Koko found the accommodation clean and
adequate, although with twenty or more single men to a hut there
was little privacy. But the food was good and there was even a
ration of cigarettes. Soon his outrage at his treatment by the
authorities began to subside. He slowly accepted that it would be
his lot, like thousands of Japanese, Italian and many other
nationalities in Australia, to remain interned for the duration of
the war. His anger was also tempered by a degree of freedom he
enjoyed when he joined work parties which were regularly allowed
off the camp to help local farmers on their properties around
Hay.
Koko found most of the internees went out
of the way to stay out of trouble and cooperate in every way with
the guards who were mainly older men in Australian Militia units
specifically raised for internment and concentration camp duties.
At first, he harbored occasional thoughts of escaping when he was
out working on one of the farms. It would be so easy. But where
could he run? There was nowhere he could hide. His oriental
features meant he could never show his face anywhere in his own
homeland without being apprehended.
Koko was told by other internees that
there were six young men in the camp who were actually prisoners of
war. It was rumored they were members of the Japanese Air Force,
shot down over the Top End. Their leader was a brooding, defiant
young man named Yosi Yakimoto and his attitude, like the rest of
the group, was hostile to the internees. When Koko tried to talk to
them in English in the compound one day, they appeared not to
understand a word he said. And when he spoke to them in Japanese,
Yakimoto became very suspicious and angrily told him they were not
airmen, but merchant seamen whose vessel had been shipwrecked in
the Arufura Sea.
Koko wondered if Yakimoto thought he was
trying to get information out of them for Australian Military
Intelligence. It occurred to him that because he had not satisfied
his own interrogators at the detention centre in Melbourne, someone
might approach him for information in the same way. But he was not
unduly concerned about that because he had nothing to hide.
*
Joe was ordered to report to the temporary
headquarters of the North Australia Observer Unit near the tiny
township of Ingleburn just west of Sydney. On the long train ride
south from Townsville, he had hoped he would have enough time
between train changes in Brisbane to visit his aunt and uncle in
New Farm and find out if they had any word from Faith. But an Army
sergeant who met the train in Brisbane quickly hustled him aboard
another train which left for Sydney within minutes.
When he stepped from the train at Sydney’s
Central Station and passed through the turnstile at the end of the
crowded platform, Joe saw a young uniformed private holding up a
sign with his name on it. The soldier was a short, sparse, young
man with ratty dark hair and a thin ferret-like face. The uniform
he was wearing looked a size or two too large for him. When Joe
approached him the little man looked up and grinned.
‘Joe Brodie, I take it. They told me to look
out for a lanky, fair-haired bloke.’ The private stuck out his
hand. ‘I’m Len Watkins. Most of the blokes call me, Weasel
Watkins.’
Joe smiled at the private’s cheerful
honesty. He shook Weasel’s hand.
‘We better be off then,’ Weasel said. ‘I’m
driving you to headquarters.’
Joe looked surprised. He swung his kit-bag
over his shoulder. ‘Oh, I didn’t expect the Army would send a
driver for me.’
Weasel turned his head as he pushed his way
toward the exit. ‘They didn’t. I was sent into the city to pick up
a load of tinned meat and fresh vegetables for the cookhouse. They
told me to pick you up on the way back.’
Outside the station the two privates climbed
into a canvas-topped Army truck. Weasel was so short he could
barely see over the steering wheel.
‘Where did you come from, Joe?’ Weasel asked
as the truck rumbled through the western suburbs, ‘AIF, or the
Militia?’
‘Neither. When I went to join up they asked
me to volunteer for the Nackeroos because I know the Top End pretty
well. I haven’t even really done any proper basic training.’
Weasel laughed. It was more like a giggle.
‘Don’t worry, mate, neither has the Nackeroos’ commanding officer.
From what I hear, Major Stanner, was a civil servant until a few
weeks ago.’
Joe rolled his eyes. ‘We get a lot of those
types in the Top End. You know what they say about Darwin, its
biggest import is civil servants and its biggest export is empty
beer bottles.’
