Soldier on the Hill

by French, Jackie

‘Oh yes, I’m sure, well, yes, I’m sure I have … but do, do come in. A cup … just for a little while.’

  Joey glanced at Myrtle. She nodded. ‘We’d love to come in for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘But we have to get the jars back soon. They’ll be expecting us.’

  ‘Oh … the kettle then, or lemonade, yes … the bottled kind, I bought some specially when … well, you see, I thought …’ Miss Tidcombe led the way past the cats in the kitchen into the living room, her slippers flapping.

  The room still smelt stuffy, thought Joey. He wondered if she’d opened a window since he’d been here last time.

  ‘Sit down … I mean … please do.’ Her hands fluttered as the children found seats without cats and settled themselves into them. ‘I’ll just get …’ she added helplessly. She darted back into the kitchen again.

  The cats stared at them, annoyed at the intrusion. Myrtle gazed around the room curiously. ‘Why are all the windows shut?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘I think she gets a bit nervous,’ said Joey evasively. ‘Hey look, under there!’

  ‘A kitten!’ Myrtle slid down to the floor and pulled it out from under the sofa. ‘Oh Joey, there’s another … no, two more? Aren’t they sweet?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Joey.

  ‘Here, you take this one. Oh, look they’ve got blue eyes … Miss Tidcombe, what are their names?’

  ‘Oh. I mean, I’m not sure, I haven’t yet, so many …’ stammered Miss Tidcombe as she placed the tray on the table. It was a dark wood, Joey noticed, and covered with a white cloth slightly yellowed with age, embroidered with green palm trees and orange pyramids. A plate of Sao biscuits with cheese and tomato sat on a pyramid, while two glasses of lemonade fizzed on the palm trees.

  ‘You haven’t named them yet?’ Myrtle cuddled one under her chin. ‘I’d call this one Beauty, because he is. Oh, look at his little paws, Joey. They’re so tiny! Oh, aren’t you sweet? Aren’t you a sweetie-pie?’

  Who’d have thought Myrtle would go all gooey over kittens, thought Joey.

  Miss Tidcombe’s face lit up.

  ‘You like cats?’ she asked, so delighted that she forgot to stammer.

  She’d taken off her slippers, Joey noticed, and replaced them with plain brown shoes.

  Myrtle nodded as she smoothed her cheek over the kitten’s fur. ‘We had an old grey, Jim-Jim. He used to sleep on my bed. We had him as long as I can remember. But he died last year.’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ Miss Tidcombe tugged at her cardigans in sympathy. ‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry. So sorry.’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps … perhaps if you would like …’ Her voice trailed off.

  Myrtle looked up inquiringly. ‘Like what, Miss Tidcombe?’

  ‘I … I never give away my cats. Never, of course. Except to a good home. So I wondered if … if perhaps you would like …?’ Miss Tidcombe seemed a little astounded by what she was suggesting.

  ‘Like a kitten! Oh, Miss Tidcombe, please! I’d love one! Could I have this one? I think he likes me,’ she added, as the kitten began to climb its way up into her hair.

  ‘Your mother won’t …?’

  ‘Mum won’t mind. She said I could, months ago, but no one had any kittens. You can sleep on my bed, can’t you, Beauty? I really will take good care of him, Miss Tidcombe. Thank you so much!’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I am so happy … I will miss him, of course,’ said Miss Tidcombe regretfully. ‘But to such a good home. So sad not to have a cat …’

  ‘You can visit him any time you want to,’ promised Myrtle.

  ‘Oh but I never … I mean …’ fluttered Miss Tidcombe.

  ‘You should go out more,’ suggested Joey. ‘Mum’s joined a group that makes camouflage nets down at the Hall. She says they’re always looking for more volunteers.’

  ‘Oh, but I …’

  ‘It’s for the war effort,’ said Myrtle earnestly, wiping her nose above the kitten.

  ‘No, no really I …’

  ‘Think of your cats!’ cried Joey, inspired. ‘Do it for your cats, Miss Tidcombe!’

  ‘Huh?’ said Myrtle. Joey shook his head at her.

  ‘And anyway, Mum said it’s fun. They gossip and have singsongs while they work and everything,’ added Joey.

  ‘I think not … well, maybe … perhaps.’ Miss Tidcombe looked terrified. ‘Who would look after my kitties while I’m gone?’

