by Peter Watt
‘Thanks . . . boss . . . Macca,’ Mitch replied. ‘I guess we have to get Tom back to the homestead, and contact his missus and his daughter. What do we do about the other one? The one behind the truck looks like he’s had his head bashed in.’
‘You could say that,’ Donald replied.
Mitch glanced at Billy, and saw the blood-stained club tucked in his belt. He was talking to Cyril, who was listening to him great interest.
Cyril detached himself from Billy, and walked over to Donald. ‘Billy told me everything about how you three held the hill against Johnson and his men. Will you be telling the same story to the police?’
‘It’s the truth,’ Donald said. ‘Johnson and his men came here to kill Tom Duffy. They were armed with Tommy guns and grenades. I think that speaks for itself.’
‘Billy said there was another man employed by Mr Johnson who seems to have run away,’ Cyril said. ‘Will you go in search of him?’
‘I’m sure the boys will eventually find him,’ Mitch cut in. ‘He’s probably not far from here, just wandering around enjoying the sunshine.’
The matter of the missing third man was dropped as Cyril scribbled notes and sketches in his notebook. The truck had failed to start, due to bullets that had damaged its engine, so Tom’s body was laid over the back of a horse for transport back to the homestead. The horse was led by Mitch while Billy, Cyril and Donald walked beside in a manner akin to a military escort.
A mile or so from the hill a man walked around in circles, desperately trying to find a landmark to guide him back to the Glen View homestead. This was not like England or Ireland with its green fields and streams, but an ocean of dry, spindly trees under a searing sun. It was the closest thing to hell on earth the surviving thug would ever experience before he eventually died of thirst, his body baked in the sun. The two big eagles circling above came to feed on his corpse.
*
Sergeant Jessica Duffy had completed her parachute training, and was in her room conducting an inventory of the items that would go with her for the drop into Malaya. A ceiling fan whirred quietly overhead, and the sun shone with a gentle warmth outside her window.
The knock on the door startled her.
‘Sergeant Duffy,’ said Major Mike Unsworthy. ‘I fear I have some very sad news for you.’
Jessica thought he was going to say the mission was off.
‘I think you should sit down.’
Jessica slumped onto the edge of her bed.
‘It’s about your father, Tom Duffy,’ the British officer said. ‘We just received a signal that he was killed at Glen View, and that you’re to take leave for his funeral. Please accept my condolences. I know what a remarkable man he was.’
For a moment Jessica tried to take in her commanding officer’s words. He had said ‘killed’, not ‘died’, she thought. How, who? She burst into tears.
‘I’ve already arranged a seat for you on one of our planes flying south,’ Unsworthy continued gently. ‘You’ll be leaving in the next half-hour, so just gather what you need for the trip. It will take you to Rockhampton, where a light aircraft will fly you to your family property. It seems you have some highly placed friends in Mr Chifley’s government.’
Jessica was picked up and driven to the airfield where she boarded a B24 bomber flying south. It put down at Rockhampton and when she dropped down from the crew hatch she was met by an older civilian, who introduced himself as a Mr Parsons.
He escorted her over to the edge of the airfield where she saw a small single-engine aircraft she recognised as a Puss Moth.
‘I don’t know who you know in Canberra,’ Parsons said, placing her kitbag in his aeroplane, ‘but when I got back to Rockie, I had a visit from a big knob in the army who said I was to fly you back to Glen View where I’ve just come from.’
‘Do you know how my father was killed, Mr Parsons?’ Jessica asked.
‘I do, but I think you should hear it from Mr Macintosh,’ he replied. ‘He was with your father when he copped it.’
‘Mr Macintosh?’ Jessica said in a surprised voice. ‘Do you mean Donald Macintosh?’
‘That’s the man,’ Parsons replied. ‘Good bloke. He hired me to fly him out to help your old man.’
