Billy Mack's War (13 page)

‘There is one more detail which bears mentioning,' the reverend said. ‘Our brother Fred not only suffered greatly in a right and just cause, but was recently awarded a very great honour by His Excellency the Governor-General. This will in no way erase the painful memories of endured suffering, but can be seen as a token of the gratitude of king and country.'

‘Hear, hear,' the congregation said, while Dad simply looked embarrassed.

As I was leaving the church after the service, I practically walked right into Doug, who was leaning against the wall by the main door. ‘Gidday, Doug.'

He mumbled something I couldn't quite make out.

‘My dad's back,' I said, which seemed like an obvious thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything else at the time.

‘I can see that. He looks awright.'

‘Yeah, he's going okay,' I replied. ‘Still a bit thin.'

‘Is he? Hadn't noticed.'

‘Well, he is. Did you see the paper?' I asked.

‘Which one?'

That stumped me. I didn't even know which newspaper had mentioned Dad's medal. ‘What the reverend was saying,' I said lamely.

‘Oh, that? So it looks like he's a hero after all,' Doug said flatly.

‘Yeah. He got a VC.'

There was a long and unpleasant silence between us, until I said, ‘You know, Doug, that VC he got —'

‘Don't,' he replied, shaking his head. ‘I know what I think, Billy.'

‘What
do
you think?' I asked.

‘You wouldn't like it.'

‘Tell me,' I persisted.

He fixed me with his eyes. ‘It doesn't really prove anything,' he said.

‘Sure it does! It proves that he did something real brave.'

Doug shook his head. ‘How come one really brave thing beats heaps of smaller things?'

‘What? Are you talking about —'

‘Like I said, you don't want to hear it.'

‘But it's not a contest,' I said.

Doug looked away at the people standing around in front of the church. I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, and I knew that there was no point pursuing the argument.

‘You're wrong,' I said as I walked away.

The next day Mrs Grayson asked me to wait behind after school. She watched the other children file out, before turning to me. ‘I hope I can say something to you without upsetting you, Billy.'

This sounded a bit ominous. ‘What is it, Mrs Grayson?' I asked.

‘It's about your father. I saw him at church yesterday,' she said. ‘He looks well.'

‘Yeah, he's okay,' I replied. ‘He still gets tired, but he's not too bad. He's getting stronger.'

‘And I heard about his me dal. Isn't that special, Billy! You must be so proud.'

‘Yes, Mrs Grayson,' I replied.

‘Maybe you could ask him to come in some time and talk to the class about how he won it.'

‘He doesn't like to talk about it very much,' I said.

She nodded. ‘I understand. Anyway, will you say hello to him for me? Tell him that my mother sends her best wishes too.'

I wondered why she couldn't have told him herself when she saw him at church. ‘Sure,' I said. ‘Just hello? Is that all you want me to say?'

‘Yes, just say that Eileen Grayson and Heather Tierney send their regards.'

Chapter 16 Danny

‘Hang on,' Danny said, suddenly sitting up straighter. ‘Did you say Tierney?'

Mr McAuliffe nodded and sipped his tea. ‘Yes, that's right, Heather Tierney. Why?'

‘Captain Mack — I mean your dad — used to talk about someone called Tierney. He kept talking about him, and saying that I had to look out for him. He wouldn't tell me much, though, so I tried to find out who he was.'

‘And did you?'

‘Not really. And then one day your dad said not to worry about it any more, because Tierney had died.'

‘Is that so? Well, that makes some sense.' Mr McAuliffe thought for a bit. Then a quick smile twitched at the corners of his mouth as he rested his teacup on its saucer. ‘That makes a great deal of sense, actually.'

‘Can you tell me about Tierney?' Danny asked.

‘I don't know everything.'

‘Can you tell me what you do know?'

Mr McAuliffe gazed out the window and scratched his chin. His voice was a bit distant. ‘Everything I know about Tierney. Yes, all right.'

