Where To From Here?

by Ursula Paul

“Thanks for everything,” Joe spoke softly as he left.

  The ‘boys’ were indeed pleased to welcome him back. Without the tragic circumstances, it was not unlike a school reunion, thought Joe. Many of the old crew were present. But, Joe noticed, many new faces and some of the old missing.

  He slept spasmodically and was showered and ready for the day when breakfast call came.

  At that time he had begun his Office. As he returned his breviary to the drawer, he knew when and if he would finish his Office for the day – or for any day for that matter – would depend on the unknown.

  However, for this particular day nothing unforeseen happened. Yet, by no means could any day be classified as ordinary. He spent most of this day in his office – so many were hungry for news of home, some needed a willing ear for their fears of different magnitude, some sought the blessing of Reconciliation, all were genuinely happy to see the return of their chaplain. As the day wore on he was called to the camp hospital. A young soldier, badly wounded, had made the request.

  Each time entering his ward, Joe invariably experienced feelings of sadness and horror. This time feelings were no different. He soon found the young soldier who had asked for him.

  After prayers of absolution and blessing, Joe continued to sit beside the young man. Together they talked – of the ferry trip across Sydney Harbour to Manly, of the grandeur of the Blue Mountains from the scenic railway, of the excitement of fronting and riding the breakers on Bondi Beach, of the country beyond the Mountains where the young man’s grandparents lived, of the new Zoo planned for the Western Plains. When the young man fell into a disturbed sleep, Joe moved around the other beds, available to all as priest and friend.

  For the first few days of his return, life was similar, yet each day different. On the third morning, he was called to Captain Brown’s office.

  “Come in. Sit down.” The stiff welcome contrasted with the usual casual greeting. “This is highly confidential, I must stress,” continued Hugh. Joe nodded.

  “As I told you before, this war is heading toward an end. We have been ordered to send a contingent, comprised of some of our highly trained men, on what could be the last stand-off of the war. A group of South’s fighters, retreating back to this base, have been cut off in a little village. We’re flying in a contingent just south of the village to help get them out. Morale is not high. Those in command agreed that a chaplain – you, in particular – would boost the spirit of the exercise. But, they insist – this is not a command. It is a request that you are free to refuse.”

  Joe smiled. “Of course I’ll go, Hugh.”

  “Thanks, Joe. I can’t give you more details right now. You’ll be briefed when the final decision is made.”

  Chapter Ten

  The final decision came within days. Along with all taking part in the mission, Joe was called to the assembly room late in the afternoon. There, they were given their brief in full and Joe was asked to give a blessing.

  As darkness fell and the last quarter of the moon endeavoured unsuccessfully to pierce the heavy clouds, the combatants silently boarded their planes.

  To Joe, the flight seemed quite short. They were soon landing without lights in a paddock.

  Silently, the men stole across the paddock and through the maze of trees beyond. Silence hung heavily. Slowly and cautiously, they progressed to the end of the village and to one particular hut, where they had been directed. There, to everyone’s relief, they found the handful of South’s patriots. Too easy, thought Joe!

  Almost at once, a child crying could be heard – at first in the distance, then gradually becoming closer. The commander gave the signal for complete silence. Joe instinctively moved forward, drawn to the child’s cry. He was immediately stopped by the commander’s emphatic signal.

  For five minutes they waited while the child’s cry drew closer. Eventually it seemed to be coming from just beyond the front door. Joe looked toward the commander who, with a slight nod of his head and eye movement signalled to a small group of his men. Whether or not he was included Joe did not even consider – a terrified child wandering on a dark night was foremost on his mind. Joe burst through the door, closely followed by the commander and a group of soldiers. Joe ran the five metres in record time, grabbed the little girl and raced back to the hut. Still silence! Once inside, Joe looked down at the little bundle in his arms. He guessed she would be no more than three or four years old. She was still crying and obviously terrified.

  With the mission safely carried out to this point, the commander expressed his anger – it was up to the chosen well-trained group to rescue this child, not a padre!

  Through the back of the hut, they dashed back to the planes. Joe followed the silent directions to be among the first to leave. The little child settled down as they fled, her screams turning to sobs. They had covered well over half the distance to the plane when turmoil began. Shouts accompanied firing from the village. Joe continued to run with his little bundle toward the planes. Under the commander’s orders, soldiers formed ranks and returned fire. Firing from both sides continued for some minutes. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, firing from the village stopped. Soon, all had returned safely to planes, taking off and returning safely to Base. Miraculously, the only injury sustained was a shoulder wound suffered by one of the soldiers.

  Why had their enemies stopped firing? How had they been so lucky? The answer came – but not until long after the war had ended. That night there had been only a small contingent of Viet Cong at that village. When they became aware of movement, they began firing.

  Return fire convinced them – wrongly – of a large size component and they withdrew.

  The hum of the plane returning to base soon lulled the little exhausted child into a light sleep. Joe looked down at the little face – the face of a Vietnamese girl, possibly not much older than three. Her dress was torn and dirty. At another time, in another life, Naomi and I could have had our child. He banished the thought as quickly as it had come. Naomi – he refused to think of her while on duty, but she was always present in his subconscious.