Jessica boarded the aircraft, and within hours they were circling the homestead. She could see a lot of people had gathered there. Parsons set the Puss Moth down on a cleared area just in front of the house, and switched off the engine. Jessica alighted and saw Donald striding towards her.
‘Donald,’ she said when he was within a few paces. For a moment she was startled by the terrible injury to his face.
‘Jessie,’ Donald answered, taking her in his arms, wrapping her in a warm hug. ‘I’m sorry we had to meet this way.’
‘The last I knew, you had gone to Tarakan,’ Jessie replied, stepping back from the embrace. ‘I can see you paid a high price for your service.’
Donald grimaced. ‘My days as a lady-killer are over,’ he replied. ‘No woman would want to be with a man as disfigured as this.’
‘Not all women,’ Jessica said. ‘But one who loved you for the man you are would think differently. Mr Parsons said you knew the details of my father’s death.’
As they walked towards the homestead Donald described the events leading up to her father’s murder, and the role he had played in the defence of the man Jessica had most loved in the world. He did not mention that it was he who had killed her father’s murderer.
They sat down on the verandah, and a pot of tea was brought out to them. Jessica could see a uniformed police sergeant and his constable talking near the fence of the house.
After a moment the sergeant came to the verandah and spoke to her. ‘Please accept my condolences for your father’s death,’ he said. ‘Tom was one of the finest men I ever had the honour to know.’
Jessica knew the policeman. ‘Thank you, Sergeant Smith,’ she said. ‘I know my father held you in the highest regard also.’
Sergeant Smith turned his attention to Donald. ‘Mr Macintosh,’ he said, ‘from my investigation I’m satisfied that you acted in self-defence, and will be reporting as such to the coroner for Mr Johnson’s demise.’
Jessica looked sharply at Donald.
‘I hope Billy is also exonerated for his part in defending Tom,’ Donald said.
‘That goes without saying,’ the police sergeant replied. ‘I’ll be leaving now to make my report, and regret I won’t be here for your dad’s funeral,’ he said, looking to Jessica.
He left to join his constable. Both men rode away.
‘You didn’t mention that it was you who killed this Johnson man,’ Jessica said.
‘I didn’t think it was important. It cannot bring Tom back,’ Donald said.
‘Thank you,’ Jessica said, placing her hand on his arm. ‘At least Dad can rest in peace, knowing he was avenged.’
‘I was with your dad to the last, and his final words were to tell you that he loved you,’ Donald said gently.
Jessica began to weep. Donald put his arm around her, pulling her to him. She cried for some minutes, the grief finally flowing as she came to grips that the big, strong man who had been the rock of her life was gone forever.
‘Hey, Jessie, look at that,’ Donald said.
Jessica lifted her head and followed Donald’s gaze to the sky where she saw two eagles floating in the air above the homestead.
‘Billy reckons that they are the spirits of Wallarie and your dad,’ Donald said. ‘So your dad is still watching over you.’
Jessica gazed for as long as the big birds were overhead. Deep in her heart she wished what Donald had said was true.
*
Tom was laid to rest in a small cemetery not far from the homestead. The only mourners outside of family and friends were the European and Aboriginal stockmen from the
station. Abigail had returned, and stood by Jessica and Donald at the edge of the newly dug grave. A priest could not be found in time, so Donald conducted the service and led prayers for the dead.
When the brief ceremony was over, the mourners walked back to the homestead for the wake. Jessica helped Abigail, who could hardly cover the distance due to her distress. Tea, scones and small sandwiches were served, and the subdued talk amongst the stockmen was about what a bonzer boss Tom had been. Abigail sat in a chair in the corner as the men came up awkwardly one by one to offer their condolences.
Donald stood with Jessica, sipping tea from a fine china cup.
‘What will happen to Abigail?’ Donald asked.
