The Forgotten Pearl

by Belinda Murrell

  According to one of the Dutch pilots I nursed, he thought the Japanese were trying to destroy the airfield to close the escape route. The flying boats, crowded with refugees, mostly Dutch women and children, were moored in Roebuck Bay for refuelling. The Japanese attacked at about nine o’clock in the morning. They destroyed fifteen flying boats and over twenty aircraft, including shooting down an American plane loaded with wounded servicemen.

  The survivors said it was terrible – the water was aflame with burning fuel. Many of the Dutch refugees couldn’t swim. More than one hundred people, mostly women and children, are said to have died – some taken by shark, while others were incinerated or drowned. It’s so sad because if the Japs had attacked just an hour later, the flying boats would have already flown south and the refugees would have been safe.

  There were stories of great bravery: a young Aboriginal man, Charlie D’Antoine, saved a woman and child by swimming through the burning oil with both of them on his back, while an Australian pilot relayed many of the refugees to Port Hedland in his damaged ten-seater plane.

  One of the most intriguing parts of the story, though, is that one of the planes was rumoured to be carrying a package of diamonds worth hundreds of thousands of pounds!!! The diamonds disappeared when the plane went down. Wouldn’t it be nice to find that little package washed up on the beach?

  Anyway, hope you are both well and recovering from your ordeal.

  Best wishes

  Minnie Scott

  March 23, 1942

  Adelaide River

  My Dearests,

  I was overjoyed to hear that you made it safely to Sydney, and that at least the girls in our family are reunited. I miss you all so much.

  After the bombing, we evacuated all the remaining patients south to Adelaide River, where we have established a new hospital to deal with the wounded coming in from the Pacific. The hospital is really just a collection of tents and huts in a sea of mud. You should see our operating theatre here – primitive, to say the least.

  All the nurses have dyed their white uniforms a muddy khaki. It seems completely odd to have a hospital where all the medical staff are mud-coloured!

  Not long now until the dry season, which will be much easier for everyone, especially the nurses. It is so frustrating to think of our beautiful new hospital abandoned after just a few days, but we did manage to salvage some equipment and supplies from Darwin before we left.

  It is just as well we moved, for the Japanese have bombed Darwin on multiple occasions since you left. One raid caused significant damage to the hospital again, which strengthens my belief that it must have been a deliberate target. On some days there have been several air-raid alerts and numerous reports of reconnaissance planes. The town of Katherine was also bombed yesterday, but not as severely as Darwin – thank goodness.

  There has been a steady stream of injured soldiers coming in from various areas of the Pacific. Many are also suffering from tropical diseases such as malaria, dysentery and beri-beri, and unfortunately these are more difficult to treat than they should be. Because of the Japanese occupation of the Dutch East Indies, we are having trouble obtaining drugs such as quinine.

  Did you hear that the Aborigines on Melville Island captured a Japanese pilot? His plane was shot down and he was discovered by a group of Aboriginal women. One of their young men captured him by sneaking up from behind and pressing a tomahawk into his back, pretending it was a gun. The Aborigines quickly disarmed the pilot and turned him over to the mission on Bathurst Island. This was the first Japanese prisoner-of-war, taken on Australian soil.

  Poppy, you will be pleased to know that before I left Darwin I went home and found Coco looking hungry, bedraggled and very sorry for herself. I’ve brought her with me to Adelaide River, where she has been adopted by the nurses. They are spoiling her rotten. She sends you a huge miaow and a cuddle.

  Good luck starting at school, Poppy. My love to you all with many hugs and kisses.

  Your loving father and husband,

  Mark

  March 28, 1942

  Addison Road, Manly

  Dear Edward,

  We have no way of knowing whether you are dead or alive, but Mama insists her heart tells her you must still be alive. I don’t know if you will ever even get this letter, but it makes me feel better to write to you anyway.

  Mama, Bryony and I are now in Sydney. Mama and I left Darwin the day after the Japanese attacked it the first time. We are staying with our friends, the Tibbets, renting a couple of rooms at their house in Manly. We had planned to get our own place but housing is very short here. So many people have moved to Sydney to get work at the munitions factories, and with petrol rationing everyone wants to live close to public transport.

