The Forgotten Pearl

by Belinda Murrell

  Jack strode off down the darkened street. Poppy watched him recede until he was nearly swallowed up by the shadows. He stopped at the corner and looked back, raising his hat in a silent salute. Then he was gone.

  Honey whined, licking Poppy on the leg. Poppy scooped the dog into her arms, crept upstairs to her room and turned on the record-player. She sat on her bed in the dark, hugging Honey and listening to the melancholy tones of Vera Lynn singing, as tears ran down her face.

  ‘We’ll meet again,

  Don’t know where, don’t know when,

  But I know we’ll meet again some sunny day.

  Keep smiling through,

  Just like you always do,

  ’Til the blue skies

  Drive the dark clouds far away . . .’

  It was much, much later when she could face going downstairs to tell her mum and Maude that Jack was going away and had dropped by to say goodbye to them all.

  Maude knocked on Poppy’s door and found her friend seated at her desk, doing mathematics homework, surrounded by a pile of open books.

  ‘Poppy, can I talk to you for a minute?’ Maude asked.

  ‘Sure, come in,’ Poppy said, standing up and stretching. ‘Have you finished your arithmetic already? It’s taking me ages.’

  Maude strolled in and sat on the middle of Poppy’s bed, her legs crossed. Poppy turned her desk chair around and plopped down again.

  ‘No, I can’t concentrate on arithmetic,’ admitted Maude. ‘Mother wants us to pack up and move to Bathurst. We have friends with a farm out there, and she wants to move as far from the coast as possible in case the Japs come.’

  Poppy nodded slowly. Her shoulders drooped and her heart felt like a lump of grey stone in her belly.

  Maude is leaving again. Will we have to run away, too? I don’t want to run anymore. I don’t want to start all over again in a new place. Why should we be forced to leave our home again?

  ‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Poppy said. ‘I feel like I’ve just settled in here. I’m really enjoying going to school, too. I love living here with you – it’s so much fun.’

  ‘Do you think your mum will want to move away?’ asked Maude. ‘Perhaps you can come to Bathurst, too? Mother wants to sell the house.’

  Poppy thought back over all that had happened in the last few months. Shinju and Mrs Murata being arrested and interned. Edward going missing in the fall of Singapore. Bryony, Maude and all her friends and neighbours being evacuated by ship. The terrifying bombing of Darwin. Iris Bald and her mother and friends being killed at the post office. Daisy and Charlie being shot in the air-raid trench. Leaving her father behind in the war zone to escape south by horse and cart. Being caught up in the Japanese raid on Sydney Harbour by the midget submarines. Jack joining up to be a soldier at the age of seventeen.

  I’ve experienced and survived so much, thought Poppy. I’m not going to give up now. I’m not going to let them take anything more away from me.

  Poppy felt a well of confidence and courage swell inside her. ‘I don’t want to leave Sydney,’ Poppy said with deep conviction. ‘I want to stay here and finish school – and make sure I make the most of my life.’

  She paused and looked at Maude, worried her friend might take offence or think she was being melodramatic. Instead, Maude nodded her encouragement.

  ‘Mum and I can get a room somewhere close to the hospital and school,’ Poppy continued.

  ‘I know it might be hard, but one day the war will be over and things will get better. Life might never be the same again, but I want to feel like I’ve done my best. It’s just like Miss Royston says: we all have a responsibility to help in any way we can – no matter how small – even if it’s just trying hard in a horrible arithmetic test.’

  The two sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking everything over.

  Maude frowned. ‘I can’t see how trying hard in an arithmetic test is going to help win the war,’ she teased.

  Poppy picked up the nearest weapon – a cushion – and threw it at Maude’s head. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You’re right, Poppy,’ Maude said. ‘I don’t want to leave Sydney either. Mother can sell the house and move to Bathurst if she wants – I’m staying here, too. I can board at school, or live with you and your mum. I don’t want to run away and skulk in Bathurst, terrified of every shadow in case it’s the enemy.’

  Poppy smiled at Maude in relief.

  ‘Good – there has to be someone at school that’s worse at hockey than me!’

  21

  Epistles

  8 April 2012

  ‘Nanna, you were so brave!’ exclaimed Chloe. ‘I don’t think I could ever be so courageous.’

  Nanna shook her head with a smile. ‘Of course you could. We didn’t think of ourselves as brave – we just tried to do the best we could in difficult circumstances. Everyone did.’

  Nanna shivered. The sun had moved around to the west and their bench was now in shade.

  ‘Shall we go back upstairs?’ Nanna suggested. ‘I think I could do with another cup of tea. My throat is parched.’

  ‘Sure.’ Chloe jumped to her feet and gathered up the cushions. ‘Can we read some more of the letters, Nanna?’

  Nanna smiled as she packed up the tin once more. ‘You can read them out loud to me while I drink a cup of tea and give my voice a rest. I haven’t read them for years – I found lots of the family letters when I packed up the old house in Darwin after my mother died and I couldn’t bear to throw them out.’

  Upstairs, Nanna settled into her favourite chair with a cup of steaming hot tea, her eyes closed. Chloe took a sip from her own tea, then started to read.

