The Lost Hours with Annabelle

On one of these occasions in 1979 curiosity had overcome me, and I had gone to the house in Woodville where Annabelle's parents had lived. Unfortunately they had moved some time ago, and a Chinese family now lived there. I had no clue where Chris was, and Annabelle was probably married -- if not to her boyfriend Donny then some other guy -- and had changed her name. In any case how does one trace people called Smith? It's like looking for a needle in a haystack. And if I hadn't been able to make contact 40 years ago, I sure wouldn't be able to today.

The rain got heavier, and I turned for home before it got even worse, convinced that things would settle down over the next few days, life going back to normal.

*

There were no weird dreams that night to take me back in time to the 1960s, and I awoke on Tuesday to a much nicer day weather wise and feeling a lot better in myself. I drove Doris out to the airport in Tullamarine to catch her flight to Queensland, and she, Sandra and I sat in a café having breakfast.

"It will be nice to catch up with Eddie and Raelene and their kids and grandkids again," said Sandra. "Jim and I had a good time when we went up there in April."

Doris and Eddie had the 'twin bond' thing, so Doris tended to visit our brother on the Gold Coast much more frequently. Eddie had a bit of luck in high school, his sister's best friend Raelene had a boyfriend who turned out to be a cheater, and Eddie was there to offer Raelene sympathy when they broke up, and now many years later they were still married with kids and grandkids, a first great grandchild on the way. Interestingly Raelene and Eddie varied from us in having two sons and a daughter, whereas with Doris and me it was two daughters and one son.

As for the change in scenery, when Eddie was in the air force he and Raelene were stationed in Brisbane, fell in love with the sunshine state and its far nicer weather than Victoria, and had moved up there, having a nice house on the scenic Gold Coast.

My sister nodded. "Yes, I really am. Although it's been three years now since Henry passed, and it still feels so strange not travelling with him."

"Anything like that will take time," I said. "You and Henry were high school sweethearts and married 48 years. We all still miss him, I know it's been difficult at times for you these past few years."

"Yes, like you said it's just time, thanks again for driving me," Doris said. She turned to Sandra. "So I hope your Mum is okay today, Sandra?"

Amazingly after giving birth to 10 kids, Mrs. Fielding was still alive today at age 101, although Sandra's father was long since dead. She lived in a nursing home and was still bright in some ways -- she could remember the names of her innumerable grandchildren, great grandchildren and great-great grandchildren -- but funny in others.

Sandra laughed. "Yes, she's fine. Best I take her out for a trip to the shops. Mum hates arts and crafts day at the home, gets really funny about it, very cantankerous, best she doesn't see it and make a fuss about not wanting to join in. Though as you know she's always hated art and crafts, she said that she had a mean art teacher in primary school, but that was back in the 1920s."

"Physically she's in such good health for a centenarian," said Doris. "Saying about health, I've been a bit worried about you Jim these past few days, you haven't seemed yourself. Is your heart okay?"

I nodded. "Yes, fine thanks Doris, well now anyway. I think I had a bad reaction to that hypnosis show. It was weird."

Doris looked surprised. "I've never heard of that before, although I've never been hypnotized. Henry's brother was though, to quit smoking, and it worked. So what happened with you?"

"Do you remember that Easter weekend in 1962 when the Smith family stayed with us?" I asked. "And how the daughter Annabelle and I went out for a picnic and seemed to just lose five hours which we could never explain? It brought back strange memories, and caused me the weirdest dream I've ever had."

I recounted the events of recent days to Doris, although given she was my sister and we were in an airport café, gave next to no details of the intimate details.

My sister looked utterly puzzled. "That is really strange Jim, I can't explain that at all although I probably agree with Sandra and Doctor Anderson. Sorry, I can't come up with another theory. At the time, Annabelle's brother Chris and Eddie and I thought you were up to no good, and made it up as an excuse. But if you were, then you would have come up with a better story for Mum and Dad and the Smiths."

"I've never been able to explain the time loss incident, not once in 57 years," I said. "Sometimes I've hoped to have a chance meeting with Annabelle, to see if she has any different recollection, but I haven't seen her since and even if I did, she probably wouldn't know any more than she did back then either."

