When Dad came out again, quite a while later, he was staggering a bit. He pulled me roughly towards him and cupped my face in his hands.
He hadn’t done that for years.
‘I promised your mother,’ he said in a beery voice. ‘I promised her that you and me wouldn’t go till you’re old enough. End of story.’
He dropped his hands and we looked at each other.
‘What’s old enough?’ I said.
Dad thought about this while he dragged himself up onto Jimmy. I was hoping Mum hadn’t put the official army figure on it.
She had.
‘Eighteen,’ said Dad.
On my sixteenth birthday I got up early.
Spent some time with Daisy, rehearsing what I was going to say to Dad. How Mum wouldn’t mind if we went now. How she’d agree that if you’re tall for your age, and mature enough not to smoke, you’re ready to do your bit.
‘And she’d understand about girls,’ I said to Daisy. ‘How you have to go to war to get one.’
Daisy probably didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. But she could tell from my voice it was important. So she stopped trying to get her head into my pocket looking for apples.
I hoped Dad would agree it was important. Huns and Turks were giving our blokes a battering. Memorial services most weeks in the district. Four coffins, some of them.
‘So what if I’m not eighteen,’ I said to Daisy. ‘I’ve got hair where it counts.’
Daisy didn’t argue. She’d seen me having baths in creeks. She knew I was ready to do my bit.
Heading into the house, I saw something on the verandah table.
A little box, wrapped up all pretty with a ribbon.
Jeez, I thought, that’s not from Dad.
I picked it up.
It wasn’t from him, it was for him. His name on it. Curly writing I’d never seen before.
‘Happy birthday, son,’ said Dad, coming out of the kitchen with something wrapped in newspaper. That was more his style.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said, taking the horse brush I knew he’d got for me.
‘Struth,’ said Dad, grinning and staring at the flash little box. ‘Happy birthday from a lady, eh?’
‘It’s for you,’ I said.
He frowned. I knew why. Mum hadn’t even been dead a year.
‘You open it,’ he said.
Inside the pretty little box there wasn’t a present.
Just a feather. A white feather. No note, but we both knew what the message was.
Only blokes who weren’t in the army got white feathers. Blokes who people thought should be in the army. Sometimes people couldn’t tell the difference between a coward and a stubborn parent.
Dad’s face when he saw the feather. Only time I’d seen him looking more crook was when the doctor told us Mum wasn’t going to make it.
‘That’s not fair,’ I said. ‘They don’t understand.’
Dad didn’t say anything. Just stared at it. But his face. No way he was putting off going now.
I had a worrying thought.
‘We’re a team,’ I said. ‘You’re not dumping me with the rellies in Perth.’
‘No,’ muttered Dad. ‘I’m not.’
Dad didn’t like Mum’s folks. At the funeral they blamed him for Mum getting sick. They didn’t say anything, but you could tell.
So that was it.
We said oo-roo to the neighbours, nailed the windows shut, saddled up Daisy and Jimmy, and went to Sydney to volunteer.
The recruiting officer frowned. Gave all four of us the once-over.
Daisy and Jimmy snorted. They could tell the recruiting officer wasn’t crazy about them. He didn’t seem that keen about me and Dad either.
Jeez, I thought. What if he doesn’t take us?
I’d been keeping that worry buried for days on the ride to Sydney. But it was out now. The shameful life ahead for us if me and Dad didn’t do our bit. Me dying a lonely old bachelor with no wife and kids. Not even knowing what a girl’s skin feels like. Dad getting spat on in the pub and probably no more work.
‘They’re both good horses,’ said Dad to the officer. ‘Walers. Faster than they look.’
I was glad he said that. Honest truth was they didn’t look that nimble. Jimmy was getting on. Daisy was beautiful with her white face and feet, but she was a bit of a crook shape.
‘Safest feet in the district,’ I said to the officer, which was a bit rich given Daisy’s personality, but the officer probably wouldn’t be talking to people out Cudgegong way.
