Danny could see why Helen had risen to such a senior rank in army intelligence. She was like a dog with a bone and simply never gave up. He’d tried unsuccessfully to dissuade her from the American idea but now he had to level with her; this time he feared she’d met an insurmountable obstacle. ‘Well, get that brilliant brain of yours around this: Ben Chifley is restricting overseas payments to prop up British sterling; we’re only allowed to take two hundred pounds’ worth of foreign currency with us. Even if we had all the money we needed, that’s not enough to live on and get my mug done.’
‘Half Dunn’s working on that.’
‘Half Dunn?’
‘And Brenda.’
‘What, through Doc Evatt?’
‘No, of course not! We’re going over to the Hero for dinner tonight.’
‘Helen, what’s going on? Have you been talking to Brenda about money?’
Helen looked at Danny, her big blue eyes innocent. ‘No, Danny Dunn, she has been talking to me.’
‘Jesus, I’m embarrassed —’
‘Well, don’t be. As you say, it can’t be more than two hundred pounds anyway, and she’s going to insist and I’m going to accept. If you’re going to be stubborn about it and we’re going to have all that Balmain boy bullshit, then we’ll sign an IOU.’
‘How’s it going to help if we’re still miles short?’
‘Don’t be so bloody negative, Danny. If this operation were for me you’d be asking Brenda to mortgage the pub.’
‘Yeah, sure, but it’s for my ugly mug and I’m learning to live with it quite nicely, thank you.’
‘Bullshit. Then why do you cry in your sleep?’ Helen asked, deliberately cruel. ‘It’s affecting your entire life. Besides, if there is something that can be done, then it ought to be done,’ she said firmly, refusing to back down.
‘Okay, I apologise. Christ knows what the boat tickets will cost, and then we’ll need another – what was your estimate of the hospital costs in St Louis?’
‘About six hundred pounds.’
‘Jesus, that’s two and a half grand in American dollars!’
‘Two thousand four hundred to be precise, and that’s only an estimate,’ Helen answered. ‘But the fact that John Glicks is doing you pro bono has saved us around three hundred pounds. Isn’t that nice, darling,’ she added in a soothing voice.
‘That’s fucking ridiculous! Let’s say three grand American all up. That is, if we could take it out of the country in the first place. We could buy a new motorcar for far less than that and it would buy us a house, if we had it in the first place! Let’s get real for a change, sweetheart!’
Helen laughed. ‘We don’t need a motorcar and when we get back we can rent a flat a short tram ride from uni. And, as you say, there’s still the boat tickets, that is, if we can even find a boat that isn’t fully booked and has a cheap cabin in steerage.’
‘Which is very bloody unlikely,’ Danny cried.
Helen had heard enough. ‘Danny, in a few weeks we’re going to be married. In my mind I’m marrying a man who never gave up, who ran a concentration camp and kept his men alive against all the odds. Your papers show that a near-record number of your men survived, despite enduring the most terrible conditions of any camp on the Burma Railway. That takes a lot of character, hope, tenacity and guts . . . but it also takes imagination and leadership of a very high order.’ Helen slapped him hard on the arm. ‘Now wake up to yourself! If you can save your own life and the lives of your men, you can do this! If you think we can’t and you’re going to give up and creep into a corner and hide your face and spend your life feeling sorry for yourself, then tell me now so I can walk away! I’m far too good a woman to want to marry a coward or anyone who’s sorry for the cards life has dealt him!’
‘But . . . but it’s only for my face . . . it’s always going to be ugly,’ Danny protested.
‘Oh, shut up! You make me sick! Now get this straight. You’re about to marry a beautiful woman and, it’s true, right now you’re an ugly bastard. But I think we may be able to do something about that. At least make you a slightly less ugly bastard. If I’m going to have to wake up to you in the same bed for the next thirty or more years, I want you to be the best-looking ugly bastard it is possible for you to be!’ Helen suddenly burst into tears. ‘Now get your jacket. We’re going to your parents’ for dinner,’ she sobbed.
Danny may have had very little time for most officers, but he was going to have to change his mind about at least one of them. He drew Helen towards him and kissed her on the forehead. ‘Shhh! Lieutenant colonels are not supposed to cry,’ he chided softly.