  Addison Road,

  Manly

  June 30, 1942

  Dear Dad,

  Hope you are well and enjoying the dry season. It’s freezing down here!! Mum says I’ll get used to it. I used to think that Maude carried on and on about how hot and humid it was up in Darwin, now I’m exactly the same but moaning about the cold and shivering over the tiny heater.

  Good news! Mrs Tibbets has given in about selling the house and moving to Bathurst. Maude just flatly refused to go, and then Mrs Tibbets agreed that she was only going to the country to keep Maude safe. Maude said they would both die of boredom – at least in Sydney we can do something to help. We have knitted another five million socks, not to mention thousands of mittens and caps. I’m sure none of the soldiers would want my socks, but still we keep knitting.

  Still no news from Edward. Mum tries to be brave, but sometimes she gets this faraway look in her eyes and I know she is thinking about him and worrying and hoping he’s all right. Then she throws herself into working long days and nights at the hospital. I think she can only sleep when she’s completely exhausted. Her ribs are still troubling her somewhat but she rarely complains.

  The Japanese seem to have given up on terrorising Sydney for the moment, which is a small relief. Japanese subs have been attacking and torpedoing ships up and down the coast between Newcastle and Wollongong. They also shelled Newcastle and the eastern suburbs of Sydney on 8 June. Several houses and shops were destroyed, but miraculously no one was killed. It could have been far, far worse.

  The papers were full of amazing stories of escape – like the little boys in Newcastle who were watching the ‘fireworks’ from their bedroom window when their mother dragged them down to the bomb shelter. A moment later their bedroom was shelled and they would almost certainly have been killed.

  There was a lot of anger in Sydney because the Government decided to cremate the four bodies of the Japanese midget submarine crews with full military honours and return their ashes to Japan. Some people say this is to encourage the Japanese to treat the Australian prisoners-of-war well. Others say it makes their bloo
d boil when they think how many of our boys were killed on the Kuttabul and the merchant ships that have been sunk since.

  Two of the midget submarines were pulled up from the harbour floor, and one of the subs has been on display to raise money for the war effort. Maude and I went to see it. Apparently, these subs are designed to attack large warships with little hope that the Japanese crew will ever survive. Can you imagine setting off on a mission knowing it means almost certain death?

  The shortages are getting worse. Maude and I are doing all the cooking and housekeeping now because Mama is too tired after a long day at the hospital and Mrs Tibbets is volunteering at the Red Cross. We do our best to implement the principles of Austerity Housekeeping – as advocated by the Australian Women’s Weekly – a thousand-and-one ways to cook brains, livers and kidneys without spices!! Thank goodness for fresh herbs, the vegie garden and the chooks. The house and garden, together with schoolwork and games, keeps us really busy.

  We are soon to lose Bryony, too. She is being transferred to Brisbane with the Royal Australian Corps of Signals, leaving in two weeks, together with many of the other AWAS personnel. I’m not quite sure what she’ll be doing – I don’t think she really knows either.

  Spirits are much higher in Sydney after the Battle of Midway. Up in Townsville, Phoebe nursed lots of the wounded men after the battle, many of whom had terrible burns. It was incredible that our men could be so outnumbered and yet inflict such great losses on the Japanese. It finally looks like the tide might be turning in our favour. We can only pray.

  We are all missing you so much. Mama is hoping we will see you at Christmas – surely the war can’t go on much longer. Mama sends her love.

  Your loving daughter,

  Poppy

  Ingleside Army Camp

  July 2, 1942

  Dear Poppy,

  How are you going at school? I’m settling in to training. We have eight men crowded into a tent, which can be a little uncomfortable, but we don’t spend much time in them anyway. One of my mates snores like thunder, which at first kept us all awake – at least now we are so exhausted we can sleep through anything! The food is awful, of course, but there is a great sense of camaraderie among the lads.

  The ages range from ‘eighteen’ to forty-five, from all over Sydney and a few from country areas. There are lots of ‘eighteen-year-olds’ that look a lot younger than me. There are a few brothers who have joined up together, and even a few father-and-son teams. Not sure if it is the father joining up to keep an eye on the son or vice versa! Many of the married men have their wives living close by, so they can see them when they have time off.

  Training is tough with long route marches along the country roads every day. They get progressively longer and harder every day to build up fitness. Marching in the cold, soaking rain is miserable! Some of the city lads find this difficult, especially the office workers – it’s easier for the country lads like me who are used to spending long days out of doors and being physical.

  Of course, we spend hours learning to march and stand on parade. It’s tedious but is supposed to teach us discipline, obedience and teamwork – or something like that! At first, some of the men just used to keel over in a faint from standing at attention for so long. We are also excellent trench diggers now. If you need a few slit trenches built in the backyard, I’m the lad for the job!

  Our colonel is a hard taskmaster and is very good at finding us tough jobs to do – like spending the night in the trenches in the pouring rain. Sometimes it’s hard to see the purpose of it all. I’m guessing we’ll get plenty of practice doing that when we’re up in the Pacific somewhere. It will be at least six months of training, though, before I get to face the enemy. I hope the war isn’t over before I get a chance to do my bit.

