Gallipoli Street

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  She pondered those words later as she cut bandages and sterilised instruments. How normal a life could any of them hope to live after this? Sighing, she took a rare break, and sat down to re-read Missy’s letter over a cup of tea.

  Dear Theresa,

  I hope this letter finds you well. Actually I’ll be pleased if it just finds you! I can’t believe you’ve ended up in the jungle after all. I have images of you in my mind living in a treehouse and swinging about on vines but I think that’s because of my new job. Brace yourself. I’ve been given a walk on part in a Tarzan movie! Can you believe it? Imagine what Sister Carmel would say. Terry, my new manager, managed to get it for me today and I couldn’t wait to get home and write to you to let you know the good news. It’s not until November but that should give me plenty of time to settle in a bit more.

  The job in the nightclub is good. I sing a duet with another girl called Dottie and it always gets a laugh because we wear costumes that are women’s clothes on one side and men’s on the other, and we have to sing in low voices for the men’s bit and high voices for the women’s. I hope I explained that all right. It’s a bit difficult to describe. I know, I’ll include a picture. Anyway, Hollywood is everything I thought it would be and more, although it’s very expensive, especially with the war on. I’m sharing a flat with a few other girls from the club and it’s pretty crowded and ridiculously priced but guess what? We can see the Hollywood sign from our balcony and, even more exciting, we have a pool! Some marines came over on Sunday and we had a pool party. I drank too much champagne and ended up kissing a guy called Bobby who was very keen and asked for a picture because he said he needed to look at my face every day for inspiration. He also said he wants to write to me. We’ll see if he does. How is your hair coping in the humidity? I’ll bet it’s curly. No need for rollers there! Anyway I’ll finish this up and get it out in the evening post. Missing you more than words can say.

  Love always

  Your Missy

  PS Terry’s given me a stage name: Missy Mayfair. What do you think?

  Theresa held up the picture and smiled. Missy looked happy and Theresa figured her grandmother’s pearls had been put to better use than the ring, although without the ring they never would have found their independence in the first place. She supposed both items had brought happiness in the end for Missy. For her part she couldn’t say she was happy exactly. How could anyone be, surrounded by so much suffering and living in such unbearable conditions? Queensland had been bad enough but these last weeks up in the jungle were a whole new level of uncomfortable, the air clinging to her like a thick, saturated blanket, but the work drove her onwards.

  Walking over to the door she watched the rain clear, and the thick foliage sparkled under the sunlight in a million shades of green, sending the birds into chorus as they chattered excitedly to each other in the treetops. She had found something here that she didn’t expect. She had found herself. It was as if she was always destined to work in a crisis situation, tending to the wounded and remaining level headed. She was good at it, so good in fact that Dr Kindred had told her he thought she would make an excellent doctor; she had taken that little seed on board. It grew as each day passed and she had recently decided that when the war was over she would do just that, helping to pay for her education by selling the most valuable item her grandmother had left her: the gold watch.

  She knew she would also have to work nights to make up the difference but that was fine, she’d always worked hard, and meanwhile she was under the excellent tutelage of Dr Kindred, who didn’t mind talking her through procedures on occasion. They made a good team: the two of them, the other nurse Daphne and ‘Two-Bob’, the orderlies, native twin brothers who for some reason both referred to themselves as Bob and quickly earned the collective nickname from their Australian patients. Together they were making some kind of makeshift home of their little hospital, dedicating most of their waking hours to the wounded.

  Explosions echoed through the valley and Theresa was roused from her thoughts, ending her break and moving back over to the operating theatre. It reminded her of one truth that was unavoidable here: they were never short of patients.

  ‘It’s from Katie,’ Simon said, turning over the letter in his hand as the other mail was given out.

  ‘Read it out loud, Slime. I could use some cheering up.’ Pete leant back in gleeful anticipation, wondering if she’d done the deed and ‘fessed up’ at last.