  ‘They’d be all right for an afternoon by themselves,’ persuaded Myrtle.

  Miss Tidcombe wavered. ‘Maybe. Oh, your jars — I must get you your jars!’ She fluttered out.

  ‘She won’t go,’ said Myrtle later, as they wandered back down the street, the kitten balanced on her shoulder as Joey lugged the sack of jars.

  ‘You never know,’ said Joey.

  chapter twenty - two

  Attack!

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  IF YOU WANT TO SHOW YOUR METTLE

  Let us have that cherished kettle,

  If it’s aluminium don’t delay a minute,

  It will come to light again

  In a fighting Aussie plane,

  With a fighting Aussie pilot sitting in it!

  * * *

  ‘Lallie!’ Mum’s voice had a note that Joey had never heard. ‘Come here! Now!’

  ‘I’m just fixing my face.’ Aunt Lallie’s voice was muffled from the bathroom.

  ‘Now, Lallie! You have to hear this. It’s important!’

  Joey stepped out of his room just as Aunt Lallie peered round the corner. Her face looked funny without its business-like lipstick. ‘Feemie, there’s nothing that’s so important that …’

  ‘Shhh.’

  ‘Repeat, this is a special bulletin …’ continued the announcer’s clear voice from the wireless. ‘Japan brought the war to Sydney last night in a daring attack on its Harbour. Three midget submarines entered the Harbour at intervals earlier in the evening and made for war vessels, particularly the cruiser USS Chicago.’

  ‘No!’ Aunt Lallie’s eyes were wide. Instinctively she and Mum drew closer together.

  ‘Nineteen RAN men died when the barracks ship they were on, the former ferry Kuttabul, was sunk by a torpedo launched from one of the tiny submarines …’

  ‘Joey … oh Joey.’ Mum put her arms around him. The announcer’s measured voice continued.

  ‘The Japanese fired two torpedoes before slipping back out, but both missed the cruiser. One exploded under the Kuttabul, blowing its hull out. The sleeping sailors on board did not have a chance of survival. A third midget submarine was tracked by depth charges after RAN vessels discovered it in Taylor’s Bay. That crew also suicided, but the vessel’s engines were found to be running today.’

  ‘Our place!’ whispered Joey. ‘Do you think they got our place?’

  ‘No. No of course not,’ stated Mum, a little too forcefully. ‘Shhh …’

  ‘It appears the mini submarines must have been launched from larger submarines off the coast. A light plane, also probably launched from a mother submarine, was spotted circling over the USS Chicago yesterday …’

  Breakfast was a silent meal. Even Joey couldn’t eat much.

  The whole of Biscuit Creek seemed quiet, as though people were sitting next to their wirelesses or discussing the news in whispers.

  Joey rode slowly down the street towards the bakery. He’d got into the habit of picking Myrtle up in the mornings. It wasn’t far out of his way to school.

  ‘Joey, have you heard? Isn’t it awful?’

  Joey nodded.

  Myrtle flung her school bag into the basket. ‘It’s funny, it makes it all real somehow. I mean, we knew the subs were out there, but coming right into the Harbour. Hey, look, there’s Mr Arkins! What’s he doing up here away from the station? Hey, Mr Arkins, what’ve you got there?’

  Mr Arkins turned. He was small and sandy with a moustache that twitched like a rabbit’s nose. ‘None of your beeswax, Myrtle Gleeson.’

  ‘T
hat looks like the sign from the railway station,’ observed Myrtle, inspecting it. ‘You know, that one that says Biscuit Creek. Hey yes, it is. Mr Arkins, what are you doing with the sign?’

  ‘I’m taking it away for safekeeping,’ announced Mr Arkins. ‘If the Japs come this sign’ll be safe.’

  ‘But no one’s going to pinch the sign,’ said Joey, confused.

  ‘That’s not the point, boy,’ said Mr Arkins. ‘If the Japs get on a train at Sydney and come out here, well, I don’t want them knowing where they are. Keep them confused! That’s the tactic!’

  ‘Where are you going to put it?’ asked Myrtle practically.

  ‘Under the geraniums on our verandah,’ said Mr Arkins. ‘The Japs’ll never think of looking for it there.’ He trotted off, the sign waggling like a duck’s tail behind him.

