Pete sighed, trying to break himself out of his reverie. One by one he was saying goodbye to them all in his mind, he knew that, but he was really just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later he was going to have to say goodbye to his parents.
The sun beat down as Pete leant against the car, absorbing Highview one last time. How he would miss it. The verandah needed a fresh coat of paint and the garden was far from the manicured glory he remembered as a child, but his grandparents had kept it well tended. There was an air of grace about the place that welcomed people in. Despite the frayed edges, it radiated the quiet elegance of his grandmother and the hospitality of his grandfather. The latter was already bringing out drinks for the family as they arrived, placing them in the wooden ice tub his aunt Pattie and James had built next to the side table under the parlour window. A little too ambitious and not altogether practical in size (Mick had proven the point one day by lying down inside it) the ice tub was nevertheless a wonder of ingenuity and Pattie and James were inordinately proud of it.
Eileen, along with her husband Nigel, had stayed with them through the lean years and she gave Pete a sad little wave as she laid out plates and arranged sandwiches before turning for inside, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. Pete waved back then turned at the sound of footsteps on the drive to see his father Jack walking towards him. Stomach churning, he swung his gaze to the paddock next door and his parents’ house, the cream and blue of his childhood home cheerfully set against the green of the rise, and waited.
‘Good game, son. Nice way to finish your season.’ His dad walked over and clasped his hand. ‘Not that you can really call four weeks a season. You’d think they’d have the decency to work the war in with our cricket.’ He leant against the car with Pete, following his gaze. ‘Saying goodbye to the house?’
‘I can still remember when we first painted it.’ He smiled. ‘I thought the paint was blue mud.’ They laughed and looked across together at the neighbourhood, the winding road of Gallipoli Street linking the families that had been through so much together and now sat on the precipice of war once again.
‘I feel like I can see my whole life from up here,’ Pete said, ‘not that I’ve done much with it.’
‘Oh I don’t know. A law degree, a New South Wales cap…you’ve hardly been idle.’
‘No, I mean what I’ve seen. I guess I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life.’ He paused, looking at the road as the Dwyers approached at a distance and took a deep breath, finding the words that were so difficult to say. ‘I tried to pray at mass but I felt like a hypocrite, asking God to forgive me for sins I was about to commit. I…I remember what happened to you, Dad. What if I can’t cope with it?’ His voice shook slightly and he pulled back his shoulders, trying not to appear weak.
Jack watched him, seeming to contemplate his answer. ‘You know, when I went off to war I had no idea what to expect. I think I figured it would be difficult, you know. You’d have to stuff cannons and capture prisoners. I suppose I knew I’d be shooting at people. But nothing prepared me…’ He paused, clearing his throat. ‘Nothing prepared me for the reality.’
‘But you ended up a war hero Dad. I just…I don’t want to let people down,’ Pete admitted.
‘You’d never be doing that, son.’
‘How do you know?’ Pete waited, needing the answer.
‘Because you do know what to expect. You won’t be ignorant like me. You know you’ll be dealing with death and you know it could be for a long time. I didn’t. I was completely unprepared, but you’re not.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be able to handle it.’
‘Well, you’re going in with your eyes open and that’s a pretty big step towards handling it, don’t you think?’
Pete shrugged. ‘I hope so.’
‘I want you to remember something, son,’ Jack said, standing in front of him, ‘and this is the best advice I can give you because it isn’t mine, it’s your mother’s. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to see or what you have to do, it is war that forces you to do it. It’s not your fault that you have to fight…it’s just…’
‘My duty, I know. I’ll do my best…I mean I’ll do my duty. It’s not that I’m afraid…’
Jack sighed. ‘’Course you are. So am I…bloody terrified truth be told.’
Pete forced a shaky smile, and Jack held his shoulder for a moment. ‘It’s a job, mate. They are sending you in to do a job: to stop war coming here.’ He gestured out at the homes before them. ‘You didn’t cause it, you didn’t ask for it and God knows you don’t want to do it, but you’re going anyway, to protect all of us. That’s real bravery. Especially when you know what…well, what I was like for a long while there.’
‘I’m going to have to kill people…’
Jack held his eyes, unflinching. ‘Yes, you are. But that’s war. That’s the job. Don’t confuse it with…well anything else.’
Pete nodded slowly, trying to absorb the weight of his father’s words, knowing he would need them. ‘How does it come down to this?’
Jack sighed, leaning back against the car with him once more. ‘I don’t know, mate. Maybe if the politicians spent a day in the trenches there wouldn’t be any wars.’
They stood side-by-side, watching family and friends come together for one last time, and Pete knew it was a scene he would replay over and again. The last day before it all changed.
Because things would change, that much he knew. War changed everything.
Veronica watched them through the window, her heart aching for them both: her son, about to leave home and face what had nearly broken his father; and her husband, watching him go.
She turned around to the calls of a mud-splattered James, who had come to find her.
‘Look, Mum! Crayfish!’ He thrust the trap at her in excitement and she pulled away as the slimy creatures were shoved in her face.
‘Goodness!’
‘Pattie said we can make a ’quarium for them. Can I keep them?’
