Brother Fish

by Bryce Courtenay

  It was quite a posh place, with floral carpets and big leather couches in the lounge, the carpet on the stairs held down by those brass runners. Gloria said the lace curtains were good quality. The bathroom for the men was just down the hall, and everyone got their own proper big towel that wasn’t worn one bit. That night we all walked to the wharf and had fish and chips, then the ladies went back to the boarding house and the four of us blokes had a couple of beers at a pub. It was all pretty nice, and if I hadn’t had the problem of Jimmy not being able to stay in Australia almost constantly on my mind it would have been just about perfect. My leg was better, my family were all with me, except of course for Alf, the girl I loved was on my arm and Jimmy, my best mate, was there to share the occasion. Even having Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan with us gave me a great deal of pleasure. She’d claimed she’d been ‘terribly touched’ when I invited her to come along.

  By half-past nine the next morning we were ready, the girls dressed to the hilt. Wendy wore a very pretty pink dress she’d worn as one of her outfits for Miss Tasmania, with a pink pillbox hat and white shoes and gloves. She had this wide belt of the same material as her dress and her waist looked as if I could have put my hands around it and still a bit more. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan wore what Gloria later said was ‘a beautifully tailored suit’ with a coffee-brown blouse Wendy said was made from guipure lace. She had these brown, pushed-up gloves to her elbows, and a brown straw hat with a pheasant feather sticking out the side. All the ladies looked beaut and seemed very happy with their outfits, which I’ve discovered is very important as this decides whether they’re going to have a good time or not. We were about to go when Gloria started digging in her new bag, a big black leather handbag we’d not seen before, which she said she’d sent away for after seeing it in a catalogue in Mrs Dunne’s shop. ‘A spare hanky, I need a spare handkerchief!’ she exclaimed. ‘Won’t be a mo, back in a tick.’

  There’d been no mention of the harmonicas and I’d given the word to Sue, Cory and Steve to leave theirs behind as I’d done myself, just so Gloria couldn’t decide to do the dirty on us. In fact, she seemed to be too busy to even think about it. She’d knocked on our door when we were getting ready and asked if we were decent. When she came in she’d sergeant-majored us by inspecting our uniforms to make sure they were spotless. She’d done the same with Cory and Steve and told us they’d complained about wearing ties and jackets. She’d threatened Steve with his life if he touched anything mechanical besides the steering wheel of the Kombi. ‘Give me your room keys,’ she’d demanded of Steve and Cory. ‘You’re bound to lose them and they’ll be safe in my new handbag,’ she’d instructed. Then she’d demanded our key, which was attached to a six-inch-by-two-inch plank with the room number on it. ‘Don’t want it showing in the pocket of your uniform, Jacko,’ she’d reasoned.

  Gloria returned from her hanky expedition. ‘I expect I’ll have a good howl,’ she said, waving a hanky in the air before stuffing it into her handbag. I should have been suspicious then, her waving the hanky like that – Gloria wasn’t given to superfluous gestures. But we were running late and I was anxious to get going, for the letter had said to be on time.

  But we needn’t have worried. Our destination was less than ten minutes away, and soon enough we turned into the road that led to Government House, though only to be brought to an abrupt halt. Everyone had arrived at the same time and there was a long queue of cars and taxis, so we took our place at the end to wait. Suddenly a cop on a motorcycle came up and told Steve to follow him at once, then moved off with his siren blaring. ‘What did I do wrong?’ Steve asked. ‘I drove real careful!’ We got out of line and followed the cop, passing all the cars as they moved over to the edge of the road to let us get by. We

  haven’t even got there and already we’re in trouble! My stomach started to play up as I felt the familiar panic sensation. We arrived at the gates of Government House where two soldiers ran out to swing them open and the motorcycle cop roared in, signalling us to follow. We stopped at a side door of this big sandy-greyish house – ‘palace’ would be a better word. The cop did a U-turn, saluted us and roared off.

  We looked at each other, totally confused. ‘What now?’ asked Gloria.

  Wendy started to giggle and I looked at her, surprised. ‘They think this is an ambulance and it’s an emergency and we’re delivering blood,’ she said. ‘It happens in Launceston all the time!’

