by Judy Nunn
‘I’d rather introduce myself,’ she said, ‘that is, if you don’t mind.’
Rather unorthodox, he thought, but then she was a civilian, and he’d been told she had a way with the natives.
As it turned out, no introduction was necessary. Although the majority of the workers at the base were from other islands, there were a number of locals, most of whom recognised her and, as she approached, the cry went up, ‘Missus Tack! Missus Tack!’
Within minutes the men were all crowding around her, those from elsewhere interested in meeting the white missus who was so popular on Efate.
She chatted to them in Bislama, asking them their names and where they were from, and discovered that most came from Tanna to the south. She asked them if they liked the food and they said yes, the food was good. Then one man said, ‘Mi laikem Merika kakae,’ and that started it. Several others agreed. ‘Yo, yo, Merika kakae mo gud,’ they said and before long everyone was grinning and nodding. ‘Merika kakae nambawan.’
‘Nomo,’ Jane shook her head firmly, ‘Merika kakae nomo gud. Merika kakae makem yufala sik.’
They’d been told that it was the American food that was making their people sick, that they must eat their own special rations, which the military now prepared for them. But they hadn’t wanted to. The American food tasted good, and there was a lot of it, and their new army and navy friends were happy to share it with them.
‘Yu mas kakae aelan kakae,’ Jane stressed. ‘Aelan kakae em i impoten tumas.’
The local men, aware of Jane’s reputation, were the first to be convinced. If Missus Tack said it was important they eat the local food, they said, then she must be right. Missus Tack was ‘nambawan dokta’, they told the others. She made everyone better when they were sick. Missus Tack knew everything.
Many of the American servicemen had gathered around to watch. It was an impressive sight, the slim Englishwoman holding command over the islanders who surrounded her.
‘Now she is gorgeous!’ Charles ‘Wolf’ Baker murmured to his buddy Chuck Wilson.
‘She’s married,’ Chuck said; he’d been amongst the officers who’d lined up near the commander hoping for a personal introduction.
‘Just my luck,’ Wolf grinned. But he watched her with admiration. They could certainly do with her out at Quoin Hill, he thought. The team of workers at the remote airbase refused to eat their special rations and a number of them had become ill. Wolf himself had explained they’d get sick if they kept eating American food and they’d appeared to understand, but they didn’t believe it. Or they didn’t want to, he thought. American food was ‘number one’, they kept saying, and the army cooks in the mobile kitchen, who were black themselves, didn’t have the heart to refuse them.
‘We can’t discriminate, Lieutenant,’ they said, and the islanders played on their black brothers’ sympathy. It was a delicate situation.
The workers gave Jane an enthusiastic farewell and Lieutenant Colonel Kempsey walked her to the staff car where Biff was already waiting.
‘I’m most impressed and most obliged, Mrs Thackeray,’ he said as he shook her hand.
‘Oh I’m sure there’ll be a bit of cheating,’ Jane warned him, ‘they’ve certainly discovered a taste for your food. But perhaps a treat now and then,’ she suggested. ‘One meal a week on American rations wouldn’t do too much harm.’
‘An excellent idea.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ A young officer had appeared beside them. He saluted the commander. ‘Ma’am,’ he said, acknowledging Jane.
Kempsey returned the salute. ‘Yes, Baker?’
‘I was wondering whether Mrs Thackeray might visit Quoin Hill, sir.’
Kempsey nodded. The Lieutenant had informed him of the trouble they were having with the recruits and the rations. ‘That’s entirely up to Mrs Thackeray and her driver,’ he said.
‘I’d be more than happy to do so,’ Jane agreed. But Biff looked uncertain, he was supposed to return the staff car by ten o’clock.
‘I could drive you there myself, ma’am,’ Wolf said, ‘and escort you back to Vila.’
‘In that case, what are we waiting for?’ Jane smiled.
‘An introduction perhaps,’ Kempsey replied. ‘Mrs Thackeray, Lieutenant Wolf Baker.’
‘At your service, ma’am.’
‘How do you do, Lieutenant.’