‘Well…’
‘Thanks, Mum!’ She was enveloped in a squash of boy and slime before he rushed off again, calling back over his shoulder.
‘I’m gunna call the big one Pete!’
She watched him go and prayed that when he came of age there would be no wars to send him to.
Thirty-seven
Circular Quay, January 1942
Simon watched Katie approach as she ignored the wolf whistles of some soldiers walking by. He smiled at the sight of her, feeling rather self-conscious that this beautiful nineteen-year-old was having lunch with him, a twenty-four-year-old man not even in uniform.
‘Hello, Katie-bird,’ he said, standing up and giving her a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re looking very summery.’
She gave him a little pose. ‘I copied Katharine Hepburn,’ she said, holding her hand at the tiny waist of the rose-pink dress and smiling at him from beneath the wide-brimmed white hat. Simon found himself staring and immediately snapped himself out of it, pulling back a chair for her.
‘Well I’m sure she never looked as nice as you,’ he said, trying to be suave but blushing profusely. He was terrible at compliments. Fortunately it was Katie and she never seemed to notice when he tripped over himself.
The waiter came and they ordered, both deciding on the fish.
‘Have you got long?’
‘Oh, about an hour,’ he confirmed. ‘I have to get back and sort out the problem with these transmitters.’
Katie tilted her head. ‘I really don’t know how you do it,’ she said, fixing him with one of her curious, contemplative looks. ‘I think I’d go mad working on little wires all day and half the night. It would make my head spin.’
‘Well, they’re not things you’d like to cross incorrectly.’
‘No. Fortunately for the army they have someone like you who can do it. Mum told me you’ve been made head of development.’
‘Well, yes. It’s just a glorified titl
e really–’
‘Nonsense. Dad always says intelligence wins wars–’
‘And stupidity causes them. My dad says the same thing,’ he finished, smiling.
‘Well I think they are quite correct.’ She smiled back. ‘Our boys all need radios and transmitters just as much as they need guns. And clever men like you to make them work.’
‘Pity it doesn’t come with a uniform,’ he said quietly, then wished he hadn’t. She didn’t need to know about all of that.
‘Well if it did you’d have lots of bars on your sleeve, that’s for sure,’ she said loyally. ‘Now, guess what I’ve got in my purse?’
She pulled out a newly arrived letter from Pete and they read through it as they ate.
Dear Mum and Dad,
Well, it’s Christmas Eve and I’m thinking of you all, gathered at Greenshades and dressing up for the singalong. I’ll bet the house is filled with the smell of ham and turkey. It’s enough to make my mouth water just thinking about it.
It is very quiet here now compared to battles we’ve been through in Libya, Greece and Crete. It was madness at first, of course, but now we are twiddling our thumbs in Syria and waiting each day to hear when we can come back to defend home. It’s hard to understand why the politicians and generals are taking so long now that the Japs are on the rampage. Wasn’t Pearl Harbor enough? We feel like a bunch of nursemaids here, holding things as we are. They seem to know nothing about war. Maybe we should get them all to come spend some time in the trenches, eh Dad? Maybe then they would see that we need to come home and finish things off and put an end to the whole thing.
Katie paused, looking out at the boats nearby. ‘I wish they would come home. Why on earth are they keeping our soldiers on the other side of the world?’
Simon shrugged. ‘The English politicians don’t always take the Australian politicians seriously. Luckily the Americans do. They’re on their way, don’t worry,’ he assured her. Katie nodded at him, still frowning, then continued reading.
You might not think it but it is bitterly cold here. Tell May I loved the scarf, even though it does have an ink blotch or two, and I wear it every day. As for the news that Pete the Crayfish Number 4 has kicked the bucket, I think it may be time for James to investigate new pets for his ‘quarium’. Katie, what I wouldn’t give for some of your biscuits and cakes right now. I wish they could make the journey. Tell Simon to eat my share while I’m gone. He could use some fattening up.
They laughed at that. ‘Hey, I’m doing my best right now,’ he protested, patting his slender belly.
I can hear the fellows singing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ next door and I think I’ll go and join them, although they are doing a woeful job of it compared to you, Dad. Wish you were here right now to show them how it’s done.
Mum, I miss you every day.
Keep safe and keep me in your prayers,
Your loving son,
Pete
Katie wiped at a tear and Simon looked down, missing his friend.
‘Well, at least he’s out of the fighting for now,’ she said.
He nodded, looking up at her lovely face and wishing he could bring her brother home. Just then a woman came over to their table and Simon looked up in surprise as she handed something to him. She was gone before he had time to hide the white feather from Katie’s eyes.
Thirty-eight
Kokoda Track, New Guinea, November 1942
Pete pulled his foot out of the mud and dragged it over the next log, wiping at the sweat that ran continuously into his eyes. The ‘Golden Stairs’ seemed to go on forever and he tried not to look up at how much further he had to go, knowing it would make him feel even worse, if that was possible. Not that he complained. Nobody did, not even the walking injured, who were a constant stream towards the hospital, most of them suffering gunshot wounds. He overheard one digger further up objecting that he could walk and to ‘give some other poor blighter the royal treatment’. Passing him by Pete saw the man’s mutilated leg and understood why the stretcher-bearers were insisting he be carried. The stretchers themselves were ingenious things, consisting of two blankets tied to two long poles and carried at each end by ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels’. These native men were perhaps the most selfless people Pete had ever met, often sleeping four a side next to their charges, tending to their every need and going without food to give the soldiers something to eat. And the smiles! So wide and kind it gave more comfort than anything else as they gently carried the men barefoot through the mud and across the mountains.
