The Forgotten Pearl

by Belinda Murrell

  Poppy thought back to the Zero fighter planes she had seen in Darwin, with their distinctive rising suns painted on the underside of the wings, dropping those lethal silver bombs. She shuddered at the memory, her stomach clenched in fear.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t see any identity markings.’

  ‘It was Japanese,’ Ian insisted. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  The sergeant sighed once more and clapped Ian on the shoulder. ‘Okay, son,’ he said. ‘Thanks for telling me. I’ll look into it.’

  Ian, his mother and Poppy said their thank-yous and goodbyes. Poppy continued her walk with Honey, her eyes following the path the mysterious plane had flown.

  It was now nearly dark and, from the top of the hill, she could see the harbour spread out below, dotted with strings of navigational lights. On the southern side, houses glowed, golden and welcoming, and the horizon gleamed with lights from the city and naval dockyards beyond Middle Harbour.

  It’s so beautiful, thought Poppy. Could it really have been an enemy reconnaissance plane scouting over Sydney? Could the Japanese really be so close?

  She shuddered, pulling her collar up around her ears, and hurried home in the darkness.

  20

  Sydney Harbour

  Sunday, 31 May 1942

  The weekend was chilly, with squally rainstorms. Several large ships, including the USS Chicago, had come into Sydney Harbour for repairs following the battle of the Coral Sea a couple of weeks before, and crowds of young people were flocking to the city to join in the celebrations, everyone rejoicing in what they felt to be a turning point in the war.

  Cecilia reluctantly agreed that Poppy could catch the ferry into Circular Quay with Maude and Jack to meet Bryony on Sunday afternoon. The city streets were bustling with people – Australian, American, New Zealand, French and Dutch servicemen, many on leave for the first time in weeks, as well as locals.

  The four friends wandered the streets around the city, drinking in the carnival atmosphere. In Martin Place, three black American soldiers were playing improvised jazz on saxophones and trumpets, sitting on wooden crates. A group of US naval men danced with young Australian girls, who laughed and flirted, wooed by the exotic accents and polite manners of the foreigners.

  One of the Americans asked Bryony to dance, and she was swept up into a lively jitterbug. Poppy tapped her foot to the jazz musicians’ swinging beat. It would be fun to join in the swirl of dancers.

  They explored the city, people watching and window shopping.

  At dusk, they bought crispy battered fish and chips, liberally sprinkled with salt and wrapped in newspaper. They sat down near the Quay and crunched on the delicious fish. Squawking seagulls squabbled and swooped. A busker played a mournful tune on his harmonica, the notes warbling and bending. To the west, beyond the graceful grey arch of the bridge, the sky was stained vibrant golds, pinks and crimsons as the sun sank behind the clouds.

  ‘Delicious,’ sighed Poppy, tossing a chip to the flock of greedy seabirds.

  ‘Not quite as good as charred barramundi, freshly caught and cooked on a campfire at Mindil Beach, but not bad,’ added Maude, raising up a morsel of fish for observation, then popping it in her mouth.

  ‘A lot safer, though,’ Jack suggested. ‘No risk of a crocodile leaping out of Sydney Harbour.’

  He held up a long, thin chip and bit its head off with a snap.

  ‘That’s one thing I don’t miss about Darwin,’ agreed Bryony. ‘Crocodiles.’

  ‘And mud,’ added Maude.

  Poppy glanced at Bryony, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you miss Darwin?’ she joked. ‘I thought you’d never look back now that you are living in sophisticated Sydney again, with all the shops, dance halls and cinemas.’

  Bryony snorted, tossing her head.

  ‘As if I have time to shop,’ she said. ‘Speaking of which, I suppose I’d better get back. I’ll get a terrible dressing down and be confined to the barracks for a week if I’m late.’

  ‘We’ll escort you,’ Jack said.

  ‘Thanks for the offer, but there’s really no need,’ replied Bryony. ‘I’ll be fine heading back on my own.’

