He flicked the cigarette stub into the waves swelling below, and thought, if only time could accelerate. He wished the ship’s engines, bellowing, booming, and shuddering the deck beneath his feet, could force the HMAS Manoora to skim the water and break the speed record. Futile thoughts.
On the way north, darkness had hidden the beauty of the Coral Sea. Not now. Blue water, blue sky. A blessing for his eyes and psyche. But nothing could quell his impatience.
He’d been profoundly troubled during the past eighteen months, eager now for normality. So many revelations: cruelty and human misery beyond credence, death and destruction, a foreign land and language. He doubted that he’d ever re-trace his haunting memories.
A hand roughed his back. ‘Whatcha doin’, sober-sides?’
He heard, hesitated, then turned. Private Thomas Burge and Private Joseph McLean grinned into each other’s faces.
‘Planning to challenge some blokes to a game of cards, mate. Up for it?
‘Might be persuaded. Ha, prefer to listen to Mozart, though,’ he smirked.
‘You and your Mowzart, Joe. Frankie Boy or Bing are more up your alley, I reckon.’
Joe ignored the bait. ‘Let’s get below quick, grab a table. Before some bloody officer finds us stuff to do on our off-duty.’
Tom shrugged. His thoughts were full of tomorrows. Any distractions in following days would be welcome.
***
Lights out. Laughter, yelps and curses had subsided to murmurs. Anticipation of tomorrow filled every cranny in the cramped men’s quarters. Tom wondered how many on board would sleep well. Few he’d guess. One more night, just one more to endure this damned bunk. No more would he be forced to tolerate his bedding: lumpy, smelly, and fit for a bonfire.
Never any favoured treatment for lower ranks.
Tom unbuttoned his pocket and removed his treasured photos, one he’d brought with him, and one he’d been mailed ten months ago. His beloved Grace and baby Meg. He never failed to kiss their images at the end of each day.
In readiness, Tom had polished his boots, buckle and buttons, and perfected his creases. His toothbrush, comb and Californian Poppy were handy atop his duffle bag. How long it had been since he last spruced up and looked his best.
He went over his plans again. Reveille. Shower and dress. Gulp breakfast. Join the jostling ranks, half-listen to speeches, cheer and salute as needed, exchange handshakes and hugs.
Marching bands would play, and streamers would stream. He’d disembark with the masses and step towards his future.
Tom was no longer the same Tom who’d left home, a teenager, newly-married. A stranger to himself in some ways, he was returning home to be de-mobbed, adapt to his role as husband and father, find a house and job. Many responsibilities he could foresee. And tried to sleep.
***
Years later Tom willingly admitted how insular he’d been when he’d left Brisbane in 1945. Blind to reality. Nothing in his short life could have prepared him for the experiences awaiting him. Hiroshima: horror and scenes of havoc.
After Peace was declared. Tom, with other Aussie boys too young to see war service, had registered with the Allied Occupation Forces to de-militarise Japan. It was their patriotic duty. Their work was tough and unrelenting No surprise that they were allocated menial jobs in the re-building of the city and port devastated by an atomic bomb.
Twice in the distance, Tom had spied the legendary leader, General MacArthur. Each time a superior officer had noticed and issued Tom a command. Military rule demanded strict discipline. Rumours of Changi and the Burma Railway circulated, but the men sympathised with the plight of the civilians traumatised in the aftermath of the bomb. They learned not to express opinions of decisions made by wartime leaders. Only in the confines of their huts, or the communal showers, could they give vent to emotions: disbelief, disgust, rage. Curse and shout. And cry. How could people at home believe, or understand, what their sons and husbands had endured, they wondered. Many memories wouldn’t be for sharing. Best to stay silent. Try to forget. Be thankful it’s over. Sayonara to all that.
Concentrate on tales of camaraderie, the Aussie Spirit, laughter, fun, tricks and horseplay.
***
The tomorrow Tom had imagined is not playing out exactly. Milling crowds on the dock bar his progress. Tears, smiles, cries, hugs, kisses abound, but not for him.
Eyes darting, heart thudding, he lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders.
Then a familiar voice, a waving hand, a hat exactly like the one his mother wears to the Ekka. Another figure, a beautiful brunette all in white, carrying a child with a head of curls.
He is enveloped by arms. A precious word caresses his ears, ‘Dada’.
Too many kisses to count …
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