Morning, 1940

Annie gets out of bed quietly, noting with relief that the baby is still asleep. Fred’s been up for a while, and will have lit the fire in the kitchen stove, before going out to mix the mash for the chooks and milk the cow. Pulling on a warm dressing gown over her flanelette nightie and shoving her feet into slippers, Annie retrieves the hot-water bottle from the foot of the bed, and takes it to the kitchen to empty into a bucket – water is too precious to waste. 

The oil lamp in the middle of the kitchen table casts a friendly glow in the still-dark kitchen, and she sees that Fred has let in Claude, the big grey cat, and he’s curled up on the cushion of the old rocking chair near the stove. Taking the torch, she visits the outhouse just outside the back fence, wrinkling her nose at the smell of Phenyle – and worse - and noticing that she needs to tear up some more newspaper to hang on the wire hook.

Back in the kitchen, both the big kettles are singing, and the fire crackles busily. Annie puts some more wood on the fire from the woodbox in the corner of the kitchen, and takes a kettle to the bathroom for a quick wash in the handbasin. There is no shower, and a temperamental chip heater heats water for baths, usually on a Saturday night.

In the bedroom, she dresses hastily, putting on a cotton brassiere, warm brushed rayon bloomers, a singlet and petticoat. Over this goes a warm tweedy skirt and a handknitted twinset. She dons thick workaday lisle stockings, secured above the knee by elastic garters, as she doesn’t wear a corset around the house, and sturdy leather lace-up shoes.

The baby is still asleep, but stirring, so Annie leaves the doors open as she returns to the kitchen. Taking a bright cotton apron from the back of a chair, she puts it on, then makes up some Lactogen formula for the baby, pouring it into the bottles she boiled up last night. One bottle is placed ready for when the baby wakes, the others go into a dish of water, covered with a wet towel to keep them cool.

She moves the saucepan of wheatmeal porridge from the hob where it’s been soaking overnight, to the hotplate of the stove for a final few minutes’ cooking before Fred comes in for his breakfast. She’ll need to stir it often so it doesn’t burn – burnt porridge is awful stuff to scrub off an aluminium saucepan, as she well knows. She makes coffee in the blue enamel jug, and sets it on the hob.

She makes a big pot of tea, too, as Fred is going to help his cousin Clarrie Deutscher move a mob of sheep down to WalWal today. He’ll need lunch, so she cuts some sandwiches, curling her lip at the white bread, which is all she has until she finds time to bake some proper wholemeal loaves. At least the butter is home-made. 

She fetches a leg of two-tooth from the Coolgardie safe, and cuts thick slices, layering them on the bread with home-made green tomato pickle – Fred’s favourite. She wraps the sandwiches and several pieces of boiled fruitcake in greaseproof paper, and packs them into the tin lunchbox. A couple of big glass bottles of cold, sweet tea complete the provisions.

Saving the porridge in the nick of time, she begins to serve it into bowls as she hears Fred’s booted steps on the back verandah. He brings in a zinc bucket of fresh milk, which he sets on the bench near the sink. They eat their porridge sprinkled with brown sugar and swimming in rich milk. 

Annie makes toast for Fred, pushing aside the stovewood to make a bed of coals. She uses the patent wire toastmaker with a long handle – the bread has a way of falling off the toasting fork. Spread with fresh butter, and honey from the big tin in the storeroom, even white toast is delicious. 

As they finish their coffee, a horn sounds outside, cousin Clarrie has arrived to pick Fred up. Stowing the lunch tin and bottles of  tea in a canvas haversack, Fred picks up his old felt hat and a jumper  and heads out to the gate, giving Annie a hug as he leaves.

Annie begins to stack the dishes in the sink, but before she can add water from the kettle, the baby wakes and starts to cry. Hurrying up the lino-covered hall to the bedroom, she picks the baby up from the big English pram where she sleeps, and carries her down to the warm kitchen. 

It’s now daylight, so she turns out the lamp and moves it safely away to the mantelpiece above the stove. She changes the baby and puts her in the wooden crib that Fred made while she mixes some Farex baby cereal in a small bowl. After spooning this into the small mouth, Annie sits down in the rocking chair, first dislodging the cat, to give the baby her bottle.

Baby is a slow and fussy feeder, and Annie reaches for the big green garden book she keeps beside the stove. She begins to dream of the wonderful garden she is making, with a little help from Fred, of course......