Free Heritage by Judy Nunn

was why, following her Sydney graduation, she had volunteered for an outback posting where she’d remained for the following ten years. Outback children, Peggy maintained, were like the land: as starved of opportunity and inspiration as the drought-ridden country was starved of water, and her greatest joy was to watch them blossom like the country did after rain. The only time Peggy ever waxed lyrical was when she spoke of her ‘calling’, as she termed it.
    Upon answering the desperate plea for teachers needed in Cooma, Peggy had been confronted by a new form of pupil far more challenging than those suffering the privations of an isolated existence. In the ill-equipped, overcrowded classrooms were many European youngsters who had witnessed and lived through shocking times, some having arrived directly from displaced persons camps. They were frightened and insecure, and they trusted no-one. It was the greatest test Peggy had yet faced and, dedicated as she was, she rose to the occasion. Her new students became her children, and gradually even the most damaged responded to her strength, her discipline, her care, and her utter devotion.
    It was Peggy’s blind devotion to her calling which had, over the years, deprived her of any personal life. She had deliberately lost her virginity to a young physical education instructor when she was in her mid-twenties, feeling it was high time she found out what it was all about, but she had never been in love. Nor had she sought a husband; she had no desire to be dependent upon a man, and at thirty-three she had settled quite comfortably into her role as a spinster. Then along had come Lucky. He’d been just a friend at first, an intelligent, well-educated man with whom she shared stimulating conversations and chess games. He remained just a friend for two whole years while she denied to herself there could possibly be any attraction. And then he kissed her. A little over three months ago now. And that kiss had changed Peggy’s life.
    â€˜Don’t bother coming to pick me up,’ she said, efficiency once again the order of the day. ‘I’ll meet you out the front of the hall at half-past eight, things don’t really start happening until around nine, does that suit?’
    â€˜It does,’ he replied with a mock salute, and he walked her back inside the pavilion, refusing the offer of a cup of tea in the kitchen. ‘I’m to meet Pietro at Dodds,’ he said. ‘I left him in the company of some rather hot-headed Italians, although I knew he’d far rather come and see you.’
    â€˜The Italians will do him more good – Pietro needs a bit of toughening up.’
    The women were selling the last of the sandwiches and starting to clear things away. In less than two hours the hired professionals would be arriving to decorate the hall for the evening.
    â€˜See you at the ball, Edna,’ Lucky said loudly, before turning to Mavis and Vera. ‘Good afternoon, ladies.’ He bowed slightly, gave each of them a winning smile, then flashed a barely perceptible wink at Peggy and left. Mavis and Vera, aware they were being observed, didn’t quite know where to look.
    Peggy and Edna exchanged a quick glance of amusement before getting on with their work. How could she possibly have assumed Lucky’s reluctance to go to the ball stemmed from insecurity? Peggy thought. Lucky of all people!
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    â€˜I’ve got nothing against Germans. Live and let live, I say.’ Cam Campbell was a man’s man. Or rather that was how he perceived himself to be and how he wished to be perceived by others. A good bloke who called a spade a spade and wasn’t afraid to speak his own mind. ‘So long as a bloke’s honest I don’t give a bugger where he comes from. Good to meet you, mate. Cheers.’ He clinked his beer glass resoundingly against Lucky’s and both men drank.
    Heavy-handed as Cam Campbell’s