Chuck watched as his buddy drove off with Jane Thackeray in the jeep. So did most of the others and they grinned and nudged each other. How the hell did he do it? they all thought. Wolf had a way with women and the men respected him for it. That guy could charm the birds right out of the trees, they said. Wolf Baker sure was something else.
‘How long have you been in Vila, ma’am?’ Wolf asked as they drove up the hill.
‘Nearly eight months.’
‘Is that all? Wow,’ he said, deeply impressed, ‘I thought you’d been here for years, you speak their lingo like a native.’
‘It’s a very simple language, Lieutenant,’ she assured him, ‘it doesn’t take long to learn.’
‘But the way they all respect you, that was an amazing thing to watch.’ He grinned at her. ‘You were really great back there, you know that?’
She found his admiration highly suspect. His grin was too engaging, his manner too personal. Was he admiring her communication skills or her appearance? she wondered. He wasn’t eyeing her up and down and there was nothing lascivious in his behaviour. There was not one thing to which she could openly take offence. But Wolf Baker was too rakishly good-looking to be true. And he knew it, she decided. It was quite apparent how the nickname ‘Wolf’ had come into being, the man obviously made a habit of playing on his looks. He was laying it on for all it was worth, as he no doubt did with every woman he met, and Jane wasn’t having a bar of it.
‘My husband is a missionary doctor, it’s my job to become a part of the islanders’ lives,’ she replied, not rudely but with the intention of putting him in his place.
‘You’re kidding,’ he said, undeterred. ‘You don’t look like a missionary’s wife.’
‘Really? And what does a missionary’s wife look like?’ This time her tone was icy.
‘I don’t know,’ he said with disarming honesty, ‘I’ve never met one.’
She didn’t know what to make of him. He clearly intended no offence. A change of subject was called for, she decided. ‘Tell me about yourself, Lieutenant.’
‘Sure,’ he said amiably, ‘what do you want to know?’
‘Well, where do you come from for a start?’
‘Boston, Massachusetts.’
‘And?’
She was grilling him, and he wondered why. But it was okay, he didn’t mind. ‘And I’m twenty-six years old, and I graduated from Harvard School of Engineering in ’39, and I joined the United States Army Air Force, and I got my bars in ’41.’ His grin was irresistibly boyish. ‘Name, rank and serial number, Charles Wolfgang Baker, Lieutenant 2nd Class, United States Army Air Corps, 97352402, at your service, ma’am.’ He saluted her, and she couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Wolfgang?’
‘Yeah, my grandmother was Austrian and she and my mom were big Mozart fans, so …’ he shrugged.
‘So you were nicknamed “Wolf”.’
‘Nope, I was nicknamed “Chuck”. I got saddled with “Wolf” at the army airbase in Montgomery, Alabama. The guys thought it was a hoot when they found out my middle name was Wolfgang.’
‘Wolf suits you.’ She said it without innuendo and with a smile. It did suit him, she thought.
‘You reckon so, ma’am? Me too, I like it. Every second guy I know’s called Chuck.’
She laughed again, her suspicions already fading. Charles Wolfgang Baker was eminently likable.
‘And what is your job at Quoin Hill, Wolf? Please call me Jane,’ she added, ‘I’ve never quite adjusted to the American habit of “ma’am”.’
‘Sure thing, Jane.’ He was pleased that he’d made her laugh. Gosh bu
t she was a good-looking woman. Damn shame she was married. ‘I’m adviser on the construction of the US Army airstrips,’ he explained, ‘they transferred me here because of my degree in civil engineering.’
‘Transferred you from where?’
‘45th Fighter Squadron.’
‘Fighter Squadron?’ she queried. ‘So you’ve seen action?’
‘Yeah, in a way,’ he said. ‘I was on fighter plane duty in Hawaii when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. They blew the crap out of everything … sorry, ma’am … Jane.’ The smile had disappeared, the humorous glint in the hazel-brown eyes had faded and his face no longer looked boyish. ‘There were a few Curtiss P-36s and P-40s undamaged and our squadron CO ordered them fuelled and armed. About ten of us managed to get up there, but it was too late.’ He shook his head as he recalled the images. ‘Jesus it was a mess. One big, horrible, burning mess. And not a Jap in sight. We searched the area for forty-five minutes, dodging our own flak half the time. The AA crews were firing at anything in the sky and that meant us. They had the jitters and they could hardly see through the smoke, they didn’t know who the hell it was they were trying to blow away.’ His shrug was one of resignation. ‘But it was all over.’