  ‘Think he’s barmy?’ asked Joey.

  Myrtle grinned.

  ‘No crazier than you,’ she said. ‘He thinks the enemy’s going to hop on a train at Central and buy a ticket to Biscuit Creek. You think they’re already here.’

  ‘He is here,’ said Joey shortly.

  Myrtle bit her lip. They began to wheel the bike down the street. It was too hard to talk while they were riding.

  ‘Joey?’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I’m sorry I made fun of you about the soldier.’

  ‘What? Oh, that’s all right,’ said Joey, surprised.

  ‘I never really thought till now he might be real. It was just like a sort of game.’

  Joey eyed her. ‘You think I’m right now?’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know. But I think we ought to do something now. I mean more than we have been doing.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Keep a watch on the rocks maybe. Sneak up there somehow so he doesn’t see us.’

  ‘He can see everywhere just about from the top of that hill.’

  ‘At night maybe.’

  Joey snorted. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can’t see Mum letting me wander round at night.’

  ‘Or I know!’ Myrtle stopped in excitement. ‘We could borrow Meg. See if she can track him for us.’

  ‘We’d have to wake her up first.’ Joey considered. ‘It might work though. Joe takes her rabbiting, so she knows her way around.’

  ‘Let’s try it this afternoon then!’

  ‘I was going to take some bread out to Joe’s anyway,’ said Joey slowly. ‘All right then. Come on, you’d better get on the bike, or we’ll be late.’

  chapter twenty - three

  Up on the Hill Again

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  RED CENTRE IS THE PLACE FOR TUCKER

  With the threat of invasion hanging over Australia, the government is preparing for the worst. Millions of tons of food are being stored in Central Australia, so that the population can be evacuated into the interior should the coastal areas fall. As the country goes onto a total war footing, the allocation of scarce resources, particularly food, is a key question.

  Rationing is in force and Prime Minister John Curtin has called for ‘stern and simple living’.

  * * *

  Joe’s place looked deserted. Even the chooks had vanished, soaking up the last of the sun, perhaps, down in the dust in the orchard. The roof shimmered in the afternoon sun, though the shadows below were cold.

  Joey parked the bike in its usual spot by the steps and took the bread out of the basket. Myrtle looked around. ‘Do you think he’s out rabbiting?’ she asked.

  Joe shook his head. ‘Nah, he goes up as soon as it gets light, so the flies don’t have time to get them. He’ll have been back hours ago. Maybe he’s having a nap.’

  They trod up the steps together. ‘This place’d be really nice if someone spruced it up a bit,’ remarked Myrtle. ‘It must have been really pretty before the garden was let go.’

  ‘Joe just wants his vegies — the only good flower as far as Joe’s concerned is a cauliflower,’ said Joey. ‘It was empty for months after his mother died, while he was still in hospital. I don’t suppose he’s felt up to much since then.’

  ‘Probably not,’ agreed Myrtle. She knocked firmly on the kitchen door. ‘Joe! Hey Joe, it’s us!’

  No answer.

  ‘Try again,’ suggested Joey. ‘Maybe he’s …’

  ‘G’day nippers, what’s all the racket? Is the house burning down?’ Joe peered out of the room at the end of the verandah, Meg peering around his legs.

  ‘We’ve been knocking and knocking,’ exaggerated Myrtle.

  ‘Must be going deaf in my old age,’ said Joe. He locked the room carefully behind him. His boots echoed on the old verandah. ‘That for me? We’re getting spoilt, aren’t we, Meg? Fresh bread every couple of days.’

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ demanded Myrtle.

  ‘About the Japs in the Harbour. Pretty crook, eh?’

  ‘Joe, we were wondering — is it all right if we borrow Meg for a while?’ asked Joey.

  ‘Borrow Meg? What for?’

  ‘To see if she can track the Japanese,’ said Myrtle eagerly. ‘Like a bloodhound.’

  ‘Meg’s no bloodhound,’ Joe bent and scratched her ears. ‘But you can borrow her all right. I’m warning you though, take her too far and she’ll fall asleep on you and you’ll have to carry her back.’

  ‘Oh Joe, thanks!’ Myrtle bounded down the steps again, Joey following slowly. ‘Come on, Meg! Here girl! Heel!’