  The little girl was still sleeping as their plane landed back at Base. The clouds had dispersed. The light in the east ushered in a new day. What a day, Joe thought. While the group returned to barracks, Joe carried the little sleeping bundle to the hospital. The wounded soldier had already been carried there and his wound was being treated.

  “Well, Father, you do come up with surprises!” the nursing sister in charge smiled as she studied the sleeping bundle. “We have a stretcher in my office – she’ll be fine there. We’ll clean her up later.”

  Rather grudgingly, Joe handed over the little girl into the arms of the nurse.

  “I know you will worry about her,” she added. “Go back to the barracks and get some sleep. Come back later.”

  Back at barracks, Joe fell on his bunk. He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him for some time. When sleep did arrive, it was fitful. Hours later, he showered and dressed. Suddenly bottled feelings broke loose. Tears began to fall, slowly, silently. That little girl! Was her mother still alive? Was she almost hysterical in worry for the whereabouts of her little daughter? Or was she dead? And what horrors had that little girl endured…? Oh, Naomi!

  Once more he bottled his feelings. With a silent prayer, he headed for the hospital. Another nursing sister greeted him.

  “Hi, Father! Before she went off duty, Marcia told me all about last night. Your little protégé is awake. Come and see!”

  Joe experienced a pleasant surprise as he entered the office. The little girl was sitting up in bed, playing with a rag doll.

  “She made no protest in getting cleaned up. As a matter of fact, she seemed to enjoy the bath. Initial tests show she’s a healthy little girl – although she hasn’t had much to eat recently I’d guess.”

  “So what happens next?”

  “Father, don’t look so worried!”

  “Call me Joe,” he interrupted.

&
nbsp; “Okay Joe. As we both know – although no one talks about it – this war is almost over. When that happens, hopefully many of these kids will be reunited with families. For those who miss out, they will be looked after in one of the orphanages. Our little girl will go to the orphanage here for the present. After the war – hopefully she’ll be one of the lucky ones with a family looking out for her.”

  As Joe entered the room the little girl looked up, the first second in fear, and then, as though greeting a friend, smiled wanly.

  “Hi, little mate.” He spoke softly. She lifted the doll toward him.

  “Oh, and hello to your friend, too.” He smiled as he patted the doll.

  “What next?” he asked the nursing sister.

  “Once we’re sure she’s quite healthy, she’ll go to the orphanage here.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Joe. “I’ve never heard of the orphanage. Whereabouts?”

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day after appropriate clearances, Joe was driven to the orphanage, an old rambling building on a country road several miles out of the city. Joe was pleased to notice that the spacious grounds were neatly kept.

  As he rang the front door bell, the thought came to him for the first time – what if they don’t speak English?

  The door was opened by a smiling middle-aged nun.

  “Hello Sister. I’m Father Joe, a chaplain at the Base.”

  “Welcome, Father.” Joe breathed a silent prayer. Thank God, she speaks English!

  “I’ve come about a little girl.” He proceeded to give her the main details.

  “Come in, Father. I’m Sister Ambrosia. It’s our prioress you need to see – Sister Miguel. I’ll get her for you.”

  A tall, much younger, nun soon joined him.

  “Sister Miguel,” she smiled as she extended her hand. “Sister Ambrosia has told me the story of the little girl. We are full to brimming but we never turn anyone away. Of course we will look after her. What is her name?”

  “I have no idea,” Joe answered.

  “If she has been separated from her family, more than likely she will not know her name. What do you call her?”

  Joe thought. “Actually I don’t give her a name – just little mate!”

  “What is your mother’s name?”

  “Mary.”

  “Then Mary she’ll be with us. Come now and I’ll show you around.”

  He was first taken to the dining hall where – he guessed about one hundred – boys and girls aged – again he guessed from three years to teenage – were happily and noisily enjoying a sparse meal. She’ll settle in here for the present, Joe thought, as he looked around. For the future – no, we can’t go there right now, he soon told himself.

  Sister Miguel then led Joe through an open walkway to the next building. How much longer can that stay erect, thought Joe, as they entered.

  “Sister, how much longer can this building remain standing?” He voiced his thoughts.

  “I know,” she answered. “But we have nothing else. And who is going to help us? Our congregation has no money. Sometimes we have to beg for the sparse food we have. But you know – Jesus said ‘suffer the little children…’”

  “Yes, Sister. I agree. But we have to be practical. This building will not last much longer.”

  “We can only live in the present, Father. And the present is what we have now – this.” She gesticulated toward the building. “Come in and see it for yourself.”

  The small entrance foyer led into what appeared to be a massive shed. Just like the shearing shed at home, thought Joe. He soon came back to earth as he moved into the room, a massive room crowded with beds.

  “Is this the only sleeping quarter?” Joe asked in amazement.

  “Yes,” she answered with a smile. “It’s all we have. The curtained off areas each end are Sisters’ sleeping quarters. There are six of us.” Joe looked, again in amazement, at the two small areas she had indicated.

