Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Well, I’m going to jump out of a leaking plane into uncharted mountains with a wounded Japanese prisoner who hates our guts. Because I’m a crazy bloody Australian.’ The wind tore at him as he backed up to jump. ‘Who’s with me?’

  There was still silence, save the engine’s wail, then Jake stepped forwards.

  ‘I am, mate,’ he said, pulling his parachute up higher in readiness. ‘I’d follow you anywhere, stupid bastard that I am.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Mayflower, and one by one the squad gave him their support until it was just Cliffy left.

  ‘You owe me beer for life,’ he said.

  That made Michael grin and he turned to jump, satisfied now his mates were with him, but he was stalled by a Japanese voice as the great open space spread before him.

  ‘Omae wa ikiru kachi wa nai!’

  ‘What did he say?’ Mick cried out, but he never got his response.

  Because with his hands now free the Japanese officer had reached into his pocket and was holding a grenade in one hand, its pin in the other. A booby trap not one of them had thought to check for.

  As the plane exploded above the wilds of New Guinea, those Japanese words were the last the Elite would hear.

  Omae wa ikiru kachi wa nai!

  You don’t deserve to live.

  But back home loved ones would weep in inconsolable grief as the opposite truth consumed them: The Elite did deserve to live – they deserved a whole life, these young men of war.

  Katie wept for her Jake, who would never again laugh at her cussing or kiss her dimples. Or be able to give her the baby she so longed for as she faced life alone. Just another war widow, not yet twenty-one.

  Mavis wept for the loss of her second, last remaining son, chain smoking in the yard as she listened for currawongs. She wore no coat, welcoming the cold, as she turned her back on God, once and for all.

  Rory wept, tears soaking his shirt unchecked, because despite all he had done, in the end he couldn’t save those brave young men. And he couldn’t save their leader, his only boy.

  And Beryl and Dorn wept for the loss of their friends, and for Michael. They had no brothers left to pray for now. Their parents no sons to welcome home from war.

  But Junie sat dry-eyed, beyond the comfort of tears, filling her head with knowledge and facts about law. She stuffed them in until the rabbit in her mind was buried, unable to run and remind her again. Then she poured wine down the tunnels, just to make sure.

  Because there was one fact she didn’t want finding its way out – but it wouldn’t stay buried, despite the study and wine. A fact so terrible it blanked out all others and filled her heart with a pain so cruel she could barely draw breath. To believe it meant there was nothing to hope for, nothing to dream about.

  Nothing that mattered.

  She took to walking on the beach, looking across the sea to where he should still be. But without him under that same sun, even the great southern lady was no comfort any more.

  Not since the fact arrived that wouldn’t stay buried.

  Not since God took her Michael away.

  Part Five

  Thirty-seven

  April 1949

  Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

  ‘Mrs June Farthington. Honours.’

  She walked across the stage and accepted her degree to the enthusiastic applause of her supporters, trying to ignore her daughter calling out, ‘That’s my mum!’

  ‘Mr Bartholomew Frewe.’

  Bartholomew didn’t receive honours but Junie was pretty sure he felt honoured enough, based on the look he sent his pregnant wife, Dorn. She held up their baby boy to wave at him and clap his little hands.

  One by one they came, only about two-thirds of those who had started, and Junie wondered what had become of those who’d dropped out. She’d heard Brian Chester – the smirker, as she always thought of him – was working in a bank and hoping to be manager someday, although so far he hadn’t made it past clerk. Bartholomew had particularly enjoyed relaying that piece of information.

  The great hall was suitably magnificent on this sunny autumn day and she felt the weight of the paper in her fingers with deep gratitude. God had taken many things from her but He hadn’t taken this and, for the first time in many years, she felt an old emotion move through her. Not pride, so much – her daughter gave her plenty of that – it was a different feeling, more like satisfaction.

  They were all waiting for her outside and gave a mighty cheer as she approached in her cap and gown.

