The Fighting Stingrays

by Simon Mitchell

  ‘Back to bed, you,’ said Sister Clark. ‘You’re still recovering, remember?’

  ‘Masa!’ mumbled Charlie. ‘You have to run.’ But the words came out only half-formed.

  Charlie’s eyes closed and the warm ocean of sleep embraced him again.

  The next time Charlie woke up, he had no idea whether he had been asleep for an hour or an entire week. But the pain in his head had died down a bit and, once his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he saw a familiar figure tiptoeing into the room.

  ‘You’re up,’ Alf said, admiring the bandages around Charlie’s head. ‘You look like an Egyptian mummy.’ Charlie smiled weakly. ‘Better a mummy than a corpse,’ he said.

  ‘You can say that again,’ said Alf. He thrust a bent piece of metal towards Charlie. ‘Look – a real Japanese bomb tailfin. One of the soldiers let me have it.’

  ‘How nice,’ muttered Charlie. He didn’t want to see any bombs right now.

  ‘Did you bring her?’ said a voice to Charlie’s right. He turned to see Masa in the next bed sitting up against a stack of pillows and still wearing the baggy hospital gown.

  ‘Course I did,’ said Alf. He reached into his shorts pocket and pulled out Judy. Masa leapt off the bed and grabbed his pet, cradling her to his cheek as she licked his face with delight.

  Alf frowned. ‘Just don’t let the nurse see, or she’ll have my guts for garters.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Masa, returning to bed with his beloved rat.

  ‘Alf,’ said Charlie. ‘Do you reckon you can find another boat? You need to get Masa away from here.’ Alf scratched his head and dug something out of his ear. He looked at Masa. ‘Do you want to tell him or should I?’ he asked.

  Masa put Judy down on his lap. ‘I’m going to go to the internment camp,’ he mumbled.

  ‘What?’ spluttered Charlie.

  Masa slipped a hand under his pillow and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. ‘I got a letter from Kiyoko.’

  ‘Your cousin? How?’

  ‘It arrived a few weeks ago. When I never turned up on the ship down south Kiyoko thought I must still be on TI, so she sent it to the post office here. One of the army blokes running the place brought it down to me the other day.’

  ‘What’s she say?’

  ‘She reckons the camp food is pretty good, and they show films sometimes and some of the other Japanese people in there are part of a circus. One of them can climb a ladder on his head.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ scoffed Alf.

  Masa ignored him. ‘And she says she misses me,’ he said. ‘Auntie Reiko and Uncle Jiro do too. And Uncle Jiro has given up the grog. Only because there’s no grog allowed, mind you, but Kiyoko reckons he’s much better now. He’s even been elected leader of their hut.’

  That was good news at least – Masa’s rellies might actually be bearable now that Uncle Jiro had stopped drinking.

  ‘So maybe the camp won’t be too bad after all,’ Masa continued. But his shoulders were hunched, and his voice was flat and toneless.

  ‘But you’ll be a prisoner,’ said Charlie.

  Masa exhaled slowly. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘But this war might go on for years, and I can’t spend years running and hiding.’

  Charlie clenched his fists weakly under the starched hospital bedsheets. He hated to think that after all they’d been through, Masa was giving up.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a way to keep you safe.’ Masa shrugged. ‘There’s no point,’ he said. ‘They’d get me eventually. And those three idiots are the only family I have left now. Apart from you lot, of course.’

  Charlie had never thought of the Fighting Stingrays as a family before. ‘Can we send you letters?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course,’ said Masa. ‘I’ll write you back every week, I promise. Least I can do after you risked your necks to get me that medicine.’

  ‘Bah, you’d have done the same for us,’ Charlie said.

  Masa grinned. ‘True,’ he said.

  Alf cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to live with my brother in Sydney.’

  ‘He’s all right then?’ said Charlie.

  Alf nodded. ‘I got to talk to him over the military radio and everything. He’s alive, but he got hurt when they bombed Darwin so he’s been discharged from the air force. He’s got a job at an ammo factory.’

  So, the three of them were going their separate ways. An emptiness spread out from Charlie’s chest. ‘That’s great news, Alf,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘But what about Captain Maggots? He’s not going to let us leave. He’ll want to hang me for treason.’

