by Anne Connor
The provosts were drunk, unpredictable and violent. They made Jock nervous and he kept out of their way. There was talk that the military police had put officers around the town to halt anyone leaving. At the railway station, they stopped men boarding the trains and shot above their heads yelling insults at them. The provosts tried to turn back civilians but were too late, people had taken off.
Jock had seen crowds on the road south to Adelaide River. Army trucks, jeeps, and civilian cars stacked with suitcases, radios, chairs – whatever could be tied to the top of a car. People walked as cars were filled to the brim with whatever possible. Prams filled with saucepans, clothes, books, and lampshades were pushed. Even wheelbarrows were used to cart luggage and household goods.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Horry, looking directly at Jock. ‘The essential services are damaged or destroyed. Everyone’s pissed off to Adelaide River. You should see them traipsing along the road. They’re covered in red dust. It’s fucking hot, not a skerrick of shade and not much water either.’
‘Not a skerrick,’ echoed Tic.
‘We’ll stay put at Winnellie until we receive further orders,’ said Jock.
Jock was relieved when orders arrived from Canberra to put the army back in charge of the town. Officers were ordered to round up the soldiers and air force men who had complied with the ‘go bush’ command. Many had returned to town on their own due to hunger and thirst. Many took the opportunity to desert. Soldiers were found as far away as Melbourne.
The recently promoted Lieutenant Colonel R. B. Hone was put in command of the 2/14th Australian Field Regiment. He stood over six feet tall and weighed twenty stone; behind his back, his men nicknamed him Wimpy. One of his first actions after the initial bombing was to sign transfer papers for two of his gunners of Chinese origin to bases in the south. Their families were market gardeners and the two boys had grown up in Darwin and attended local schools. Hone’s concern was that in the event of a ground force invasion by the Japanese, the two might be mistaken for the enemy.
The Lieutenant Colonel kept his men busy. He needed a fit, robust unit for the tropical climate when the order came to go to New Guinea. He wanted to keep them from speculating too much. It was thought that the enemy would employ a land-based invasion and if that was the case he knew the unit was defenceless; his men knew that too. He worked them hard. Jock, Tic and Horry were part of a working party directed to salvage artillery. With the Royal Australian Air Force Base deserted, the regiment borrowed a Vickers machine gun and a Browning Aircraft machine gun to boost its arsenal.
3 MARCH 1942
Now that Hone’s been put in charge, there is order in the place. He’s working us to the bone and the lads are exhausted – including me. We’re woken before sparrows and don’t finish until dark. Wimpy said a beer bottle is a handy weapon in a fight. Best you go find yourselves a couple, he said. You may need them because we’re staying in Darwin. I’m not confident broken glass would scare the nips in planes.
Armed with short-angle iron pickets and eighty rifles, the regiment took over the responsibility for the Royal Australian Air Force Aerodrome ground defence. They were dispersed around the perimeter of the bases at Bagot and Winnellie.
When Jock enlisted, Bess and Cleary moved back into Clarence Street with Mary, Tilly and Honor. Cleary flourished in a house full of doting women. His mother, grandmother or an aunt were always there to make him a sandwich, kiss a skinned knee better or read him a story.
Bess and the baby took over the sunroom at the back of the house. They slept together in a double bed facing the back garden. Green floral curtains hung over louvre windows. A hotchpotch of small rugs covered the green, yellow and blue speckled linoleum. A bamboo rocking chair stuffed with saggy crocheted-covered cushions sat in one corner. It caught the morning sun. The bedroom was filled with a mixture of women’s clothes, creams and the little boy’s toys. Opaque French doors led out to the garden. An internal glass door with a yellow floral curtain elasticised top and bottom opened into the lounge room.
When the news came through, Bess had been settling Cleary. Honor opened the sunroom’s door and whispered, ‘Bess, leave him, come now.’
‘But I’m…’
‘Now, Bess, now!’
The sisters rushed into the lounge room in time to hear:
This morning mainland Australia came under attack when Japanese forces mounted two air raids on Darwin. It is not known how many were killed or wounded. Aircraft were destroyed; ships anchored in the harbour were sunk, and most civil and military facilities in Darwin were destroyed.
