Jack's Island

by Norman Jorgensen

  ‘Who from? We’re in the middle of the Restricted Area, remember. Who can you get? Corporal Bennett said he’d shoot us if he caught us again.’

  ‘What about Little Eric and Christian?’ he suggested. ‘They won’t care we’re here.’

  By this time I was beginning not to care either. An overwhelming tiredness had descended over me and I couldn’t hold my eyes open any longer. When Banjo headed off to find help I lay back and tried not to let the pain bother me too much. Fat chance. If I’d been squashed flat with a streamroller I’d have felt better.

  I could smell cooking. I thought I must be dreaming. I opened my eyes and saw to my surprise I was in my own bed. As I lay still trying to work out what had happened, I overheard Mum and Mrs Carter talking outside my window by the washhouse. How did I get here? I tried to prop myself up and get comfortable, but the pain in my ribs instantly returned, stabbing me like a knife. Agony! I had a tight bandage round my chest and both arms were also bandaged.

  ‘Well, it seems mighty suspicious to me,’ I heard Mrs Carter say. ‘I remember him from Subiaco when Martha Small—Martha Cook she was then—when Martha was working as an usherette at the Empire Theatre. She knew Clive then. Very well, I’m told, if you know what I mean. After her husband disappeared. Very well indeed. Dafty was born then, more than a year after her husband left. I’m not one to gossip, as you well know, but look at the colour of his hair. And his eyes.’

  ‘Mum?’ I called.

  ‘Ah, he’s awake,’ said Mum quickly, obviously glad to shut her up.

  Clive who? I wondered. Who could Mrs Carter be talking about? Did she mean Dafty’s father? The only Clive on the island was Mr Palmer. And he couldn’t possibly be Dafty’s father. He was far too old to be a father, and besides, he had a gimpy leg.

  Mum appeared at the door still holding the thick white stick she used for stirring the copper on washdays.

  ‘I hope you aren’t going to belt me with that,’ I said, trying to be funny.

  ‘I very well ought to, that’s for sure. Thrash you within an inch of your life, you little blighter. The worry you cause me. You know the guns are out of bounds. How many times do you have to be told? I don’t know how much more trouble you can get into. I really don’t. And don’t tell me it’s all Banjo’s fault. If it weren’t for him you’d still be out there, being eaten by ants. Or worse.’ She stopped for a moment, still obviously annoyed with me.

  ‘Captain Anstey, that new army doctor, has been round to see you. I’m to get him back here as soon as you wake up. He thinks you have concussion and broken ribs. He’s given me this medicine for you. Three times a day.’ She picked up a blue bottle from the bedside table and shook it. ‘It smells absolutely disgusting. And it serves you right. You ... you ... hooligan.’

  She often used that sentence and it was usually followed by, ‘You’re as bad as your father.’ But not this time. Maybe because this time I was actually worse than my father.

  I slept through that night and nearly all the next day, and woke with the afternoon sun streaming through the window onto my face. I climbed slowly out of bed to close the curtain. My ribs seared with pain as I stepped onto the floor. It hurt even to breathe. I dared not cough. I sat back on my bed and noticed a row of coloured starfish had been neatly arranged in a straight line on the window ledge.

  ‘Mum?’ I called, ‘Did Banjo come round?’ Who else would bring starfish? Bess, maybe?

  ‘Yes,’ she shouted from the kitchen, ‘and Mr Palmer.’ She appeared in the door. ‘And the Jansens. Mr Palmer’s leg is still causing him gyp though. It’s getting worse. I think it’s infected, poor man. It must’ve been agony for him to walk all the way from his house. He left a book for you. Said you might enjoy it.’

  Mum nodded at my table. A small black-covered book called Coral Island by R M Ballantyne sat there. ‘He said one of the heroes is called Jack and he seems to get into as much trouble as you do, though for the life of me I can’t see how that’s humanly possible.’

  I smiled but felt uncomfortable. Mr Palmer was at my house? Bringing me presents? Maybe he was turning human after all. Then I remembered ‘The Highwayman’. About as human as Frankenstein.

  ‘And he left some schoolwork for you,’ she added.

  Once a school teacher, always a tyrant, I reckoned.

  The Jap Soldier Living Wild

  I had reached the part in Coral Island where the boys get attacked by an enormous shark but manage to kill it with a broken oar when I heard Dad come home from work, a bit earlier than usual. My door was half open so I heard him talking to Mum.