‘Go to hell, you bastard!’ Helen sniffed, pulling away from him.
Brenda had made a nice dinner and they’d talked mostly about the wedding, with no mention of the American trip, but afterwards, over a cup of tea, she’d turned to Half Dunn and said, ‘Well, go on then, Mick.’ She was obviously pleased about something.
Half Dunn, a sly grin on his face, rose with what for him was alacrity. He was no longer enormous – portly but mobile would be a more accurate description of him now – and sometimes showed surprising energy. He left the kitchen and went down the hall into Brenda’s bedroom. Danny would later realise he’d gone to the safe set into the wall above her bed. When he returned he was carrying what looked like a red morocco leather folder somewhat resembling a large wallet. He slapped it down on the table in front of Danny and said, ‘Go on, son, open it.’
‘What’s this?’ Danny looked in turn at each of his parents.
‘Go on, Danny, open it!’ Brenda said excitedly. ‘It’s sort of a wedding present, for when you go to America.’
‘Shit!’ Danny gasped as he opened the wallet, not quite believing his own eyes. The large wallet contained a wad of banknotes three inches thick – not pound notes but American dollars. He fanned them out, noting they were mostly tens and twenties but that there were also hundreds – a lot of everything.
‘Mum! Dad! What’s going on?’ He looked at Helen. ‘Did you know about this?’
Helen looked at him wide-eyed. ‘What, darling?’
‘This . . . money.’
He pushed the wallet over to Helen, who opened it. ‘Goodness, no!’ She looked at Brenda, obviously completely surprised. ‘I thought it was the two hundred pounds we talked about and the money Daddy gave me converted to dollars. This is more, much more!’
‘Oh well, Mick and I got to talking. We were going to give you a new motorcar for a wedding present. But then when you and I were having a cup of tea last week and you mentioned, you know, how Mr Chifley says you are only allowed to take out two hundred pounds in foreign currency, blah, blah, blah . . .’ Brenda explained. She looked up at Half Dunn for him to continue.
‘Well, you don’t sit on your arse on the same stool in the main bar for eighteen years without knowing a thing or two about . . . well, a thing or two,’ Half Dunn began.
‘Now don’t you go into one of your long stories, Mick, or we’ll be here all night,’ Brenda scolded, but with a smile that meant he had permission to wax on a bit.
‘Well, two things,’ Half Dunn continued. ‘Jim Black, who works for the customs at Circular Quay, and Tater Murphy.’
‘Tater? You mean Sean Murphy, the sly-grog merchant’s son?’ Danny asked.
‘The same,’ Half Dunn agreed.
Brenda jumped in again. ‘It just goes to show that in the end thieves never prosper!’
Half Dunn laughed. ‘Stupid ones, anyway.’
‘Didn’t Tater Murphy join the Sixth Division, and get sent to Cairo?’ Danny asked.
‘That’s him. He got shot in the leg in Bardia – there’s some say it was probably self-inflicted – but either way they sent him home with a crook knee, a bit of a limp and a fair old thirst he must have picked up in the desert. They discharged him early and he we
nt into the old man’s business up at Kings Cross and in the brothels in Crown Street, selling grog to the nightclubs, strip joints, whorehouses – excuse the term – as well as to the Yanks during the war. His old man, Sean, once tried to put the hard word on us to supply him but we told him to go to buggery, even though there was a fair quid in it. It didn’t stop him dropping in for a drink and a bit of a whinge every once in a while. Still occasionally does.’
Brenda poured Half Dunn a fresh cup of tea. ‘Get on with it, love,’ she said, though not unkindly. She and Half Dunn seemed to have long since sorted out their differences. Danny had returned from the war to find them seemingly content in each other’s company, with Half Dunn now very much more than a bloated barfly, though Brenda still made most of the decisions.
‘Anyway, father and son expanded their grog business and started taking Yank dollars direct in payment, then by various ways and means using them to buy stuff at the Yank PX stores – you know, nylons, Scotch, chocolates; if you had the money, you could order what you wanted and they’d have it for you the next day. I mean, even prime American steaks, big as your two hands and yay thick,’ he said, indicating a good two inches with his thumb and forefinger.
