Soldier on the Hill

by French, Jackie

  ‘That’s just what I thought,’ put in Joey eagerly. ‘There was a Jap there. I didn’t have any matches. I kept telling them! And I really couldn’t have climbed out of that hole by myself. I tried and tried.’

  ‘Well, you may be right. I dunno. If I was Sergeant Williams I’d have taken you a bit more seriously, kid.’ Joe took a sip of tea and rubbed his chin slowly with his good hand. ‘I’ll tell you something else as well.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Three weeks ago I lost a shirt. I’d been splitting wood, got all sweaty, hung it over the fence to dry. Next thing I know it’s gone. Not even a peep out of Meg either. Not that she’d wake up if a whole bleeding enemy battalion marched in, unless they trod on her nose.’

  ‘What was the shirt like?’ demanded Joey.

  ‘Just an old checked work shirt. Used to be blue, but it’s more whitish now.’

  ‘But that’s just what he was wearing — these white pants and a shirt … but the shirt was too big for him.’

  ‘I’d reckon it would be big on a Japanese.’ Joe flexed his muscles unconsciously.

  ‘And bare feet! I’d forgotten till now — he had bare feet!’

  ‘Well, I suppose I should count me blessings he didn’t take my boots as well. There was a packet of fags in the shirt pocket too, and a box of matches.’

  ‘That’s how he lit the fire then! With your matches! He’s up there, Joe! I knew he was!’

  ‘Now hold your horses a minute, young fella me lad. You’re probably right, he was up there. But he won’t be now. He’d have scooted off soon as you were picked up. He’d’ve known you’d raise the alarm.’

  Joey bit his lip. ‘I thought of that,’ he admitted.

  ‘Makes sense, doesn’t it.’ Joe cuffed him on the shoulder. ‘Chin up, kid. Old soldiers never say die and all that. Maybe you can find some trace of him and that’ll show them. Or he’ll be picked up somewhere else. He can’t go on hiding forever. I bet you open the paper next week and there’ll be the headline: “Japanese Captured Down Harold’s Cross Way”, or something.

  ‘Come on. I’ll give you a Cook’s tour of the place, then how about we get some eggs for you to take back to your Mum. Do you think she’d like a bit of bunny, too? Meg and I can’t eat them all.’

  chapter twelve

  Telling Mum

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  MEETING POTATO SHORTAGE

  Seasonal difficulties combined with manpower shortages and the demands of the Allied Armed Forces in Australia have brought a temporary shortage in the supply of potatoes to civilians.

  Dr. F. W. Clements, Chairman of the Commonwealth Nutrition Committee, has the answer.

  First of all, he says, the housewife should use more swedes. The swede turnip is rich in food value and its price is the same as potatoes.

  The second substitute for potatoes is green leafy vegetables, especially cabbage, which should only be lightly boiled to preserve the maximum vitamins. The third substitute is oranges. Housewives should ensure that children have at least three oranges a week to make up for the vitamin C lost if they cannot acquire potatoes.

  * * *

  Aunt Lallie’s house looked wilted, as though it had had enough of summer and was just waiting for winter to begin. The shrubs’ leaves pointed downwards, more dusty than green, the only bright spot the poster on the window: ‘This house helps to support an Australian prisoner of war.’

  Joey wheeled the bike through the gate. Where to put it? Aunt Lallie turned down her mouth if you even LOOKED into Uncle Don’s shed, and besides, there wasn’t much room with the benches and the car. But he couldn’t leave it out in the dew …

  Under the front steps, that was it — among the ferns and staghorns. Joey propped it against the post and stood back to admire it.

  ‘Joey? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Lallie.’ Joey bounded up the steps, then stopped and winced and rubbed his ankle. He climbed the rest more slowly.

  Aunt Lallie was pulling her gloves on. ‘Joey. I’m just going off to deliver some papers to Mrs Henderson. Could you watch the roast for me?’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Lallie,’ promised Joey, though he didn’t know how much watching a roast needed. It just sat there and cooked, didn’t it?

