Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms (3 page)

Banjo finally speaks. ‘This fella is someone's brother, Kevin. What if he was
our
brother?' He puts his hand to his heart. ‘What if our brother escaped from a POW camp like this bloke? Wouldn't you want someone to look after him and treat him like a human being?'

Unconvinced, Kevin stands up and pushes his chair so hard it falls over. He can't believe what he's hearing, and blows smoke through his nostrils.

‘And wouldn't
you
want to escape the prison if you could? Wouldn't you escape
this
prison if you could?' Banjo addresses all three men. He knows what he's doing, he just needs the others to understand and agree. ‘This fella just wants his freedom and probably wants to see his family.'

‘Can't argue with that,' Fred says, gently.

One down, two to go
, Banjo thinks. He already knows Joan is with him.

‘The government is fighting the Japanese – the same government we are fighting. We're fighting for a better life. I feel like I'm at war every day with all those who control our lives. I'm sick of living in this hut without water. I want the same wages as the whitefellas doing the same job. I'm tired of us living in fear of having our kids taken away, while white people don't have to worry about anything: they have enough food and they have water and electricity and get paid properly for their work.' Banjo's voice is not loud but it is firm. ‘If
we
are at war with this government, then, to my mind, this fella and I are on the same side.'

Banjo has conviction in his voice and Joan has never been more proud of her man.

Sid and Fred look at each and raise their eyebrows in understanding and agreement, but Kevin is not giving up easily. ‘Okay, well, let's vote then,' he says.

Banjo nods and says, ‘I vote we protect him. All in favour, raise your hands.'

Sid and Fred slowly put their hands in the air, but a belligerent Kevin shoots both his arms straight to the ground like a child. ‘You win again,' he says, which is a vague but ongoing reference to the fact that they both once competed for the woman Banjo married. Kevin has never stopped loving Joan and the three of them know it. She is still the only one who can calm him down when he gets aggressive. The only one he will listen to. The only one he could never have because of his wild ways.

‘Three votes to one,' Banjo says. ‘So it's agreed – we'll hide him in the air raid shelter for as long as we can. For as long as it's safe, and if that's until the end of the war, then so be it.'

‘What are we going to feed him, then?' Kevin asks, knowing there is little food to go around and that rations are already stretched beyond what's acceptable. ‘It's bad enough we have to work for our rations – the bread and tea and sugar – but now you want to give it away?'

‘We share, Kev, you know that. We always have. Sharing is not new to us. Stop acting like we're doing something bad here. We're being ourselves. This is what we do.' Joan's voice quivers.

Banjo puts his arm around his wife's shoulder. ‘We'll get by,' he says. ‘We have the vegie garden and we can spare a little each, enough to keep him alive.'

‘There's only potatoes in that patch, and not a lot of them!' Kevin argues, walking to the window.

‘We have pumpkin and cabbage too,' Joan says. ‘You're just never around long enough to enjoy them.' Even Joan is getting testy with her brother-in-law's insistence on being difficult.

‘We can't tell anyone,' Sid says anxiously. ‘
I
understand your logic, Banjo, but there will be some who don't and King Billie will tar and feather us if he finds out.'

‘I agree, we tell no one, not even your wives.' Banjo looks at Fred because everyone knows Fred's wife, Marj, is the queen of the Black grapevine and if she knows what's going on, then it's all over. Fred and Marj live next door, and Marj has eyes in the back of her head – she knows who's doing,
saying, thinking what. And with no fence between the huts, she can see right down to the opening of the air raid shelter at the back of the Williams' lot. Everyone loves Marj, but they also know she has a mouth, a big, uncontrollable mouth, and sometimes a bitter tongue. Fred loves his wife, but even he knows she's got the loosest lips this side of the Great Dividing Range.

‘I won't tell Marj,' he promises.

‘I won't tell Ivy either, but what about Jim?' Sid asks of the local Wiradjuri lad who'd returned from the First World War and was now part of the 22 Battalion acting as a guard at the POW camp. ‘We need Jim to find out information about what's going on, how this fella got out and why, but he can't know we are hiding an escapee.'

