Soldier on the Hill

by French, Jackie

  ‘Good-oh, you nippers,’ he said, settling the hat more firmly over his scar. ‘What brings you out here so soon? Not that you’re not welcome,’ he added. ‘Oh shush Meg,’ as the dog lifted one ear and then her nose to bark. ‘No point making a racket now.’

  ‘I brought you some bread out,’ said Joey. ‘And butter too.’

  ‘Goodoh,’ said Joe. ‘Fresh bread, eh Meg? We’ll be putting on a bit of condition if this goes on. How much do I owe you, mate?’

  ‘Nothing. I mean Mrs Gleeson said she’d put it on the slate for you. You can pay her at the end of the month.’

  ‘Goodoh,’ said Joe again.

  ‘We brought you out an apple cake, too,’ said Myrtle. ‘That’s a present from Mum.’

  ‘More cake? I’ll be the size of a barrel. Not that I’m complaining, mind. Come in and help me eat it.’

  ‘Woof,’ said Meg, slowly stretching her back legs, then her front.

  ‘Yeah, you can have a bit too,’ said Joe. ‘Oh, get away from it,’ to one of the hens pecking inquiringly around his heels. ‘You’re not getting any cake. Enough’s enough. You tykes want any bunny to take home?’ He gave his ghost of a grin. ‘Maybe your Dad’d like a bit to stick in his meat pies.’

  Myrtle gazed at the long line of skins on the fence, then at the kerosene tin full of naked rabbit bodies. She shook her head. ‘The butcher says he’s still got enough beef,’ she said. ‘Though Dad swears he’s putting some mutton into it lately.’

  ‘What’s the world coming to, eh? Sheep in a meat pie! Though I suppose it’s all meat,’ said Joe. ‘Add a bit of gravy and what’s the difference? I don’t suppose you’d want any of this lot though. This tin wasn’t any too clean to start with.’

  ‘You don’t have any spare eggs, do you?’ asked Myrtle. ‘Dad was out at Stevenson’s seeing if he had any spare eggs this morning.’

  Joe hesitated … ‘Tell you what. I’ll swap your Dad cackleberries in exchange for bread.’ He shoved his hat down further absently. ‘He’d have to come out here and get them though. I’m not coming in.’

  ‘Joey and I could fetch them,’ said Myrtle. ‘I mean if that’s all right with you, Joey?’

  ‘’S fine with me,’ said Joey.

  ‘Well, you ask your Dad,’ said Joe. He flexed his shoulders. ‘It’s time I had a break. Meg too. She’ll get stiff sleeping in the one spot all the time. Come on, Meg. Walkies to the kitchen.’

  The kitchen was stuffy with the heat of the stove. ‘You should get a gas one,’ said Joey, making himself comfortable at the table.

  ‘That’s what Mum always said. Or one of those new electric models Dad got in the shop. But Dad never got round to it. You know what they say: the doctor’s kid’s always the last to get the medicine. When Dad died I was going to put one in for her, but she wouldn’t have it. Said this one reminded her of Dad. He always used to put his socks in the oven to warm them up before he put them on, and his pyjamas too. And stick his feet in the oven sometimes in winter if Mum wasn’t baking.’ Joe gave his half grin. ‘Do it myself nowadays. Here, you two want some milk?’

  Myrtle nodded.

  ‘Where’d you get the milk, Joe?’ asked Joey.

  ‘Where d’you think? From one of the bunnies? Or maybe I milked Meg. Nah, from old Jasmine. She dropped a calf two weeks ago but I couldn’t be bothered milking her, not just for myself. But if you two are going to come lobbing out all the time, well, I don’t want to waste my tea ration on you two, do I?’ Joe’s grin was wider now. He was even leaving his hand out of his pocket now, noticed Joey, as though he was forgetting to be embarrassed.

  Joe fetched a jug from the other room, and poured the milk into two glasses. It was thicker than the milk they had at home, thought Joey, and sweeter. Joe probably left most of the cream in it.

  ‘Give you both some cream to take home,’ said Joe, as though he read Joey’s thoughts. He poured hot water into the teapot and stretched the tea cosy over it, then sat down at the table with the children. ‘You know, I’m glad you two popped round this arvo. Not just because of the bread and stuff either.’ He paused. ‘Something odd happened last night.’

