1917

by Kelly Gardiner

  Thousands more people lined the footpaths all the way down Swanston Street to the river. Some waved banners, others shouted at us.

  ‘Shocking!’ cried one woman. ‘Children, protesting like that. Young ladies too.’

  One man in uniform, leaning on crutches, shouted something quite rude.

  ‘What would you know about war?’ shouted another man in a shabby suit, with one sleeve pinned up, leaving a terrible space where his arm had once been.

  But we knew what to do. Miss Goldstein had warned us. We smiled, just as she might do, and walked on. Anyway, I thought, he was right.

  Everyone else, all along the street, waved and clapped. Lots of them wore ribbons too, and they joined in at the rear of the column as it flowed like water down to the banks of the Yarra.

  Flossie had the time of her life. In her left hand she held a white lily and she waved it at anyone who cheered. I felt like cheering myself, but we were meant to be serene. Flossie forgot that part, but it didn’t matter.

  I wished Adela was there to see us, but she was back in prison for starting more food riots. Even though she liked riots much more than processions, I think she would have enjoyed this one. We crossed Princes Bridge and led the crowd into the gardens. Everyone scattered in all directions along the riverbank to look for some shade under trees. But not us.

  Mrs Bennett drove her truck right up to the edge of the lawn and Dad grabbed a stepladder from the back and leaned it up against the tray.

  ‘Ready when you are.’

  One by one, the leaders of the Women’s Peace Army clambered up onto the truck. Miss John. Mr Blackburn, the lawyer. Then Miss Goldstein. One by one, they called for peace, for an end to this war and all wars, and above everything else, a No vote in the referendum. It had to be defeated, said Miss Goldstein, and indeed it would be.

  And then she paused.

  ‘And now,’ she said, ‘I am proud to introduce one of our younger citizens to sound the clarion of freedom. Please welcome Miss Magdalene Robinson!’

  Please don’t let me fall off the ladder, I thought. Dad held my hand as I climbed up onto the back of the truck.

  I turned round. The crowd fell silent. There were so many people—tens of thousands of faces—more people than I’d ever seen in my whole life, and all waiting for me to say something. I took a breath.

  ‘My name is Maggie,’ I said. ‘I am sixteen years old.’

  ‘Louder!’ someone shouted. I glanced down. Lizzie stood with Ma and Miss Goldstein, faces upturned, gazing at me. They were all smiling. Elsie, Miss John and Miss Higgins stood just behind them. Lila waved.

  ‘I work on a farm, growing food for the poor,’ I said, as loudly as I could. ‘I love working there, but to be honest, there shouldn’t be any need. Now, I know you will say that the poor are always among us. That may be true. But the cost of this war is enormous, and it’s making more people poorer than ever.’

  I took another breath.

  ‘You tell ’em, love,’ someone yelled.

  ‘I don’t just mean the financial cost,’ I went on, ‘although that is ridiculously high. I mean the human cost. Families here, families everywhere, have paid a price that is too great. Many will never recover.’

  I looked at Ma. She seemed to be crying. That never happened.

  ‘My own family feels it too,’ I said. ‘My brother is serving in Flanders. I’d like to read you a letter I received from him just this morning.’

  My fingers trembled as I unfolded Alex’s latest letter. I hoped nobody saw how the paper shook. I tried to keep my voice steady.

  ‘This is what he wrote to me. Keep fighting, Sis. No man should be forced into battle, or to see and do the things we’ve seen and done. Good friends gone. The best of us. So much blood shed. A countryside that will never be the same again. None of us ever wants to see another war.’

  I folded up the letter and tucked it into my sash.

  ‘I’m not old enough to vote,’ I said. ‘But if I could, I would vote for peace.’

  The crowd clapped and whistled and carried on, but as Dad helped me down the steps, my only thoughts were of Alex.

  I hadn’t read out the rest of his letter. That was just for me.

  Be brave, Sis. If there’s one thing I’ve learned here it’s that everyone shows courage in their own way. Some of us are quiet, some are loud, some are trembling in their boots all day every day, but they look after their mates and they stick it out.