‘I think he needs to know,' Kevin says. ‘Surely he has a right to know.'

‘No! We can't compromise his livelihood,' Banjo says. ‘We can't put him or his job in danger with the authorities. What do you think they'll do to him if they find out he knows about this? They'll court martial him.'

‘There's also that other Aboriginal fella who leads the Italians out to the farms,' Fred offers.

‘He's a Charles,' Fred says.

‘That's him, he'd have to know something about what's going on. I hear he also rolls cigarettes for the soldiers, so he must get on well with them.'

‘I don't understand why there's no real security around the Italians,' Kevin says. ‘It's like they run this town – bike riding, going to the movies and the pubs. I even heard they've
got grappa stills in the camp and the guards swap leftover meat for alcohol. I'd trade some rabbit or some watermelon for some grappa, that's for sure.'

Banjo wishes his brother would just stick to the issue at hand instead of mouthing off about everything that upsets him. Before he gets the chance to get back to the Charles fella, Kevin is off again.

‘I've even heard that they built a proper stage and made costumes and printed programs for shows they do in there. And they get given musical instruments and supplies to paint. Can you imagine, that? They're prisoners and they're treated better than us. I wonder how that Charles fella feels about that, seeing them having a good life and all.'

‘We need to leave him out of this,' Banjo says adamantly. ‘We need to keep this as quiet as possible, can't go snooping around too much and drawing attention, especially if anyone is working at the camp.'

‘Well, how long do you reckon we can hide him in the air raid shelter? What if there's a bloody air raid?' Kevin will not concede defeat without making it difficult for his brother. The rivalry is one-sided, but it is there. He sees Joan frowning. ‘Sorry,' he says, knowing that profanity and blasphemy are not allowed in her home.

‘The war isn't coming to Cowra,' Joan says with a twinkle in her eye. She pulls him up when she deems it necessary, when no one else would even try.

‘We could hide him at Ryan's Place. It might be safer there than having him here on the mission,' Fred offers.

‘Yeah, let's put him down where he can have fun, singing
and dancing with the mob there. Bloody parties most of the time.' Kevin's bitterness flows easily. ‘He can even get a drink down there too!'

‘You'd know,' Joan says with a hint of sarcasm.

‘What?' Kevin assumes shocked innocence but if he's going down, he's taking his brother with him. ‘It's not just me – Banjo's been there too. And I'm sure I've seen you both dancing there.' Kevin doesn't like Joan judging him even though he still needs her approval all these years later. ‘Anyway, there's nowhere to hide him there, with only those few huts.'

The door bursts open and the Williams kids race in full of energy and laughter. The adults immediately stop talking. Mary, the eldest daughter, is seventeen years old. It took a long time for Banjo and Joan to fall pregnant with Mary, and they didn't think they would again – it was nine years before the next girl came along, and then another two, before the only boy was born.

‘Take the goothas into the other room,' Banjo instructs Mary. ‘Mum will come get you all in a minute. We just need to finish some business here first.'

Mary knows something is up but she obeys her father and walks the kids out of the front room which is the kitchen, through the lounge room of sorts to the bedroom, which leads to the back sleep out. Banjo and Joan sleep out the back with the kids: Betty, Dottie, Jessie and the baby of the family, James, who was a surprise to them all three years ago. Mary sleeps in the front room, which has a fire place, so she's warm in winter. Compared to other huts, Banjo's is one of the best, with
a fence, a small vegie garden and morning glory vines hanging on the verandah and around the hut to offer protection from the sun in the summer and the wind in the winter. The tap at the front of the hut provides all the water the family needs for cooking, cleaning and washing. The bare corrugated iron walls don't provide much insulation from the frosty winter weather, but the black stove in the kitchen offers some warmth.

As soon as Mary and the kids leave the room, Banjo leans across the table and says in a low voice, ‘It's settled, he'll stay in the air raid shelter. It's the only place they won't look given it never gets used, and people outside of Erambie wouldn't even know it's there. Joan'll gather whatever leftovers she can without suspicion. We've got more mouths to feed than you lot and it's normal for people to share with us. Mary can take them down to him at dusk each night when she comes back from King Billie's.'