Doris looked sad and regretful. "Actually, about Annabelle for years I've wanted to meet her too, and apologize. I think back about that weekend, and Annabelle was so nice and polite to me, and I was cold and stand-offish with her and didn't want to be seen with her in public, just because she was so tall. God, I was such a bitch, so stuck-up and shallow."

"Come on Doris, don't feel bad," I said. "It was a long time ago and you were only 16 at the time."

"Still old enough to know better," said Doris.

"We all regret things we did when we were younger," said Sandra. "And teenagers aren't known for being sympathetic to people who are different. I shouldn't feel too guilty about it all the time."

"With Annabelle Smith, it's one of those guilt things that just pops up," said Doris. "I can be driving down the road, watering the garden or grocery shopping. It could be a good day, a bad day or a forgettable day and suddenly I'll think about that poor girl and how I treated her. One time when Henry and I were on holidays in Adelaide I kept hoping a 6 foot 9 blonde woman would come walking down the street and I can apologize for being a bitch to her. I spoke to Eddie about it one time, and he feels bad about it too."

I smiled reassuringly. "Doris, I don't think Annabelle wherever she is holds a grudge against you. In your life, you've done a lot more good things than bad. Now, let's have a wander around before your flight is called."

We did just this, browsing around the shops until the 'Go To Gate' notice came up for the Brisbane flight. Sandra and I wished her a happy flight and holiday and to pass on our regards to Eddie and Raelene, and Doris boarded for her ten day holiday in Queensland.

Tullamarine Airport was busy as usual, and as well as Doris's Brisbane-bound flight planes were soon departing for Canberra and Sydney, while planes from Adelaide and Hobart had just landed. The Adelaide flight had been delayed and passengers were disembarking. One of them was a businessman who looked to be 'one of those passengers'. He exuded arrogance and clearly wasn't happy about the delay getting into Melbourne, and threw a newspaper at the recycling bin rather than place it in there.

I noticed it was an Adelaide newspaper, and given South Australia had been much on my mind in recent days, I picked it up, taking it home with me. Sandra left to pick up her elderly mother and take her shopping, and I headed off to the station to catch the train into the city for a few hours, taking the South Australian newspaper with me.

Disembarking at Melbourne Central Station, I went up the escalators to the shopping center levels and watched the charming musical clock chime the hour, the sounds of 'Waltzing Matilda' filling the center and the dancing robot birds doing their thing. When the clock finished its cycle I went into Swanston Street, and headed up the road for Carlton.

On the way I passed the spot where Annabelle and I had enjoyed milkshakes all those years earlier. The milk bar was long since gone, but the building still stood and the lower floor was now a settlement agency. Continuing onto Carlton, I stood in the gardens trying to remember after 57 years where I parked Dad's car. I looked and saw the Exhibition Buildings which were there in 1962, but the museum was much more recent.

I returned to the city and walked down Swanston Street. It was an ordinary street in 1962, but now was mostly closed to traffic and trams still ran along here. They did just this today, me watching them go by and looking at the crowds and the plane trees that grew in abundance to the side. Most of the older historic buildings evident when Annabelle and I had walked down this street so many years ago were still there, but there were many new buildings that soared high above the Melbourne city streets.

The silver Eureka Tower, the blue Rialto Towers, the art deco towers at the eastern end of Collins Street, the distinctive black Melbourne Central tower, Bourke Place, the high rise headquarters for several banks and other large Australian companies, enormous apartment complexes and further south the nearly completed Australia 108 Tower, now Melbourne's tallest.

At the busy corner where Flinders and Swanston Streets met and the Princes Bridge joined onto St Kilda Road, I looked around and thought about how I had stood at this intersection with Annabelle. Flinders Street Station, the historic hotel from the 1800s and the cathedral still stood, but on the other corner, significant changes had taken place since 1962. First some enormous square offices had been built there in the late 1960s, these demolished in the late 1990s and replaced by Federation Square.

Crossing the road I stood at Princes Bridge and looked at the Yarra River flowing underneath, thinking about how Annabelle and I had rowed all the way to Hawthorn that Saturday. No way could I do it now, I was too old and in any case the boat hire business no longer existed. Instead, I caught public transport to the Hawthorn area and walked to Burnley and the Yarra River.

