Myrtle laughed.
‘Fred’s the younger one, isn’t he?’
Myrtle nodded. ‘He’s nineteen, and Terry’s twenty-two.’
‘How come you’re so much younger?’
‘Dunno. You go ask Mum and see what she says if you like. Fred had just finished his apprenticeship with Dad when he joined up. He’s really good, especially at the decorating. Everyone says he does the best wedding cakes they’ve ever seen. He was always making bread into funny shapes — you know, not just plaiting it, but making frogs and things like that. He made me a bread tortoise once. Silly things,’ said Myrtle affectionately. ‘Terry’s a mechanic down at Hobson’s, but he’s planning to use his deferred pay to start up for himself after the war.’
‘What are they like? I always wanted an older brother,’ said Joey enviously.
Myrtle laughed. ‘They’re pretty good, as brothers go. It’s better when they’re much older than you I reckon — you don’t argue so much. Fred used to play with me all the time when I was small. I had this game where I’d hide a ball and he’d try to find it. He always pretended he couldn’t, though I’m sure he knew where it was all the time — just wanted to spin the game out for me. I’d sit there clapping my hands every time he looked in a stupid place, like in the toilet or the bath. It’s not their fault Mum and Dad … Oh look, there’s the horse tree!’
Joey looked up the slope. They were about two hundred yards from the top. The few trees had thin starved trunks, the soil rocky and grey–yellow. ‘What’s that?’
‘Haven’t you ever played on a horse tree?’
Joey shook his head.
‘You Sydney kids! Come on then.’ Myrtle galloped up the final slope. Joey limped behind her.
The horse tree sat on the highest point of the ridge. Its trunk was bent from facing the full force of the winds up the slope, so that its branches dropped towards the ground instead of pointing upwards. ‘This is a horse tree,’ explained Myrtle.
‘But why? Oh, I see!’
Myrtle grinned. ‘It’s this branch,’ she said, stroking the low, thick branch like it really was a horse or something. ‘You sit on it and bounce it up and down.’
‘Kid’s game,’ said Joey.
Myrtle shrugged. ‘Still fun though.’ She swung her skirt out and sat astride the branch. It sank under her weight. Myrtle pushed down with her legs. The branch began to shake, up and down and up …
Joey hesitated. ‘Will it take me, too?’ he asked.
‘Dunno. I’ve never been up here with anyone else. Have a go and see. We’ll jump off if it feels like it’s going to crack.’
Joey swung his leg over the branch gingerly. What if it just broke off and he went thunk down on his bottom? Or even worse — what if he jarred his ankle again. Myrtle would have to go for help and everyone would laugh … Though it wasn’t really very far from the ground. The branch sank beneath him, then slowly bounced up again. Joey pushed with his good leg.
‘Hey, this is fun!’
‘Told you it was,’ said Myrtle. ‘It’s great up here, isn’t it? You can see everywhere. Right over to town and down to the farm. See back there, those are the hills near the coast. If they weren’t there you could see the sea.’
‘We used to live near the Harbour,’ said Joey. ‘It was great. Sometimes at night you could hear the foghorns, and Dad had a dinghy and we’d go fishing …’
The branch creaked in the silence, up and down and up …
‘We went down to the beach the Easter before the war,’ said Myrtle finally. ‘All of us in the baker’s cart with old Jessie pulling it. She’s out to graze now there’s no one to do the deliveries. And the cart’s just stuck in the shed. It was a great day. We swam and everything, and I made this great fort to stop the waves. And Terry’s back got sunburnt from bending over so long to help me and he kept complaining all the way home.’
‘Is there anywhere decent to swim around here?’
‘The creek. There’s a few good holes. Down below the ford’s all right.’
‘Mum says it’s dangerous.’
‘Well, it is after it’s been raining — you don’t know what’s in it or how it’s changed.’ Myrtle grinned. ‘Just make sure you’re not the first one to swim in it. You can swim in the pool above the ford, too. A mob of us go down sometimes after school.’
Another pause. A breeze suddenly buffeted the ridge, bringing the paddock smells and the faint bark of frogs from lower down.
‘Where’s this spot you’re taking me to anyway?’ demanded Joey at last.