  Dear Simon,

  I hope you are still well. It must be dreadful for you up there in the tropics. Your grandmother seems more worried about you being too hot than anything else, constantly telling me that she’s of a good mind to ring those responsible and tell them to move the war out of that ‘perishable heat’. She seems to think the sun is your greatest threat, never mind the Japanese.

  They both laughed at that.

  We are all well here. May has heard from your mate Larry Naismith on quite a regular basis and she actually gets a bit fidgety when his name comes up, which is funny to see. She was terribly upset when news came of him being injured but he is recovering well now in Brisbane, although his back will have a nasty scar. Vince is still missing in action though. I feel so sorry for their parents.

  James said to tell you boys to use the sap from rubber leaves and rub it on your skin to deter the mosquitoes, although I don’t know how reliable his source is.

  ‘That would be like pasting yourself in glue! Mozzies would stick to you permanently!’ Simon grinned over at Pete before continuing.

  Simon there’s something I need to tell you and it’s been playing on my mind as to whether or not to do so, especially as I don’t know your feelings.

  Simon stopped reading aloud and Pete watched with interest as he began to blush. He finished the page and turned it over quickly, fumbling, and Pete sent out a silent congratulations to Katie for her courage.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ he asked innocently.

  ‘Hmm? Oh it’s nothing…it’s just she…oh bugger me!’ His mouth dropped open as he read the last few lines. Pete laughed as Simon’s eyes reached his.

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Everyone bloody knows, you dill. So what do you say? Have I got a brother-in-law?’

  ‘But why me? A girl like that…she could have anybody.’ Simon stared at the photo she’d sent along with the letter.

  ‘She doesn’t want just anybody. She wants you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘She’s had a thing for you her whole life. Surely you noticed?’

  Simon looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. ‘She has?’

  Pete laughed again and Sully slid over.

  ‘What’s the lark?’

  ‘Slimey’s just received a proposal,’ Pete grinned, ‘although he hasn’t said yes or no as yet.’

  ‘If it’s you I vote no,’ Sully declared, reading over his shoulder. ‘I feel like a moth drawn to the flame…come on give us a squiz. Is this her? Holy smokes, she’s a good sort too. But a few sandwiches short of the picnic, I’m guessing?’

  ‘Watch out, that’s my sister you’re talking about.’ Pete grabbed the picture.

  ‘Ya sister? Well, we won’t hold that against her. So what’s y’answer, Slime?’

  He looked at them both and his face split into an enormous smile. ‘God yes!’

  Sully clapped him on the back and Pete leant over and gave him back the picture.

  ‘A moth eh?’

  Simon turned even pinker and mumbled something about there being no bloody privacy, but he was still smiling.

  It was the happiest Pete had felt in a long while but he didn’t have time to savour it as he looked at his watch and realised they needed to get moving again, calling out the order. Simon got to his feet slowly, looking somewhat dazed, and Pete thought he might have imagined it but he could have sworn he saw Simon kiss the photo before putting it carefully in his pocket.

  Thirty-nine

  They were cut off. Pe
te didn’t know how it had happened but they were scattered and in shreds, reeling from the viciousness of the attack, and he was stranded with a handful of others in a narrow gully that was thick with mud and mosquitoes.

  ‘Have you seen Slime?’ he whispered to Sully as they lay awkwardly against the slope, aware that the Japanese were moving in front. Sully shook his head and Pete scanned as best he could in the moonlight. It was damp and they gripped the forest floor, biding their time, waiting for something to happen. It did. Gunfire rang out and Pete decided to use the noise as cover, moving back into the trees and hoping they weren’t about to bump into more Japs at the rear. Finally they found a cave and hid inside, Pete signalling that he would take first watch. Not that it mattered.