  Manly is lovely. On weekends we swim at the beach, although it is starting to get cooler now. It is sometimes quite alarming because the army uses the beach to practise manoeuvres, so they are forever firing mortar bombs out to sea or simulating battles on the beach. We can hear the thunder of the guns right up on Eastern Hill. It makes Mama and me feel quite nervous, as though we were back in Darwin during the air raids. The first time it happened, I moved so fast and was huddled under the kitchen table, quivering, waiting for the house to start falling down. Boy, did Maude give me a ribbing – she said it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen.

  Last week, we helped Mrs Tibbets dig up her rose garden and plant a ‘victory garden’ of vegetables. I thought Mrs Tibbets might cry when we dug up all her beautiful rose bushes. We sowed broccoli, cabbage, carrots, silverbeet, cauliflower, leek, beetroot and lettuce. The garden looks very pretty, all in neat rows and mulched with straw. Mum is going to try to find some chickens for the back garden as well, to give us eggs. Next spring we will plant potatoes because they have been quite scarce. I’d love some of Mum’s crispy baked potatoes with roast beef and gravy. Instead, it’s liver and onions for dinner again – yick!

  I started school two weeks ago at Woodfield at North Sydney, which is where Maude goes to school, so at least I know someone. The first week has been a bit of a blur trying to work out all the new faces, names and teachers, but it is gradually falling into place. Everyone seems really friendly, which is a relief. I thought they might be snooty. There are even a couple of girls boarding who were evacuated from Singapore earlier this year, so they know what it’s like to be a long way from home and finding your new life strange. I like to ask them questions about Singapore so that I can imagine you there. Their father was captured by the Japanese, so he’s a prisoner-of-war also. I wonder if you know him? His name is Aubrey Jones.

  Once I am settled at school and Mum has recovered from her injuries, she plans to apply to work at one of the local hospitals. Dad says she mustn’t do any heavy lifting for at least another few weeks.

  We no sooner arrived in Sydney than Phoebe was transferred to Townsville to work at a new Army hospital that has been built there. Mum is worried that Phoebe will be too far north in the event of another Japanese attack. There are rumours that the Government has plans to abandon the far north if the Japanese invade, and focus on defending the industrial areas around Sydney, Newcastle and Wollongong. Phoebe, however, is quite excited at the thought of travelling somewhere new and being close to the action.

  You wouldn’t recognise Bryony – she’s training with the Australian Women’s Army Service as a signals operator. She wears a uniform and tie, with a little peaked hat. We only get to see her on her rare days off, but she’s having fun. A lot of her work is hush-hush, apparently, so she doesn’t talk about it much. I’m sure she’s just doing deadly boring officework.

  There’s been a terrible fuss in Sydney because the American Government has sent black soldiers to Australia, contrary to the White Australia Policy. Australian customs refused to let them land. It’s ridiculous – these men have come to fight to
save us, putting their lives on the line, and some silly old politicians want to send them home!

  Anyway, Honey sends you a big lick and a woof. Hope they are treating you well. We miss you so much and think of you every day. We are all praying that this war will end soon and you can come home to us.

  Your loving sister,

  Poppy

  RECEIVED TELEGRAM – MARCH 26, 1942

  PRIVATE TREHEARNE MISSING.

  I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT PTE EDWARD MARK TREHEARNE HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING. THE MINISTER FOR THE ARMY AND THE MILITARY BOARD EXTEND SINCERE SYMPATHY.

  MINISTER FOR THE ARMY

  April 8, 1942

  Townsville

  Dear Mum, Bryony and Poppy

  Sorry I haven’t written for so long, but the days just seem to whirl by.

  I have arrived safely in Townsville, which is more like a massive tent city with thousands of American and Australian troops. In many ways, it is like Darwin – hot, muggy and tropical. It is the tail end of the wet season so there’s still red mud everywhere, almost up to my knees. We wear khaki overalls and wellington boots most of the time – my Matron in Sydney would be horrified!