‘We passed it. It’s just down there — you see that clump of rocks.’
Joey peered down the hill. ‘What’s so special about them?’
‘You’ll see. I found them two years ago, just after Fred and Terry went overseas. I spent a lot of time mooching round here then. It was pretty dismal at home. Mum and Dad …’ Myrtle stopped and clambered off the branch. ‘Well, it was pretty dismal. Then one day I was wandering up here and I found this place.’
Joey swung off the branch onto his good foot, grabbed his stick and followed her down the hill.
‘They just look like ordinary rocks.’ He gazed at the boulders curiously. They were sort of humped together, like a mob of turtles having a fight, perhaps twice as tall as he was. There didn’t look to be anywhere someone could shelter. Or even hide.
He stroked a rock absently. It felt smooth and warm, as though it wasn’t a rock at all, but some giant animal asleep. Maybe they really were petrified turtles, he thought …
‘Through here,’ instructed Myrtle. She crouched down by the rock.
‘But that’s just a wombat hole!’ objected Joey. Dad had shown him wombat holes last holidays.
‘No, it’s not. Come down here and you’ll see!’
Joey crouched beside her. A wombat had come this way — and often by the look of all the droppings. But Myrtle was right — it was much larger than he’d first thought. One rock sort of balanced on another leaving a hole that was quite large enough to crawl through. He could even see daylight on the other side.
‘Coming?’
Joey looked at it uncertainly.
‘You sure it won’t collapse?’
‘Well, it hasn’t in the past few thousand years, so I don’t suppose it’s going to today. Come on scaredy cat.’
‘I’m not scared.’ Joey took a breath and crawled after her.
The dust was soft, as though it always gathered in the hole, and dry, though Joey guessed it would turn muddy as soon as it rained.
‘Hey. Crikey!’
Joey gazed around. They were in a clear space inside the cluster of rocks, quite cut off from the world; like a room of rock with a ceiling of blue sky and soft dust for a floor, quite different from the hard soil outside. Sunlight slanted over the ridge behind them, turning the rock opposite a glowing gold. The other side was deep in shadow.
‘See,’ said Myrtle. ‘Look how that rock hangs over. You’d be quite dry under there, except if it rained really hard. And …’ her voice died away.
‘What is it?’ demanded Joey.
Myrtle pointed. There in the shadow by the overhang was a patch of charcoal, and behind that, bones.
Myrtle stepped over to the fireplace and put her hand down cautiously. ‘It’s cold,’ she whispered. ‘But not too cold. Someone lit this last night.’
‘You’d never see a fire in here — it’s beautifully hidden,’ whispered Joey. ‘Not unless it really flared up.’
‘In a gust of wind maybe. Or if some fat spilt on it,’ agreed Myrtle.
‘Just one flare, that’s all I saw. Then when we looked again it was gone.’
Myrtle picked up one of the bones. ‘Bunny,’ she said. ‘It’s fresh, too.’
‘Joe said he thought someone was stealing from his traps.’
‘You could live here for months,’ said Myrtle slowly. ‘Meat from the traps. And all the firewood you need, and water. Maybe some bush cherries.’
&n
bsp; ‘Or apples or plums from the trees down at Joe’s,’ added Joey. ‘You could probably take a few carrots or silver beet leaves from his vegie patch too and he wouldn’t notice.’ He looked at her, half scared, half triumphant. ‘See! I said —’
‘I didn’t say there was no one up here. Just that it’s probably a swaggie.’ Myrtle looked round nervously. ‘Maybe we should go.’
‘What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be scared of if it’s only a swaggie.’
‘He might be hiding from the army or something. If anyone came in now they’d have us trapped. Come on. I’m getting out of here.’ She tucked her skirts around her and began to crawl back through the hole.
Joey followed her slowly. He should feel scared, too, but somehow he knew the soldier wouldn’t hurt him. He’d already saved his life once. He wouldn’t hurt him now. He had looked kind, concerned … and worried, the eyes strained.
What had the soldier been through before he made it to the hill? A night of waves and terror as his sub broke up? The heavy tear of water, the desperate crawl up to the beach, waiting all the time for Bren gun fire or capture?