Weasel laughed enthusiastically, punching the
steering wheel with his fist.
Joe grinned. ‘What about you, Len?’
‘Call me Weasel. Everybody else does.’ Weasel
flashed his easy smile. ‘Up until now I’ve just been sitting around
on my backside in the Militia. Bloody boring. So when I heard about
this mob, I volunteered right away. I want to see some action. Now
with the recent Jap submarine attacks on Sydney, and more and more
bombings in the north, things are really hotting up. If the Japs
really are going to land in the Top End, I want to be up there to
greet the bastards.’
‘How did you get into the Nackeroos?’ Joe
asked. ‘Have you got special skills or something?’
‘No, I just told the Army I was born on a
station in the New South Wales outback.’
‘Then you know about the bush and you can
handle horses?’
Weasel giggled again. ‘Not really. The
station I was born on was a bus station in a little hole near
Broken Hill.’
Joe laughed out loud. He knew then he was
going to like Private Watkins.
*
Like many Queensland houses, Dick and Helen
Sharkey’s home was built on stilts to allow the passage of air
underneath it to help keep the house cool in the subtropical
summer. Faith was given the spare bedroom which looked out over the
Brisbane River.
The pleasant airy room had always been
intended for her aunt and uncle’s second child which, although
eagerly awaited over the years, never arrived. The Sharkey’s
failure to produce a second child had only hardened their resolve
to withhold parental permission for their seventeen-year-old son to
volunteer for the Army, and be sent off to a war which they hadn’t
even supported until the Soviet Union joined in the struggle
against Germany. But that degree of control would end when Mike,
who was presently working as a warehouseman’s helper, would be
automatically conscripted into the Militia when he reached his
eighteenth birthday.
Faith was determined to pay her way and
not become a burden to the Sharkey household. Two days after her
arrival she went to the labor exchange to look for work. She was
asked to fill out a form and told she would be interviewed in due
course. After waiting almost two hours, Faith was finally called
into a small interview room. A drab, officious-looking man with
glasses sat behind a desk cluttered with piles of papers. After a
few moments he looked up from reading the form Faith had filled
out.
‘
I see you’re from Darwin, Miss Brodie,’ he
said without preamble. ‘Because of that, you may not be aware that
the labor exchange works closely with the Manpower Commission which
is empowered to conscript civilians to perform whatever type of
work is deemed most useful to the war effort.’
‘I’m trained as a stenographer and can do any
kind of general office work,’ Faith volunteered. ‘That’s the kind
of work I’m most suited to and where I can probably help out the
most.’
‘Perhaps it is.’ The pale man took off his
glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. ‘But that’s up
to this office and the Manpower to decide. At the moment, although
there is a demand for all types of workers, the most pressing need
is in manufacturing, particularly in armaments and clothing
factories supplying the Allied forces. One of the most urgent
requests we have is for packers at an ammunition factory out at
Rocklea.’
‘Would I be able to change to my own line of
work when and if there is a need for stenographers?’
‘Not necessarily.’ The pale man put his
glasses back on. ‘You see, once you are placed it is illegal for
you to leave the job to which you have been assigned. There are
stiff penalties for those who don’t comply.’
Faith’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a little
heavy-handed, isn’t it?’
‘You may think so, young lady,’ the man
behind the desk said dismissively.’ But your views are of no
consequence because you will do exactly as you are told. In case
you haven’t heard, there’s a war on.’
Faith found it hard to contain her anger.
She had seen lots of self-important little men like the labor
exchange officer in Darwin—supercilious civil servants sent to the
Top End to fill often unnecessary positions, then spending the
entire duration of their posting trying to justify the need for
them.
‘
Don’t tell me there’s a war on.’ She
blurted out angrily. ‘I’m from Darwin, remember. And I don’t recall
seeing anyone from the labor exchange or the Manpower when I was
dodging Japanese bombs and machine gun bullets on the dock there on
February nineteenth.’