  It’s the same back home. Ma and Dad stand up for their beliefs. You ride bicycles and do farm work and all sorts of things girls aren’t supposed to do.

  So keep on fighting, Maggie.

  Be brave for me—for all of us.

  Ace

  Charlie appeared at the end of the long row of beds. ‘Come on, Sunshine,’ he shouted at me. ‘You’ve been lying about long enough.’

  He waved a handful of papers at me. ‘Good old Ferguson sorted it out for us. He cleared it with your doctor too. We’ve got new orders. Posted to 3 Squadron. You’ll be back with our old mates, just like you wanted.’

  Len was waiting in a car just outside the ward.

  ‘You coming too?’ I asked.

  ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily,’ he said with a grin.

  We didn’t have to go far from the hospital to the airfield just on the other side of Bailleul. There were three squadrons sharing the base: two British and one Australian—ours.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Major Blake. I hadn’t seen him since we landed in England all those months ago. He looked more worried than ever. The office walls were covered in maps and photographs of the trenches, all pinned up in long lines. The Major sat at an old dining table borrowed from an empty house, I guessed. A lot of borrowing went on. Even the bunks in our new huts had been nicked from a nearby asylum. Every airfield was furnished with fancy chairs and dressers and even pianos. All those French and Belgian families would come back to empty houses when the war was over. If it ever was.

  Another officer stood just behind Major Blake. They were both very clean, with boots and belts polished and all the regulation items of uniform still intact. Charlie, on the other hand, was wearing some stolen French navigator’s breeches, a faded jumper with holes in each elbow and a sheepskin vest. I wore a British pilot’s leather coat over the filthy flying suit I’d crashed in. I still had my hospital pyjamas on underneath. Neither of us owned hats any more, let alone official issue caps.

  ‘Sounds as if you’ve been having quite an adventure,’ said Major Blake.

  ‘You could call it that,’ said Charlie.

  Major Blake smiled. ‘We’re glad to have you back with us.’

  ‘Happy to be here, sir,’ I said. ‘It’s good to see the boys again.’ It was strange too. All the faces were familiar, grinning, still untouched by the stress of the daily air war. For the moment.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re missing a few souls,’ said Major Blake. ‘Training casualties. We lost one crew coming over the Channel and another just the other day.’

  ‘We’re used to that,’ said Charlie. ‘We have to be. Apparently.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Major Blake seemed a little embarrassed. He motioned to the officer behind him.

  ‘I’m assigning you to D Flight, with Captain Dodd.’

  Charlie and I nodded.

  ‘Is that any way to greet your new flight leader?’ asked Dodd.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’ I snapped my heels together and threw him a salute. Well, as much of a salute as I could muster.

  Charlie didn’t move. He kept his eyes on Major Blake. ‘Any news about the next Push, sir?’ he asked, as if Dodd hadn’t spoken.

  Blake hesitated, then must’ve decided to forgive Charlie’s rudeness. He leaned back in his chair. ‘As it happens, yes. We’ve been asked to help with artillery spotting for the next week.’

  ‘Flashes or low flying, sir?’ I asked.

  ‘Just flashes,’ he said. ‘No need for any more of your famous close shaves—at least,
not yet.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve had enough of that for a while.’

  Flying high and spotting the flash of guns was a whole lot easier than skimming the ground looking for signs of movement.

  ‘Same area, though,’ said Blake. ‘The generals are still very eager to take Passchendaele.’

  ‘I hope it’s worth it,’ I said.

  ‘Every inch of ground is a victory,’ said Dodd.

  ‘There’s an awful lot of death per inch,’ I said. ‘Those blokes in the trenches are taking a hammering.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Dodd. ‘To help clear the Hun off the hills.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘If only it were that easy.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Major Blake quickly. ‘Now, why don’t you two go settle in? I’m sure the chaps have got lots of questions for you.’