Joey crawled out of the opening, straightened up and brushed the dust off his knees. ‘We need to tell Sergeant Williams.’
‘He’d just pat you on the head again,’ Myrtle pointed out. She seemed more in control out here in the open air. ‘I mean, a bit of charcoal and some bunny bones doesn’t mean there’s an enemy hiding in the hills. It doesn’t even have to be a swaggie. It might be someone out for a few days hunting …’
Joey was silent. She was right. No matter how sure he was, it still wasn’t proof for Sergeant Williams.
‘At least we know where he’s hiding now,’ he said softly. He let his eyes wander over the hill. Was the soldier watching them, even now? ‘Come on, let’s go down to Joe’s. I brought him a sponge cake earlier. With a bit of luck he’ll offer us a bit.’
chapter seventeen
Down at Joe’s
* * *
From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942
WHO IS GUILTY OF DESTROYING WASTE PAPER AND CARDBOARD?
Anyone who wantonly destroys paper or waste cardboard which could be used in the manufacture of munitions is guilty of an unpardonable offence against the interests of the Empire’s all-in waste effort. Every bit of scrap paper, every bit of rag, all bottles, metal, old clothing and scrap rubber is wanted by the factories for the many and varied articles for use by our fighting forces …
* * *
Joe cut himself another piece of sponge cake with his good hand. Meg stared up at him. Trying to hypnotise him, thought Joey, so he’d give her some cake. Joe grinned and handed down some crumbs. He still wore his battered hat over his scar, even here in the kitchen.
‘So anyway, Billo took one look at Miss Henderson’s Ford and said, “You know, I reckon we four could lift that.” So they got on one end and we got on the other and we carried the blasted thing right across the street and round the corner, taking a dekko all the time in case one of the other teachers spotted us.
‘Well, you should have seen Miss Henderson after school. Down she trotted to where she’d left her car. And, of course, it wasn’t there.
‘She looked up the street and down the street, and there we were killing ourselves laughing behind the dunnies.
‘There were only half a dozen cars in the whole of town in those days. It’s funny when you think about it. Now there are too many cars to poke a stick at.
‘Her Dad had got it up in Sydney. Spent his life savings on it, probably, but he never worked out how to work the bally thing. But Miss Henderson had been a Red Cross driver in France in the last war … anyway, finally she thought to look around the corner, and there it was, and we were giggling fit to bust ourselves …
‘Well, the next day, Billo said, how about we try it again?’
‘Did they catch you that time?’ asked Myrtle, wiping a trace of cream off her chin with her finger, then licking it.
‘Nah. Not that time or any time after. We’d do it maybe once a fortnight when everyone was having lunch and we could sneak away.’ Joe took a bite of sponge cake. ‘This is good cake, kid. You tell your Mum that from me.
‘Anyway, years later, the day before I joined up to tell the truth, I was having a milkshake down at the Paragon Cafe and who should come and sit next to me at the counter but Miss Henderson. Well, we got talking and remembering. She was Mrs Harrison by then, she’d got married and left teaching, and I said “Hey, you remember when we used to move your Dad’s old Ford to a different spot, so you wouldn’t find it?”’
‘And she said, “What?”
‘I said, “Once every two weeks or so, four of us’d pick your car up and lug it round the corner or down the road or something, so you couldn’t find it.”
‘And she opened her eyes wide and said, “Did you? I never noticed! You know how forgetful I am about some things. I just thought I’d left it somewhere else.”
‘And I thought, hell’s bells, there we were straining our backs all those times and she never even noticed.’
Joey laughed, and choked on a bit of cake. ‘We’ve never tried anything like that.’
‘Well, don’t,’ warned Joe. ‘Here am I giving you ideas. Don’t take any notice of me. Hey, did I tell you about the time we took a car apart one night and put it back together on the school verandah, right outside Mr McKellar’s room? It was after the Fourth Year dance and we …’
Joey ate the last of his sponge cake thoughtfully. Joe seemed to be enjoying himself, after his first hesitation with Myrtle. He’d pulled his hat even lower down on his head at first. But Myrtle had been great. She hadn’t even stared at the bit of scar still showing. Or at Joe’s hand.