  ‘Photos, photos!’ called Katie happily and they posed. One with Ernest and Frankie (her daughter had long ago chosen the nickname for herself), one with her parents and brothers, one with the girls and one with Bartholomew and Harry, her long-standing uni chums. And one with Digger, of course, although he didn’t like wearing the mortarboard. Eliza hadn’t come at the last minute, something to do with a headache, she’d said on the phone, and Frankie was getting bored without Marigold to amuse her.

  ‘Play with Stevie,’ Junie suggested and Frankie immediately went over and began chatting to her little friend. Steven David Michael Frewe was besotted with his animated older cousin – even though he had no idea they were related – and began to laugh loudly as Frankie pulled faces and did cartwheels to amuse him.

  ‘Francesca, really,’ Lily scolded, trying to stop her granddaughter while her doting uncles laughed. Archie had two boys and Bill’s wife was still expecting their first so the only girl in the family had them all wrapped around her bossy little finger.

  ‘Now just you stop laughing,’ Frankie said to Stevie, hands on hips, then immediately imitated a gorilla as soon as he did.

  ‘Hahaha!’ laughed Stevie, rolling back in his stroller as Digger joined in with a happy flurry of barking.

  ‘Nonsense, Junie would be delighted,’ Junie heard Ernest say as he walked towards her with Cecil Hayman.

  ‘Look who I found watching his nephew graduate.’

  ‘Welcome home, Cecil,’ Junie said, trying to be polite as always. She knew the Haymans had recently returned from New Guinea where Cecil had been the acting Australian ambassador. Eliza had said she could only imagine how much Eugenie would have to say about the weather there when the next dinner party rolled around, vowing to stand outside instead, rain, hail or shine.

  ‘Thank you muchly, and I believe congratulations are in order, Mrs Farthington,’ Cecil said in what she supposed he thought a charming manner, but as usual his kiss on the cheek lingered and she drew back her hand as soon as she could.

  ‘Cecil and Eugenie have graciously accepted a dinner invitation for tomorrow night. I’ve promised them one of your finest roasts.’

  ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I will have to lift my game after all this study,’ Junie replied, wondering if she could talk Eliza into coming or if she would make good her threat and stand outside in the garden.

  ‘After the sub-standard roasts the natives had on offer up north, I’m sure it will be a meal fit for a king.’

  Junie sobered as his words grated with their racist undertones.

  ‘Junie! Class photo time,’ called Harry and she excused herself gladly to join the others.

  ‘You know, I really have to wonder if you did the degree part time just to graduate with us,’ Junie teased him as they took their spot.

  ‘Of course I did. Can’t have the prettiest girl in Sydney University throw her cap in the air without the most dashing man on campus by her side.’

  Junie patted his arm, glad to know he was only joking these days as his fiancée smiled at him from the crowd. Then they really did have that wonderful moment at last, throwing their caps high to the enthusiastic applause of their friends and family.

  ‘I seem to remember you did that once before. Some hideous yellow creation as I recall,’ Harry said.

  ‘I’ll have you know it was the height of fashion at the time.’

  ‘Here’s hoping you have better taste in law firms than fashion.’


  Junie flicked some grass off her cap as they retrieved them. ‘They’re not exactly beating down my door.’

  ‘Try one of the trendier firms. They may even find a place for your hat.’

  She was washing the dishes when he found her although she was slopping quite a lot of water on the ground.

  ‘You’re upset.’

  ‘Of course I’m upset.’ She paused to finish her drink, glaring at him.

  ‘Junie, there’s no question of me turning it down. It’s a perfect opportunity. Think of what it means in terms of my career.’

  ‘I’m not raising Frankie in the bloody jungle.’

  There was a pause as the sound of Cecil’s car driving away reached their kitchen and she slammed her drink down, fuming at the ambush that had taken place over dinner.

  ‘Eliza says she can stay with Marigold at Queenwood. She’s going there anyway, why not board?’

  ‘She’s only six years old!’