  Jack crumpled up his pile of greasy newspaper into a ball. ‘The city’s full of drunken servicemen. I don’t want to be the one to tell your mother that we left you to make your way back to Paddington all by yourself. Besides, I’m freezing, so a good walk will warm us up. It won’t take long.’

  Jack was wrong. Between the crowds in the city and the trams overflowing with people, it took ages to walk up to Oxford Street. By the time they delivered Bryony to the barracks in Paddington, it was getting late.

  The return trip took even longer after they missed a tram back to the city, then the following tram was cancelled. They huddled together at the tram stop, their coat collars turned up against the chilly wind, their frozen hands buried deep in their pockets.

  When a tram finally trundled along, it was crammed with people and they struggled to squeeze on.

  ‘We’d be better off walking,’ suggested Maude. ‘This is hopeless.’

  ‘Mum is going to be cross,’ Poppy sighed. ‘I promised her we wouldn’t be back late. She’ll think something terrible has happened.’

  ‘Nooo.’ Jack grinned. ‘She knows you’re both with me and that I’d never let anything terrible happen to you, Midget.’

  Poppy cuffed him lightly on the arm. ‘It’s more likely Maude and I will have to look after you, Jacko.’

  When they finally reached Circular Quay, they just missed another Manly ferry and had to wait half an hour for the next one. It was with great relief that they finally made their way onto the dimly lit ferry and sat down near the starboard windows. It was now about 10.30 pm and there were only about twenty people on board.

  The crew stowed the mooring ropes and the engines chugged, propelling the ferry away from the pontoon. Poppy leant back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she murmured.

  The gentle rocking of the ferry felt soothing as it gained speed, heading around Bennelong Point towards the sandstone fortification of Fort Denison. Bright moonlight flooded the water with a silvery, shimmering glow.

  ‘Isn’t it pretty?’ asked Maude, pressing her face against the window. ‘It must be the most beautiful harbour in the world.’

  Poppy gazed appreciatively at the view. The black hills on either side of the harbour were dotted with golden lights that glimmered on the water.

  ‘It looks so peaceful,’ Poppy agreed.

  Suddenly, a loud explosion reverberated through the cabin, making them all jump. They peered nervously out the window towards Rushcutters Bay.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Maude.

  ‘Navy training?’ suggested Jack. ‘They must be firing blank shells.’

  A siren sounded, wailing through the chilly air. The ferry slammed into reverse and veered aside; passengers were sent sprawling. The internal lights switched off, plunging the cabin into darkness.

  There were screams and groans as the ferry rocked wildly. Jack, Maude and Poppy picked themselves up, rubbing bruised elbows and knees. They crowded around the grimy window and stared out into the night. A shell whizzed by, sending a spout of water metres into the air.

  ‘I don’t think they’re blanks,’ Poppy whispered. Her stomach knotted with anxiety and her throat was so tight she could hardly breathe.

  Within moments the serene harbour had transformed into a battle zone. Searchlights blazed across the sky and water. Navy ships zipped back and forth, searching the harbour’s murky depths. Red tracer bullets zinged through the air like shooting stars. Alarms sounded. Huge pillars of water erupted into the air.

  ‘Look,’ cried Jack, pointing out into the nig
ht.

  A searchlight swept over the ferry and across the water. In its intense white light they could all see the periscope and snub conning tower of a small submarine, black against the silver water.

  To the right were the floodlights of the Garden Island dockyard and the glow of dozens of troop ships moored in the harbour. The huge hull of the US battleship Chicago was silhouetted against the dockyards. The black shadows of naval personnel swarmed on the docks.

  A nearby minesweeper opened fire on the submarine with a machine-gun. Stray bullets pinged off the side of the wallowing ferry; another explosion thundered right in front.

  Poppy, Maude and Jack dived for cover under the bench seats, huddling together.

  ‘Who are they firing at?’ asked Maude.

  ‘The Japanese,’ replied Poppy, her heart sinking to the bottom of her stomach. ‘They’re attacking Sydney.’

  ‘They couldn’t be,’ Jack insisted. ‘How on earth would a tiny sub like that get all the way down here? The war’s up in the Coral Sea, thousands of miles away.’