  ‘The Jap!’ cried Joey.

  Joe scratched his chin with his good hand. ‘Could be,’ he said. ‘Could be.’

  Myrtle stared. ‘You really do believe in Joey’s Jap,’ she said. ‘I thought you were just being nice yesterday.’

  ‘I’m never nice’ said Joe with a flash of what must have been his old humour. ‘I’m never nice to anyone. You ask Meg. No, seriously girlie, I think Joey might have something. All these subs about.’

  ‘But why would he be hanging round here?’ cried Myrtle.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Joe evasively. ‘I’ll tell you what though, Meg was barking like mad last night.’

  ‘A possum,’ said Myrtle.

  ‘Takes more than a possum to wake Meg up,’ said Joe. He poured his tea then blew on it. ‘Here, I’ll show you something. Let that cool for a sec.’

  Joe led the way out of the kitchen then down the verandah to a room enclosed at the end. ‘Take a dekko at that,’ he said.

  Joey stared. The door of the room was padlocked. But around the door were deep scar marks, as though someone had attacked the lock with a screwdriver or crowbar.

  ‘Don’t you tell me a possum did that,’ said Joe.

  ‘Crikey,’ whispered Joey. ‘No wonder Meg barked. Joe, we need to call Sergeant Williams. He won’t think I’m imagining things now, not after he takes a look at that.’

  Joe shook his head. ‘No,’ he said flatly.

  ‘But Joe, why not?’

  ‘Because I don’t want people poking their noses out here, that’s why.’ Joe walked back into the kitchen, grabbed his tea and stood staring out the window. Joey and Myrtle followed him.

  ‘But Joe …’ said Joey hesitantly.

  ‘I said, No!’ said Joe.

  ‘But if there really is a Jap loose you can’t just leave him there,’ argued Myrtle.

  ‘What harm’s one stray Jap going to do?’ Joe turned back to them, his eyes hurt. ‘There isn’t even a munitions factory round here he can sabotage. Nothing more essential to the war effort than a potato crop or two and a few cows.’

  ‘But … but I thought you wanted me to find him,’ stammered Joey.

  Joe shrugged. ‘I agreed with you that he might be up there, that was all. You go hunting for him all you like. You won’t find him up there. Not unless he wants to be found. Have you any idea how much land there is up there, boyo? Hundreds of wretched square miles of it, and most of it too wild or steep even to get a horse up. He’s safe enough up there — as long as he stays there.’

  ‘But … but he’s a Jap …’ stammered Joey.

  ‘An enemy alien,’ added Myrtle righteously.

  ‘Jap. Aussie. What does it matter?’ Joe put his tea down untasted. ‘I’m sick of killing, all this talk of killing. Every time I take a bunny out of a trap, I think, why the heck am I doing this?’

  ‘Because the rabbits eat the grass and young trees and cause erosion and other animals die,’ said Joey.

  ‘Anyway, the Japs aren’t like the rabbits,’ added Myrtle. ‘The Japs kill us, too.’

  Joe tried to grin. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘One bunny does no harm, a million kill the country. And as for Japs … well, I’ll tell you if I see anything else when I’m up in the hills. Any sign of where he might be. But don’t expect too much. Like I said, he’s got himself a big backyard up there to play in and he can see me coming any time I set out and scuttle further in.’

  ‘But what if he comes back here?’ asked Myrtle.

  ‘Then he’ll get a nasty surprise,’ said Joe. ‘Meg and I will be waiting for him this time. Come on, I’ll give you that cream to take back, and some eggs. And you thank your Mum for me,’ he added.

  ‘Joe,’ said Joey, as they climbed back on the bike, the jars of cream padded with newspaper in the basket.

  ‘Yeah?’ asked
Joe.

  ‘What’s in that room anyway? The one that’s kept locked?’

  ‘Ah, just bits and pieces,’ said Joe.

  chapter twenty

  Arguments

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  Motorists Warned! All motorists and cyclists are warned that cars and trucks must rigidly observe the blackout. Vehicles must be without interior lighting except on the instrument panel, and the night speed limit is 20 mph. The penalty for negligence or infringement ranges from up to a year’s imprisonment or a £3000 fine or both. Cycles within 80 miles of the coast must not be driven at night unless strict blackout conditions are observed.