  Our accommodation is in tents in a big paddock. Privacy is almost non-existent, but they promise us that they will build huts soon.

  The hospital is likewise cobbled together from tents, hastily erected huts and requisitioned buildings. The locals are in shock at having their tiny, sleepy town turned into a military camp. The food is dreary – cold baked beans, cold diced pork, bully beef, sliced fruit – but we can’t really complain. It must be much worse for the boys overseas.

  We have to take quinine every day and sleep under mosquito nets to avoid malaria. This is the greatest health problem up here, along with dengue fever and dysentery, although of course we are getting evacuated soldiers with battle wounds and injured airmen. There are also so many automobile crashes at night-time from people trying to drive without lights.

  I have made some lovely friends up here and we are all very protective of ‘our boys’. We work very long days but most of us are happy that we can do something useful. We feel like we are making a real difference. It’s good we’re so busy – it means there’s no time to think much about the war and how it’s all going.

  I have been asked out by a few of the American GIs – there are dances every night, concerts and films, but most of the nurses are just too exhausted to kick up their heels. The Americans are very generous, buying us chocolates and stockings as presents. The stockings are especially welcome. I’m not sure if they are doing this in Sydney, but up here some of the girls have taken to painting their bare legs to look like they are wearing stockings, even down to drawing a dark seam down the back of their calves!

  The Americans make us laugh. They just love ice-cream – I’m sure they’d eat it every day for breakfast given half a chance! They are much better paid than the poor Aussies, and they definitely get superior food. It’s no wonder this causes some resentment, but I have to say I am incredibly grateful that the Americans are here to help defend us. Without them, I hate to think what would happen.

  Hope you are well. Write soon.

  All my love,

  Phoebe xxx

  18

  Austerity

  Cecilia walked into the sitting room, where Poppy was gazing out the window at the view.

  ‘Poppy, I’m just going down to the Corso to . . .’ Cecilia paused and gazed at Poppy critically. ‘Oh dear, I think you’ve grown again overnight. That skirt is indecently short, Poppy Trehearne!’

  Poppy glanced down at her hemline and shrugged. It was rather short, but all her clothes were shrinking. Other than her school uniforms, she hadn’t bought any new clothes for over a year – there had been too many other important things to think about.

  ‘Come on,’ Cecilia ordered. ‘Let’s go and see if we can buy you a new dress.’

  Together, mother and daughter wandered down the hill to the Corso – the main shopping street in the village of Manly. There were several shops purporting to sell clothes, but wartime shortages meant that the shelves were pitifully bare. There was hardly anything that would fit Poppy, and definitely nothing remotely pretty. Most clothes were utilitarian overalls and clothes for factory work in drab shades of khaki, brown and grey.

  ‘Perhaps we should check the haberdashery and make you something,’ suggested Cecilia at last. The haberdashery was also sparsely stocked, but Cecilia was determined to find something useful. At last, she purchased two matching floral tablecloths, a bolt of blackout material, thread, ribbon, needles and two dress patterns.

  Poppy looked dubiously at the tablecloths and heavier blackout material as the sales assistant wrapped them up.

  Back at home, Cecilia took Poppy’s measurements then lay out the patterns and started cutting. Cecilia seemed very secretive that week, working late into the night. A few days later, she triumphantly brought Poppy a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with green ribbon.

  ‘Surprise, darling!’ Cecilia called.

  ‘Thanks, Mum – but it’s not my birthday.’

  ‘Let’s call it a belated Christmas present,’ Cecilia replied. ‘Goodness knows there wasn’t much to celebrate at Christmas time.’

  Poppy grinned with delight. It had been a long time since she had received a present or a surprise. She untied the ribbon and undid the paper, careful not to tear it.

  Inside was a pile of folded clothes. There were two dresses: one a pretty floral with a nipped-in waist, short sleeves and a slightly flared skirt, the other a sleeveless black cotton dress with a longer, fuller skirt and a tightfitting, ruched bodice. Underneath were a pair of black shorts and a floral halter top.