The private girls' school still had a boatshed, change rooms and toilet facilities for their rowing teams like they had in 1962, but those buildings in which Annabelle and I may or may not have lost our virginities to each other had been replaced by more modern structures in 57 years since then.

Also gone was the small wooden jetty under the weeping willow to which Annabelle and I tied our boat, but the large tree was still standing. It felt funny to be standing there so close to the place where Annabelle and I had that strange experience, but there I was. I sat on a nearby park bench in the spring sunshine and picked up the newspaper, keen to read about what was happening in South Australia.

I looked through the paper, reading some articles in full, skimming through others. A breeze from the river blew at the newspaper, opening the page to which the birth notices and obituaries were listed. I was going to turn the page back, but stopped when I happened to pick up the name 'Annabelle' among the death notices, the star next to the name indicating it was new.

Given how much I had been thinking about Annabelle recently the name stood out and caught my attention. The name of the lady who died was an Annabelle Parker. Annabelle was a reasonably common name but I looked closer at the obituary, stopping short, and my eyes going wide. The obituary for Annabelle Parker ran as follows:

'Annabelle Jane Parker (Nee Smith) -- 29-Feb-1944 to 20-Oct-2019

Loving wife of Donald, mother of Christine, Andrew and Natalie, grandmother of 8, great grandmother of 2, daughter of George & Marjorie (both deceased), sister of Chris and sister-in-law of Linda, aunt of three, great aunt of six.

RIP Annabelle, words can't express how much we admire your bravery and how much we will miss you every day.'

With a pounding heart, I read other obituaries for Annabelle from family, friends, neighbors and former work colleagues, expressing their sympathy to Donny, their children and the rest of the family, saying how much they would miss her and how brave Annabelle was in her later years and that she could now rest, implying that she had been sick leading up to her death. I looked at the funeral notices, the one for Annabelle was listed next Monday at an Adelaide cemetery at 10 am.

Clutching my newspaper I made haste for the train station to go back to the city and then back home. I knew where I had to be on Monday.

*

Fortunately for me, Sandra has always been a very understanding wife, and given how completely lost she was for words when I showed her the obituary for Annabelle, was more than happy for us to take a long weekend trip to Adelaide to attend the funeral of a girl I hadn't seen since 1962 and had known only a number of days and whom Sandra had never known.

We stood with the many others close to the cemetery gates waiting for the Annabelle Parker funeral, me wearing a shirt, tie and trousers and Sandra in a black dress and tights. We had been handed funeral cards by the funeral directors, with a picture of Annabelle on the front and her dates of birth and death, a poem on the back about never forgetting loved ones who are gone.

The hearse approached the cemetery, two other funeral cars following behind it. It stopped and members of the Parker and Smith families got out, many already visibly upset. As I suspected many members of Annabelle's family were tall, and her towering son and two equally tall teenage grandsons flanked the hearse, to act as pallbearers. The fourth pallbearer was not a short man, he was six feet in height, but much shorter than Annabelle's son and grandsons.

Although it had been 57 years since I had seen him, I had no difficulty recognizing him as Annabelle's younger brother Chris. He was bald now, just a thin row of grey hair around the sides of his head and wore glasses, but I still knew it was him.

The hearse slowly drove through the cemetery grounds, the funeral cars next and we all followed on foot. At the chapel for the crematorium we took our seats near the back and I held Sandra's hand watching as the funeral directors got everyone organized, and Annabelle's coffin -- a very long coffin -- was carried in and placed at the front near the stage, a garland of flowers on top.

Annabelle's immediate family sat at the front, and I felt so badly for her widowed husband Donny. A very tall man with a beard now grey, I could see that he was trying to be strong for his kids and grandchildren, but that his wife's death had left him absolutely shattered. I had seen the same thing with Doris at Henry's funeral, and years earlier with Mum when Dad passed away before her, they tried to be strong but the emotions of saying goodbye to a lifelong soulmate were overwhelming. I knew how I would feel if Sandra died and I had to farewell her.