‘Well, when the Japs surrendered in a hurry after Nagasaki they were caught, pardon my French, with a shit-load of American dollars. So, Sean figures the war’s over, everything’s okay again, and he trots off to the bank to see the manager. Lucky for him it’s Harry Farmer and he and Harry went to the local school together. Harry tells him he’s in all sorts of strife, that Sean’ll be up for profiteering and working the black market and he advises him to forget that he ever came into the bank in the first place, and to get the hell out of his office and take what’s in his so-called legitimate bank account with him.’
Brenda grinned. ‘They’ve been stuck ever since with this funny green money they can’t change at the bank and the local black market doesn’t want it except for practically nothing. Then, Helen had an idea for the boat and then we had one as well to turn the motorcar into dollars.’
Danny looked mystified. ‘What idea for the boat . . . what boat?
I don’t know anything about a boat.’
Helen grinned. ‘In the end it was simply supply and demand. Three of my American wartime contacts are still in Australia. One of them, a senior colonel who must remain nameless for reasons that will soon be obvious, is responsible for getting Australian war brides to their American husbands. The army has contracted a pre-war Matson Line luxury cruise liner, the SS Lurline, and converted it to war trim – that is, basic steerage – to transport over seven hundred war brides to the States. But several first-class cabins have been permanently reserved for returning officers who, for various reasons, remained in Australia after the Japanese surrender.’ Helen paused. ‘Well, Brenda told me about the cheap dollars available when I first mentioned the American trip and the hospital money we were going to need. So, I called my American contact and suggested that perhaps some of the officers returning to the States had surplus Australian pounds, and that instead of an official conversion rate of four US dollars to the pound, I could offer six in exchange for one of the first-class cabins on the Lurline. The offer was pretty good – they’d been paid in American dollars, converted them officially in any bank for Australian pounds, then sold me the pounds for a fifty per cent profit in returned American dollars, and a first-class cabin.’
‘And he, this officer, bought the deal?’ Danny asked, somewhat surprised.
Helen shrugged, suddenly giggling. ‘He wanted to know if we’d like the stateroom.’
‘But, isn’t all this a bit shady? I mean, on our part?’
‘You mean mine, don’t you?’ Helen didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I daresay it could be seen as money laundering by some overzealous bureaucrat, but sometimes you have to bend the rules a little. I learned that in intelligence . . .’ She laughed. ‘Nice girls come last.’
Danny was beginning to understand that one man was no match for two good women but he felt compelled to show some resistance. He shook his head slowly, a wry grin on his twisted face. ‘A man should say no . . . Just another example of who you know, officer bloody privilege, let the rank and file sweat down in steerage while the officers swan around in first class.’ Danny paused and with just the semblance of a grin said, ‘I want you to know that I’ve given it thirty seconds of serious thought and decided on this occasion to forego my principles and not object.’
This brought a cheer, and Helen, not to be outdone, cocked her head and said with a wide smile, ‘Well, I am so glad you’ve managed to overcome your proletarian prejudices on this occasion, Danny Dunn, after such lengthy deliberation. Being always mindful of your sensibilities – otherwise known as the bloody great chip on your shoulder – I have had you listed on the manifest as my batman. The cabin has been allotted to Lieutenant Colonel H. Brown. As a former intelligence liaison officer, I made sure the Americans had no record of my decommissioning; I was therefore still on their official Allied Forces Liaison Officer list. Hopefully you will not object to eating in the first-class dining room, my good man, formerly known as the officers’ mess.’
Both Brenda and Half Dunn applauded spontaneously and Brenda returned to the story. ‘Helen had moved a lot of American money for Sean Murphy, and when he phoned to say how grateful he was I asked if he could drop round for a chat. He told me that he’d decided to retire and was handing the business over to his son, Tater, who would be around pronto.’ She glanced over at Helen. ‘Please don’t be upset, but business between Balmain people is different. When I explained that you were going to the States for plastic surgery, Tater offered me seven dollars to the pound – very generous. So, when I’d got him to agree to eight American dollars to the pound I called Helen, who asked us to add the hundred pounds her father had promised as a wedding gift.’ Brenda looking very pleased with herself, then concluded, ‘With the car money, there’s your money for America. Just over four and a half thousand in green bills.’