Bess stood by the mantelpiece facing the radio. Close to collapsing, she leaned against the back of the couch. It was a while before she realised Mary had her arm around her shoulders. ‘Bess, love, I’m sure Jock will be fine. He’s a trained soldier.’ Cleary cried. Bess moved to go to him. ‘Tilly’s with him. He’ll settle in a minute.’
The women listened to the wireless late into the night, in the expectation more Darwin news might come through. Bess re-read Jock’s letters. She’d glued segments left from the censor’s slashing onto writing paper. When the broadcast ceased for the night, she crept into bed and curled her body around Cleary, resting her cheek on his soft hair. Her breathing fell in time with his as they slept, entwined.
In an effort to beat the heat of the day, Bess took Cleary out in the pram early the next morning. Even at that time, the air was warm and she was glad she’d packed their togs. As they passed the Eastern Beach kiosk, she read the day’s headlines behind the wire frame: DARWIN DIGGERS SHOW JAPS WHO’S BOSS.
At the pool, she found a spot under a tree and spread out the blanket. She lifted Cleary out of his pram and carried him to the children’s pool. Other mothers had the same idea and the pool was crowded with children of all ages splashing and laughing. She bobbed Cleary in the water and he giggled when water splashed his face. ‘You’re growing up far too soon, young man,’ she said and hugged him tight.
Drenched and cool, she held Cleary’s hand as they walked back to their blanket. On the other side of the tree, a woman with five children had spread their belongings on the ground. The older girls ran to the water with the two younger boys following. Bess didn’t recognise the woman as a local and as she approached it was obvious the woman had been crying.
‘Gidday,’ Bess said. ‘It’s going to be a scorcher today, I reckon.’
The woman dabbed her eyes. ‘This isn’t hot for me. I’m from Darwin and it’s much hotter up there.’
‘Darwin, my husband’s in Darwin.’
The woman looked up. Bess noticed her bloodshot and puffy eyes. ‘My Bert hasn’t written for weeks and I have grave fears something has happened to him in the bombing.’
From a distance she appeared young. Her bright floral, strappy sun-frock was different from the short-sleeved, waisted dresses the local women wore. She had kicked off her sandals and curled one leg beneath her.
‘Do you mind if I sit with you?’ asked Bess. She spread out her towel and sat on the ground with Cleary on her lap. ‘I’m Bess Connor, my Jock’s in the 2/14th. It’s been a while since I’ve had word and when I do receive a letter it has been cut to smithereens.’
‘I’m Dorothy Lawson. My daughter Peggy and I were evacuated in December.’ Bess looked over at the four children playing together. ‘Oh, the older girl and the two boys and Ed, this little fella here, were on the ship on their own. I’ve sort of adopted them.’
The two women chatted until the heat of the day forced them to pack up and return to the cool of indoors.
The next day, Dorothy had arrived at the foreshore first and called out when she saw Bess wheeling the pram along the path. Dorothy was sitting in the shade, near the water and a sandpit. Bess settled herself, peeled a banana, broke it in half and handed a piece each to Ed and Cleary. She pulled out a thermos of cool lemonade and two cups.
‘Do you know many people in Geelong, Dorothy?’ Bess asked as she filled the beak
ers.
‘We are staying with my husband’s cousin and his family, and they have introduced me to a few people and I am working part-time at the Ford factory, so I know a few folk there too,’ said Dorothy. ‘Haven’t made many friends, though.’
‘Well you have now,’ said Bess as she handed her a cup of cool lemonade.
‘I hope so.’
The two women sat in silence while watching the older children play in the pool and Cleary and Ed digging in the sandpit with the other kids.
‘What’s Darwin like?’ Bess asked.
Dorothy leaned her head back against the tree and watched fine white clouds scud across the sky. She talked of the town’s wide dusty streets, Chinatown, the Star Theatre and Winnellie Barracks where Jock was stationed. Dorothy was lost in thought as she talked of her hometown and Bess recognised her friend’s sadness at being so far away from loved ones and friends.