  ‘Mum, you are truly astonishing. These are beautiful.’ Poppy held the dresses up against her, one after the other.

  ‘Try them on. I hope they fit well.’

  Poppy skipped to the bathroom and tried on the floral dress first, the one cut from the two tablecloths and trimmed with green ribbon. She slipped on Bryony’s silver dance shoes and whirled and twirled, flaring out the skirt with delight.

  ‘You look gorgeous,’ Cecilia told her. ‘Absolutely gorgeous.’

  Poppy curtseyed graciously and then skipped away to slip on the black dress created from the blackout material. The dress, with its slim shoulder straps and beaded belt, instantly made Poppy feel glamorous and sophisticated. This was not a little girl’s dress. It was a French film star dress.

  Cecilia smiled triumphantly. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Thank you, Mum. It must have taken you ages to make these! I love them.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure, darling, and I really couldn’t have you walking the streets looking like an orphan! I also added a thick black band to the bottom of your white skirt. Thank goodness for blackout curtains!’

  Poppy was just dancing around the sitting room in her new dress when the bell jangled down below. Cecilia and Poppy ignored it, more interested in the success of the new dresses. The bell jangled again.

  Poppy flew to the window and leant out. A young man stood below, twisting his hat in his hands.

  ‘Who is it?’ she called. ‘Oh . . . no, it can’t be . . .’ Poppy flew down the stairs and threw open the door. ‘Is it really you?’

  Jack stood on the doorstep, smiling. Lovely, familiar Jack, so far from Alexandra Downs. Poppy threw herself at him in a hug.

  ‘Jack, it’s so good to see you. What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Hello, Midget,’ Jack replied with a crooked smile. ‘Now it’s my turn to ask if it’s really you? You look far too glamorous to be the grubby Miss Poppy Trehearne, the famous croc hunter and adventurer, who I know from faraway Myilly Point.’

  Poppy blushed.

  ‘Yes, of co
urse it’s me,’ retorted Poppy with mock indignation. ‘I’m just wearing a new dress that Mama made for me from blackout curtains. Well, don’t stand there like a stunned mullet – come in! Tell me what you’re doing in Sydney.’

  Cecilia and Maude were also delighted to see Jack, a familiar face to remind them of the good old days in Darwin. He was soon seated on the couch, sipping on a cup of steaming, fragrant sweet tea that Cecilia had made using her precious ration of tea leaves.

  ‘Well, I’m here because your father sent us,’ Jack explained.

  ‘You’ve seen Mark?’ Cecilia asked longingly. ‘How is he? Did he look well?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Trehearne was fine but busy. He was at the new hospital at Adelaide River. You see, my father had a nasty fall while we were mustering. We took him to see your father, and he insisted that we bring him to Sydney to see a specialist. My mother didn’t want to leave me alone at Alexandra Downs, and she didn’t want to leave Father, either. So, we organised a manager to look after the property and came to Sydney. I think Mum was glad to see the back of the Territory after the bombing and the talk of a Japanese invasion. Although, of course, she’d never admit to it.’

  Jack grinned at Poppy before continuing. ‘We brought a letter of recommendation from Doctor Trehearne, so Father is at Royal North Shore Hospital. Mother is with him now, and we are staying at a hotel in North Sydney so we can be close to him.’

  Poppy felt a rush of excitement – Jack would be staying here in Sydney while his father was in hospital. She fought to quell the selfish emotion.

  ‘That’s terrible, Jack. Will he be all right? Will he be in hospital very long?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘He’s a tough old thing,’ Jack admitted, smiling. ‘The Germans couldn’t get him in the last war, and I don’t think he’ll be beaten by a cranky old horse. Anyway, he’s seeing an excellent surgeon, who thinks that with the right care he’ll be back on his feet in a few weeks. However, he won’t be back on a horse for at least a year. The manager has agreed to stay on for twelve months, so Mum thinks we should rent a little flat near the sea where he can have a long recuperation.’