  Charlie sighed again. As we closed the door behind us we heard Captain Dodd.

  ‘Those fellows,’ he said, ‘need to show a bit more spine.’

  Charlie spun round, one hand on the door knob.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said, my hand on his arm. ‘You do not want to spend the rest of the war in military prison for punching your superior officer.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘At least it’d be quiet.’

  B Flight took off early the next morning to drop bombs on a train line near Roulers. Captain Dodd ordered us all out to watch them go, as if we’d never seen a plane take off before. But we hadn’t seen too many like this. The aircraft were fitted with bomb racks underneath and the observer had a release button to let them all loose when the plane was over the target.

  ‘Don’t like that idea,’ said Charlie. ‘Not very sporting, is it?’

  ‘Huns have been bombing civilians in London for months,’ said Dodd. ‘They started it. We have to do whatever it takes to grind them into the dust.’

  I wished Ma was there to argue with him. I couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘Mud,’ said Charlie. ‘Not dust.’

  ‘What was that, Lieutenant?’

  ‘It’s just mud,’ he said. ‘Passchendaele. Miles and miles of mud and water and holes and blood.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dodd, ‘since you are such an expert, you can be my observer today. I’m going over there to take a look.’

  ‘By yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I shall have Lieutenant Driscoll with me.’

  ‘I’ll fly with you,’ I said.

  He waved me away. ‘Not needed. You’ll go out later on artillery spotting if your arm is up to it. But first I want to survey the area for myself.’

  ‘Sir, one plane alone is a sitting duck. Believe me.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘You chaps really need to steady your nerves. It will be fine. Perfect day for flying. Ready, Lieutenant?’

  ‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said Charlie. Dodd walked off to supervise the ground crew as they rolled his aircraft out onto the runway.

  Charlie turned to me and held out his hand. An icy shiver of fear ran through my body.

  ‘No, Charlie,’ I said. ‘Don’t do that. No goodbyes. You’ll be back by lunchtime.’

  He shook my hand gravely.

  ‘It’s been an honour flying with you, Ace.’

  ‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘You’ll fly with me tomorrow. And the day after.’

  He tried to smile, but his face was bleak. ‘Such a lot to look forward to.’

  They didn’t come back.

  I paced up and down outside the hangar, looking at my watch every few minutes. B Flight landed, back from the bombing run.

  But there was no sign of Charlie and Captain Dodd.

  Major Blake appeared beside me. ‘Any news?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll telephone some of the other airfields,’ he said. ‘See if they’ve heard anything.’

  But nobody had.

  An hour after they were due back, I ran into the hangar.

  ‘Get me a plane!’

  I jumped into the cockpit and threw down the ladder. Len came rushing in from his workshop.

  ‘Wait for an observer,’ he said. ‘Please, Ace.’

  I shook my head. ‘If they’ve gone down, I’ll need the spare seat.’

  I started up the engine so I couldn’t hear any more arguments. As I raced down the runway, Major Blake ran out of his hut. I waved. The last thing I saw as the plane left the ground was Len standing by the hangar door, saluting me.

  I flew low over the trenches, looking left and right for plane wreckage. They could have landed anywhere. A few Huns took shots at me but I ignored them. There was no time for zigzagging today. I kept my right hand steady on the joystick—my other arm was pretty useless, but I’d taken the sling off. If I needed to use it, even a damaged arm was better than nothing.

  Up over the pathetic mess that was Passchendaele. Our trenches had moved since my last flight, creeping slowly up the hill, but the Germans were still in control of the heights.

  I swung north, deep into enemy territory. Dodd would want to sweep the whole of the Salient, I figured, and see where the German-held railway lines and roads ran. If he was so keen on bombing, he might even want to look for HQ or reserve troop billets. Below me was farmland, as untouched and deserted as the valleys on our side. Trampled hay and half-ploughed fields and … there! Skid marks in wet grass. And in the corner of a paddock, crumpled under a huge cypress, a plane. One of ours.

  It hadn’t been there long. A thin plume of smoke circled into the air. No sign of life.