He’d been staring at the road ahead, and now he smiled once more; he hadn’t intended to sound so sombre. ‘I tell you, Jane, I can’t wait to get back up there.’ His eyes were gleaming with excitement. ‘Right up there in the thick of it.’ He gazed at the sky as if for a moment he saw himself there. ‘We’ll show them who’s boss, just you wait and see.’ Then he turned back to her. ‘And it won’t be long. Any moment now.’
Jane was amazed at the sight that greeted her when they reached Quoin Hill. Laid out before her very eyes in this remote north-east area of the island was a virtual airport. But it was disguised. Aeroplanes of every description, fighters, bombers, and cargo planes, sat in revetments covered by netting and vines. Ammunition stores, mechanical garages and an ordnance depot, ‘stacked to the ceiling with weaponry’, Wolf said, were all similarly camouflaged.
‘There’s not much we can do about the airstrips themselves.’ The runways were constructed of crushed coral, he told her, and they’d certainly be visible from the air. ‘But as for the rest?’ He gave her a cheeky wink. ‘The Japs’d have no idea what we’ve got hidden away up here.’
Jane’s introduction to the islander recruits proved as unnecessary as it had been at Havannah Harbour. Two of the men, brothers, were from Savi’s village and she had examined their children during the meningitis scare. The brothers approached her enthusiastically, well before she had time to mingle and introduce herself to the others.
‘Missus Tack, olsem wanem, i gud?’ they asked, shaking her hand, first one brother, then the other.
She replied that she was very well thank you and shook their hands with equal effusiveness, then she asked after their families. They said that they’d had to leave the village when they started working for the Americans. The Bos had said that he wasn’t giving a bullock a month to families whose men didn’t work for him, and they hadn’t wanted to cause trouble for the others who’d stayed with the Bos out of loyalty to Savi.
The brothers didn’t seem worried about the change in their circumstances, however. The wife of the older brother came from Epule village, right here near the airbase, he said, and they had all moved in with her family. Everyone was very happy because of the presents they brought home from the Americans. They had furniture in their huts now, and new clothes, and a radio.
The animated conversation between Jane and the two brothers quickly drew the interest of the other workers and before long she was once again surrounded by islanders eager to meet Missus Tack. She introduced the subject of rations and diet, and the brothers, proud to be ‘besfren’ with Missus Tack, ‘nambawan dokta’, told their workmates that they should listen to Missus Tack because Missus Tack knew what was best for them.
Wolf, as before, had watched from the sidelines. ‘You are fantastic,’ he said when she rejoined him. ‘You really are, Jane, you are something else!’
His open admiration was no longer suspect. If he was a puppy, she thought, he’d be wagging his tail, he was so beguiling.
‘I’m just doing my job, Wolf,’ she laughed.
They chatted as he gave her a guided tour of the base and she told him all about Martin and their work together.
‘He’s a lucky man, your husband,’ Wolf said. And he meant it. He’d never met a woman like Jane Thackeray.
Lunch was called at midday and they decided to eat before the drive back to Vila, both agreeing they were starving, but Jane insisted upon eating the islanders’ rations.
‘Have to set a good example,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you join me?’
‘Okay.’
The brothers had mysteriously disappeared, perhaps to eat at their village nearby, Jane thought, so she and Wolf sat amongst her newfound island friends, who were impressed to see the white Bos eating ‘aelan kakae’.
‘What is it?’ he asked Jane.
‘Fish and sweet potato,’ she said, ‘with coconut pulp and lime juice.’
‘It’s great. How do I say “I like it”?’
‘Mi laekam kakae ia.’
‘Mi laekam kakae ia,’ Wolf said to the men who laughed their approval and nodded and slapped each other on the back.