  The night glinted in silver and black, every drop of water sending the smallest of movements to grate upon their nerves, each nodding leaf a potential lapse in stealth from the silent enemy they had so come to fear. A cacophony began: the jungle spoke in millions of mysterious languages as the insects and animals explored their nocturnal world, oblivious. But the men didn’t talk. They barely dared breathe let alone sleep as they waited for the sun to finally rise so they could make sense of their situation. When it did they were no better off. The foliage was incredibly thick and Pete realised they would have to go at it blind, relying on their hearing for detection of the enemy.

  When they walked into gunfire it seemed the old joke was true. The Japs really were invisible.

  His heart was leaping in his chest as he heaved great draughts of air into his straining lungs. Flattened against the tree, he illogically feared they could hear its drumming above the roar of combat. Pete closed his eyes, the words of a lifetime of prayer failing him, and he found only one word echoed over and over in a desperate plea.

  Please. Please. Please.

  Images of Sully falling next to him moments before, with sightless eyes and blood-soaked chest, flashed in his mind as the gunfire began to pause and splutter in shorter bursts. The thick jungle gradually fell silent and Pete knew he had to move before they came through to finish off the dying. He stepped over the bloodied leg of Dominic Carson, bending down to check if he was alive, only to stare into a face almost unrecognisable in death. Emptied of expression, Dom was truly gone from this world and left only a pale imitation of himself behind. Pete forced the guilt away; this boy had died under his command.

  It’s war.

  He grabbed Dom’s wallet and wristwatch and moved on, his heart beating an unbearable rhythm of fear, paining within his ribs until he finally reached the creek. He wondered how many others had made it out and whether or not they were already on the other side as he cautiously crept across. The water was shockingly cold against his overheated skin.

  ‘Pete!’

  Startled, he turned to see Simon on the other side waving him over, watching his back. He scrambled then, landing beside him in the thick undergrowth as they stared at each other with a mixture of relief and surprise, but it was short lived. Gunfire exploded from the other side and they ran, their exhausted legs hurling them forward through the blinding green, their boots tearing at the muddy slopes.

  He had no idea how long it was until he finally fell, and realised that the gunfire was far behind. And he had no idea how far back it was that Simon must have been shot and he’d run on oblivious, leaving him alone, lost in the middle of an impossible battlefield at the mercy of whoever stumbled across him first.

  And he had no idea how long he would lie there until the gaping hole in his back spilled enough blood into this hungry, unforgiving animal, and he became just another part of the rich brown mud that gave it life.

  Pete stared up at the canopy, a space in between the thick eaves framing a view of the sky. He drifted out of consciousness, reflecting that it was comforting somehow that it stayed with you no matter where you were, this calm, clear, endless blue with its armies of slow-marching clouds. It had been months since he’d looked up and noticed it, the giant dome that covered them all.

  As the armies gathered in grey mass he slipped into nothingness, wondering how the sky looked above Gallipoli Street, and if it would rain there too when the telegram came to tell them he was gone.

  Veronica woke in a sweat and Jack stirred.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked drowsily.

  ‘Nothing…go back to sleep.’

  She rose out of bed shakily and went out onto the verandah, her head pounding.

  ‘What is it?’ Jack came up beside her, wrapping her in his arms as the moonlight lit the fields around them.

  ‘It’s Pete. I…I dreamt he’d been hurt.’

  ‘Well, my darling, that’s understandable…’

  She nodded, wiping at her tears. ‘I suppose. It just seemed so…so real.’

  He smoothed her hair and kissed her cheek, holding her close. ‘Problem is it is real for us. We don’t have to imagine what it’s like.’

  ‘I wish I didn’t know,’ she whispered.

  ‘Me too.’

  They stood together and stared out into the night, their hearts stretching across the miles to a jungle far away to the north, holding on to one another as they prayed for their son.