  Alf and Masa shared a smirk. ‘Well –’ began Alf. Sister Clark popped her head around the corner of the room. An avalanche of pillows fell from Masa’s bed as he stashed Judy under the sheet.

  ‘More visitors, Charlie,’ said Sister Clark. ‘You’re more popular than Clark Gable today, I swear.’

  The visitors were Bill and Ern. Charlie had never seen Bill in anything except the loose shorts he wore on the lugger, but now he was decked out in a neatly pressed khaki shirt and shorts, leather boots and a slouch hat. Ern was in army uniform as well, his socks pulled up so high they nearly met the bottom of his shorts. Both men were carrying their rifles and steel helmets, and Ern was now sporting a V-shaped gold bar on each sleeve.

  ‘It’s really you!’ said Bill, beaming at Charlie. ‘When Ern told me you fellas had been hiding out in the Strait this whole time, I thought he must have rocks in his head.’

  ‘Am I going to be hanged?’ asked Charlie.

  Ern snorted. ‘Hanged? The last time I checked, helping out a mate wasn’t a crime. Alf filled us in on everything you three have been up to, and the whole island’s talking about it. Getting shipwrecked, facing down subs, dropping your pants at the enemy.’ He chuckled. ‘What on earth possessed you to do that?’

  ‘It was Alf ’s idea,’ said Masa.

  Alf piped up. ‘You know how they call Japan the land of the rising sun? Well I reckon we should call Australia the land of the big full moon.’

  Everybody laughed at that one.

  ‘In any case,’ said Ern, ‘your full moons distracted the pilot enough for our fighters to take him out. He got away in the end, but you stopped him from doing any more damage. You boys showed real bravery there – a fair bit of stupidity, yes, but plenty of bravery. You’ll make bloody good soldiers one day.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ said Alf, fingering the piece of bomb casing.

  ‘Will they let me join up?’ said Masa.

  Ern and Bill glanced at each other. ‘Maybe one day, mate,’ said Bill.

  ‘What about you, Charlie?’ asked Ern. He held up his rifle. ‘Keen to get your hands on one of these in a few years?’

  ‘No chance,’ said Charlie. ‘War isn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be.’

  Ern opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and gazed out of the window for a few seconds. ‘No, mate,’ he said finally. ‘It’s not.’

  Charlie remembered what they had been talking about before Bill and Ern came in. ‘Captain Maddox is a crook!’ he said. ‘He’s been stealing anything he can from our houses and shipping it south to be sold.’

  Ern sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. ‘We know,’ he said. ‘A bunch of us have known about it for a while. I reported it to the bosses, but they just told me to mind my own business.’

  Bill shook his head. ‘We reckon a lot of them are in on it too,’ he said.

  ‘War’s a funny thing,’ said Ern, rubbing his chin.

  ‘So Maggots is going to get away with it?’ asked Charlie.

  Bill smiled broadly. ‘Not quite,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,’ said Alf. ‘The night after the air raid, after the nurses kicked me out of here, I spotted Maggots creeping around in the dark loading all sorts of things into a lugger. I told Ern, and it turns out he’d filled it with all the stuff he pinched and was planning to sail it down south.’


  ‘Maddox thought it was all over for TI when the bombs started dropping,’ said Bill. ‘He decided he’d try and get out when he could, with whatever he could.’

  Ern nodded. ‘The bosses might look the other way when men souvenir a few bits and pieces, but desertion is a very serious offence. And when Alf told the Fort Commander about Maddox trying to kill you – well, let’s just say nobody will be seeing the captain for a very long time.’

  ‘He’s gone?’ asked Charlie.

  Ern grinned. ‘Got two years in the slammer. His days of terrorising the troops are over.’

  ‘He had a big purple lump on his head that looked pretty nasty as well,’ said Bill. ‘You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?’

  Charlie lifted his hands up in a gesture of mock innocence.

  ‘Didn’t think so,’ said Bill with a wink.

  Sister Clark’s head appeared in the doorway. ‘Charlie’s had plenty of excitement for one day. Everybody out.’ She glared at Masa. ‘Including the furry one.’

