Never Felt Less Like Dancing

In a millisecond there was a blinding, fiery flash, a shattering explosion.

And three lives changed forever.

Did she do it on purpose or was it an accident?

oOo

1980

I pedalled alone, thinking heavily,  along the pebble gravel to the farmhouse on the outskirts of Kwolyin. The old farmer was stony-faced but civil. He invited me inside.

The timber and iron-roofed farmhouse was large. Not quite grand. More genteel and old worlde. Quality jarrah timber throughout. Wide, shady verandahs on all sides. These days the seasoned wheat and sheep farmer lived here alone. The house lacked that finished feminine touch.  No flowers. No music. No aroma of fresh baked bread or rhubarb cake. Layers of dust filtered framed pictures. A sense of creaking age.

He made me tea in a CWA mug. I asked him about the weather, the season and the crops. Then I asked him about his daughter, Gwen.

‘I don’t want to talk about her.
Now I want you to leave’.

oOo

1962

The old Migrant Centre was abuzz with colour, life, excitement, opportunities. My first year at Graylands Teachers College. Three girls for every boy. For someone who had attended an all-boys Catholic College this looked like being a  wonderful, wonderful year.

We all looked a slightly studentish, casually dressed. Some really casual, slightly feral. Few girls wore make-up or had fancy hairstyles. Boys looked daggy reflecting the $13 week living allowance. Out for a good time. Minimum study, maximum fun. One girl stood out. Different. She was voted leader of our group. Gwen.

Gwen was the product of one of WA’s leading schools for young ladies. She dressed every day like she was heading off for a photo shoot with Vogue. Gwen always wore full make-up, framed by a perfect black bob, her fragrances tumbling around. 

Her living allowance was more than $13 a week. A lot more. Thanks to her Dad. Unlike other students, she drove a powder-blue Austin Healey Sprite. Gwen's appearance was so sophisticated and mature she made immature boys like me go weak at the knees. Despite her stylish, upmarket appearance she became popular because she had a 100% warm, genuine personality.  Despite the fact Gwen and I were worlds apart in every respect, we became good friends.

We got to know each even better when we ‘co-starred’ in a production of ‘The Importance of Being Ernest’. ‘Gwen’ played Gwendolyn, I played Algernon, both of us dressed in tennis whites, racquets in hand. In a second scene, dressed in a suit and Gwen in an elegant ball dress, Gwen and I waltzed on stage. It was like we were each a book, reading a chapter on each other’s lives.

The Importance if Being Ernest 1963

Gwen met Bob at college. Bob was a larger than life character. Broad-shouldered, 6 foot 2, confident, successful sportsman, their relationship flourished. They became a steady item. Gwen fell madly in love with Bob and what she envisaged for their future. However, Gwen’s father did not like Bob one bit. He disapproved of him in the strongest terms.

Winter came and Gwen visited the family farm. The topic of Bob was sure to arise and arise it did. A powerful emotional argument developed like a simmering furnace. Gwen’s father forbid her from seeing him again. In his rage Gwen’s father went on to say that if she continued to see Bob she would be cut out of the will and she was never to return home.

They were in the lounge of the old farmhouse. A winter fire was roaring in the fireplace.

In a moment of desperation or mistaken identification Gwen grasped a container of petrol and threw it on the fire.

In a millisecond there was a blinding, fiery flash, a shattering explosion.

A moment of madness. 

Gwen clothes and skin burst into fire. Her body, face and neck melted.

Gwen’s promising career as a classroom teacher closed abruptly. Her future with Bob finished even more abruptly. In her painful recovery Gwen turned to alcohol for relief. Sadly, her bright vivacious personality was replaced by a morbid solo isolation.

Postscript

I met Gwen briefly some years ago at a reunion. I spoke quietly to her. I imagined her bubbly, colourful nature but sadly it had completely disappeared.

I never felt less like dancing.