It began to rain again and Pete struggled on, telling himself the same thing he always did at such times: it will end. The jungle was thick along the track and the constant threat of an invisible enemy made the trek a nerve-racking experience as well as an exhausting one, but he followed Simon’s footsteps and pressed on, figuring he’d call a break for lunch soon. His promotion to lieutenant had given him that right at least.
‘How goes it there, Slimey?’ he called ahead.
‘Living up to my new name,’ Simon called back and Pete chuckled. It was such a lift having him there, although he was furious about the reason. What a waste it was to take a brilliant telecommunications expert like Simon and stick him here in the mud. All because people were ignorant of what bravery really was.
Pete had received the shock of his life when Simon had turned up one day, casually strolling over in the mess tent in Port Moresby and sitting down next to him, his dinner in hand. Now it just felt like he’d always been there.
Katie’s most recent letter had been more agonised; she begged Pete not only to look after himself but to keep her future husband alive. Pete had written back, suggesting that if she would only let Simon in on his status he’d probably feel he had more to live for. He looked forward to the next mail immensely.
Pete decided to call for lunch and they slumped exhausted to one side of the track, clutching at their canteens thirstily and pulling out their rations.
‘Bloody bastards,’ Simon muttered, pulling off the leeches that clung to his ankles, reminding Pete to do the same. Sully approached, introducing him to a new recruit who had just arrived in New Guinea and had been assigned to their battalion, the 16th.
‘May I introduce Dominic Carson. Dom’s just arrived from Sydney town for a bit of a tropical adventure. Dom, this is Lieutenant Pete Murphy.’
‘Private,’ Pete acknowledged, shaking his hand, apologising as a leech landed in Dom’s palm.
‘Ah, I see y’enjoying the wildlife. Plenty more fun in store for ya there. Personally I’m fond of the mozzies myself. Blood-sucking vampires,’ Sully slapped at one on his back.
‘Just joined up, Dom?’ Pete asked, biting into a banana passed down the line by the natives.
‘Yeah; haven’t seen a Jap yet,’ Dom said.
The others laughed and he looked at them in confusion.
‘That’s because they’re invisible mate. Ya wouldn’t see ’im if they were three feet in front of ya and had legs like Betty Grable,’ Sully informed him.
They were on their way to reinforce the 7th Division and Pete assured him the Japanese would certainly be making their presence known when they got there, if not before.
‘I heard that the Japs are on the run. Maybe we won’t be in any fighting,’ Dom suggested.
‘Bullshit,’ Sully told him. ‘The powers that be want ya to believe that but the truth is they’re everywhere in this bloody jungle, and as mad as cut snakes. They’d rather swallow their own swords than retreat.’
Pete stretched out his aching legs, squinting against the scorching sun as it began to peer out from behind the dark clouds. ‘It’s all about hearing the enemy in this jungle. Can’t see a bloody thing.’
‘Not like those bastard krauts. They like to announce their presence by blasting ya eardrums to kingdom come,’ Sully said, biting into an orange.
Dom nodded, looking from one to the other. ‘I heard their bombing raids were brutal.’
‘I’m de
af as a post between you’n’me and the gate but still the most handsome bugger ’round these parts,’ Sully stretched to his full five feet eight and grinned. ‘But God, I’m as dry as a bull’s bum going backwards up a hill, which incidentally is what Slimey here looks like most days. Hey! Pass the water down,’ he called, moving along the stairs.
Pete and Simon laughed as Sully called out a few other choice remarks down the line, mostly amusing insults about the various physical traits of his mates who threw back colourful ones of their own.
‘Keep it down you lot,’ Pete ordered, but he was grinning.
‘Don’t worry too much, Dom,’ Simon reassured the young man as he gathered his things.
‘They’re a different kettle of fish these Japs but we’ve got the angels on our side so we’ll get there in the end,’ Pete added, nodding at one of the natives as he passed. ‘You’ll still get your fight though, I guarantee it.’
He signalled that lunch was over and they rose to continue their trek, the sun now blazing. Several large butterflies had appeared with it and Pete mused that, even here, life went on, despite the foolish humans seeking to destroy it.
Theresa pushed the damp strands of hair back under her cap and washed her hands, readying herself for the next patient. Another soldier with another bullet in his young body was brought in the operating tent and she went to stand beside Dr Kindred. She knew the latter was exhausted but wouldn’t say.
This soldier looked very young indeed, probably only just eighteen. His freckles were stark against the paleness of his skin and looking at his leg she could understand why. They worked together, managing to save it, and the boy clung to the doctor’s hand afterwards. The morphine was making him drowsy but he got the words out clearly.
‘Thank you. You’ve…just given me a normal life.’
Gallipoli Street Page 29
