made them choir of his cathedral.
Willy, with two other boys and choirmaster George Gruber, moved in with Henrietta Marsh at her Brighton home. George and Henrietta quickly became lovers. They travelled to Emerald for passion filled weekends at Henrietta's country residence, Dunbar.
Willy's mentor and choirmaster, who had a wife and two children in Austria, was arrested in March 1941 and charged with having Nazi links. After catching the resourceful George seducing a 17yo girl, Henrietta, vengeful, dobbed him in. He was sent to a Tatura internment camp. Willy "worshipped" George and was shattered by his arrest and incarceration. Willy agitated to have Gruber freed and cheekily sang pro-German songs outside the police station where he had to report weekly.
Willy, aged 15, was sent to an internment camp in Sth. Australia where he was imprisoned with older enemy nationals. His fair wavy hair and youthful good looks resulted in severe indignity. Willy was released after the war and continued to plead for Gruber's release. Eventually he suffered emotional collapse.
Gruber was deported to Austria in November 1947. Willy "went bush" and disappeared. His Austrian family searched, but never found him.
Despite being ready to die, Jessie involuntarily fought for breath in her last hours. When the hand of death closed on her, Willy's secret died with her. Willy, when he heard, mourned. Never again would he see her arresting blue eyes and feel her warmth, gentleness, humour and endearing eccentricity.
Jessie Constance Alicia Traill, one of Australia's leading printmakers, died at Dunbar Private Hospital, Emerald, Victoria, on May 15th, 1967, at the age of 86, having lived an exceptional life dedicated to her art and to her country.

Cindy looked at the sky. Dark, heavy clouds massing, it was 'as black as a dog's guts.' She waited for the honey man. He was coming to prune a large camellia in her garden. She'd contacted him because he used to cut foliage in her parents garden at Emerald before the property was sold in 2005.
Just as the honey man pulled his van up out the front, the rain started. A few drops, then light rain, slowly becoming heavier. They stood looking at the camellia, discussing its pruning, from the shelter of the porch. "It doesn't look like you'll be able to do it today though. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
The rain was now thick and continuous. Cindy and the honey man talked about the good old days and joint acquaintances. Not that they were old friends, but he'd picked at Dunbar for the better part of two decades, as she grew up. Cindy loved the old family home and it was a real shock when her parent's marriage hit the rocks, totally unforseen.
The honey man was interested in the old house and Cindy told him all she knew. It was built in 1927 on foundations of bluestone salvaged from the old Melbourne Town Hall which burned down in 1925. Two huge wooden sliding doors, also salvaged from the town hall, divided the large house into two identical halves for dual occupancy. The builder lived in one half and the children in the other. It was sold to socialite Henrietta Marsh who used it as a guest house named 'Emerald Chalet'.
After the war it was sold and used as a private hospital. Many people died there in the late years of their lives. Growing up, Cindy said she was often deeply moved by the feeling that spirits were present. "Neighbours bought the house," she told the honey man, "potato growers from Gembrook who have a big cool store behind 'Dunbar', and who truck loads of potatos to Dandenong every day to their chip factory, as in fish and chips."
"I always wondered what was back there, having often seen the semi go out in the afternoons over the years."
Cindy said she'd email him some of the stuff she'd found out on the internet about Dunbar. She'd heard the new owners were thinking of demolishing the house and she was looking into how to prevent this. With the rain still coming down he gave up any hope of working on the camellia and left for the twenty minute drive back to Emerald.
After taking a wrong turn in the hilly backstreets of Tecoma, which led to a dead end and enormous difficulty, and damn near a burnt out clutch trying to back the trailer up a steep hill and into a drive with very little manoeuvring space in the pouring rain and gushing gutters, the honey man took a detour to have a look at Dunbar. The last time he was there to enquire whether he might cut some cherry laurel an Italian man on a tractor had given him short shift.
The roof of Dunbar was gone, all the windows and doors removed. All that remained was the bare walls standing eerily. Presumably, waiting for the bulldozer.