  Meg cast Joe a look, as though asking for permission.

  ‘Off you go girl,’ said Joe.

  Meg trotted down the steps after them.

  chapter twenty - four

  Hunting

  * * *

  From the Biscuit Creek Gazette, 1942

  The Catholic Ladies present their Reunion Social in aid of The Good Samaritan Sisters. In the Sunday School Hall. Novelty dances. Euchre. Prizes donated by Rendall’s Butchery. 10/- ladies and gentlemen. A good time assured.

  * * *

  The shadows on the hill were deeper now, the autumn sun at a lower angle above the ridge. The air currents blended unevenly — hot and cold, the scents of paddock wafting up to mingle with rock and eucalyptus.

  Joey paused to rest his ankle. ‘You know, it’s funny,’ he said.

  ‘What’s funny? No, Meg, not that way, heel.’

  ‘That room down at Joe’s. Why does he keep it locked?’

  ‘Dunno. Maybe he keeps something precious in it.’

  ‘What would Joe have that’s precious? I mean no one locks their houses around here. Even Aunt Lallie leaves the door wide open at night when it’s hot.’

  ‘Mum locks our place.’

  ‘But yours is a shop. You keep money there and everything.’ For one half second Joey wondered if Joe had already caught the soldier, if he was keeping him prisoner maybe or … but that was silly. Joe wouldn’t do a thing like that.

  ‘Well, ask him next time if you’re so fussed about it,’ said Myrtle absently. ‘I said HEEL, Meg.’ Meg sat at her feet and panted, her eyes slowly closing.

  ‘Well, now what?’ demanded Joey.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How do we get Meg to find the soldier?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Myrtle slowly. ‘I never thought of that. I mean, I thought dogs just did it naturally.’

  ‘Not Meg at any rate,’ snorted Joey. ‘Look at her, she’s asleep already. Anyway, if she was going to find him all by herself she’d have done it weeks ago with Joe.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Myrtle looked disappointed. ‘Let’s have a go anyway. I mean we’re here now. Meg, hey Meg! Wake up!’

  Meg opened half an eye.’

  ‘Meg! Walkies! Seek Meg! Search!’

  Meg opened both eyes, obviously confused.

  ‘I think maybe you’ve got to give dogs something to sniff, so they can follow the trail.’

  ‘We haven’t got anything for her to sniff,’ said Myrtle
exasperated. ‘Why don’t you do something helpful for once?’

  Joey knelt down. ‘Meg! Sic ’em! Sic ’em Meg!’

  Meg staggered to her feet and looked around. Her nose lifted. Without warning she trotted off towards the left, suddenly purposeful.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Myrtle amazed.

  ‘Well, don’t just stand there like a stuffed duck,’ said Joey. ‘We’ve got to follow her.’

  Over the side of the hill, down a gully, green edges and grey rock where water weed grew when it was wet, up the other side and onto shale and tussock once again.

  ‘I’ve never seen Meg move so fast,’ puffed Joey.

  ‘How’s your ankle?’

  ‘Holding up.’

  Suddenly Meg stopped. She barked twice, then looked back at the children.

  ‘He’s in that other gully!’ exclaimed Myrtle. ‘Hurry up! Run!’

  Joey was breathless by the time they reached the gully edge. It was steeper than the first. Water pooled in drifts of fern, then disappeared to flow a little further down. The air smelt slightly sour, of long decaying leaves.

  ‘Woof,’ declared Meg. She sat back on her haunches.

  ‘What …?’ began Myrtle. ‘Oh hey — look. You dumb dog,’ she said to Meg.

  ‘Woof,’ said Meg again, obviously pleased with herself. The wallaby in the gully glanced up at them, blinked, then slowly hopped away.

  ‘I guess we have to find out what “Find the Japanese soldier” is in dog,’ said Joey.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ said Myrtle crossly. ‘I thought we’d … blast. I suppose we’d better be getting back again before it gets dark. Come on, dumb dog. Don’t look so conceited. Anyone can find a wallaby!’

  Joey followed them down the hill. It was funny; he was almost pleased they hadn’t found the soldier. For a moment there he’d felt like calling to Meg, turning his back on the gully and refusing to see what was down there.

  But that was stupid. The soldier was an enemy. An enemy.

  The evening birds called into the growing stillness as they wandered down the hill.