  Please give my regards to your mother and sisters, and Maude and Mrs Tibbets, and of course Honey-dog. Give my mother a hug if you see her.

  Kind regards,

  Jack Shanahan

  Kuran Street, Chermside, Queensland

  July 20, 1942

  Dear Mum and Poppy,

  I am now settled in my new home – the dusty AWAS camp in Chermside, surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence. Not sure if the fence is to keep the women in, or to keep the four thousand soldiers from the army camp out!! The barracks are all temporary buildings set up in a huge paddock, including mess hall, ablutions block and sleeping quarters. Much of the land around here is farmland, and most of the locals get around in horse and sulkies, which means the roads are a mess of manure!

  Most of the women here are working at Central Bureau with me. We work at Ascot, a few miles away near the Brisbane River, so army lorries take us to and from work. There are twelve women rostered on each shift, round the clock, working in a cramped garage, listening to and recording radio transmissions for hours every day. The work requires high levels of concentration, so I’ve been getting a few migraines.

  The garage belongs to the most beautiful old mansion, which is where the men work. I even met US General MacArthur last week. He has moved his headquarters from Melbourne to Brisbane to be closer to the action, and closer to the American troops up north.

  I work with a lovely bunch of people. We all got to know each other very quickly since we work, sleep, eat and play together seven days a week. When we are not working, we chat, write letters, read books, play cricko (a type of cricket) or go swimming. On Friday nights we go to dances at the School of Arts, or watch films at the Dawn Theatre. There is a nice Aboriginal girl I work with called Kath, who has two brothers who are both POWs in Singapore.

  I will write again soon.

  Love to you both,

  Corporal Bryony Trehearne

  (yes – I’ve been promoted!)

  July 30, 1942

  Townsville

  Dear Mum and Poppy,

  Don’t be alarmed – I am quite safe! The Japanese have bombed Townsville several times over the last few days but fortunately no one was killed and the damage has been minimal. Everyone hurried down to the air-raid shelters and we entertained ourselves by singing songs and playing music. I watched one of the raids and it was quite an eerie sight, seeing the ‘Emily’ bombers flying in and dropping their payloads. For some reason, most of the bombs fell harmlessly into the sea. Presumably, the blackout helped and they couldn’t see what they were aiming at.

  According to the Japanese propaganda broadcasts, most of the military installations in Townsville were smashed, but from where we are sitting, only a coconut palm was decapitated by a daisy-cutter bomb, and the chickens at the poultry farm were terrified and now refuse to lay eggs!! I know it could have been so much worse, as it was in Darwin and Sydney, but it helps us all to look at the lighter side of things.

  Speaking of amusing stories doing the rounds, we are all giggling over the airman who, when the air raid sounded, raced to report for duty but had forgotten to put on his trousers! Of course he has been the subject of much ribbing from everyone over the last few days.

  Life in the hospital continues much the same as ever – long days under intense pressure. The influx of American servicemen has put a huge strain on the food resources in Townsville and, even worse, the water supplies during the dry season. We have to be so frugal washing ourselves that I’m afraid a hot bath is a dim, distant memory.

  One of our great pleasures, though, is to go for moonlight swims after work at one of the many waterfalls and creeks around Townsville. Just a small group of the girls go at a time and we are all sworn to secrecy – the last thing we want is for our haven to be discovered. It is absolute bliss after a hard day to soak under the ice-cold water. Of course, we stay right away from the estuaries where the crocodiles are.

  I went to a fun army dance on Friday night with one of the American soldiers, from New Orleans, named Henry Worth. He is a real gentleman, alw
ays bringing me lovely presents, and he has the most charming accent. We’ve been to the pictures a couple of times, and on my next day off we’re going for a picnic up into the mountains.

  I have seen General MacArthur up here a couple of times when he has been visiting the US troops. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders – which I suppose he does. I guess on him rests the future of Australia and the whole Pacific.

  Anyway, much love as always,

  Phoebe

  Dear Bryony,

  Here’s a poem we studied at school by Mary Gilmore. I thought you might enjoy it.

  Love,

  Poppy xxx

  No Foe Shall Gather Our Harvest

  Sons of the mountains of Scotland,

  Welshmen of coomb and defile,

  Breed of the moors of England,

  Children of Erin’s green isle,

  We stand four square to the tempest,

  Whatever the battering hail -

  No foe shall gather our harvest,

  Or sit on our stockyard rail.

  Our women shall walk in honour,

  Our children shall know no chain.

  This land, that is ours forever,

  The invader shall strike at in vain.

  Anzac! . . . Tobruk! . . . and Kokoda! . . .

  Could ever the old blood fail?

  No foe shall gather our harvest,

  Or sit on our stockyard rail.

  So hail-fellow-met we muster,

  And hail-fellow-met fall in,

  Wherever the guns may thunder,

  Or the rocketing air-mail spin!

  Born of the soil and the whirlwind,

  Though death itself be the gale -

  No foe shall gather our harvest

  Or sit on our stockyard rail.

  We are the sons of Australia,

  of the men who fashioned the land;

  We are the sons of the women