Joey glanced out the window. You could see to the top of the ridge from here, a rippling wave of green against a strip of blue. The clump of rocks was hidden in the trees.
Was the soldier back there now? Or did he wait for night? Had he been watching them up on the mountain? Maybe he’d seen them crawl into the rocks. Maybe he was waiting for them to bring the police back to search the hill.
Was he regretting having saved my life, wondered Joey? He’d put his own life at risk for a kid he didn’t even know; an enemy kid.
What sort of man would do a thing like that?
It was the sort of thing Dad would have done, Joey realised. If Dad was on the run somewhere and saw a child in trouble, even if it was the child of an enemy, like a Japanese, Dad would save it …
‘And old McKellar says, “How did that thing get up there?” and Sammo says, bold as brass, “Maybe it flew, Sir. They brought out a new model last month and maybe it’s got wings.”’
‘What are they all doing now?’ asked Joey, before he thought.
‘Sammo’s a prisoner of war in Changi,’ said Joe shortly. ‘Who knows where Mick and Mike are. And Billo …’ He stopped suddenly. ‘We all enlisted together,’ he added after a moment, ‘and by the end of the first day Jimbo was saying, “What the flaming heck did we do this for?” We had to wait in a line with hundreds of others to have our teeth examined just like we were horses and the food was that bad and flaming stupid officers, half of them old school tie types, not a brain amongst them. Ah, we had some fun times, though.’
Meg whined over by the stove. Joe lapsed into memories.
Myrtle wiped the last crumb off her plate.
‘I’d better be getting back,’ she said. ‘It’s a long walk home. Dad gets crook if I’m late for dinner.’
‘I’ll give you a ride back on the bike,’ offered Joey. ‘That’ll be quicker.’
Myrtle stared. ‘When did you get a bike?’
‘Yesterday. It’s a present from Joe. Wasn’t it, Joe?’
‘Eh what? Oh yeah, the bike …’ Joe heaved himself to his feet. ‘I reckon you nippers will sleep tonight after all that climbing. How’s your ankle, Joey?’
‘Aches a bit,’ admitted Joey. ‘But I’ll be sitting down all day tomor
row in school, worse luck.’
Joe nodded.
‘Do you really think there might be a soldier on the hill?’ demanded Myrtle.
Joe shrugged. He still looked far away. ‘Could be. A lot of funny things happen in this war. A Jap at Biscuit Creek’s no funnier than many of them. No Meg, you’re not getting any more cake. Not till tea-time, anyhow.’
‘What does Meg do?’ asked Myrtle. ‘I mean, does she work the sheep or something?’
‘Not her. Meg’s duties are clear. She eats and she sleeps and she follows me around and then she goes to sleep again. Eh Meg?’
Meg yawned and scratched her nose with her forepaw.
Joey had left the bike leaning against the front steps. It was a bit unsteady at first with Myrtle on the back, but not too bad. He turned to wave to Joe.
Joe sat on the steps, his left hand in his pocket, his right hand resting on Meg’s head, his hat pulled down. He didn’t notice Joey waving. He seemed to be looking at the hill.
Joey glanced up at it, too, strong and silent behind the farm, and surprisingly serene. You’d never know what happened on the hill from here, he thought, as he turned his attention back to pedalling.
chapter eighteen
Port and Water
* * *
From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942
TEA RATIONING IS NOW OPERATING IN AUSTRALIA WITH A RATION OF ONE OUNCE A WEEK FOR EACH PERSON
A substitute for tea, compounded of wheat and barley, is the aim of the Commerce Department. Large quantities of the country’s surplus wheat and barley may be used for tea, as well as for coffee and cocoa should supplies dwindle to the same extent. The Minister for Commerce, Mr Scully, said that the formula was quite simple and any housewife could make it.
* * *
The air raid siren went just after maths began.
‘Whacko!’ whispered someone behind Joey.
Miss Pringle put down the chalk. ‘Now, everyone, you know what to do. Single file, now. March, don’t run. Sam Feehan, stop pushing, we’ll all get there sooner if we’re organised.’
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