The Forgotten Pearl

by Belinda Murrell

  Poppy was too tired to talk as she mounted Sheba and rode her towards the homestead.

  ‘All right, Midget?’ asked Jack as he caught up to her, a weary smile across his dusty face.

  She smiled and nodded, pushing the sticky strands of hair out of her eyes. ‘It was fun.’

  ‘You did well,’ Jack offered with a cheeky grin, ‘for a town girl! You’ll feel better after a swim. We’ll go down to the creek for a dip after lunch.’

  Back at the homestead, the lawn had been turned into a bazaar by Ali the cameleer. Doctor Trehearne’s patients queued patiently to see him and then celebrated their cures by browsing among Ali’s piles of colourful merchandise, giving the homestead a festival air. The camels, meanwhile, lay by the fence chewing the cud.

  Jack’s mother, Mrs Shanahan, had spent the morning baking and cooking to feed the crowds of people from their own station, as well as the neighbours who had dropped by from the nearby stations – some as far as a hundred kilometres away. The Aboriginal women fluttered like bowerbirds among the bolts of cloth and household wares, their dark-skinned children running and hiding among the mounds of goods with squeals of excitement.

  Poppy was not tempted to browse. She was exhausted after the early start, the excitement and the hard, dusty work of the muster in the intense Northern Territory heat. Plus, she had the familiar proximity to Darwin’s best stores and suppliers.

  After splashing their faces and hands under the water tank tap, the Shanahans and Trehearnes ate at a table set on the verandah. There were Jack, his parents and his two older brothers, Danny and Harry. Despite her exhaustion, Poppy was hungry.

  Mrs Shanahan had baked a butt of home-grown beef with mustard, potatoes and pumpkin, served with a salad of tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce from the vegetable gardens and freshly baked bread. Another butt of beef had been served in the garden with bread and vegetables for the visitors.

  Jack poured Poppy a large glass of water with lemon and mint. ‘This tastes a lot better than the water bottle, Midget.’

  The promised trip to the creek was delayed further when Doctor Trehearne begged for help in the surgery to examine the Aboriginal children, many of whom had nasty eye infections from the flies, heat and dust. Poppy’s job was to chat to the children and keep them occupied while her father cleaned and anointed the infections. Poppy created a puppet out of one of Jack’s socks, which she used to entertain some of the anxious children.

  ‘Got you! ’ squealed Poppy, tickling a child with the sock puppet. ‘I’m going to eat you up!’

  ‘No,’ giggled the young boy, swiping away the sock puppet. ‘You can’t hurt me!’

  Like the people of the Mediterranean, those in the Top End often rested through the hottest hours of the day, from midday to three o’clock. The patients drifted away, the cameleer closed up shop and the men found a place to rest in the shade of the verandah or the surrounding outbuildings. Poppy, who rarely rested throughout the day, felt her eyelids and limbs growing heavy. She found a sofa in the corner of the surgery and closed her eyes, just for a moment.

  When she woke, her father had finished for the day. Ali had moved on to camp in the scrub, on his way to the next station. Jack and the other stockmen had groomed and turned out all the horses. The Aboriginal stockmen, their wives and children had gathered their new purchases and drifted back to their own huts and cottages.

  It was late afternoon when Jack poked his head through the door to say that he and some of the stockmen were heading down to the creek for a swim. Doctor Trehearne and Jack’s parents eagerly agreed to join them. One of the stockmen harnessed up the draughthorse to the dray to carry people, towels and food down to the creek.

  The Shanahans were blessed with a shallow, sandy swimming hole that was generally safe from dangerous saltwater crocodiles. The smaller, freshwater crocodiles were more timid and often hid from human interlopers. During the dry season, the creek leading to the waterhole evaporated, so it was impossable for the larger beasts to reach them from downstream. In addition, the waterhole was fed by a hot spring from deep underground. This water mingled with the icy water of the creek to form a bubbling warm bathing place. The bathers could then choose the perfect temperature to wallow in – boiling hot, warm, tepid or cold, depending on where they sat.