  ‘Not anymore,’ whispered Poppy, covering her head as another mortar shell detonated close by. ‘Not anymore.’

  Jack put his arms around both Poppy and Maude, trying to shield them with his body. ‘We’ll be okay,’ he assured them. ‘We’ll be fine.’

  An enormous explosion sounded, followed by answering machine-gun fire. The ferry tossed wildly, buffeted by massive waves. Red flames illuminated the cabin with an eerie, flickering light.

  The three ducked and clung tightly to each other. Wild thoughts swirled through Poppy’s head as she huddled with her friends under the seat. Will we survive this? Will I ever see my mother, father, sisters, brother, dog or home ever again? Is this the start of the invasion?

  Poppy found herself praying over and over, ‘Please, God, help us get out of this safely.’

  At last the ferry threw its engines into full speed ahead and raced towards Manly. An anxiety-filled half hour later, the vessel drew up against the wharf, thudding into the pylons. Relief spread through Poppy’s body like a physical warmth. She hugged Maude then Jack, clinging to her friends like a life raft.

  ‘We made it,’ she whispered. ‘Thank God, we made it.’

  As the passengers shuffled off the vessel, they glanced at each other and grinned, strangers united by giddy relief at still being alive.

  On the wharf, Poppy was met by a hurricane welcome as Cecilia and Honey rushed towards her, her mother enveloping her in a tight embrace, while Honey jumped and licked and whined.

  ‘Thank God, you’re all right,’ Cecilia whispered, her face red, puffy and streaked with tears. ‘I was petrified that you were caught up in the raid. Are you hurt? What happened? Where have you been?’

  Poppy did her best to answer the barrage of questions. When she had explained the events of the last hour, she realised that Mrs Tibbets was also there, alternately scolding and squeezing Maude. Cecilia broke her grip on Poppy to give Jack a quick hug and check that he was all right.

  The harbour was now in complete darkness, with most of the lights finally extinguished. Over the black water, they could still hear the distant sound of erratic gunfire and explosions, while the sky towards the city glowed red.

  ‘Come home and I’ll make you all a hot cocoa,’ suggested Cecilia. ‘It’s nearly midnight. Whatever happens, we’ll all feel better for a hot drink and a good night’s sleep.’

  The next day, Cecilia and Poppy searched the newspapers for an explanation of what had happened in Sydney Harbour the night before. There was no mention of an attack in the paper or on the wireless news bulletins. Yet, throughout the early hours of the morning, muffled explosions and gunfire could still be heard rumbling in the distance.

  Cecilia snapped off the wireless in irritation. ‘It’s just like Darwin all over again,’ she announced. ‘The censors are trying to suppress any details of the attack. It seems ridiculous when most of Sydney could see or hear what was going on. Don’t they understand that people will be more frightened of their own imaginings than if they knew the truth?’

  With no official information, wild rumours abounded throughout the city, passed from neighbour to neighbour as swiftly as a bushfire: there was a huge Japanese force, anchored just off the coast of Sydney, preparing to invade. The Japanese survivors were hiding out in the bush at North Head or meeting with enemy spies, ready to attack. The Japanese officers had already picked out which lavish harbour-side mansions they would inhabit once Sydney was conquered.

  Many families packed up their valuables and prepared to flee to the country, as far from the coast as possible. Those who remained set to work digging air-raid trenches and building bomb shelters. Windows were blacked out with black curtains or cardboard and secured with tape. Preparations were made in case the Japanese came knocking on the front door.

  Poppy discovered that Cecilia had hidden a kitchen carving knife under her pillow.

  Finally, the Government decided to release limited details of the raid in order to control the rumours, carefully worded to underplay the threat, reduce panic and praise the heroic action of Sydney’s defence force.

  On the evening of Sunday, 31 May, three Japanese midget submarines had entered Sydney Harbour undetected. One had become entangled in the partially constructed anti-submarine boom net and, after being discovered, the two Japanese submariners had committed suicide and set off a detonation to scuttle the craft.