  If they’d been shot down by German guns, someone would be sent to find them. And that someone would arrive soon.

  I banked left, circled around, and dropped low. The field wasn’t large, but it’d do. I could land. Just. But could I take off again? If it was as soggy as the rest of Flanders, I’d be bogged for days. Only one way to find out. I let the plane dip and slowed down as much as I dared. Circled again, skimmed over the final hedgerow and set her down. She bumped along nicely and came to a halt just near the crash.

  Dodd’s plane had lost both its wings: one lay in the field a few yards away, and the other in shreds all over the ground. The propeller was lodged in the tree trunk. Dodd slumped over his control panel.

  ‘Charlie?’

  If I stopped the engine, I might not get it started again. But if I didn’t stop it, I couldn’t leave the aircraft—and then I’d never know.

  I flicked the switch off and jumped down. A sickening crunch in my crook arm as I landed made me swear out loud.

  And then I saw him.

  Charlie lay sprawled on the ground near the broken wing. His eyes were open, staring up at the sky. I knelt beside him and felt in his throat for a pulse. But it was no good.

  I don’t know how long I sat there. Maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour. Then I heard a truck, headed our way.

  I reached around Charlie’s neck and tugged one of his identity discs free, then felt in his tunic pockets to see if there was anything his family would want. A tattered photo of the two of us at Point Cook. A pocketknife. A compass. And a grubby knitted kangaroo made for him by a girl on the other side of the world.

  ‘Mate,’ I whispered. ‘Fly safely.’ I reached out and gently closed his eyelids.

  Then I raced to the wreck to check on Dodd. He was alive, swaying in his seat with blood streaming down his face.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

  ‘Never mind that. We have to move. Now.’

  I unclipped his harness and dragged him clear, and nearly passed out myself from sudden pain in my arm. I shook my head to clear it.

  ‘Can you walk?’ I asked.

  Dodd’s knees buckled and he fell against me.

  ‘I guess not.’

  The truck changed gears as it turned a corner. They were close.

  ‘Where’s your friend?’ Dodd asked.

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’
he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘The Huns will give him a decent burial,’ I said. ‘We do the same for their airmen.’

  I wrapped Dodd’s arm around my shoulders and dragged him towards my plane.

  ‘I need to get the engine started,’ I said. ‘Do you think you can help me?’

  ‘I didn’t realise,’ he said. ‘I just thought …’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ I snapped. ‘You have to concentrate.’

  I scrambled up onto the wing, reached down and hauled Dodd up and into the cockpit, trying to ignore the screaming pain in my arm, then jumped back down.

  ‘The engine’s warm,’ I shouted. ‘It shouldn’t take much.’

  He wiped the blood from his face with his scarf and nodded. ‘Right-oh.’

  ‘Cross your fingers,’ I said.

  The truck engine spluttered to a halt just beyond the hedge.

  I grabbed the propeller blade and swung it down. Nothing.

  And again.

  Contact.

  I jumped back. The engine chugged into life. Shouts from the road.

  I swung myself up onto the wing. Dodd was already climbing over the fuselage, and fell feet first into the gunner’s seat. Blood streamed down the side of the plane. He must be hurt badly. I dropped into my cockpit.

  ‘Hold on, sir!’

  The plane spun round just as four men in grey uniforms dashed through the gate. I gave the engine as much throttle as I dared, and roared across the field.

  A rifle blazed.

  One bullet, then another, tore through the canvas.

  A few more seconds and—

  December, 1917

  Station Street,

  Coburg

  Alex,

  Now you listen to me. Come back here. We got a telegram to say you’re missing, but I don’t believe it. None of us do. It doesn’t make any sense.

  Missing isn’t dead. Is it?

  So will you please let someone find you? You may be hurt. You may have been captured. But don’t be gone. I couldn’t bear it.

  I shall keep writing to you until they order me to stop. I shall keep believing that you’re alive, somewhere.

  Come back to us, Ace. Please.