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I cried. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘We act as if nothing unusual has happened and we mind our language, Jack,’ Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan said primly.

  ‘Hey, Nicole ma’am, dat right. When in doubt, bluff it out. Smile, dat’s da style.’

  Sue and the twins started to laugh and then Gloria joined in, but I didn’t think it was funny. ‘This is a vice-regal occasion!’ I reminded everyone. ‘And already we’ve stuffed it up!’

  But my anger didn’t help. Wendy tried to restrain her laughter but couldn’t, and burst out full throttle, and everyone – even Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan – broke up.

  Suddenly a soldier’s face appeared at the window. ‘Is there an emergency, sir?’ he asked.

  I slid the Kombi door back and climbed out. Thank God he was a private, like me. ‘There’s been a mistake, mate, we borrowed the Red Cross bus.’

  ‘What, nicked it?’ he asked, concerned.

  ‘Nah, it’s legit,’ I said.

  He thought for a moment. ‘Bloody clever – beat the queue. Parking’s round the back.’ He paused. ‘You’re Jacko McKenzie, ain’t ya?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied.

  He extended his hand. ‘Put it there, mate. Bloody beauty!’

  We were among the first to park, and waited on the lawn admiring the gardens. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan informed us that the governor’s house was a fine example of an early-Victorian country house in neo-Gothic style. She pointed to the individually carved sandstone chimney pots and what she called the bas-relief sculptures. ‘The scale detail and the finish of the entrance hall, grand corridor and state rooms as well as their furniture are unequalled in Australia,’ she said, as if she was reading it out of a tourist leaflet.

  ‘Have you been here before?’ Cory asked.

  ‘No, I read up on it before coming. I do so look forward to seeing the ballroom – I believe it’s quite magnificent, with its vaulted ceiling, chandeliers and mirrors, and the floors, of course, are of Huon pine.’

  ‘Like a palace, eh?’ Steve said.

  ‘Well, not exactly. Rather smaller, I’d say, but nothing we need to be ashamed of – quite splendid, really.’ Everywhere she pointed Jimmy upped with the fancy camera he’d bought in Japan and took a snapshot.

  We were glad we didn’t need to be ashamed of the governor’s house, because I for one had never been in a place as posh as this. A naval bloke in white dress uniform and gold aiguillettes appeared on the steps. You pronounce it ‘eglets’ – the gold cords that decorate his shoulder are reserved for aides-de-camp of governors and generals. I’d never seen them face to face before but I knew they were called ‘scrambled egg’ in the army. This naval officer, a lieutenant, came out to greet us, touched his cap and smiled.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ he said, then turned to Jimmy and me who stood at attention saluting. He returned the salute. ‘At ease, men. Caps off when you enter Government House, and keep them off. You refer to the governor as “Your Excellency” if he addresses you.’ He turned to me. ‘When they announce your name, Private McKenzie, you walk up to His Excellency and come to attention and you give him a nod, like this.’ He sort of dropped his chin quickly and then pulled it up again. ‘Got that?’ I nodded, demonstrating. ‘Good,’ he looked around. ‘It’s time to go in, please.’ Then he saw Jimmy’s camera. ‘No photographs of the ceremony – the official photographer will take a record of it for you,’ he said crisply, then turned smartly, saluted the ladies and walked over to another group standing close by. I’d previously noticed that the people who wer
e standing around were in groups of three, some only two, husband and wife. I now realised that the governor had truly made an exception for us. Gloria was right – Ronnie Cross was a good bloke.

  I turned to Jimmy as we moved towards the entrance, and whispered, ‘Mate, caps off. You don’t salute any officers once we’re indoors.’ I wasn’t sure whether this was true of the US Army. Jimmy nodded. ‘Dat make a nice change, Brother Fish.’

  I’ve got to admit, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had been right – the ballroom was a knockout. Huge crystal chandeliers blazed with light and gave the floor a sort of soft-butter shade that kicked back the reflections, so that all the chairs lined up seemed to half-disappear in a shimmer of light. Two huge mirrors up one end on the stage or podium, or whatever it’s called, reflected the room back at us to make it look like it went on for yonks.