  ‘And if you could string the beans and put the potatoes and pumpkin on …’ She glanced at the clock on the sideboard, ‘in half an hour’s time. They’re all peeled and ready, and make sure next-door’s cat doesn’t get into the peach jelly. I put it out on the back steps to set.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt Lallie.’ Joey wished Aunt Lallie would let Mum make the puddings. Aunt Lallie’s always looked good — he bet each slice of peach was suspended in the jelly just so. But Mum’s tasted better, even if they were messier.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’

  ‘Down at the CWA rooms. There’s a jam-making bee. The Boy Scouts collected the last of the apples last weekend and that nice Myrtle Gleeson organised a party of children from the school to pick strawberries now that Charlie Rowbotham’s been called up. Mrs Rowbotham can’t pick all those beds herself. I don’t see why you couldn’t have gone, too, Joseph. Your ankle would have been sound enough to pick strawberries.’

  Because I wasn’t asked, thought Joey. But he just shrugged.

  ‘Yes, Aunt Lallie,’ he said. ‘When do you think she’ll be back?’

  ‘I’m sure I don’t know. You know how long it can take before jam sets. Well, I suppose you don’t. Strawberry and apple jelly they’re making. It lasts better than jam made with just strawberries. This lot is for the Red Cross — I’d have been there myself but I had a Comfort Fund meeting and now these papers. You won’t forget to check the roast?’

  ‘I won’t forget, Aunt Lallie.’ Joey watched her heels click down the path, her handbag held firmly as though it alone could beat back an invasion.

  He turned back to the kitchen. Beans to string. And how he was supposed to keep the cat out of the jelly he didn’t know. Maybe if he opened the back door and sat up on the landing and strung the beans there?

  ‘Lallie? Joey? Is anyone home?’

  ‘In here, Mum!’ called Joey.

  Mum took off her hat and gloves and laid them on the sideboard. She’d chewed most of her lipstick off, Joey noticed. Mum’s lipstick never lasted long. ‘Oh, it’s hot out there. You’d think it was still the middle of summer. And the heat down at the CWA Rooms! We had both stoves going and jam exploding everywhere. It’s all through my hair — I’d better have a shower before tea, just a quick one. Joey, that reminds me. Do you know anything about that bicycle under the front steps?’

  Joey grinned as he picked up the bean stringer. ‘Yep. It’s mine.’

  ‘Yours? What do you mean? Where did you get it?’

  ‘This bloke gave it to me.’

  ‘What? Joey you can’t accept an expensive present like that from strangers. He …’

  ‘Hold your horses, Mum.’ Joey picked up another bean and ran the stringer down its length, then up the other side. ‘He’s not a stranger. He went to school with you, he said. His name’s the same as mine — Joe. Joe Reardon.’

  Mum sat at the table and absently nibbled a raw bean. ‘Joe Reardon? Oh, of course, Joe. I remember. Black hair and eyes that laughed at you …’

  ‘He hasn’t got much hair at all now, Mum. His head is all covered with burn scars.’

  Mum stared.

  ‘He was in this accident up at the camp, something exploded and he got burning rubber in his hair. His hand’s all scarred too.’

  ‘Oh no. Oh, the poor man …’

  ‘That’s why he gave me the bike. He can’t use it any more with his crook hand. And he doesn’t like getting his groceries because people keep being sorry for him and giving him advice, so I said I’d get his bread and stuff, and then he gave me the bike. And some fresh eggs.’

  Mum sat still, nibbling her bean. ‘Well,’ she said at last. ‘It’s very nice of him, even if he can
’t use it. And it’s very nice of you to offer to get his groceries. The poor, poor man. He was always laughing about something. Joe Reardon.’ She shook her head, so her hair bounced against her neck. ‘I don’t suppose he laughs much now.’

  Joey shook his head. ‘Not while I was there at any rate. He didn’t even come out at first, just spoke to me from the garden. But he doesn’t look that bad when you get used to him, Mum. He keeps his hat over most of the scar and his hand …’ He tried to think how to say it. ‘His hand doesn’t look horrible either, though he thinks it does. It just looks sort of interesting.’

  Mum nodded sombrely. ‘He probably thinks it looks a lot worse than it does. It must be a shock to find yourself suddenly looking so different. And scars always look worse when they’re fresh.’

  ‘It’s sort of red and shiny,’ put in Joey.