  * * *

  ‘Mrs Billings: fourteen pairs socks, five pairs golf socks, five cakes soap, one pair bootlaces, two handkerchiefs, one card safety pins, four magazines, one pillowslip.

  ‘Mrs Crawford: two pairs socks, one toothbrush and case, one tin tomatoes, four face washers, two hot water bottle covers. Feemie, draw the edge of the blackout curtain over would you, dear? I’m sure there’s some light showing through …

  ‘Mrs Beveridge: two pairs socks, five cakes soap, one cap, one neck muff, two tins pineapple …’ Aunt Lallie’s voice was slightly muffled by the door. Joey tried to concentrate on his book.

  ‘It looks all right to me.’ Mum’s voice was tired.

  ‘Well, all right isn’t good enough! What if someone sees a crack of light coming from our house? I have my reputation to think of Feemie …’

  ‘All right, all right.’ There was silence for a moment. ‘There, will that satisfy you?’

  ‘Mrs McArthur: three pairs pyjamas, four blankets, eight packets of cigarettes …’

  ‘Is that for the Comfort Fund?’

  ‘No.’ Aunt Lallie’s voice was sharp. ‘It’s for the Prisoners of War Committee. And I’ll get it done much faster, Feemie, if you don’t ask silly questions.’

  ‘I don’t know why you bother with all those different committees,’ said Mum. ‘It’s the same people on each one — Mrs Hawkins, Mrs Arkle, Mary Mundy, Sandra Deebone, Miss Tulip. Why not just have one?’

  ‘That’s not the point, Feemie, and you know it,’ said Aunt Lallie. ‘It’s the CWA’s job to make the vests — eight so far this year and forty-three pairs of knitted sea boots. The Defence League’s in charge of reconditioning the greatcoats and making camouflage nets, but its netting days are Tuesdays and Thursdays, and greatcoats Wednesdays, and the Hospital Committee is on the Friday. The pot plant stall is for the Comfort Fund, and the Red Cross has the magazine drive. You’ve got to do things properly, Feemie. Which reminds me, that last lot of marmalade you made for the Friday stall — the tops weren’t gummed down properly.’

  ‘Yes they were. I showed Joey how to do it.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t do it properly, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘I checked. They were fine. Someone must have …’

  ‘Well, you know what I keep telling you. You need to be firmer with him, Feemie. You let him get away with too much nonsense.’ Aunt Lallie’s voice was strident in the night.

  Mum muttered something, too low for Joey to hear.

  ‘Nonsense. You just pander to that boy, that’s all. Yes, I know he’s had a hard time. It’s been hard for all of us, Feemie.’

  Another mutter, higher this time.

  ‘Now I didn’t say that, Feemie. Of course you’re welcome here. My own flesh and blood and what’s family for, I’d like to know, if it’s not to stand by each other in times like this. But I still say …’

  An even louder mutter. Mum must be in the kitchen, maybe washing up, while Aunt Lallie worked at the dining table in the room next to his.

  ‘Now don’t take it that way, Feemie. You were always one for getting on your high horse. Me? Well, there’s gratitude for you. No, I won’t hear such things. I’m your older sister and I’ve every right to …’

  A door slammed suddenly. There was silence.

  Joey lay in bed and watched the ceiling. He couldn’t read, not now.

  Where had Mum gone? Nothing was open at this time of night. Even the pub shut at six, not that she’d go there. Maybe she’d gone for a walk …

  Joey sat up.

  The Jap! The Jap might have come down to the edge of the town. He’d get her.

  The door opened silently. ‘Joey, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I just thought … I thought you’d gone out.’

  ‘Lallie was in a snit. I just went out the back and round through the side door, that’s all. What are you looking like that for?’

  ‘I was scared. I thought you’d gone out for a walk. I thought the Jap would come down from the hill and get you.’

  ‘Darling, there’s no Japanese there. I keep telling you.’ Mum went over to the dressing table and slowly brushed her hair with the silver-backed brush Dad had given her the Christmas before last.

  ‘Mum, why can’t we leave? Aunt Lallie doesn’t really want us here.’

  Mum sighed and put her hairbrush down. ‘Because we’ve nowhere else to go. The agent’s rented out our place up in Sydney and we need the rent money, anyway, now I’m not working. And Lallie does want us here.’

  ‘But she’s always nagging at me — and you.’