‘I’m intrigued how you made it to Geelong from Darwin?’
‘We were made to leave,’ Dorothy said as she pulled her blonde hair back and tied it up with a scarf. ‘It wasn’t our decision. We didn’t want to go. A week before we left there was a Decree handed down by the Administrator, Aubrey Abbott. It was published in the newspaper ordering women and children to leave for the southern states. We had no choice.’
Around midnight, two soldiers carrying torches, with thin pieces of cloth tied over the lights, knocked on the front door of Bert and Dorothy Lawson’s house. Hessian bags tacked over windows dimmed the glow from kerosene lamps hanging inside. Bert opened the screen door but could barely make out the figures in the dark. Beery breath caused him to turn his face away and wave his hand in a faint effort to disperse the odour.
Ten-year-old Peggy woke to the sound of footsteps on the timber veranda and the familiar squeak of the flywire door. Sleepy-eyed, she walked down the hall to the lounge room. Standing in the doorway with her one-eyed teddy bear squashed under her arm, she watched her parents embrace. Her father’s big arms enveloped her mother who was quietly crying on his shoulder.
‘Who were those men? What’s happening?’ Peggy asked.
Dorothy sat on the couch. She drew Peggy onto her lap and said, ‘Those men are soldiers, and they came to tell us to pack our bags and be ready to be picked up tomorrow morning.’ As she spoke, she stroked her daughter’s hair. ‘Then they will drive you and me to the wharf and we will sail down south so we will be safe in case the Japanese attack the town.’
‘What about Daddy?’ Peggy looked at her father standing above them. Bert sat on the couch next to his wife and daughter and put his arm around the two of them.
‘I will stay here to protect our house and the town against the Japanese. I’ll be fine, love. They won’t hurt me.’
‘I don’t want to go!’
‘We have to. It will be like an adventure,’ said Dorothy.
‘Will there be kids for me to play with?’
Dorothy held Peggy’s hand. ‘Of course, I am sure there will be some of your friends on the ship and you will make lots of new friends wherever we go.’
‘I still don’t want to go.’
‘We must, Peggy. It won’t be for long. We’ll be back before you know it.’
‘I will miss Daddy. What about Fluffy, can I take her?’
‘No. Cats won’t be allowed on the ship.’
‘Fluffy can keep me company,’ said Bert. ‘Fluffy and I are mates.’
Peggy began to cry. ‘I don’t want to go.’
Dorothy hugged her tightly. ‘It’s final, we must, Peg. Go and pack some of your dollies and Ted in your school satchel and then you will have them with you.’
‘What about my books?’
‘Just one or two small ones. Not too much. I’ll pack your clothes with mine.’
By nine o’clock, the blazing sun stung heads and uncovered flesh. A steady stream of trucks and jeeps dropped off more women and children. Bodies pushed together on the pier made the air even more stifling, hampering any hint of a sea breeze. With no water available, dehydration was taking its toll. Pregnant women sat on suitcases; some rested their heads in their hands, others fanned themselves with handkerchiefs. Mothers tried in vain to placate grizzling babies and children.
Edna Davies had three kids under eleven and their faces were beet-red. The youngest was wilting in her arms; tiny droplets of sweat covered his face and forehead. Edna saw a guard standing at the end of the wharf and moved through the crowd towards him. ‘Please bring us some water? The children are perishing in this relentless heat, and so are the adults.’
He pulled the brim of his hat down so he couldn’t see her. She looked at the water bottle hanging from his belt. ‘We need some water. This is cruel.’
The guard looked the other way.
It was a hundred in the shade with nowhere to hide from the scorching sun beating down on the wharf. Eyes stung from the sun’s glare on the water.
Around midday, the women were told to board the Zealandia. Dorothy and Peggy walked along the gangplank. Peg watched the murky water through the gaps between the wooden slats. As she went to step onto the ship, the guard stood between mother and daughter, looming over the little girl.
‘What’s in your bag, love?’
‘My dollies.’