‘Why Mary?' Sid asks. ‘Is it safe for her to do that? I thought we weren't going to tell anyone else.'

‘Yeah,' Kevin growls, ‘you just finished ordering us not to tell anyone, and now you're breaking your own rule. Why don't you or Joan or one of these fellas take it down?' He points to Sid and Fred.

Banjo taps on his gammy leg. ‘I can't climb down a ladder with this leg. And you fellas seen in our yard a lot will only draw suspicion.'

‘But why Mary? She's so young,' Sid says, concerned.

‘Yes, she's young, but King Billie trusts her, everyone trusts her. If there's ever any suspicion here they will never look at Mary.'

‘Banjo!' There's a thump on the door. ‘Banjo! Open up, it's John Smith!'

‘What does he want?' Kevin mouths to Sid and Fred, who both shrug their shoulders.

John Smith is the Manager of Erambie. Behind his back, everyone refers to him as King Billie. There is a version of King Billie on every reserve and mission in the country. Few Managers understand the resentment that Blacks have towards them, and even fewer would care if they did – being a mission Manager requires one to have no sense of human rights or justice. It's only Black humour and making fun of the Manager that sustains the locals at Erambie through the misery being no one in your own land can bring.

Everyone sits to attention as Joan looks around her kitchen to check it's tidy.

‘It's not Manager's Day,' she says to her husband, referring to the nominated days that the Manager and/or his wife could go through their huts. Joan, like the other women on the mission, knew the authorities – the Smiths and the police they brought sometimes – were always looking for a reason to say the Blacks were unfit parents. A speck of dirt on the floor. Beds not made perfectly. Kids not clean enough.

Joan looks at the meat safe, the cast iron pots hanging over the fire and the kerosene hurricane lamp, which has been polished. She checks and double-checks the wooden floors she scrubs with sandstone soap on a regular basis. Everything looks clean and tidy as Banjo opens the door.

‘What's going on here?' King Billie says, looking over Banjo's shoulder to the men at the table. ‘Stop-work meeting?'

The men laugh awkwardly but say nothing.

‘Everyone is to stay indoors until further notice,' he orders.

‘What's up, John?' Banjo asks, hoping it has nothing to do with the morning's events.

‘There's been a breakout at the Japs' camp, and I want everyone indoors until I say so.' King Billie has the shits, as if someone has put a spanner in his works. ‘Jim is up at the compound as you know, but I don't want you talking to him. I don't want you talking to
anyone
about it. We don't want people getting hysterical. Let the army sort this mess out.' He speaks directly to Banjo. ‘You just keep to your own business here. I'll let you know when things have settled down.

‘And you lot,' he finally addresses the other men, ‘you do the same, and if you see anyone out and about, you know to give them this order. Right. Go.'

Kevin, Fred and Sid get up, all pushing their chairs in slowly to bide time while King Billie leaves. When they can see him marching towards another hut, they shake hands and cement their decision before heading off.

‘Mary!' Banjo calls out.

She enters the room with the kids and little James runs straight to his mother and squeezes between her legs, as he often does. The three younger girls look frightened.

‘What did he want?' Mary asks, trying not to sound disrespectful.

‘We all have to stay inside for a few hours at least, until Mr Smith comes back.' Banjo rarely uses the term King Billie in front of the kids in case they let it slip in front of the Manager. ‘Come with me,' he says, leading his daughter out to the verandah and leaving the others inside.

He lights up a cigarette and looks to see if anyone is outside the hut. ‘This morning, a visitor arrived here. A Japanese soldier. It turns out he escaped from the camp up the road.'

Mary listens, sipping a mug of black tea.

‘And, well, we, the Elders, have decided we'll give him shelter here.'

‘You're hiding him?'

‘Yes, we are. We don't know what happened, but John Smith said there was some kind of breakout, so he must be one of the ones who got away. Now, Mary, I want us to look after this fella, he's probably been through a lot in the war, like our own fellas have. He probably has a family just like us. He looked scared.'