  It was nearly dusk when the dray pulled up in a clearing near the swimming hole. Poppy ignored thoughts of freshwater crocs, snakes and bandicoots to jog down to the swimming hole through the tall paperbarks and shady river pandanus. The adults followed at a more leisurely pace, towels slung over their shoulders.

  Poppy reached the creek first, throwing her towel and dress over a log and sinking luxuriously into the water, the chattering adults approaching in the distance. She sank under the water to block out the noise, lying flat on the pale sand, only her face sticking out from the warm water. The sky arched overhead, awash with reds, pinks, yellows, rose, peach and violet.

  Flocks of yellow-and-white cockatoos screeched and swooped down to drink from the creek. A lone wedge-tailed eagle soared high in the sky. Tiny fish nibbled her toes. Poppy felt like she was the only person in the world, surrounded by this vibrant natural beauty.

  A loud splash woke Poppy from her reverie. It was Jack, dive-bombing into the pool, spraying her and the birds with a shower of tepid water. The cockatoos swooped away with an indignant screech.

  ‘It’s too hot here, Midget,’ complained Jack. ‘Come downstream a little where it’s cooler. It’s more refreshing.’

  Poppy groaned lazily but obeyed, crocodile-walking down to where the water was colder, raising goosebumps all over her arms. The adults and Jack’s brothers stayed higher where the water was warm as a bath. Jack lay back, half-submerged, like a log.

  ‘Look up,’ he ordered. ‘Keep your head under water so you can’t hear anything.’

  Poppy obeyed, staring into the vast, wide sky. The horizon had dimmed from crimson to mauve. The dome overhead was a deep purple, with the odd spangle of silver stars gleaming in the velvet. Poppy felt like she was floating in a peaceful, innocent vacuum.

  Soon the adults drifted down to the cooler water. Finally, as it grew truly dark, Mrs Shanahan urged Jack and Poppy to dry off and help build a campfire. Jack’s brothers had already collected and stacked a pile of firewood, so Jack soon had the fire roaring, sending sparks flying into the air and the silvery tree branches arching overhead.

  Mr Shanahan and Doctor Trehearne sat back, chatting about old acquaintances and news of the war.

  When the flames died down and the coals were red hot, Mrs Shanahan and Poppy mixed flour, salt and water in a large bowl to make a sticky dough. This was then shaped into four large loaves of damper that were buried directly in the hot coals to bake for half an hour.

  When the damper was nearly ready, Jack cooked steaks over a hotplate, which they ate with mustard, fried onions and slices of hot damper.

  ‘That was just delicious, thanks, Mrs Shanahan.’ Poppy sat back, contented.

  The billy can of water boiled and Jack threw in a handful of tea leaves. He then took the billy away from the shadowy figures seated around the fire and swung it over his head quickly in big circles three times. Poppy couldn’t believe that the scalding water didn’t pour over him. Mrs Shanahan and Jack passed around enamel mugs of black tea, which they drank with sugar or condensed milk. It was sweet and hot and heartwarming.

  At last, it was time to pack up the cups and cookware, pour sand over the embers of the fire and climb onto the dray for the slow ride back to the homestead. It was the perfect end to a gorgeous day.

  6

  Pearl Harbor

  8 December 1941

  Poppy and Bryony were sitting at the dining room table, working on their lessons, when Cecilia ran into the room, her face white with fear.

  ‘Girls, come quickly,’ she ord
ered. ‘There’s just been an announcement on the radio. Japan has launched a surprise attack on Malaya, Thailand and the American naval base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii.’

  The girls followed their mother into the sitting room. Their father was there standing by the radio, listening intently.

  ‘We repeat, the White House in Washington has announced a Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor this morning . . .’ the radio crackled. The announcer’s voice was urgent.

  ‘It’s happened,’ said Mark, turning the radio down. He sat down heavily. ‘This is a disaster – now we are fighting a war on two fronts. Australia may be in real danger; most of our troops are in Europe and we can’t depend on Britain to defend us. They have their hands full with the Germans.’

  ‘But surely Australia is too vast for the Japanese to invade,’ objected Cecilia.

  ‘It’s certainly too vast for us to defend properly,’ replied Mark. ‘Only time will tell what the Japanese plan to do.’