He opened Peggy’s leather satchel, pushed one doll into her hand then threw her opened bag and its contents into the water. Peggy hung onto the handrail on tiptoes sobbing as her beloved toys and books plopped one after the other into the water.
‘Did you have to do that?’ Dorothy asked.
‘Keep moving.’
They found a place on the deck close to the railing. Dorothy put the suitcase flat on the boards for her daughter to stand on. Peggy looked down into the foam and saw her two dolls bobbing up and down before sinking feet first. The waves banged her one-eyed teddy bear against the side of the ship before it eventually became waterlogged and submerged. Her books floated for a while before sinking. She was pleased she left Fluffy safe at home.
In the killer heat, without water or food, the women and children crammed onto the decks. Metal surfaces radiated heat. Skin blistered. Sick or pregnant women gravitated towards thin bands of welcome shade.
Eventually, the long-awaited sea breeze arrived. Women turned their faces upwards and closed their eyes, embracing the relief.
Parish Priest, Father Goy, drove up to the wharf in his open-tray truck with boxes of fruit for the women and children. He walked up the gangplank wearing shorts and an open-neck shirt. His arms were filled with two wooden cases overflowing with fresh produce. Before he stepped onto the ship, a guard took the cartons of oranges, apples and mangoes from the priest and threw them into the water.
‘No food allowed to be taken on board. We have been told only the bare essentials are allowed, Father.’
Under the guise of not overloading the ship, provosts randomly threw personal belongings overboard: family treasures, suitcases filled with clothes and photo albums, framed pictures, biscuit tins filled with photographs and trinkets. Many women had babies and small children, yet prams were not permitted.
Before the ship set sail, ballast bags had to be used to balance the vessel as it was deemed too light.
It was late afternoon by the time the Zealandia slid out of the dock. Five hundred and forty-two women and children, two hundred sick troops picked up in Singapore, one hundred and seven crew and one hundred Japanese internees were jammed in together.
Bert stood with the other men on the small hill near the wharf. Peggy kept her eyes on her father, held her remaining doll up high and made its hand wave at him. Bert waved back and blew kisses to his wife and daughter until they became tiny specks in the distance. Dorothy held back tears as she held her hand up high, and swayed it back and forth. How am I going to look after us? We have one suitcase, twenty pounds and I don’t know whether there’ll be anyone to meet us at the other end.
When the shore became just a speck on the horizon, Doroth
y and Peggy were herded into a group with other women and children and ordered to follow a thick-set man. He had tattoos on his arms and wore a white shirt and pants stained with black grease. He led them down three levels of narrow winding stairs. At each descent, the air became more stifling and hot. When they reached the bottom deck, he allocated cabins without any order or thought.
‘You lot sleep in there,’ he said to two women with six children between them.
He signalled for the rest of the group to follow, then opened another compartment door. ‘You mob in there,’ he waved to a mother with a limp red-faced child in her arms and four children crowded around her. ‘You too,’ he said to a pregnant woman with two children.
She protested. ‘There are only four bunks! That’s not enough room for all of us.’
The sailor ignored her and kept walking, allotting sleeping quarters without any thought about the consequences. At the end of the passageway, only Dorothy and Peggy remained. They turned left into a corridor, narrower than the first.
‘You two in there,’ said the sailor then turned on his heel and walked away.
Dorothy and Peg’s cabin had two sets of double bunks, a small table and two floor-to-ceiling skinny cupboards built up close to the beds. The room was airless, dank and smelled of urine. On one of the bottom beds sat a girl of about fifteen with her legs crossed and a small boy on her lap. Two boys were on the top bunk. Their arms were wrapped around their knees and they had squashed themselves flat against the wall.
‘Hello. I’m Dorothy and this is Peggy.’
‘I’m Dawn, this is Ed,’ the girl said as she put her arms tighter around the little boy. She pointed her right index finger up to the top bunk and said, ‘Harry and Reg.’
Dorothy noticed the children’s grubby faces and clothes and how their hair needed a good wash and brush.
‘Where’s your mother?’