  “How do you manage so much with so few?” Joe asked, noting the cleanliness of the area.

  “We have great help from the villagers,” she answered. “Without that, it would be humanly impossible to keep going.”

  They moved through the large sleeping area into a small room beyond, in which cupboards were stacked on both sides.

  “Clothes, towels, sheets, anything given to us… She shrugged in answering the unspoken question.

  Through a door they were on another walkway to what turned out to be the bath/shower/toilet block, at the back of which was a large furnace which, Joe guessed, provided the luxury of occasional hot water.

  “Schooling has to be in the open,” she added.

  “How can you give care to these kids and look after them in conditions like this? The kids are clean, the place is clean. But no one should be expected to do so much with so little.”

  “I cannot answer that, Father. I know this is primitive, but without it most of these kids would be dead, starving or worse!”

  “And what about you and your Sisters,” Joe asked. “Don’t you ever think what’s the point or want to leave?”

  “Many times,” she smiled. “But we still stay – and hope for a better future for these children.”

  On returning to the Base, Joe headed for the hospital.

  “You’re becoming part of the place,” the sister smiled at him.

  “Good or bad?” he laughed.

  After arrangements were finalized for Mary’s move to the orphanage the next day, the nurse asked Joe, “Would you like to see Mary before you go?”

  “Just a look,” he answered.

  From the door he noticed she was still playing with the doll, was talking to it, smiling at it.

  “She’ll be okay,” the nurse assured Joe. “She’s quite a social little girl. And yes – I can feel your question – she can keep the doll!”

  Joe returned to his quarters, exhausted, but trying to find answers to questions that refused to go away.

  Chapter Twelve

  During the next few weeks, more wounded were hospitalized, some never to return home.

  When time permitted, Joe drove to the orphanage. To his delight, Mary had settled in well.

  “She’s a leader,” Sister had noted. “Full of life and seems quite happy here.”

  As soon as she spotted him, Mary ran over and took Joe’s hand.

  “Hello Father,” she smiled up at him on his second visit.

  “And hello Mary,” he smiled back. “You are a good student!”

  She nodded, not understanding, but sensing she had pleased this big man who was her friend.

  Suddenly the war was over. Yet neither side celebrated. But, Joe knew, the joy of returning home was the prevalent feeling of some, while, for others, from now on life would always be a battle.

  Now or never, Joe thought, as he headed for Hugh’s office. To his relief, Hugh was there.

  “It’s all over, Joe. Come in. I was just going to join the boys. The official part will come later. Come and join us for a drink.”

  “Love to Hugh. But first… I have a sort of problem.”

  “Sit down, Joe. How can I help?”

  “Not too sure,” Joe answered. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for some weeks. It’s the orphanage.”

  Hugh listened intently as Joe told of his experience with the Orphanage, and his worry for the future of Mary and the other children, about which Hugh already guessed. Finally, Joe confided the plan that had been gradually growing in his mind.

  “Glory be, Joe! What a plan!”

  “Is it feasible?” Joe asked.

  “Perhaps, and only just.” Hugh frowned. “Look, Joe, the boys are celebrating in the mess. Let’s join them. Then come back here and we’ll throw around a few ideas.”

  The mess was full. Commissioned officers mingled with privates. The mood was quietly celebratory. The joy of war over and returning home was tinged with many other factors – friends never returning, different wars sti
ll waging in many minds, many personal griefs and many unanswered questions.

  When time came to return to barracks, Hugh suggested that Joe join him back in his office. Once there, Hugh wasted no time in returning to Joe’s plan.

  “With the little time I’ve had to think it over, these are just a few ideas. Okay, I agree with you – we bear some of the blame for what has happened to many kids in this war. And yes, something needs to be done about the present state of the Orphanage. The boys need to return home now. But perhaps – and I stress perhaps – we could round up a group – for what I’m not sure! This group would need some expertise apart from willing helpers. I’d have to look through records. And, of course, they would have to agree. Okay, I think we would have that part covered with enough healthy workers, including those with building expertise. Then comes the problem. Where do the materials needed come from? And who would pay for these materials? It’s a terrific idea, Joe. But, from a practical point of view, I think it can only be that – a terrific idea.”

  Heading out into waters he had not even explored, Joe answered, “Hugh, you get us the right workers, I’ll find the materials.”

  Hugh looked at him in amazement, “Joe, are you a magician? Or are you mad? Even if all the material is available and our boys are agreeable, where are the funds coming from?”

  “You find me the workers, and I’ll find the funds.”

  Back in his room, Joe prayed, prayed for what seemed impossible. His prayer ended with, ‘God, these kids need us. And we need You. We ask Your help.’ Then to himself, okay Joe, you can’t expect a miracle unless you do your bit too.

  And then, as often happened, Naomi’s face floated across his mind. “Oh, Nae,” he whispered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Days turned to weeks as he farewelled troops. At first the cargo was of wounded, shattered souls, returning home in different degrees of mind and body. As weeks progressed, the healthy also returned, with anticipated joy of going home to enjoy life once again with family and friends.