  ‘Right-o,’ said Ern. ‘I’ve got a shift starting anyway.’ He gave Charlie a friendly punch in the shoulder on his way out.

  Bill snapped up straight to salute Charlie. ‘See you later, hero,’ he said, turning on his polished heels and strutting out the door.

  Alf took Judy back from Masa and tucked her gently in his pocket. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow,’ he said before disappearing through the doorway.

  Charlie was suddenly overwhelmed by tiredness. He closed his eyes and settled back into the lumpy hospital pillows, struggling to process everything he’d just heard.

  The Fighting Stingrays hadn’t saved Masa from internment, but they had helped put Captain Maddox in the clink. So maybe the past few months hadn’t been for nothing after all?

  Charlie fell asleep with a smile on his face.

  A few days later, the Fighting Stingrays boarded the Wandana with the last few dozen civilians on Thursday Island. It wasn’t safe for any of them to stay now – as if the first air raid hadn’t given everyone enough of a fright, another formation of Zeros had flown over while Charlie was recovering in hospital.

  The wireless was reporting that huge numbers of American troops had arrived in Brisbane, but the latest news out of Darwin, New Guinea and the Philippines made it clear that the Japanese still had the upper hand. Charlie hoped that Ern, Bill, Iona, Peo and the others left in the Torres Strait were going

  to be all right.

  Masa was still officially recovering from malaria, but he was more or less back to normal, introducing Judy to the weary-looking crew as soon as he got on board, and asking them what the ship’s cook might be making for lunch. Alf was loaded down with a wooden boxful of twisted metal, cartridge cases, spent bullets and even a dented steel helmet. ‘The blokes up at Links Camp were happy to give it to me,’ he crowed. ‘I didn’t have to find any of it myself.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ said Charlie. He only had a small bandage wrapped around his head now. The throbbing in his skull had completely vanished, but the big cut across his forehead was going to leave an impressive scar.

  Charlie fingered the telegram in his pocket that Ern had brought down from the signals group the night before. Charlie had read it dozens of times, but he still didn’t quite know how to feel.

  DEAR CHARLIE. WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE HOW DELIGHTED YOUR MOTHER AND I ARE TO HEAR THAT YOU ARE ALIVE AND WELL. WE HAD ALL BUT GIVEN UP HOPE AND THE THOUGHT THAT WE HAD LOST ANOTHER SON WAS TOO MUCH TO BEAR. WE ARE ALL GREATLY LOOKING FORWARD TO YOU JOINING US HERE IN BRISBANE. OUR LOVE AND PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU. DAD.

  Charlie’s dad had never said anything like that before, and it was even stranger coming through in the funny, clipped language of a telegram. Still, it would have cost his dad a fortune to send a message that long, so he must have really wanted Charlie to hear it. Charlie was starting to understand why Masa would rather go into an internment camp with his mad rellies than keep on running. Charlie’s parents were far from perfect, but with the war on Australia’s doorstep, everyone needed to hold on to whatever family they had.

  A handful of soldiers were also transferring down south, and one of them – Staff Sergeant Stuart – had been given the job of escorting Masa as far as Brisbane. ‘I’m going to stow my kitbag,’ Mr Stuart said, as the ship pulled away from the dock. ‘Can I trust you boys to be on board when I come back? I heard what happened last time, Charlie.’

  Charlie smiled. ‘We’ll be here, Mr Stuart,’ he said. ‘My days of jumping ship are over.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Mr Stuart. ‘But I’ll be keeping an eye on you three over the next few days, just in case.’

  ‘Fair enough, sir,’ said Alf.

  The staff sergeant disappeared inside the ship, leaving Charlie, Masa and Alf alone at the stern. They leaned on the railing, gazing back at the low, tree-covered hills receding into the distance as the Wandana steamed away from Thursday Island. Charlie’s chest ached as he spotted their old school building up on a rise – it was strange to think that the place he’d lived his entire life was now nothing but a base for the military.

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever see it again?’ said Masa.

  ‘What, TI?’ said Alf. ‘Yeah – as soon as the war’s over everyone’ll be back.’

