On The Beach

"Why, sure," he said. "I don't know England so well. I'm told that parts of that are just a fairyland. There's plenty of lovely scenery in the United States, but I don't know of any place that's just like this. No, this is beautiful all right, by any standard in the world."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," she replied. "I mean, I like it here, but then I've never seen anything else. One sort of thinks that everything in England or America must be much better. That this is all right for Australia, but that's not saying much."

He shook his head. "It's not like that at all, honey. This is good by any standard that you'd like to name."

They came to a flat and, driving in the buggy, the girl turned into an entrance gate. A short drive led between an avenue of pine trees to a single-storey wooden house, a fairly large house painted white that merged with farm buildings towards the back. A wide verandah ran along the front and down one side, partially glazed in. The girl drove past the house and into the farmyard. "Sorry about taking you in by the back door," she said. "But the mare won't stand, not when she's so near the stable."

A farm hand called Lou, the only employee on the place, came to help her with the horse, and her father came out to meet them. She introduced Dwight all round, and they left the horse and buggy to Lou and went into the house to meet her mother. Later they gathered on the verandah to sit in the warm evening sun over short drinks before the evening meal. From the verandah there was a pastoral view over undulating pastures and coppices, with a distant view of the plain down below the trees. Again Dwight commented upon the beauty of the countryside.

"Yes, it's nice up here," said Mrs. Davidson. "But it can't compare with England. England's beautiful."

The American asked, "Were you born in England?"

"Me? No. I was born Australian. My grandfather came out to Sydney in the very early days, but he wasn't a convict. Then he took up land in the Riverina. Some of the family are there still." She paused. "I've only been home once," she said. "We made a trip to England and the Continent in 1948, after the Second War. We thought England was quite beautiful. But I suppose it's changed a lot now."

She left the verandah presently with Moira to see about the tea, and Dwight was left on the verandah with her father. He said, "Let me give you another whisky."

"Why, thanks. I'd like one."

They sat in warm comfort in the mellow evening sun over their drinks. After a time the grazier said, "Moira was telling us about the cruise that you just made up to the north."

The captain nodded. "We didn't find out much."

"So she said."

"There's not much that you can see, from the water's edge and through the periscope," he told his host. "It's not as if there was any bomb damage, or anything like that. It all looks just the same as it always did. It's just that people don't live there any more."

"It was very radioactive, was it?"

Dwight nodded. "It gets worse the further north you go, of course. At Cairns, when we were there, a person might have lived for a few days. At Port Darwin nobody could live so long as that."

"When were you at Cairns?"

"About a fortnight ago."

"I suppose the intensity at Cairns would be worse by now."

"Probably so. I'd say it gets worse steadily as time goes on. Finally, of course, it'll get to the same level all around the world."

"They're still saying that it's going to get here in September."

"I would say that's right. It's coming very evenly, all around the world. All places in the same latitude seem to be getting it just about the same time."

"They were saying on the wireless they've got it in Rockhampton."

The captain nodded, "I heard that, too. And at Alice Springs. It's coming very evenly along the latitudes."

His host smiled, a little grimly. "No good agonizing about it. Have another whisky."

"I don't believe I will, not now. Thank you."

Mr. Davidson poured himself another small one. "Anyway," he said, "it comes to us last of all."

"That seems to be so," said Dwight. "If it goes on the way it's going now, Cape Town will go out a little before Sydney, about the same time as Montevideo. There'll be nothing left then in Africa and South America. Melbourne is the most southerly major city in the world, so we'll be near to the last." He paused for a moment in thought. "New Zealand, most of it, may last a little longer, and, of course, Tasmania. A fortnight or three weeks, perhaps. I don't know if there's anybody in Antarctica. If so, they might go on for quite a while."

"But Melbourne is the last big city?"

"That's what it looks like, at the moment."

They sat in silence for a little while. "What will you do?" the grazier asked at last. "Will you move your ship?"

"I haven't decided that," the captain said slowly. "Maybe I won't have to decide it. I've got a senior officer, Captain Shaw, in Brisbane. I don't suppose he'll move because his ship can't move. Maybe he'll send me orders. I don't know."