  Later that afternoon, Poppy, Maude and Honey wandered down Cavenagh Street on their way home. Tantalising, exotic scents wafted from the Chinese cafes and stores.

  Poppy wasn’t sure if she was imagining it but there seemed to be an ominous energy in the air. Housewives huddled in groups, whispering about the Japanese attacks. Soldiers seemed to hurry with a sense of purpose, instead of their usual languorous swagger. A messenger boy raced past on a bicycle, jingling his bell and dodging the traffic.

  The sky boiled with menacing, grey clouds. Thunder clapped on the horizon. The air was heavy with impending rain.

  A truck roared down the street, loaded with uniformed soldiers, and pulled up near the girls, right outside the primary school. The soldiers leapt down, their bayonets at the ready, and marched through the school gate.

  ‘What are soldiers doing at the school?’ asked Poppy in disbelief. ‘And why are they armed with bayonets?’

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ replied Maude. ‘Perhaps there’s been some kind of trouble?’

  Poppy and Maude hurried over towards the school fence to get a closer view.

  The soldiers marched up the stairs of Darwin school and into one of the central classrooms, their rifles at the ready. Poppy and Maude could hear the raised voices from the children inside.

  A few moments later, the soldiers came back out onto the verandah, leading a small group of frightened children huddled between them.

  Poppy and Maude leant over the fence. As the soldiers marched down the stairs, Poppy realised that all the children were Japanese, aged between five and twelve. One of the smallest saw Poppy and turned towards her, terror written on her face.

  ‘Poppy!’ she called desperately, holding out her hands.

  ‘Shinju?’ replied Poppy. ‘That’s Shinju.’

  Teachers and students in a range of nationalities had crowded onto the verandah, watching silently as the Japanese children were taken away.

  Poppy ran towards the soldiers. She suddenly recognised one of them as Bryony’s beau, George.

  ‘George,’ Poppy called. ‘What are you doing? Where are you taking them?’

  George glanced at Poppy and shook his head warningly. Shinju flung herself at Poppy, tears pouring down her face.

  ‘Poppy!’ cried Shinju again. ‘Help me! I don’t want to go with them. I want my mama.’

  George put his hand gently on Shinju’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Poppy.’

  ‘That’s Shinju,’ Poppy tried to explain. ‘She’s my friend. She’s just a child.’

  ‘They’re Japanese,’ George explained, urging Shinju forward towards the truck. ‘Our orders are that all Japanese men, women and children are to be detained and interned as prisoners-of-war.’

  ‘But that’s not fair,’ insisted Poppy, running along beside him, trying to grab Shinju’s hand. ‘Shinju didn’t do anything wrong. She was born here in Darwin. She’s the fourth generation of her family to live in Australia.’

  George stopped for a moment, and smiled sympathetically at Poppy. ‘Poppy, there’s nothing you can do. The adults have already been taken into custody. She’ll be with her family. Today the Prime Minister has declared war on Japan, and all Japanese people must be interned for the national safety. The Japanese pearlers have been in a prime position to spy for their country for years. They know this coastline better than anyone. Who knows what information they may have given their Emperor about our defences?’

  Poppy shook her head vehemently. She couldn’t believe that Mrs Murata and her family were spies.

  Poppy squatted down beside Shinju and hugged the child while she sobbed.

  ‘Shinju, this man says he is going to take you to your mother and grandmother,’ explained Poppy calmly. ‘Everything will be all right. It must be a mistake; they’ll let you go home soon.’

  George put his hand on Poppy’s shoulder. ‘You and your friend better run along home, Poppy. Give my regards to your sister and your parents.’

  Poppy shook off his hand, feelings of resentment burning inside her. Maude took Poppy’s elbow and pulled her away gently.

  ‘Sayonara, Poppy,’ whispered Shinju.

  ‘Sayonara, Shinju-chan,’ replied Poppy.

  George frowned at Poppy, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘I wouldn’t be speaking Japanese if I were you, Poppy. I don’t think you understand – we are now at war, and they are our enemies. You don’t want anyone thinking you’re on their side.’

