Read Online Caprice by Doris Pilkington Garimara - Free Book Online Page B

with him when I saw him lying on his side chewing on a stalk of a yellow sour grass plant. It was there I perceived and desired the man of my dreams. There could be no one else. On that day on Bill and Betty Hammond’s farm east of Dorrington, youth and spring had all the ingredients to nurture and develop into a full blown romance.
    I still have visions (though they are vague) of the vivacious self-confident young woman full of gaiety and expectation of love, sitting on a large grey rocky granite—my special place—sharing this lovely view with this handsome young man at my side.
    Beauty and colour were everywhere, in every direction as far as the eyes could see. The farm in the springtime was beauteous, bountiful and blessed and Dorrington was unforgettable. Spread out all around us was a gigantic patchwork quilt of nature: the verdant green fields of wheat, barley and oats, paddocks of golden dandelions, the pale lemon-coloured sour grass plants, the pink, white and yellow everlastings covering every available space under the wattle thickets along the fences.
    How many times had I stood on top of this rock and felt an uncontrollable urge to sing a certain hymnappropriate for the mood and sight. It was a favourite song of everyone.
    There is spring time in my soul today,
    More glorious and bright

    The little ones who didn’t know the words of the verse would join in the chorus with gusto and enthusiasm.
    Oh there’s sunshine, blessed sunshine,
    Where the peaceful happy moments roll,
    When Jesus shows his smiling face
    There is sunshine in my soul.

    I felt like a mountain goat, surefooted, full of life and expectations. The world was at my feet.
    Dressed in dark blue serge trousers and a red, black and white checked shirt, Kent Williamson tried desperately to convince me that sexual intercourse was a ritual, an act of love performed anywhere, at any time by a couple in love.
    I reminded him that I grew up with rigid Victorian values and codes of behaviour reinforced by the bible. Warnings against human follies were strongly supported by adages, proverbs, texts and quotes from the bible. I never realised before that I had certainly lived a sheltered life.
    â€œGo no further than kissing,” warned Mrs Hammond. “Tell him that you’ll accept nothing less than a wedding ring.”
    I heeded her advice and I never weakened.
    Our marriage took place at the Dorrington Church of Christ, performed by the Rev. John Crowley. My matron-of-honour was my best friend Jane Walters, and my junior bridesmaid was Annette Hammond. Both wore ballerina length dresses of leschenault-blue organza with puffed sleeves, carrying bouquets of pink roses, and pinkeverlastings, and coronets of pink roses in their hair. I wore a traditional-length gown of white satin, and carried a bouquet of white roses, frangipani and white honeysuckle, and borrowed Mrs Hammond’s long lace veil.
    The groom, his best man and groomsman (his brothers Paul and Garry) wore pale grey suits, white shirts and blue ties. It was the happiest day of my life. I was given away by Mr Hammond, my boss and friend. The reception was held at the church hall and was attended by all of the Hammonds and all of the members of the Young Peoples Christian Endeavour Union. “A dry wedding,” sniffed Sara Jane, Kent’s mother, because no alcohol was served.

    My heart was full of happiness as I accompanied my new husband back to settle in his hometown of Geraldton, a beautiful coastal town north of Perth. To me marriage was a goal achieved, a fulltime career and more importantly a sacred institution.
    It was my fundamentalist Christian ideals that created so much confusion; its conflicting views and contradictions that caused my breakdown.
    We have romantic role models for falling in love, those who have set the behavioural patterns for lovers, but there are no role models for getting out of love, are there?
    You see, I couldn’t