‘
I would be careful of your tone if I were
you, Miss Brodie. It wouldn’t be wise to get this office offside.
Everyone has to do their bit for the war effort and it’s my job and
the Manpower’s to make sure they do. Of course, if you don’t want
factory work you can always join the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force,
or the Women’s Army Service or a new organization being formed
called Australian Women’s Land Army.’ The official looked over the
glasses resting on his nose and smirked. ‘But somehow I don’t think
you look the type to be picking potatoes or planting
turnips.’
Faith opened her mouth to protest but the
official raised a silencing hand.
‘This interview is over, Miss Brodie.’ He
straightened out some of the papers on his desk and laid them to
one side. ‘Report here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and you
will be assigned work.’
*
‘The bastard! The arrogant little
bastard.’
Faith grinned at her uncle’s outburst when
she told him of her visit to the labor exchange earlier in the
morning. From Aunt Helen’s raised eyebrows it was plain she didn’t
find her husband’s language amusing at all. It was lunchtime and
everyone was gathered around the kitchen table eating meat paste
and vegemite sandwiches.
Dick put two spoons of sugar into a steaming
mug of tea and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘I heard them talking of
putting on another girl in the union office the other day. I’ll
look into it. If no-one has been given the job yet, I’ll put a word
in for you.’
‘
The man down at the labor exchange said he
wouldn’t place me in office work. He’s desperate for factory
workers. I suppose I really should work where the Manpower has the
greatest need.’
‘
From what I’ve seen they’re just a bunch
of little Hitler's, bent on putting square pegs into round holes,’
Dick said reproachfully. ‘And they can get pretty stroppy, too, if
they don’t get their own way.’ Dick stood up from the table to go
back to work. ‘But don’t worry about it, Faith. If the job at the
union office is still going, it’s yours.’
‘
But I have to report to the labor exchange
in the morning.’
‘As I said, Faith. Don’t worry about it. If
you get the job, the union will take care of the clod down
there.’
*
Faith had been working at the Brisbane
branch of the Waterside Workers’ for almost a week when the drab
little man from labor exchange arrived unannounced one morning. He
was accompanied by a grim-faced senior officer of the Manpower
Commission who demanded to speak with the union
secretary.
The receptionist ushered the two men into the
union’s meeting room. After a few minutes she returned with Ian
McDougal, a middle-aged man with red hair. The union secretary
smiled amiably at the Manpower official.
‘Mr Little, to what do we owe the pleasure of
your visit today?’ His broad Scottish brogue didn’t hide the hint
of sarcasm in his voice. He waved the two men toward straight back
chairs around a long well worn table.
As everyone sat down, Little gestured to
the labor exchange official. ‘Of course, you know Mr…’
‘Yes, yes, I know him,’ McDougal broke in
impatiently. Like yourself, he’s been here several times
before.’
‘Then I suspect you know the reason we are
here, McDougal. It seems that once again your union has tried to
usurp the authority of the Manpower Commission. But I’m afraid this
time we are not prepared to let you get away with it.’
McDougal’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I’m
afraid I don’t know what your talking about.’
Little ignored the secretary’s feigned
attempt at innocence.
‘
You know bloody well what I mean,
McDougal. A girl named Faith Brodie from Darwin went to the labor
exchange for job placement last week. She was told to return the
next day to be assigned work. She was going to be sent down to an
armaments factory in Rocklea, only she never came back to the
exchange. You know as well as I do, McDougal, sickness is the only
excuse for failure to report. One of our investigators looked into
the matter. He checked on the address she put on her registration
card and guess what? It turned out to be Dick Sharkey’s
address.’
McDougal’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed his
jaw as if trying to place the name.
‘
Come on, McDougal, don’t try that stunt.
Everybody knows who Bill Sharkey is after that business with the
Americans and the
Shenandoah
hit
the newspapers. So we went over to his house this morning and made
some enquiries. It turns out Faith Brodie is Sharkey’s niece and
she’s working right here at the union.’