  ‘That’s just Lallie’s way. Always the big sister.’ Mum sat on the bed beside him. ‘She’s worried, Joey. That’s why she snaps a lot, too. It’s been over two months since she got a letter from Merv.’

  ‘But … but he’s all right isn’t he? I mean there’d be a telegram if he was killed or taken prisoner. Or missing.’

  ‘Probably. Mail is so erratic nowadays. But still — you can see how she must be feeling.’

  ‘I suppose. Uncle Don and Bruce are safe, aren’t they?’

  Mum shrugged and looked out the window. ‘They were the last time she heard from them. That’s all anyone can know — that their husbands and sons were alive when they sent the letter. Be a bit more understanding, Joey. Lallie does want us here, no matter how much she grouches. And no matter how much I complain I need Lallie. My temper’s a bit frayed as well,’ she admitted.

  ‘I wish we had our own house here,’ said Joey.

  Mum smiled. ‘To tell you the truth, so do I. One where I could see Lallie every day but not have to share a kitchen with her. Oh well, I suppose I’d better go out and put the kettle on and apologise. If I don’t do it Lallie won’t, and then there’ll be an atmosphere all through breakfast.’

  She sighed again, and ran her hands through her hair. ‘Sometimes I think I’d be better off getting a job. Anything instead of these everlasting knitting parties and camouflage netting and hemming blankets for a soldier. I mean it’d be for the war effort, I’d still be doing my bit. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing my marbles. Oh, don’t listen to me, Joey love, I’ve got the pip tonight, that’s all. Is that another Biggles book? Is it any good?’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Joey.

  chapter twenty - one

  Talking to Miss Tidcombe

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  PATRIOTIC FUND

  A general meeting of the Biscuit Creek Patriotic Fund will be held at the Literary Institute next Tuesday night at 7 p.m. with the object of discussing ways of raising funds. Country people are especially invited to attend.

  * * *

  ‘Crumbs, this sack’s getting heavy,’ complained Joey.

  Myrtle looked up from her notebook. ‘Well, it’s got fifty-six jars in it,’ She sniffed loudly. ‘Anyway, this is the last place on the list. The others will have covered all the rest.’ She sniffed again.

  ‘How come you keep sniffing?’ demanded Joey.

  ‘’Cause I forgot my hanky,’ said Myrtle.

  ‘You can borrow mine if you like,’ offered Joey.

  ‘Errk.’

  ‘No, it’s all right, I haven’t used it. I never need a hanky. Mum just makes me bring one.’ He handed it over. It was still ne
atly ironed, but a bit fluffy at the edges from being so long in his pocket.

  Myrtle blew her nose gratefully. ‘Danks,’ she said.

  ‘Why do you keep having to use a hanky, anyway?’

  ‘Dunno. Must be something flowering this time of year. You going to knock this time or will I?’

  ‘Hey, this is Miss Tidcombe’s place.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  Joey rested the sack against the hedge and wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘Sort of. She gave me afternoon tea a couple of times.’ It seemed cruel to explain about Miss Tidcombe and the cats, even to Myrtle.

  ‘Was it a good afternoon tea?’

  ‘Yeah, great.’

  ‘Well, I hope she’s got some empty jars,’ said Myrtle practically. ‘The Red Cross needs as many as it can get. Hey, where are you going?’

  ‘The back door,’ said Joey. ‘The front door doesn’t work. It’s jammed or something.’ He climbed up the tall steps and knocked firmly.

  The door opened a crack. Miss Tidcombe’s face peered out, with Isabelle at her feet. She wore two cardigans today, Joey noticed, and a beret and woollen slippers on her feet.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh how … I mean Joseph, yes, how nice.’ She caught sight of Myrtle and glanced down in embarrassment at her slippered feet. ‘And this is, your friend, I mean …’

  ‘Miss Tidcombe, this is Myrtle,’ introduced Joey. ‘Myrt, this is Miss Tidcombe. And that’s Isabelle,’ he added.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Myrtle.

  ‘Oh yes, so pleased …’ Miss Tidcombe hesitated. ‘I … I haven’t baked … but do, do come in …’

  ‘I didn’t come for afternoon tea,’ explained Joey. ‘We’re collecting empty jars.’

  ‘For the Red Cross,’ added Myrtle. ‘We’ve got fifty-six so far. Have you got any spare ones?’