‘Show me,’ said the officer.
The army camp had some jumps set up. Pretty tough ones. Barbed wire. Ditches full of mud. Not ordinary mud, army mud.
Dad went first.
I knew Jimmy’d be right, as long as he didn’t get out of breath. He was more your slow and steady horse, Jimmy. Go all day at his own pace.
He was fine. Dad got him through.
Then it was my turn.
‘You can do it, mate,’ I murmured into Daisy’s ear as we galloped at the first jump. She could be as cantankerous as a sack of chooks if she set her mind to it, so that was my way of saying please.
Daisy was a champ that day. She might have looked a bit rough, but she went over those jumps like an angel. She probably wasn’t keen to see my miserable face for the next sixty years if she didn’t.
‘Right-o,’ said the officer when we rode back. ‘They’re both army property now. You blokes get a medical.’
Me and Dad looked at each other.
Jimmy and Daisy were in. Now it was up to us.
The army doctor was impressed by my private parts, I could tell.
Not just the hair. I could also tell he’d noticed how that region was completely free of all fungal growths.
He didn’t have a problem with my teeth either, or my feet, or my eyes.
Just my chest.
‘Breath in again,’ he said.
I did, sticking my chest out like a scrub turkey with a mozzie bothering it.
‘Just under the regulation minimum,’ said the army doctor, looking at his tape measure.
I knew what that meant. Too skinny.
‘Best of three,’ I said to him, holding my arm out for an arm-wrestle.
The doctor didn’t take up the offer. But he sort of smiled to himself.
‘You’ve got the height,’ he said. ‘Couple of army feeds’ll fill you out.’
He stamped my form.
‘You’re in,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the glorious crusade of the honourable and righteous against the dark pernicious forces of evil.’
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Don’t thank me,’ he said. ‘Not till you’ve been there and come back with everything still attached.’
Dad was in like Flinders fence-posts too. His back was good that day.
We took our forms to the recruiting officer so he could sign us up and arrange for the army to buy Jimmy and Daisy.
‘Ages?’ said the officer, checking the forms.
Me and Dad looked at each other. This was what we’d been worried about.
‘Ages of the horses,’ said the officer.
‘Daisy’s six,’ I said, relieved. ‘Jimmy’s twelve.’
Soon as I said it I knew I shouldn’t have.
‘Army doesn’t take horses over ten,’ said the officer.
‘We’re a team,’ said Dad. ‘All or nothing.’
The officer thought about this. I hoped he could see Dad was a bloke who meant what he said.
‘Come on,’ said an impatient voice in the queue behind us. ‘The Huns and Turks’ll get sick of waiting and pack it in.’
The officer sucked his teeth.
‘Twelve’s close enough for a good mount,’ he said, writing something on the form.
He gave me another hard look.
‘When were you born?’ he said.
‘Eighteen ninety-eight,’ I said. ‘May.’
That was the date I’d worked out w
ould make me the official army age.
‘Best subject at school,’ said the officer, looking me in the eye, ‘clearly not arithmetic. It’s nineteen fifteen now. The correct number of years ago would have been eighteen ninety-seven.’
‘That’s what Frank meant,’ said Dad. ‘Eighteen ninety-seven.’
The officer looked at us both.
‘Hey, you lot,’ said the voice behind us. ‘When you’ve finished your Country Women’s Association meeting, we’re getting old and dying back here.’
The officer signed Dad’s form. He didn’t sign mine. Just folded it and stuck it into my hand.
‘Go to the end of the queue,’ he said. ‘If we’re as slow as that whingeing blighter reckons, when you make it back here you’ll be a year older.’
‘How do you spell pharmacy?’ I said to Dad.
‘Search me,’ said Dad.
He was lying on his army bed, staring at the roof of the tent. He’d been doing it most nights since training started. Probably thinking about Mum. Worrying about what she’d think of us being in the military.
Lucky it was a big tent. About ten other blokes in there. One of them helped out with the spelling.
‘Ta,’ I said.