  ‘Almost seven. Besides, it’s only for two years and you’ll be able to travel home every school holidays and Mother will be here –’

  ‘That’s hardly a selling point.’

  Ernest ignored that, pushing what he knew she’d consider was a good selling point. ‘Marigold loves boarding and you know Frankie has been begging to be allowed to be with her.’ That much was true. Frankie was obsessed with Marigold’s boarding life, which she seemed to think sounded just like one of Enid Blyton’s novels, something else she was obsessed with – she was an early and avid reader, just like her mother.

  ‘I won’t allow it.’

  Ernest grew angry then. ‘You do not get to allow or disallow anything. We are going and that’s final.’

  She poured herself another wine. ‘You’ve known this for weeks, haven’t you? Plotting away with that Cecil…’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ he said with disgust.

  ‘So sue me,’ she said.

  ‘I can sue you and I will if you ever try to take matters in your own hands. Don’t forget what you signed before we got married.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you own me! Or my child.’

  He grabbed her arm then, squeezing hard. ‘Yes I bloody do, Junie, and you’ll do well to remember it. We are leaving for Port Moresby on the twenty-fifth and Frankie will stay here and board with Marigold. Don’t try to fight me on this, because you will not win.’

  ‘Let go of me.’

  He shoved her away. ‘An ambassadorship is not something you turn down, Junie. Sort it out with the school.’

  ‘Darling, you simply have to let her stay. It’s paradise for little girls – look at them.’

  Marigold and Frankie were running around the dorm and jumping on beds and Junie had to admit the entire place was very luxurious. She was impressed with the staff too, despite herself.

  ‘But the idea of sending her to boarding school…’

  ‘My daughter’s at boarding school and I live in the same city. I actually don’t know anyone who keeps their child at home.’

  Junie was silent at that piece of information. In this set that was true.

  ‘You know she will absolutely love it. It’s you that you’re really worried about. You’re worried you’ll miss her but, honestly, they have so many holidays…’

  ‘I will miss her. I’ll miss her every moment.’

  ‘No, you won’t, because you’re going to have some company.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Miles has been given a transfer.’

  ‘To where?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  Junie stared at her. ‘Port Moresby? But you can’t be serious.’

  ‘District Commissioner, no less. Quite an achievement for a brainless man, but there you go.’

  ‘But – but surely you don’t want to go?’

  ‘Actually, I think it might be a bit of fun – I know a few expats who live up there. Anyway, God knows Sydney would be beyond ghastly with only Eugenie for company. And it’s just for two years.’

  ‘I suppose…’

  ‘We can host marvellous dinner parties and go on tropical adventures.’

  ‘You really think we should do this?’

  ‘Darling, we are doing this. Now let’s get these girls to the park before they destroy the place. Nanny said she’ll watch them. I want to take you to lunch so we can start scheming.’

  Junie called their daughters over and they descended the stairs, the girls chatting and running ahead.

  ‘But what about my degree? I wanted to start on my career after all that work.’

  ‘If I know you, you’ll find plenty of hard-luck stories to occupy that legal brain of yours when we get there. I just hope you’ll have enough time to play with me.’ Eliza turned with a devilish grin. ‘I wonder if they have any elephants in New Guinea?’

  ‘You must be kidding. Really. You are, aren’t you?’ Beryl said.

  ‘No, we’re going on the twenty-fifth. It’s all booked and organised,’ Junie replied, trying to sound happy about it.

  ‘You mean to tell me you’re putting a six-year-old child into boarding school? I don’t believe it,’ Katie said, aghast.

  ‘All our friends do it. It’s quite the norm.’

  The others gaped at her, but Katie exploded. ‘Are you listening to yourself? My God, who the hell are you these days?’

  ‘Katie…’ said Dorn.

  ‘No, she needs to hear it. It’s getting beyond a joke.’

  ‘What is?’ Junie said, meeting her glare.

  ‘The way you behave these days! You’re turning into a – a bloody snob!’

  Junie picked at her napkin, trying to hold her voice steady. ‘I did have reservations but it’s important Ernest takes this role for his career. You can’t turn down an ambassadorship.’