  The dignitaries entered, then others like us followed, and the chairs were soon filled with people chatting quietly. Wendy was sitting next to me not too far from the front and she squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. ‘Are you nervous?’ she whispered. I nodded my head. ‘This is where I was crowned Miss Tasmania,’ she said. I looked at her, amazed. She’d not said a word to any of us about being there before.

  ‘Did he, you know, the governor, do it?’ Wendy shook her head and was about to explain when the ballroom suddenly went silent.

  A bloke in striped pants and tails entered from a door on the stage and stood for a moment until the room was completely silent. He cleared his throat. ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Government House. My name is Thomas Mathews, and I’m the official secretary to the governor. May I ask you please to be upstanding when His Excellency enters the room and remain standing for the national anthem.’

  Gloria nudged me, and whispered, ‘That’s the one who signed the letters.’

  The secretary then announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, His Excellency, the Governor of Tasmania!’ The governor walked onto the stage and stood at the centre and the band struck up ‘God Save the Queen’. When it was all over he sat on this big chair, and then his secretary said, ‘Please be seated.’ Talk about scrambled egg! This bloke was covered with the stuff, from his chest to down the sides of his cut-away coat, which went almost to the floor. It was tassles and gold embroidery everywhere you looked, and must have weighed a ton!

  Everyone who was anyone was there, dressed to the nines. On the official side there was the Premier of Tasmania, Sir Robert Cosgrove. I only knew this because Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan had pointed him out when we entered the ballroom. There were also lots of politicians, several mayors with their gold chains draped around their necks, judges in wigs, high-ranking army, air force and navy officers with enough fruit salad on their chests to cover an army blanket, and civilians galore wearing medals on the lapels of their suits and war medals on their chests. It was altogether a dead-serious occasion, and I wondered how we’d ever got there in the first place. This was definitely not McKenzie country. But here we were anyway, everyone looking beaut, Gloria and Sue changing colour in their shantung dresses every time they moved and the disgrace ban and pinch-of-the-proverbial curse both about to be lifted forever.

  The secretary would call out a name, mostly an old bloke, and he would go up to get his Officer of the Order of the British Empire or Member of the Order of the British Empire. The governor’s secretary would then read out why each candidate had been honoured. Then the governor would say a few words to them and pin on their medal. After each presentation, everyone clapped.

  At last the secretary announced, ‘Your Excellency, may I introduce Private Jack McKenzie, who has been decorated with the Military Medal.’ Wendy squeezed my hand on one side and Gloria on the other, and glancing at Gloria I could see she’d got her hanky out, her eyes already watery.

  I walked to the stage, climbed the three steps, stood to attention in front of the governor and bowed my head, which was like a sort of official nod instead of a salute I suppose.

  ‘Ah, Private McKenzie. I have been looking forward to meeting you,’ the governor said. He hadn’t said this to any of the others, and I wasn’t sure how to reply – or even if I should.

  ‘Thank you, sir . . . er, Your Excellency. Me too,’ I replied, panicking. There was a bit of a titter from the front row, but the governor cleared his throat and there was dead silence again. The secretary had been reading out the blurb for each of the recipients, but now the governor reached out and accepted the citation and read it himself.

  ‘The 3rd Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, was defending an area north of Kapyong on the 23rd and the 24th of April 1951. D Company had been assigned the role of right-flank protection on the feature 504 and the ridge line to the north-east. Twelve Platoon was the company’s forward platoon, and 8 Section the left-forward section of this forward platoon. On the morning of the 24th of April 1951, the enemy in strength maintained continuous attacks against this section’s position for a period of five to six hours. Private McKenzie’s own position took much of the enemy assault each time they attacked, and on each occasion the enemy was repulsed with heavy casualties.

  ‘Private McKenzie showed outstanding courage of a very high order and was an inspiration to the remainder of the hard-pressed section.

  ‘Later in the day, Private McKenzie was near 10 Platoon when they were mistakenly bombed with napalm. He disregarded the danger of exploding grenades and other ammunition set off by the flames racing through the position to go to the aid of the casualties.