Blokes of all types in the army. Even smart martins who’d been to university.
‘What you writing?’ said Dad.
I explained it was a letter to Joan. Letting her know what I was up to. We hadn’t said goodbye to many people, Dad hadn’t wanted to.
‘I’m sending it care of the pharmacy,’ I said. ‘That way she might get it before her mother sees it.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Dad.
He went quiet again. I could see he was back thinking about Mum.
I got up from my bed and went over to him.
‘She’d understand,’ I said. ‘If she’d seen that feather she would.’
Dad didn’t say anything for a bit. When he did, his voice was quiet.
‘She does understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve talked to her about it.’
I stared at him. I’d had natters with Mum myself a couple of times, in dreams. All she’d wanted to talk about was keeping the birds off her veggie patch.
‘What did she say?’ I asked Dad.
‘Private stuff,’ he said. ‘But one thing she wants me to tell you. She loves you, but she doesn’t want to see you for a very long time.’
I thought about that.
‘Right-o,’ I said.
Poor Mum, she didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t planning on making a visit any time soon. What I was planning was a life with Joan.
A very long life.
Top clobber they gave you in the Light Horse.
Boots, hat with a feather, the lot. And the kit, quality stuff. Rifle, bayonet, even spare shoes for Daisy and Jimmy.
Training was tough. For Daisy and Jimmy too. Lot of standing around for them while we did shooting practice. Army reckoned we had to get them used to the sound of gunfire, and we only had two months to do it.
Daisy wasn’t amused.
‘Who broke this ammo box?’ said the gunnery sergeant angrily.
I gave Daisy a look. That’s all I needed, her being sent home for treading on army property.
Luckily the sergeant let it go, and as it turned out I was pretty alright at the shooting side of things.
‘Cheeky blighter,’ said Dad, peering at my target.
The targets were sheets of roofing tin with blokes painted on them. I’d got six hits, Dad had only got three.
‘Mother’s son, you are,’ muttered Dad.
Mum was a crack shot. She used to win heaps of dolls at fairs. Not to mention keep the birds off the veggie garden, permanent.
The bloke next to me and Dad, he knew how to handle a gun too. Ten shots on target, all in the head. He was a few years older than me and dead-set full of himself.
‘Too easy,’ he said. ‘Be better with moving targets. Army should ship some Turk prisoners back.’
Me and Dad swapped a glance. The bloke’s name was Johnson. Angry eyes, black moustache. Looked like the sort of bloke who’d flatten the umpire with his bat if he was given out.
‘Bush pigs’d do,’ said Johnson. ‘They look like Turks.’
I ignored him. Concentrated on squinting down the barrel, squeezing the trigger gently like Mum taught me.
‘Letter for you,’ said Dad a few weeks later.
He pointed to the envelope on my bed. Gave me a wink.
I was tuckered out after a long day on the training field, but I ripped that envelope open in record time.
It was from Joan.
Dear Frank
I was sad we didn’t get to say goodbye. But I think I understand.
This is just to say good luck over there. Look after yourself. Specially your feet and armpits and the rest.
When you get there, home will probably seem a long way away. But we’re thinking of you all and we’re proud of you all.
Your friend,
Joan.
ps. Say g’day to your dad and Daisy for me.
There was something else inside the envelope. I fished it out.
A cough lozenge.
I must have been grinning like a goanna. Dad gave me another wink. Some of the other blokes in our tent were chuckling.
I wasn’t embarrassed. Or tuckered out any more. If you’d shown me fifty Turks, I’d have taken them on single-handed.
Big parade the day before we sailed.
Right through the middle of Sydney. Huge crowds. Felt good, up there on Daisy, complete strangers waving like they loved us.
But then I started thinking. Some of them, when they weren’t carrying on like grandparents leaving to go back to Ireland, were probably sending white feathers to blokes who didn’t deserve it.
I had a quick squiz at Dad next to me.
He and Jimmy looked like they were enjoying it heaps.