  ‘I have to go straight out again,’ he said. ‘Colonel Hurley’s organising a search party. They think the Jap who owned the helmet Jack and Banjo found is still on the island. There’ve been reports of fires and evidence of camp sites. It looks like he’s living wild. Maybe he was part of a scouting party and he got left behind.’

  Mum said something but I couldn’t make it out.

  Dad continued. ‘Keep the windows and doors locked until we find him. And keep the .22 ready. It’s up on the wardrobe. Here, I picked up some shells from Merv.’

  ‘But won’t you need it if you find him?’ asked Mum.

  ‘No, the colonel’s going to issue us all with army rifles.’

  I climbed carefully out of bed and went to my door. ‘Dad?’

  ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said, guessing I’d heard everything. ‘Look after your mother and your sisters, eh, Jack. We’re going to stay out until ten, if we don’t spook him out in the meantime. We’re hoping to spot his campfire again. It seems like he moves it every night.’

  Look after Mum and the girls? What did he mean? I was hardly able to walk back to bed without collapsing.

  A loud knock rattled the door and we all jumped in surprise.

  ‘Rob? It’s me, Merv. You ready?’ called Mr Purvis from the screen door. He had a gas mask haversack slung over his shoulder but I heard the clink of glass as he moved it. He lifted his hat and nodded at Mum. ‘Evening, Mrs Jones. Nothing to worry about. We’ll have the Nip rounded up before dinnertime.’

  Mum must have heard the glass clink as well because her eyes narrowed. ‘How long has he been on the island, do you think? He might’ve been spying on us the whole time. Watching. Watching and waiting for a moment to murder us all in our beds.’

  ‘Well, he won’t be doing much murdering with a half a dozen .303 slugs in him,’ said Mr Purvis.

  Dad grabbed his old greatcoat, and as he and Mr Purvis left Mum yelled, ‘Be careful.’ She said the same thing most days but this time I knew she really meant it.

  Instead of going back to bed I sat by the stove and rested my feet on the oven door. It’d give me chilblains but warm toasted toes would be worth it.

  Mum went into her bedroom and returned with Dad’s old Winchester .22. I was impressed by the way she expertly ejected the bolt and peered down the barrel before replacing it with a swift motion. Just like Gary Cooper. She saw me looking at her in amazement.

  ‘Could shoot the eye out of a mosquito at a hundred yards when I wasn’t much bigger than you.’ She grinned. I suddenly felt a lot safer. Absolutely amazed, but safer.

  I sat at the stove getting more and more involved with Jack and Ralph and Peterkin on Coral Island. I didn’t notice the room growing darker until Mum pulled the blackout curtains and turned on the light. Outside, the screen door rattled as the wind increased.

  ‘Looks like we’re in for another storm,’ she said as she pushed my legs away to put a log in the stove. ‘I hope your father won’t get too wet.’

  As if on cue the rain suddenly pelted down—thick driving rain that crackled on the tin roof and poured off in thick sheets.

  Mum went to the window and pulled back the edge of the curtain. She stopped in alarm and stepped back. Reaching for the Winchester, she said quietly, ‘There’s someone out there.’ She worked the rifle bolt and slipped a bullet into the chamber. ‘Patricia, take Bette and get und
er the table. Jack, put out the lights. Sorry about your ribs, Jack, but we can’t be too careful.’

  I flicked the switch and the room went black except for the glow from the wood stove. ‘Mum?’ I said.

  ‘Shh!’ She dropped to her knees by the window and peered through the wet glass out into the street. ‘Who’d be out on a night like this?’ she muttered to herself. She reached up and loosened the catch. The window swung open, caught by the wind.

  ‘Come out and show yourself or I’ll put a bullet in you,’ Mum yelled out into the night.

  I heard a clatter as a rubbish bin fell over and then the splashes of running feet hitting puddles.

  ‘If you don’t stop I’ll shoot you,’ she yelled at the top of her voice. ‘I surely will!’ He’d better stop, I thought. Mum was a woman of her word. She calmly cocked back the bolt on the gun, aimed out into the shadows and squeezed the trigger.

  The shot was like a dull thud, followed instantly by a whiz and the clang of the bullet hitting the rubbish tin. ‘The next one goes between your shoulder blades, Sonny Jim,’ she yelled again.