  ‘Well, they’ll fade,’ said Mum. ‘And so will people’s sympathy. Maybe Lallie and I should call out there, see if there’s anything we can —’

  ‘No, Mum,’ said Joey hurriedly. ‘Really. He’d think you were just feeling sorry for him too.’

  Mum shrugged, and put her bean down. ‘You’re probably right. Do you think he’d mind if I made him a sponge cake then? With those eggs he sent. Or a couple of apple pies. Just to say hello and thank him for the bike?’

  ‘I think he’d like pies,’ said Joey. ‘He was going to give me some rabbits to bring home too, but when we went to look at them they were all maggoty — the flies had got them. Joe traps a lot of rabbits, so he says.’

  ‘There’s money in rabbit skins at the moment,’ said Mum absently. ‘The country’ll turn to dust unless someone does something about the rabbits. I just can’t get over it. Poor Joe Reardon. He used to be a spin bowler, too. Is it his left or right hand?’

  ‘Left,’ said Joey, finishing the last bean and gathering up the strings.

  ‘Well, that’s something anyway,’ said Mum. ‘I suppose that’s why he hasn’t opened the shop again either. It’s such a pity seeing it shut up like that … and all that stock, too, just when people need it.’

  ‘What sort of stock?’ asked Joey.

  ‘Anything electrical. Wirelesses and gramophones and gramophone needles, and records of course. His father was a fanatic about wireless — used to make his own crystal sets and had those short-wave radio things, too. Does he still have those funny aerials on the roof? Joe was going to be in Signals in the RAAF — took after his father that way. We all used to go swimming together in the pool past the ford.’

  ‘Aunt Lallie said I wasn’t to go there. So did you. You said that it’s dangerous —’

  ‘Well, yes it is,’ said Mum. ‘I was quite right. Don’t you go down there just because I was silly enough to. There are snags and all sorts of things on the bottom there. The pool above the ford is safe enough, though it’s not so deep. I remember … Joey, what’s that? Scat! Go on, shoo!’

  ‘Aunt Lallie’s jelly! She said to look out for the cat. Damn. Sorry Mum. I know. I’ll watch my language … that darn cat!’

  ‘Ralph?’ said the cat happily, licking its red whiskers daintily at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Has it taken very much?’

  Mum lifted it up. ‘Not too much. It’s just sort of splodged around the edges. If we clean them up Lallie’ll never notice.’

  ‘But we can’t eat it after the cat’s been in it!’ protested Joey. ‘Errrk.’

  Mum grinned and brushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ll stew some apples to go with it and we can say we’re not very hungry and leave all the jelly for Lallie.’

  Her face collapsed suddenly. ‘Oh Joey, I’m so upset to hear about Joe Reardon. This awful war. When will it end?’

  chapter thirteen

  Fire on the Hill

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  A realistic, large-scale demonstration by a special demonstration bomb squad of the NSW Fire Brigade will be given on Sunday commencing at 4 p.m.

  * * *

  The night was soft, like moth wings against the window. Joey leant out the window and let the breeze sniff round his face. Behind him, Mum rolled her head against the pillow, muttered something in her sleep.

  He’d go back to bed in just a minute. Just a minute more. He’d woken up a while ago, afraid he was down the mine again — even the soft feel of the sheets hadn’t quite reassured him.

  It was sort of nice at night, though. Peaceful, without people talking and arguing, without the barking of the wireless with more news to make you scared, without the smells of daylight — boiling potatoes and hot starch from Aunt Lallie’s ironing and teapot smells, and school.

  It looked peaceful, too. There were no street lights now, of course (it was illegal even to light a match outside at night now, in case a passing Jap plane saw it and dropped bombs, though Joey didn’t see how even the Japs would see a match down on the ground).

  But your eyes must get used to darkness, he reckoned. And anyway, it wasn’t really dark. There were moon shadows all along the street. You could even see the hills, solid black against the faintly starlit sky.

  What …? Joey started. There in the blackness of the hills … what was it? A tower of sparks, a sudden rush of light that faded to a still red glow … was it a star, a bright red star, or … no, that blackness was the hills, not sky. It had to be a fire …

  A fire! A fire up on the hills! The Jap! No one else would light a fire up there!

  ‘Mum! Mum, wake up!’