Two women were throwing flowers, great handfuls of them. Must have worked in a flower shop. Or an undertaker’s joint.
I gave them a wave.
And froze.
Behind them, face shaded by a hat, was Mum.
Of course it wasn’t her, but it was her dead-set double.
Dad saw her too. He was twisted round in the saddle, looking at her, drinking her in, when it happened. Jimmy stepped on a bunch of flowers, his foot slid and I saw a tendon go in his leg.
Dad felt it.
‘Oh no, mate,’ Dad said to Jimmy. ‘That was my fault.’
Poor Jimmy was limping.
I leant over and gave him a rub. On the way to the docks I said a prayer, which I usually only did in two-up.
Please, I said silently. Make it a quick recovery, no officers involved.
Officers got involved.
Wouldn’t let Jimmy on the boat.
‘Fair go,’ I said. ‘He’s a volunteer, like the rest of us.’
A sergeant yelled at me for mouthing off.
‘Simple pulled tendon,’ said Dad. ‘Be right before you know it. Ask any of these blokes.’
The blokes around us all nodded. The sergeant threatened to put us all on a charge.
One of the regiment vets examined Jimmy.
‘Three months before this one’s right,’ he said to the quartermaster. ‘Unfit for military duty. Sorry, trooper.’
For a sec I thought Dad was going to fight them all. But the vet took Dad aside and had a quiet word to him. When he’d finished, Dad had calmed down.
I wasn’t calm. I’d heard what could happen. In the army, if a horse was unfit, they got rid of it. What was Dad gunna do?
What he did was save Jimmy’s life.
He requested compassionate leave. Four hours.
The sergeant glared at Dad. But requests like that had to be passed on to the commanding officer, army rules.
Word came back.
Granted.
It was hard, saying goodbye to Jimmy. I knew it’d be even harder for Dad.
‘Oo-roo,
Jimmy,’ I said. ‘See you down the track, mate.’
I could tell how upset Jimmy was. He and Daisy blew air on each other for a bit, then Jimmy gave some ship’s stores on the dock a good hosing. A little something for the army to remember him by.
Dad took Jimmy to the railway station. Used all the money the army paid him for Daisy. Sent Jimmy up to a mate’s property near Walgett.
That’s the sort of bloke Dad was. If a horse does the right thing by you, he reckoned, you do the right thing by them.
‘My mate Boney does a bit of horse-breeding,’ said Dad when he got back from the station. ‘Jimmy might get lucky.’
We all grinned, but I could see how cut up Dad was.
Why didn’t I offer him Daisy and put in for a new horse myself in Egypt?
Dad wouldn’t have come at it. A bloke’s horse is his horse. Plus he knew what a handful Daisy could be if it wasn’t me on her.
After we boarded the ship, the sergeant, who was impressed by what Dad had done, bought him a beer.
‘Don’t fret, mate,’ he said to Dad. ‘Plenty of horseflesh where we’re going. Quite a lot of it still on four legs.’
Dad managed a chuckle. Which was a pretty impressive effort, considering.
Later, as we unpacked our kit for our first night on board, there was something nagging at me.
‘What did that army vet say to you? I asked Dad. ‘He calmed you down a treat.’
Dad looked like the question had caught him off balance.
‘Can’t say,’ he replied. ‘Official Secrets Act.’
I wasn’t sure if he was joking.
‘I can keep a secret,’ I said.
‘Nothing to write home about,’ said Dad. ‘Vet just reminded me that this war’s bigger than one bloke and one horse.’
I knew Dad had never told me anything except the truth my whole life.
But there was something in his voice that made me wonder if this might be a first.
I wasn’t sure whether to push it or not.
‘Righty-o,’ said Dad. ‘Young legs, top bunk. Night, Frank.’
‘Night, Dad.’
I let it go.
Had other things to think about. Joan, for a start. And wondering what it would look like when a bullet hit a bloke who wasn’t made of tin.
Loyal Creatures Page 2