  The footsteps were running further away and back up the street.

  I heard a shout. ‘He’s got away! Don’t shoot! It’s me, Don Campbell. I’m outside Merson’s. I’ve been following him. He’s made a run for it.’

  Mum looked down the dark roadway away from the rubbish bin.

  ‘Open the door, Mrs Jones. I’m coming over,’ Constable Campbell called.

  A few minutes later he stood under our small porch trying to get his breath. Water dripped from his oilskin and cap. He shivered slightly. In his hand he held a large pistol, an officer’s Webley from the look of it.

  ‘I followed him this far. We very nearly got him, eh, Mrs Jones?’ he said as he warmed himself by the stove. ‘I doubt he’ll be back in this neck of the woods.’

  ‘It was too dark. I wasn’t sure who it was, otherwise I’d have blasted him good and proper,’ said Mum.

  ‘You meant to miss him?’ Constable Campbell sounded amazed, but not as amazed as I was.

  ‘Of course I meant to miss. It’d be a fine state of affairs if I shot every person I didn’t know who came down my street at night,’ Mum said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

  ‘He was headed out towards the aerodrome. Should run right into a patrol with any luck,’ said the constable. ‘But in the meantime I’d better get back to the station and see if I can get Colonel Hurley to put a few more men on guard down here.’

  He messed up my hair as he walked past me. ‘Perhaps you better make Annie Oakley here a cup of tea, eh, Jack.’ He smiled at his own joke and left just as Bette started bawling. I couldn’t believe it. Bette sleeps all through a wild west shootout in our kitchen but as soon as a door quietly closes she instantly wakes up.

  Then the window slammed shut with a loud bang and I nearly wet myself.

  Merv Purvis and the Red-back

  About a week later the army still hadn’t found the Jap and everyone who came to the house seemed a bit nervous and on edge. The laugher and happy greetings were a little more forced than usual.

  On Saturday Captain Anstey sat in our kitchen drinking a cup of tea with Mum and Dad. He’d just finished dressing my arms and re-bandaging my ribs.

  ‘Providing Jack takes it easy, I think it’s about time he returned to school. Mr Palmer’s leg is starting to heal and he might be up and about as well by Monday week.’ He looked at me. ‘What about that, eh, young fella? Good news?’

  Sure, about as good news as a toothache, I thought, but I just smiled.

  He nodded wisely and continued as if he’d just announced the end of the war. ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve just been over to call on Mr Palmer. I told him I was coming to check on you next and he sent you another book.’ He reached into his black doctor’s bag and pulled out a well-worn copy of King Solomon’s Mines by H Rider Haggard.

  ‘Read this myself when I was your age. Fairly rollicks along, if I remember.’

  ‘Say thank you, Jack,’ scolded Mum. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think he was changed in the hospital for a gypsy’s baby. For the life of me I don’t...’

  ‘What in the he...’ exclaimed Dad. I’m sure he was about to say ‘hell’, but he never swore in front of Mum.

  The loudest screams I’d ever heard came from out back, then a door slammed and something crashed. Captain Anstey immediately unbuckled the flap on the pistol holster that all the officers had started wearing since the Jap discovery. He went to the back door and swung it open dramatically, Dad close behind him.

  Before Mum could stop me, I crept up behind Dad and the captain and looked over their shoulders. Beyond the low back fence lay Mr Purvis, our neighbour, sprawled on the garden path that led to his dunny. His trousers were bunched round his ankles, baring his hairy white bum. He looked up in panic. Had someone shot him? I hadn’t heard any gunfire.

  ‘Captain, Rob, help me. For God’s sake, help me. I’ve been bitten.’ Mr Purvis screwed up his face in pain.

  ‘What’s happening?’ called Mum from the kitchen.

  ‘Stay inside Mrs Jones,’ Captain Anstey shouted back. ‘It’s far too horrible to see.’ He wasn’t wrong there.

  ‘Captain?’ pleaded Mr Purvis.

  Captain Anstey leapt over the wall in a single movement. ‘Stay still,’ he commanded as he knelt beside Mr Purvis. ‘A dugite? Did you see it?’