The funeral service was like many others I had been to, some songs and readings while one of Annabelle's teenage granddaughters -- very tall like Annabelle was -- read a eulogy. Although clearly upset she managed to make one joke to lighten the mood about how her grandma was only 18-years-old when she passed on, the reference to Annabelle being a leap day baby in 1944.

There was a video slideshow with a moving song, and I watched it intently. There was a black and white photo of Mr. and Mrs. Smith holding their infant daughter soon after her birth, Mr. Smith smart in his World War 2 uniform. Other photos showed Annabelle as a little girl playing with Chris and their pet guinea pigs in their garden at home and on her first day of school missing some of her front teeth. The photos progressed showing Annabelle in her younger days, always towering above other kids in the photos and as a teenager adults too. I saw her graduating high school then at teacher's training school, with Donny and then from their wedding day, Annabelle a most beautiful blushing bride.

Photos progressed of Annabelle as a young woman pregnant with her kids and then with her babies and young children, returning to work as an English teacher when the kids were old enough and then Annabelle and Donny middle aged with the usual holiday and family event happy photos. Soon I saw Annabelle and Donny welcoming their grandchildren, then enjoying their later years, a happy retirement getting sadly cut short when Annabelle got sick and needed to be in care.

The last photograph came up, the same one on Annabelle's funeral card with 'In Loving Memory of Annabelle Jane Parker, 29th February 1944 -- 20th October 2019' and many funeral attendees were weeping. The funeral came to a close with another moving song to send Annabelle to her final rest.

There wasn't a wake per se, but the cemetery had tea rooms so a morning tea was served there for funeral attendees to mingle and share their condolences and memories of Annabelle. Sandra and I stopped in there, and it was there that I noticed Chris looking at me, uncertain of where he knew me from. Perhaps I was a fellow teacher from a high school his sister taught at, or a former neighbor?

I approached him and we shook hands. "I'm Jim Johnson, your family stayed with us in Melbourne that Easter Weekend back in 1962. This is my wife Sandra."

"Nice to meet you Sandra, I'm Chris, Annabelle's younger brother," he said, shaking her hand too.

"Jim and I are so sorry about your sister Chris," said Sandra.

"Yes, I can't imagine how difficult it must be, our condolences to your whole family," I said. "Annabelle was such a nice girl. I haven't seen her for years, but when I heard about her I felt I should be here today, to say goodbye. She definitely made an impression on me in the short time I knew her."

Chris nodded. "Thanks Jim and Sandra, it hasn't been easy for the family. Annabelle had been in failing health with Parkinson's the last couple of years, but she really went downhill late last year fast and was in care. She finally passed peacefully with her family beside her so no more pain, but it doesn't make losing her any easier."

"I understand," I said. "Our thoughts are with all of you."

Chris paused. "Actually, it's a funny thing that you're here today. In one of my last conversations with Annabelle a while ago -- before she got too ill to speak and didn't understand what was going on around her -- we were talking about you and your family, and how when you went for that picnic by the river you suddenly seemed to jump forward in time by five or six hours. Annabelle still couldn't make sense of it, nothing like it had ever happened to her before or since."

"I've been thinking about that a lot lately, and 57 years later on I'm still none the wiser," I said.

Chris nodded. "You were so nice to Annabelle that weekend, much better than I was, making up that stupid study excuse with your brother and sister so I didn't have to hang out with her. When I was younger I was so embarrassed out in public because Annabelle was so tall and people would stare. Looking back, I'm so embarrassed and ashamed of how I acted, because I always loved Annabelle and she was never anything but nice to me. Now, I'd give almost anything for my big sister to come back and be well again."

Chris swallowed hard, and looked at where Annabelle's husband sat alone, clearly overwhelmed by losing his wife. "I'd better go and see Donny, he's not doing too well."

We shook hands again. "Nice to see you again Jim, and thanks for travelling all this way to attend. I know it would mean a lot to Annabelle."

Sandra and I left the cemetery soon after, returning to our hotel in Adelaide City, then back to Melbourne on a morning flight on the next day. Back at home, I stared at Annabelle's funeral card. So many years had passed since we shared an extraordinary experience together neither of us could explain, and now Annabelle was gone. And I had not the slightest clue as to ever work out what happened.