  Poppy looked at George helplessly. She could feel tears prickling her eyelids. What would become of Shinju, Mrs Murata, Masuko and Oshiro?

  ‘Come on, Poppy,’ whispered Maude gently. ‘Let’s go home. There’s nothing we can do.’

  Poppy began to follow Maude, then she turned and watched the group of Japanese children clamber onto the truck. She held her hand up in a salute to Shinju, and held it there until the truckload of children and soldiers disappeared around the corner.

  ‘Let’s go and check the Murata house,’ suggested Poppy. ‘Maybe someone’s there. Maybe we can find out what’s going on.’

  Maude nodded in agreement. The girls ran the few blocks to the Murata’s house, which was back near the pearling fleet anchorage. It was ominously quiet. The verandah floorboards creaked as they tiptoed up the stairs. The front door stood wide open.

  ‘Mrs Murata?’ called Maude, poking her head around the doorjamb.

  ‘Murata-san?’ called Poppy. ‘Is anybody home?’

  There was nothing but silence. Poppy slipped off her shoes and stepped inside the living room. Everything looked much like it had the day the girls had come to tea and dressed as Japanese princesses, except that one of Mrs Murata’s precious teacups had smashed on the floor. On the table stood the other cups and the teapot. Poppy felt the pot; it was still warm.

  ‘Murata-san?’ called Poppy again, knocking on the door to the other room. There was obviously no one there, but there were signs of hurried packing – clothes spilling out of a chest, a basket overturned, papers dropped on the floor.

  ‘Let’s go, Poppy,’ suggested Maude. ‘There’s no one here. George must have been right; they’ve all been taken away.’

  Poppy smeared a hand across her stinging eyes. She turned and headed out the front door. Then she paused and ran back, picking up the teapot and the remaining cups, cradling them carefully in her hands.

  ‘It belonged to Mrs Murata’s great-grandmother and is very valuable to her,’ explained Poppy. ‘I’ll keep it safe for her until she comes back.’

  Maude looked around the house at all the other belongings that the Muratas had to leave behind. She carefully closed and locked the front door.

  That evening, Mark arrived home late from the hospital. Cecilia and the two girls were gathered in the sitting room, knitting squares to make rugs for soldiers, nervously listening to the radio for fresh news.
Their cups of tea sat cold and forgotten on the side table. As Mark entered the room, Cecilia shushed him with her hand.

  Prime Minister Curtin was making a broadcast to the nation: ‘Men and women of Australia, we are at war with Japan . . . The leaders in Tokyo have ignored the convention of a formal declaration of war and struck like an assassin in the night.’ The Prime Minister’s voice boomed out ominously into the room.

  Poppy twisted her pearl teardrop between her fingers. Bryony chewed on the quick of a fingernail.

  ‘These wanton killings will be followed by attacks on the Netherlands, East Indies, on the Commonwealth of Australia, on the dominion of New Zealand, if Japan can get its brutal way . . .’

  Mark sat down in his armchair, his hands over his eyes. Cecilia sat with her legs crossed, jiggling her foot.

  ‘Each must take his or her place in the service of the nation, for the nation itself is in peril.’

  Australia is in peril, Poppy thought. We are in peril.

  ‘This is our darkest hour.’

  Mark jumped up and turned off the radio with a deep sigh.

  ‘In the last few hours, Japan has attacked Malaya, Thailand, the Philippines, Singapore, Hong Kong, Guam and Hawaii,’ Cecilia informed him, her voice shaking. ‘In Pearl Harbor alone, more than two thousand people have been killed.’

  Bryony held Coco the cat on her lap. Poppy huddled into the sofa next to her sister, her arms crossed as though she was cold, despite the heat of the summer air. Honey sat at Poppy’s feet, whimpering, sensing the stress in the air. Mark nodded.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, darling,’ he apologised to his wife. ‘I’ve been in meetings all afternoon, discussing ways to protect the hospital and how to evacuate it in case of emergency. The hospital is in a dangerous position so close to the barracks, and the air-raid wardens are very jumpy about the town’s defences.’

  ‘They don’t really think the Japanese will attack Darwin, do they?’ asked Cecilia, jumping to her feet, hands clenched by her side.