  The dunny door hung wide open and the smell wasn’t too good. In our house we usually knew when Mr Purvis had been to do his business. In fact, most of the island and probably half the mainland knew when Mr Purvis had done his business. His leg, up near his bum, had already begun to swell and turn red but I couldn’t see the unmistakable double puncture marks of a snake bite.

  ‘Looks bad, Merv,’ said Captain Anstey, ‘but I’d say it was a red-back. A pretty big one too. Think we’d better get you down to the base hospital. Spider bites can turn nasty.’ He and Dad helped Mr Purvis to his feet. ‘I’ve got the regimental ute outside.’

  I had to smile at that. Regimental ute? It was a rusty, clapped-out Chevy in not much of a better state than the dunny truck.

  Mrs Purvis opened the back door, quickly worked out what was happening and was down the path in seconds. She cast a quick glance at Mr Purvis’s bum. ‘You great big Jessie, Mervin Purvis. That’s nothing a good hot bread-and-mustard poultice won’t fix. Now stop bothering the captain and let him get on helping that little delinquent next door.’ She shook her head. ‘Thank you for your concern, Captain Anstey, but I can handle a spider bite.’ She turned and went back inside.

  I suddenly realised that the little delinquent next door she referred to was me.

  Mr Purvis pulled on his trousers, buttoned his fly and sheepishly started to say something to the captain, but instead he shrugged and walked to the door rubbing his bum. He saw Dad and me looking. ‘Women,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders, as if we’d understand.

  About ten minutes later we heard Mr Purvis yell loudly in pain. Mrs Purvis had obviously applied an extra-hot poultice to his spider bite. Either that or she’d decked him. Again.

  The US Commander

  We were having the first fine day for ages and Mum sat on the front verandah at the card table shelling peas and enjoying the warm afternoon sunlight. I sat on the verandah as well, leaning against the wall and reading King Solomon.

  A US Navy jeep swung round the end of our street and braked right outside our place. A black sailor wearing dungarees and one of those white porkpie caps I’d seen in the movies sat in the driver’s seat. An officer with gold ribbons on his uniform bounded out and smoothed his coat, then touched the peak on his cap.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he said to Mum, sounding distinguished and official. He was tall, dark, handsome and immaculate in his bright white uniform—a dead ringer for Clark Gable.

  Mum sat there with her mouth open, looking like a stunned mullet. Then she recovered and said, ‘I’m Mrs Jones. Can I help you?�
�

  ‘It’s your husband, Mr Rob Jones, I’ve come to see. I’m Commander Grant, United States Navy.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not home from the aerodrome yet. He should be another twenty minutes, half an hour,’ she said, patting down her hair and trying to get her faded old pinnie untied at the same time.

  The commander looked at his wristwatch, the flashest-looking watch I’d ever seen. ‘Do you mind if I wait? It’s very important I talk to him as soon as possible.’

  ‘My Lord, where are my manners?’ Mum gave a girlish giggle. ‘Do come in, Commander...’ she paused, remembering his name, ‘...Grant. You’ll have a cup of tea?’ Then she remembered me. ‘Jack, how many times do I have to tell you to stand when we have visitors? Commander, this is my son, Jack.’

  ‘Been in the wars as well, have you, cobber?’ he asked, laughing at his own attempt to sound Australian.

  ‘Yes, sir. I mean, no sir,’ I stammered like a prize idiot, sounding as stagestruck as my mum. I noticed he’d said wars as well. I wondered what wars he’d been in. He saw the questioning look on my face.

  ‘Pearl Harbour, son. I was stationed at Pearl. I’d just arrived the week before. That first day was awful, truly awful. War is not pretty. I sure hope this one is over by the time you’re old enough.’

  Adults were always saying things like that. I reckoned there’d be nothing better than to be in the cockpit of a US Navy Grumman Wildcat blasting Jap Zeros out of the sky. Ratattatatata!

  ‘You are the Mrs Jones who took the shot at the Jap straggler with the squirrel gun?’ asked the commander as Mum put the kettle on. He smiled warmly, obviously impressed. ‘You’re the talk of the base, taking a crack at him like that. It’s a pity you didn’t hit him. I gather from Colonel Hurley he’s proving pretty hard to track down.’

  ‘Oh, I’d have hit him all right if I’d been certain it was the Jap,’ said Mum. ‘But it was too dark to make him out clearly.’ Mum seemed pleased at the shocked look on the commander’s face.