  ‘Private McKenzie showed by his actions a devotion to duty that was an inspiration to the entire company.’

  It didn’t sound a bit like it was, and it didn’t feel like me he was talking about.

  Just when I thought he’d finished, the governor looked up at the crowd and added, ‘I have since discovered that in November 1951, Private McKenzie was wounded in a patrol action against a superior Chinese force and taken prisoner of war.’ He handed the citation back to the secretary, who handed him the medal, which he pinned to my chest. ‘Well done, soldier,’ he said, so that everyone could hear. ‘The Battle of Kapyong will go down in history as one of Australia’s great military feats. Furthermore, your endurance and fortitude as a prisoner of war was a great personal achievement, where despite torture and extreme hardship you maintained your integrity. Our nation is justly proud of you.’ He paused, and smiled. ‘I am informed that Private McKenzie has brought a friend with him today, Private James Pentecost Oldcorn of the American infantry, whom he credits with saving his life as a prisoner of war on more than one occasion. I extend my country’s good wishes to you, Private Oldcorn, and hope your stay with us will be a pleasant one.’

  To my amazement, people started to clap. The governor waited until the applause subsided and then shook me by the hand. I pulled myself to stiff attention and bowed my head in that sort of a nod again. ‘Perhaps we can have a chat a little later. I’d like to meet your American friend,’ he said softly.

  When I got back to my seat Wendy was crying in the arms of an equally tearful Gloria, Sue was sniffing, and Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan was dabbing her eyes furiously with a lace handkerchief. I put my arms around Wendy and held her to my chest. There was nothing I could possibly say – she was with me but grieving for Bluey Walsh, and that was okay by me. She was perhaps lucky Bluey hadn’t lived. In my mind’s eye I could see the little Chinese soldier sitting beside me in the field hospital, his body blackened, only his eyes moving, accusing me, the rest of him welded in a seated position, knees up to his chest, arms permanently fused to his kneecaps by napalm. It was good she could cry for the memory of a laughing, happy young bloke beside her on his bicycle going down to the fishing shack on the Tamar.

  The ceremony went on a bit longer and several firemen and a bloke from the Forestry Commission got awards, and then we were told to be upstanding. The governor took his leave and we all traipsed out into the reception rooms for refreshments. Strangers were coming up and congratulating me, and then t
he premier came up and shook Gloria’s hand and congratulated her over raising me. I thought she was going to faint on the spot. But that was nothing compared to when the governor entered. He’d changed his gear and was now in a grey suit, and was accompanied by his wife. He went over to the premier, shook his hand and then shook the hands of several of the other big nobs – judges, and people like that. Then he looked around and saw Jimmy, who wasn’t hard to miss as he stood about a foot higher than most of the people in the room. He excused himself, and turned and walked towards us. Thank God there was a table close by to rest our teacups and cake on before he came up. ‘I think I’m gunna faint,’ Gloria said, bringing her fingers up to her mouth. ‘Oh, dear, I’ve been cryin’ – my make-up!’ she choked.

  ‘It’s fine, Mum,’ Sue reassured her, but I could see she was pretty nervous herself, rubbing her gloved hands down the sides of her waist. Wendy had this smile on her face that would melt an iceberg. She knows it camouflages any nervousness she may have. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, on the other hand, was perfectly composed, though you could never tell what was going on inside.

  Behind me I heard Steve say to Cory, ‘Shit, what now?’

  Jimmy seemed okay. ‘Here come da governor!’ he announced, which made us relax and Wendy giggle.

  Jimmy and I jumped to attention as he came up. The governor smiled. ‘Take it easy, chaps,’ he said, and turned to Gloria. ‘And you must be Mrs McKenzie?’ Gloria nodded dumbly – for once in her life she was lost for words. ‘How do you do?’ he asked, and extended his hand.

  Gloria clasped his hand in hers and curtsied. ‘Good, thanks, Your Excellency. Thanks for the invite,’ she said, regaining her composure.

  The governor turned to me. ‘Perhaps you’d like to introduce me to your family and friends, Private McKenzie?’