  ‘Course we will,’ said Charlie, even though he wasn’t sure he believed it. ‘The harbour will be full of pearling luggers again one day.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Masa. ‘Sister Clark told me they won’t be making buttons out of pearl shell much longer. She reckons they’re starting to use that plastic stuff.’

  Alf snorted. ‘That’ll never catch on.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Masa. ‘I bet they’ll never let us Japanese back on TI.’

  ‘I dunno about that,’ said Charlie. ‘The whole country might be speaking Japanese by the time this is finished.’

  The three of them considered this silently for a few moments. How long would it be before the real invasion began? And did Australia have any chance of resisting it, even with the Americans helping out?

  ‘Let’s make a pact,’ said Charlie. ‘No matter where we are when this war is finally over, we’ll all come back to the Strait, even if we are speaking Japanese. We’ll go camping on Gecko Island – the trees might have grown back by then, and we can rebuild Old Nick’s shelter, and fish and swim and watch the dugongs all day long.’

  ‘What if the war goes for a long time?’ said Masa.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if it’s five years or ten years or fifty years,’ said Charlie.

  Alf chuckled. ‘Fifty years! We’ll have grey hair and beards down to our ankles by then.’

  ‘Judy could make a nest in mine,’ said Masa, thoughtfully.

  As Thursday Island slipped out of sight, Charlie spun around to face his two friends. ‘We can’t let this blasted war split up the Fighting Stingrays forever.’

  Alf and Masa nodded slowly.

  ‘Spot on,’ said Alf.

  ‘Too right,’ said Masa.

  Charlie held out his hand. ‘Then let’s shake on it.’

  The History of Thursday Island

  My grandmother was born on Thursday Island (TI) in 1924 and – apart from a stint at a boarding school near Toowoomba – lived there until the island was evacuated in 1942. Her father and uncle ran the Wanetta Pearling Company, one of the many pearl shell companies that formed the basis of the island’s economy.

  But my relatives were far from the first people to harvest the rich resources of the seas around TI. The Kaurareg people are the traditional owners of TI (Waiben) and the surrounding group of islands. For thousands of years, the Kaurareg fished, harvested bush tucker and hunted turtle and dugong in the lower western part of the Torres Strait. They traded with Aboriginal groups on Cape York, as well as Torres Strait Islander people living throughout the Strait.

  Although the Kaurareg are an Aboriginal group, they share a traditional language, Kala Lagaw Ya, with the Torres Strait Islanders of the
western and central islands, which stretch from the area around TI to Saibai, only a few kilometres from the coast of Papua New Guinea. People from the eastern islands have their own language, Meriam Mir. Nowadays, most Torres Strait Islanders speak Torres Strait Creole, a mixture of English and traditional languages.

  In the late nineteenth century, the Queensland Government realised the Torres Strait was becoming very important for shipping, and in 1877 they established a permanent settlement on Thursday Island. TI quickly became the centre of the Torres Strait’s pearl-shell industry, with many companies basing themselves on the island. Pearl shell – the beautiful silvery shell found inside certain species of oysters – was used to make buttons, jewellery, combs and inlays for furniture, and was in huge demand all over the world.

  Diving for pearl shell was incredibly dangerous work, and many divers died. Most pearling firms employed foreign divers from poor countries, who were willing to risk their lives for a lot less money than white Australian workers. The vast majority of pearl-shell divers on TI came from Japan and lived in an area of the island known as ‘Japtown’ or ‘Yokohama’. While most divers worked on TI for a few years and then returned to Japan, some settled permanently on the island, marrying local residents or Australian-born Japanese women and going on to raise their children on TI.

  In 1901, Australia passed the Immigration Restriction Act, otherwise known as the White Australia Policy. The law essentially banned non-Europeans from living and working in Australia. But, recognising that few white men were willing to do the dangerous work of collecting pearl shell, the government more or less exempted the pearling industry from the White Australia Policy.

  That meant Thursday Island was a surprisingly multicultural place during the first half of the twentieth century. As well as Europeans and Japanese, the island was home to Indians, Cingalese (Sri Lankans), Malays, Filipinos, Chinese and people from a variety of other cultures. However, there was a strict racial hierarchy, with white Australians at the top and Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people at the bottom.