Helen wasn’t going to take any chances with Danny’s ridiculous pride interfering, and before he could respond she said, ‘Thank you, both, very much. It’s a wonderful thing to do for Danny.’ She smiled. ‘And I get a handsome husband into the bargain!’
Danny was overcome with gratitude. ‘Mum, I’m afraid I’m marrying way out of my class and much, much more woman than I know how to handle.’ He threw a glance at Half Dunn. ‘But then you weren’t much good at the love, honour and obey bit with Dad either.’
‘Bloody good thing too,’ Half Dunn grinned. ‘Gawd knows where we’d’a ended up without yer mum.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘One more small detail: when you’re going through customs, Jim Black’s the head man at Circular Quay – you remember he used to do the halftime water and oranges with Bullnose Daintree and Sammy Laidlaw for the Tiger Nippers?’
‘Yeah, I remember him well,’ Danny laughed. ‘He once told me if we won the Junior Grade Premiership, there’d be a job for me in His Majesty’s Customs after I left school.’
‘Yeah, well, he’ll be looking out for you, see you through customs without any embarrassing questions or rummaging through your suitcases. He looks just the same – beer gut’s got a bit bigger, that’s all.’
Danny and Helen married on the 12th of March 1946, at the Sydney Registry Office in a quiet ceremony attended by both sets of parents, with Helen’s girlfriend Sylvia Holmes as her witness and Dr Craig Woon, who was up from Melbourne to attend a three-month course at the Military Repatriation Hospital, acting as Danny’s best man. The reception, equally quiet, was held in a small private dining area at the Australia Club, as a sop to Barbara. No confetti, but plenty of roast lamb, peach melba and champagne, followed by a long, lugubrious speech from the father of the bride, intended to be humorous but only occasionally succeeding (though everyone laughed politely). Reg Brown explained that while Helen had been a wonderful and in many res
pects exemplary daughter, even as a child, she’d never resembled in either looks, habit or character any member of the Browns or the Mortlocks, Barbara’s family. He bought a cheap laugh when he suggested she could well have been switched in the hospital maternity ward. Then, hypothesising further, he claimed that perhaps she was a throwback to a great-great aunt in England, Jasmine Maude Brown, who was known to be wilful and headstrong and even ‘contrary’. Jasmine had run away from home at the age of sixteen and returned at the age of fifty-two in possession of a great deal of valuable jewellery and a sizeable fortune in large uncut emeralds, the source of which she never divulged, other than to say that she had spent her life ‘having fun in other parts’, and that ‘one is forced to do unto others as they do unto you’, whatever this was supposed to mean. Rich Aunt Jasmine could also occasionally be heard shouting in Spanish in her sleep. Reg concluded by remarking, ‘It has occurred to us from time to time that our darling daughter may well have a fair allotment of rich Aunt Jasmine’s genes!’ This got another polite laugh. Helen cast a quick glance at her mother, whom she noted had not joined in the laughter.
When it was Half Dunn’s turn to speak, cautioned by one of Brenda’s ‘Don’t try to compete with that story about your grandfather winning the pub in a card game’ looks, he kept his speech surprisingly short and sweet. However, the sour expression on Barbara Brown’s face when Half Dunn acknowledged their family’s good fortune in acquiring Helen as both daughter and wife would have curdled milk.
Two days after they were married Danny and Helen boarded the SS Lurline at Circular Quay, having been escorted through customs like VIPs by Jim Black. They’d been allocated a very large first-class cabin with its own bathroom and a double bed, referred to as a double bunk simply because the legs were fixed to the floor. Helen, having inspected the cabin thoroughly and declared it to be satisfactory, made Danny come over to stand directly in front of her. She cleared her throat dramatically. ‘You may recall, Sergeant Major Dunn, that you are listed on the ship’s manifest as my batman. Now, there are over seven hundred war brides on board this ship who haven’t had a man for several months. You will be confined to this cabin for the duration of the voyage and be required to make constant love to only one of them!’ Helen suddenly flung her arms around Danny, smothering him with kisses. ‘And, hooray! That one is me!’ she cried happily.
The Story of Danny Dunn Page 23