  Forty

  Field Hospital, New Guinea

  Theresa shook her head, trying to stay awake as she bathed his face. This one had lost a lot of blood and it was still touch and go. He and the other fellow were the only survivors of the ambush though both of them had been shot. She couldn’t say for sure at this point whether either would make it. Looking over at the one who wore spectacles she noticed his colour was at least good. He had been shot in the chest but Dr Kindred had managed to get the shrapnel out and, as long as he didn’t get a post-operative infection, his chances weren’t too bad.

  He stirred and she went over to him as he opened his eyes briefly, disoriented.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said quietly, feeling that she recognised him for a moment, then realised it was just that his eyes were the same colour as hers, a very dark brown. He closed them again and she waited until he slept, then moved back to the fair-haired man.

  The gunshot had been removed from his back but he had a perforated lung and was weak from lying so long and bleeding out. The natives had found him in a dark pool and she feared he wouldn’t make the night. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, his handsome face pale against the sheets. She sighed, realising she was admiring a possibly dying soldier and thinking how pathetic it was that this was the only way she got to meet men these days. There weren’t too many pool parties going on around here.

  Theresa settled herself between their beds and prepared herself for a long vigil, praying they would both make it.

  It was sunrise when the blond man finally stirred and to her enormous relief opened his eyes.

  ‘Welcome back.’ She smiled. His eyes were as blue as the midday sky.

  He seemed to try to focus but closed them again and Theresa smoothed his forehead, continuing to wait. Willing them back open.

  ‘Am…I…dead?’ Pete asked, looking at the woman’s beautiful face bathed in morning light and wondering if she was an apparition.

  ‘No, Lieutenant Murphy, you are alive. Someone must be looking after you up there though.’ She took his wrist and checked his pulse as he continued to stare at her.

  ‘You’ll…do.’

  She patted his arm and asked him if he was hungry.

  ‘Thirsty.’

  She poured him some water and lifted his head slightly to drink as he watched her every move, trying to force his eyes to stay open, but failing. As he fell into the black again his last thought was that she looked vaguely familiar.

  When he awoke again she was gone, but someone else was mumbling from the next bed and it was a voice he’d feared he’d never hear again.

  ‘What’s a man got to do to get some bloody rubber leaves around here?’ Pete heard slapping as the man searched for the offending mosquito.

  ‘Like moths…to the flame.’
>
  Simon swung his gaze. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘Seem…to be.’

  ‘Last time I saw you, you were busy getting shot. How’d you learn to run like that with a bullet in your back?’

  ‘Cricket. Strict…coach.’

  Simon laughed, his eyes filling as he looked at his closest friend, soon to be brother, and almost lost to them forever. ‘I think we might have to retire hurt.’

  Pete smiled. ‘Wait…for drinks.’

  ‘My shout, Turps.’

  ‘Turps is it? And here I was thinking you looked like a gentleman.’ Theresa had appeared carrying her medicine tray and Pete’s head turned slightly at the sound of her voice. ‘How are you feeling?’ She felt his forehead as his eyes shut for a moment.

  ‘Good,’ he lied, trying to force as much clarity and strength into the word as possible.

  ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘Take these.’ He swallowed his pills dutifully as she held up a needle before injecting it into his arm. He took in every detail of her figure as she straightened his bed and pulled at the blinds in the large bamboo structure that made up the hospital. She was taller than average and willowy with long arms and legs that moved gracefully with every exertion, but she also had curves and his eyes were drawn to those areas in particular as she reached high for the rods.

  ‘Careful you don’t strain yourself,’ Simon said under his breath and Pete saw his friend watched him with amusement.

  ‘Oh it isn’t very difficult, just a bit awkward,’ she grunted, pushing the last blind free and tucking a fallen white-blonde curl back into her cap. Pete found himself wishing he could see her without it.

  ‘Now, let’s take a look at your dressings.’ She was gentle as she did so, and he found himself focused on the scent of her, deciding she carried a mix of honey and lime about her. His mind felt fuddled as he tried to think of something to say and he wondered how much time had passed since he’d been shot.