  ‘Mmm?’ Mum lifted her head from the pillow. The pins had come out of her hair, and it straggled across her face. ‘Joey, what is it? Have you had a nightmare?’

  ‘No. Yes. I mean … but that’s not it. Mum, out on the hills. There’s a fire!’

  Mum sat up, pushing the hair from her eyes. ‘A bushfire! But it’s the wrong season … though it’s been dry enough …’ She swung her legs out of bed. ‘Hand me my dressing-gown. I’ll give Charlie next door a yell. You wake your Aunt Lallie and …’

  ‘No, not a bushfire, Mum. A little fire … like a camp fire!’

  Mum sat back on the bed. ‘Oh Joey, you frightened the life out of me. Don’t you do that again. I was sound asleep. What are you fussing about? It’s just someone after rabbits maybe.’

  ‘But the blackout — no one’s supposed to light a fire in case the Japs see.’

  Mum yawned. ‘Well, they probably don’t think there’s going to be an invasion tonight, that’s all. Joey I’d …’

  ‘But don’t you see, Mum! It’s the Jap! It has to be the Jap — the one who rescued me! He’s waited till everyone is asleep and then he’s lit his fire.’

  ‘Darling, there is no …’

  ‘At least have a look at it, Mum!’ cried Joey.

  Mum shuffled for her slippers on the cold lino floor. ‘All right then, where’s this precious fire?’ She padded across to the window and peered out into the darkness. ‘Joey, there’s nothing there.’

  ‘What? But there was.’ Joey gazed out beside her. ‘It was there, Mum. It was!’

  ‘It must have been a star,’ said Mum soothingly. ‘A really bright red one hanging on the horizon, but it’s set now.’

  ‘But I could see the outline of the hill above it. It couldn’t have been a star.’

  ‘Or a dream then,’ said Mum softly. ‘You said you’d had a nightmare.’

  ‘But that was before! I woke up and I was just looking out the window at the night and then it was ages before I saw the fire.’

  Mum shook her head. ‘You must have been still asleep. It’s hard to know what’s real sometimes when you have a bad dream. But there’s nothing to worry about now, love. The dream’s over.

  ‘Bad dreams don’t come again,’ she added, a little too heartily. ‘Come on. Go to sleep. We’ve got to be up bright and early for Church tomorrow or we’ll have Lallie telling us off again.’

  Mum sighed. ‘It’s good to be back here Joey, but I wish we had our own place,
I really do. I mean I love Lallie dearly and she is a comfort but …’

  It was hard to get to sleep again. Joey lay thinking in the dark.

  It was the Jap. It had to be the Jap. Who else would light a fire up on the hill, and put it out so quickly? That’s just what a soldier on the run would do. Light a fire at dead of night, to cook some food maybe …

  Of course. Joe’s rabbits from his traps, that’s what he’d be cooking … Joey supposed you could live on rabbit at a pinch. You couldn’t eat raw rabbit, so you’d have to light a fire. Was five minutes long enough to cook a rabbit?

  It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the soldier was still there, he hadn’t moved on. There had to be some sign of him up there somewhere!

  All he had to do was find it … if he was up there, there must be some sign … and tell the Sergeant … and then the whole town would know. Did you hear about Joey Smith? they’d say … how he tracked a Jap soldier all by himself … how he captured … stopped the invasion … the Prime Minister gave him a medal … at school assembly maybe, or headlines in the paper … and …

  Tomorrow, thought Joey, as the world drifted away.

  chapter fourteen

  Hunting the Enemy on the Hill

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  GUERILLA WAR — USEFUL BOOK FOR VDC

  We have received from the publishers Messrs Angus and Robertson Ltd of Sydney a copy of the book Shoot to Kill by the famous author Ion Idriess.

  Mr Idriess was a sniper in the Great War. This book deals with the training of men for guerilla fighting in Australia — to inspire the budding rifleman to become a crack sniper. ‘Australia,’ he says, ‘is unconquerable provided every man is armed and ready to drop his work tools to fight in a sudden emergency and thus take a portion of the load from our regular Army. Should the enemy break through, irregulars must be prepared to fill the gap. They must fight to survive.’ He tells how to aim at an aircraft and how to achieve perfect shooting by moonlight. Just now, when it devolves upon every man to be ready to do his duty for Australia, this book should prove invaluable …