‘What letter?’ Nancy’s stories of Rose had grown so infrequent that Jed had finally had to tell Julieanne she had absolutely no idea when the story of Rose Clancy would be completed. But the book on Flinty’s extraordinary life had done well, as had the more humorous but also menacing one on the women of the circus, based on the stories of her mother-in-law, Blue, with added anecdotes from Mah.

‘The one that poet bloke wrote to Grandpa.’ Nancy knew ‘that’ poet’s name perfectly well, thought Jed. But the Clancys were touchy about the man who was one of Australia’s most iconic poets.

Nancy reached into her pocket and pulled out a faded envelope.

Jed stared at it in horror. ‘It should be in special protective paper. What if the silverfish get it? Or in a museum or something.’

‘This belongs to us, not to some museum. Anyhow I keep it in the tea caddy. No silverfish there.’

That explained the brown stains. Jed took the envelope gingerly. ‘Nancy, are you sure you are okay with my telling this story?’ She had begun to wonder if Nancy had regretted beginning the family history told so freely during the desperate months when Sam was unconscious. Perhaps Nancy had only told it to comfort her, to give her something else to think and feel while she sat by Sam’s bed.

‘Honestly? No, not entirely okay. But I’ve discussed it with Michael and Flinty. It’s time people put women back into our history.’

‘We’ve always been there,’ said Jed dryly. ‘It’s just that men wrote the books.’

‘Exactly. And Rose . . . It wasn’t easy growing up with a gran who was black, not when I could pass as white. Gran couldn’t vote, wasn’t allowed in the CWA till Matilda made a fuss. I don’t think I’d have had the courage to join a group that didn’t want me, but Gran did. And by the end of the war, most of the women didn’t even notice her skin colour. But some did, and even those who liked her still didn’t invite her to their homes when there’d be other people there who might not approve. Ben and I went to the school on Overflow, because Mum and Dad couldn’t be sure we’d be accepted at Gibber’s Creek. Oh, the principal would’ve enrolled us, but then found some excuse to expel us when other parents complained.’

‘But it’s different now. It’s against the law to discriminate on the basis of race, colour, religion . . .’