‘She knows she’ll always have a home with us here,’ Jessica said. ‘But her sister in England had said earlier she would like Abigail to return if she ever found herself on her own. Abigail told me she thinks that would be a good idea. Glen View has too many memories of my dad. I’ll arrange for her fare home, and make sure she gets Dad’s war pension for the rest of her life.’
‘I can understand why she’s leaving,’ he said. ‘What about you? What are your plans when the war is over?’
Jessica looked around the room. ‘I think I’ll return, and take over running the station,’ she said. ‘I owe that to Dad, and to our ancestors.’
‘The Macintosh family also have ancestors in that little graveyard where your dad is now buried,’ Donald said. ‘This piece of the earth is very special to both families.’
Jessica looked at Donald. ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘It will not be easy to manage a cattle station. I have little experience in such matters.’
‘You have Mitch to guide you,’ Donald offered. ‘He’s a good man and I trust him. He’ll see you right.’
‘Thank you, Donald, for all that you’ve done for Dad and me,’ Jessica said, reaching up to touch his scars tenderly. ‘You have given much for your country.’
Donald was about to flinch away from her hand, but when her fingers touched him he did not feel embarrassed. ‘Maybe I could come and visit some time,’ he said. ‘There are one or two horses I have yet to show Mitch I can break.’
For a moment their eyes met, and memories of their time together before the war flooded back. A time when Donald had professed his love, and Jessica told him she had been called by God. So much had happened to them both since that day when Donald first saw the beautiful young woman laughing at him as he was being thrown by a horse in the Glen View round yard.
‘I would like that,’ Jessica said.
The stockmen eventually wandered away to their duties, while Donald talked to Parsons about flying back to Rockhampton. From there he would either take the train south the Brisbane and Sydney or, if he was lucky, hitch a ride on a military transport aircraft flying south. It was time to return and put his affairs in order. His leave was running out. He bid goodbye to the men, and Jessica followed him over to the waiting aeroplane where Parsons was carrying out his pre-flight inspection.
‘Well, Jessie, old girl,’ Donald said, throwing his kitbag in the cockpit, ‘I guess this is goodbye for now.’
He held out his hand and was startled when Jessica flung her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. For a second Donald did not respond, but the warmth of the kiss quickly caused him to react. He returned the kiss, and Jessica broke away with a teasing smile.
‘Not all women are repulsed by your war scars,’ she said. ‘I actually think they make you look even more handsome.’
‘Got to get goin’, Mr Macintosh,’ Parsons called, hoisting himself into the cockpit. ‘The wind’s about to change.’
Donald turned and climbed aboard, still reeling from Jessica’s passionate kiss. As the plane taxied Donald could see Jessica standing alone, watching him. She waved, and he returned the gesture just before the little aeroplane roared down the dusty, stretch of flat ground. Soon they were airborne. Donald could still see the tiny figure of Jessica standing below, gazing up at him. In returning to Glen View it seemed he had found both death and new life.
*
Cyril stood before his father in the Rockhampton newspaper office.
‘It’s a great story, Dad,’ he said. ‘I went through our archives and found a lot of stuff about Glen View. What happened there a few days ago was history repeating itself.’
Cyril’s father looked up from his desk. ‘What’s happening right now is more important than a bunch of hillbillies out west having a shoot-out. The Japanese are on the verge of surrendering, and the end of the war will be the headline for our next edition. I’m sorry, but the end of the war is all people will want to know about.’
The Americans had dropped a second atomic bomb on a Japanese city called Nagasaki, and the Russians had launched a massive attack on the Japanese in China. The Russians were rolling up the Japanese armed forces, and the Americans were poised to invade from captured Japanese territories south of the mainland.
Cyril retrieved the ream of papers from his father’s desk and stormed out of the office. He knew that under any other circumstances his backstory about the almost forgotten bushranger Tom Duffy of the 1860s Queensland frontier and his link to the modern Tom Duffy was eerie. The fight for Glen View had all happened well over a half century before, and had resulted in the massacre of the local Aboriginal clan living on their traditional lands. It was as if an ancient curse was upon the property.