Just as the two of them had finished eating, the brothers returned, and with them were their wives and three children who had come to see Missus Tack. The older brother’s two sons chattered nineteen to the dozen, both vying for Jane’s attention, but the younger brother’s little girl of around eight was shy. Clutching a fistful of her mother’s cotton dress, she peeped out from behind the woman’s legs, interested in the proceedings but far too timid to say anything.
Wolf smiled at the mother and knelt down beside the little girl. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Talem allo, Lela,’ the mother coaxed.
The little girl remained silent, grabbing a bigger fistful of her mother’s dress, but she didn’t dodge away. Her lips parted in wonderment and she stared wide-eyed back at Wolf.
‘Her name is Lela?’ Wolf questioned the mother.
‘Yo,’ the woman nodded.
‘Hello, Lela.’
‘Allo,’ the little girl whispered.
‘You’re very pretty,’ he said. Then he looked up at Jane who had been watching him out of the corner of her eye as she’d chatted to the boys. ‘How do I say “you’re very pretty”?’ he asked.
‘Yu luk naes tumas.’
‘Yu luk naes tumas, Lela,’ he said and he smiled at the little girl.
Lela’s eyes didn’t leave his as she returned his smile. ‘Yu luk naes tumas tu,’ she said, her voice a little bolder this time.
Wolf laughed and looked again to Jane.
‘Yes,’ Jane said. ‘Lela thinks you’re pretty too.’ She was amazed. When she had examined Lela at the village she hadn’t been able to get a word out of her. She hadn’t even been able to get the child to look at her. The little girl had been so painfully shy that she’d clung to her mother and stared at the ground throughout the entire examination. The mother had said that Lela was always like that with strangers. Even strangers like Missus Tack, she’d said apologetically.
‘How did you do it?’ she asked ten minutes later as they walked to the jeep.
‘Do what?’
‘Lela. She never talks, she never looks people in the eye.’
He grinned again and gave a jaunty shrug. ‘Charisma, I guess.’
He was joking, but he was right, she thought, that’s exactly what it was. Wolf Baker was far more than good-looking, he was charismatic. When he was interested in someone the full focus of his attention was extraordinary. She had felt it herself, and so had Lela. She wondered whether he was actually aware of the effect he had on others. Quite possibly not, she thought.
‘Excuse me, sir, we have a bit of a problem.’
They were met at the jeep b
y a corporal who sprang to attention, eyes front, and smartly saluted.
‘Yes, Jack?’ Wolf returned the salute, but was casual in his manner, a signal to the corporal, whom he knew well, that the full military show was not necessary in Jane’s presence.
The young man got the message and visibly relaxed. ‘It’s Big Ben, sir, he’s sick as a dog.’
‘In what way?’
‘Threw up his lunch … beg pardon, ma’am,’ he said in deference to Jane. ‘And he’s come over dizzy.’
They followed the corporal to the mess hut where a number of men were gathered around a large black American soldier. He was seated on a camp stool, his head in his hands.
‘I’ll be okay,’ the big man was saying over and over. ‘I’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.’
‘What’s the trouble, Big Ben?’ Wolf asked, and the man tried to get to his feet and salute. ‘Sit, sit,’ Wolf said putting a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the man said, ‘I don’t know what …’
Jane knelt beside him, her hand to his forehead, then she checked his pulse and his eyes. He was a giant of a man, strong and fit, but he was as weak as a baby, his energy sapped. He was shaking and sweating, his eyes were rolling and his temperature was high. He’d be delirious any minute.
‘Blackwater fever,’ she said as she stood. ‘He needs quinine. Intravenously and as soon as possible.’ She stated the case in a matter-of-fact way, not wishing to alarm Big Ben and the men, but her eyes told Wolf that the matter was urgent. ‘We have to get him to Vila.’
The two of them followed as the men half carried and half dragged the protesting Big Ben to the jeep. Wolf looked at the young Englishwoman who seemed to him a never-ending source of amazement. He’d presumed that she worked as a local interpreter for the medical corps.
‘I didn’t know you were a doctor,’ he said.
‘I’m not,’ she replied. ‘I’m a nurse.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
‘Cover him with a blanket,’ she said to the men when they’d put Big Ben in the jeep; he was lying on the back seat, his legs hanging over the side. ‘And bring me a bucket of cold water and a towel.’