  ‘Of course you can! And since when do you care what Ernest wants?’

  ‘Since he is my child’s legal father.’

  ‘Yes, legal.’

  There was a very uncomfortable pause as Junie bit her lip against the pain of those words. ‘I didn’t have the luxury of being married to the man I loved. He’s the only father she’s got now.’

  ‘He’s a father who wants to put his child in boarding school when she’s just a baby,’ Beryl pointed out gently. ‘That’s not being a very good parent.’

  ‘You don’t understand the world I live in. Everyone boards their children. She’ll be with Marigold and girls who will become her lifelong friends. That’s how it operates, don’t you see? We will be setting her up for an incredible life. Ernest might end up prime minister at the rate he’s rising – don’t you think she would want that?’

  ‘I think she will want her mother,’ Dorn said.

  ‘Well, I can’t change that fact!’ Junie said, her voice breaking.

  ‘What a load of crap,’ said Katie. ‘You just care about social climbing more.’

  Junie was shaking now. ‘How can you say that to me?’

  ‘Because you need to stop this before it’s too late!’

  ‘I can’t. Anyway, Eliza has organised everything and the house is rented and –’

  ‘Yes, good old Eliza. What’s she getting out of this?’

  Junie sniffed against the unwanted tears that had begun to stream down her face. ‘She’s not getting anything; she just wants to help. In fact, she’s coming too.’

  ‘What do you mean? To New Guinea? Why?’ Beryl said, confused.

  ‘Miles has a job there. District Commissioner.’

  ‘Who gave that bozo any power?’ Katie exclaimed.

  ‘Well, he –’

  ‘No, I don’t even want to hear any more of this. Go to New Guinea, go find another bunch of witless fools and drink your bloody expensive plonk. But don’t bother contacting me when you come home to visit your lonely little kid. I’m over it.’

  ‘Katie…’

  ‘No, I mean it. Find yourself some friends who don’t care about you, Junie. Fewer people will get hurt that way.’

>   Katie walked out of the café, slamming her chair as she went, and Junie flinched. Then there was a terrible silence and she mopped her face with a napkin, her hands trembling.

  ‘She shouldn’t have said that to you,’ Beryl said, taking hold of one of those hands.

  ‘No, she should have. I deserved every word, that’s the whole problem.’

  ‘Then don’t go,’ Dorn said, picking up her other hand and holding tight.

  ‘I have to. Ernest has too much power. If I don’t play along, if I try to divorce him, he’d get the best barrister in the country to ensure I never see Frankie again. I know he would.’

  ‘You have your own legal connections now,’ Beryl reminded her. ‘Not ones like he does. Besides, I signed a contract, remember?

  I’d be bankrupt for a start – and my parents with me.’

  ‘Your brothers could support you all now, surely?’

  They’d offered of course but Junie knew it would be a good few years until all debts could be met. ‘Support, yes; absolve, no.’

  ‘So be poor,’ Dorn said simply, running a hand across her own swollen stomach. ‘Money isn’t everything. Believe me, I know.’

  ‘No. No, it isn’t,’ Junie said, trying to smile at her through her tears, ‘but bankruptcy isn’t very nice. Anyway, enough of all this. What’s done is done. I’ll go to New Guinea but I’ll come home as much as I can and as soon as the two years is up, Ernest will score some cushy position back here and I can be with Frankie every day. It will all work out for the best.’

  ‘Of course it will,’ Beryl reassured her.

  But as she drove home, Junie had to pull over to the side of the road to throw up. Seeing her world through her Braidwood friends’ eyes was like holding up a mirror that showed the truth, an ugly reflection revealing the machinations behind the life of an aristocrat; what the cost truly was when you gave your child everything money could buy but couldn’t give her what she needed most: your time.

  Perhaps that was why she drove over the bridge to see Eliza instead.

  The mirrors in her house would be far kinder.

  Thirty-eight

  1949