Cyril made a decision. His father wouldn’t publish his story, so he would send it to a major Brisbane newspaper instead. When the story was printed, he was sure it would cause a sensation and be picked up by all the major newspapers. Then his father couldn’t help but be impressed.
*
Allison, like most of the workers in Sydney, had taken 15 August 1945 off to join the rapturous celebrations in the city’s streets. The papers had one word splashed across the front page: PEACE.
Six years of war were finally over. She waded through piles of shredded paper to join the masses singing and dancing in the clogged streets. David would be coming home, and they would start a life. One without the ever present fear of losing him.
The day flew by as she was swept up in its euphoria. When the sun began to fall over Sydney she decided to return to her flat so that she could just sit and gaze at the photograph of the man she was waiting for. She even thought about their wedding. David had not yet formally proposed, but she knew he was waiting to see if he survived the jungles of New Guinea before considering such a big step.
It was dark in the street, and far enough away from the celebrations to be deserted. Allison was weary and hardly noticed the dark car parked at the end of her street. She crossed the road and was just about to step onto the footpath when she became aware of a car engine revving at high speed behind her. The last thing she saw was the glare of headlights, then the vehicle hit her before she could react.
NINETEEN
Donald stood in front of Sarah in her office. She had trouble concealing her rage. She had not counted on the adverse publicity caused by the violent death of Tom Duffy. It was in newspapers all over the country, next to the Macintosh company name. Under pressure from the board, she had been forced to abandon the case for Glen View.
‘Such a shame for you, dear sister,’ he said. ‘But you have to admit it’s probably for the best. My question is, did you tell Johnson to have Tom killed?’
Sarah glared at her brother. ‘I only instructed him to remove Mr Duffy from Glen View, not to kill him. What do you take me for?’
‘A cold-hearted bitch whose only ambition is to be the richest and most influential woman in this country,’ Donald replied. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to have ordered Johnson to kill Tom, but since he’s dead, I know I can’t link you to a conspiracy.’
‘You should have been a lawyer,’ Sarah snorted, dismissing the accusation. ‘My only ambition is to ensure that Mactinosh
enterprises remain the biggest and best financial empire in this country, under my sound management.’
‘Well, as I will be demobbed very soon, I intend to return to the company and stand against you,’ Donald said. ‘So have the staff clear out my office.’
Donald picked up his hat and walked out of his sister’s office with a satisfied smirk. He could see he had unsettled her – and he intended to ensure she lost her power in the Macintosh enterprises.
*
15 August 1945
ORDER OF THE DAY BY GENERAL SIR THOMAS BLAMEY CIC AUSTRALIAN MILITARY FORCES
The JAPANESE have surrendered – our long and arduous struggle has ended in complete victory – the climax has come at the time when all six Australian divisions are fighting strenuously, each on its own far-flung battleline – NO divisions among the Allies have contributed more to the downfall of our enemies than ours – our general officers and commanders of all grades, our regt officers, our warrant officers and NCOs, have led you to unfaltering to victory – under their guidance, the troops have been formed into an excellent and magnificent army to the pride and glory of AUSTRALIA – we have fought through burning days and freezing nights of the desert, we have fought through the ooze and swamp of tropic jungles – we have defeated the ITALIANS and GERMANS and we would soon have completely the JAPANESE before us – we are now planning to go to our homes, having done our part in ensuring freedom for all peoples . . .
‘And the signal goes on a bit longer,’ David said to his gathering of senior NCOs and junior officers standing at the edge of a beach under swaying palms on the northern coast of New Guinea. ‘Platoon commanders, take a copy of General Blamey’s speech and read it to your men. Copies will be posted on the company board for anyone to read. The bloody war is over, and all we have to do is convince the little Nip bastards out in the jungle it’s fair dinkum. The war’s finally over, and we can go home.’