  Two other midget submarines had entered the harbour soon after, possibly following the Manly ferry through the boom net. The submarines had been detected by various vessels and fired upon. One of the submarines had fired torpedoes at the USS Chicago but missed, instead destroying a former ferry, the Kuttabul, which sank killing twenty-one sailors. The search for the two remaining enemy submarines had continued through the night, with depth charges being dropped throughout the harbour. Only one of these submarines was discovered the next day. The Japanese crew had also committed suicide when they realised their mission had failed.

  What the newspapers failed to say was that there had been numerous warnings of Japanese activity in the days leading up to the attack, including the reconnaissance plane witnessed by Ian and Poppy in Manly, which the authorities had ignored. Several enemy submarines had been detected off the east coast of Australia, including one that attacked a Russian merchant steamer, the Wellen, fifty kilometres east of Newcastle, and an enemy submarine detected by a New Zealand aircraft only forty kilometres from Sydney.

  In addition, Sydney Harbour was supposedly protected from submarine attack by indicator loops on the harbour floor, which record the passing of vessels overhead, and by the incomplete boom net. On the night of the midget submarine attack, two of the six indicator loops were out of action, while the readings of the submarine crossings over the other loops were misinterpreted as being other legitimate vessels.

  This audacious attack in the very heart of Sydney had a massive impact on the morale of Australians. Until then, the authorities had not believed it was necessary to have a blackout in Sydney due to the low threat of attack. Until then, Sydneysiders had considered themselves safe.

  On Tuesday night, Poppy heard someone at the front door. Honey barked loudly at the dark outline of a male through the stained-glass window, standing on the front verandah in the gathering dusk.

  Cautiously, she opened the door a crack on its safety chain. ‘Oh, Jack, hello,’ she said, unfastening the door. ‘Come in out of the cold. What are you doing here?’

  Jack shuffled on the tessellated tile floor, twisting his hat anxiously in his hands. Behind him, the great branches of the Moreton Bay fig spread into the sky.

  ‘No, I can’t stay more than a minute,’ he replied. ‘Poppy, there’s something I want to tell you.’

  By the look on his face, Poppy could tell it would be something serious. S
he smiled nervously. ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve decided to join up.’

  Poppy clenched her fingernails into her palms. ‘No. You can’t. What about school? What about studying engineering at university? You’ve only just turned seventeen.’

  Jack squared his shoulders and gazed at Poppy. ‘After what happened on Sunday night, I don’t think I can just stay here pretending to live a normal life, as though there’s not an enemy on our doorstep threatening to take it all away from us. My brothers are sailing overseas this week, probably heading to New Guinea. I want to go, too.’

  ‘But Jack, what if something terrible happens? What if you’re killed?’ Poppy pleaded. Her eyes were filling with tears and she fought to keep them down. ‘What if you and your brothers are all killed and your parents are left with nobody?’

  ‘Poppy, what if we’d been killed on Sunday night? Or when the Japanese bombed Darwin? We all have to do what we think is right.’

  Poppy swallowed hard. She surreptitiously rubbed her eyes as though they were itchy. ‘Aren’t you scared?’ she asked.

  ‘Weren’t you scared on Sunday night, or up in Darwin? Of course I’m scared, but I think I’m doing the right thing, doing whatever I can to help stop this terrible war.’

  Poppy looked at her feet. The toes of her school shoes were scuffed. She’d need to clean them or Miss Royston would be annoyed. The headmistress hated untidiness and tardiness.

  ‘Poppy?’ Poppy looked up at Jack again. ‘I came to say goodbye, Midget. I’m leaving tomorrow morning to start training. Will you say goodbye to your mum for me – and to Maude and Mrs Tibbets? Will you write to me?’

  Poppy flung her arms around Jack’s neck and sobbed onto his chest.

  ‘Of course I’ll write to you, silly,’ Poppy cried. ‘Please, please look after yourself – and don’t do anything stupid.’

  Jack hugged her back. ‘Who are you calling silly, Midget?’

  After a moment, Jack reluctantly pulled away. ‘I have to go and see Dad and Mum. Look after yourself, Midget. And don’t forget to write.’