Chapter 17 Billy

I told Dad what Mrs Grayson had said, and he looked kind of sad when I mentioned Mrs Tierney's name. ‘Thanks, Billy-boy,' he said. ‘He was a good lad, her Duncan.' And that was all he'd say about that.

In those days immediately after his return home, Dad used to get a lot of letters, sometimes half a bagful a week. When dinner was over, he'd sit on the front porch drinking his tea and smoking his strong-smelling cigarettes, and he'd read all of the letters one by one, separating them into two piles: those he was going to reply to, and those he wasn't.

The letters in the first pile were from people he'd known in the camps, who just wanted to keep in touch. Friends, I suppose you'd call them. The others were from people who didn't know Dad at all. They'd just learned somehow that he was a former prisoner of war and wanted to find out if he knew Harry this or Bert that or Jack someone else. I guess they were family members who hadn't had any definite word about their man yet, and wanted to know if he'd died on the Railroad or in a jungle somewhere, or if he might have escaped and be still finding his way home. Any information at all would have been useful, I suppose.

Dad didn't reply to
those
letters. Maybe he'd been told not to. It would have been too hard to keep up, anyway, if he'd sent a reply back for every letter he received. The other thing I noticed was that going through his mail always got him down. But he still read them all, one after the other, quietly folding each one when he'd finished it, before placing it in one of his two piles.

I was sitting on our front porch with him one evening as he went through this sorting process. I was reading the funnies from the paper — I knew I wasn't to disturb him — when I heard him sigh. When I looked up, he was gazing out at the fading sky, an opened letter dangling from his hand. Then with another sigh he stood and went into the house, just as if I wasn't even there.

He didn't come back out for a long time. He'd been talking to Ma, but I hadn't heard anything clearly. When he did return it was still as if I wasn't there.

‘Dad?' I said. ‘Is everything all right?'

He picked up the two piles of letters and went back into the house. No answer, no acknowledgment of me, nothing.

I went inside and found Ma folding the washing on the kitchen table. Often when Ma cried she tried to hide it, either by turning away or wiping her eyes, but this time she did nothing to disguise the fact that she'd been in tears.

‘Ma, what's going on?' I asked.

‘Nothing you need to worry about,' she replied, going on with her folding.

‘No, Ma!' It wasn't quite a shout, but that was only because I made a real effort to control my voice. I sure felt like shouting. I hated the way everyone went about their adult stuff as if I didn't have eyes and ears. Or a brain, for that matter. ‘It's
not
nothing.'

She folded a pair of pyjama pants and slapped them down on top of the pile. ‘I said it's nothing
you
need to worry about, Billy. Now get ready for bed.'

‘No,' I said.

She frowned at me. She wasn't used to me talking back, and although I knew I'd crossed the line, I didn't care.

‘Billy, I said it's time for you to go to bed. Now do it. At once!'

I looked at my feet. ‘No. Not until you tell me what's going on.'

‘It's none of your business.'

‘It is so my business,' I replied. ‘I live here too, Ma.'

‘Tell him, Alice,' Dad said from the doorway. ‘We should tell him.'

Ma and I turned to look at him. He was standing there in the half-light, still holding the letter at his side.

‘Are you sure, love?' Ma asked him.

He took a couple of steps towards me. ‘I'm going to Launceston, Billy-boy. I got a letter from a friend. From a friend's mother, rather. I'm going to see her.'

I looked back and forth between them. I didn't understand why this was such a big deal.

‘I have to tell her what happened to her boy,' he explained. ‘I was there, you see.'

‘What was his name?' I asked.

‘Duncan Tierney. We served together in the Highlanders. His mother wants to know what happened to him.'

‘Was Duncan Tierney Mrs Grayson's …'

‘Her brother, aye,' he replied.

‘Couldn't you just write her a letter like you do with the others?'

Dad shook his head. ‘Not this time, laddie. No, this story I've got to tell to her face.'

‘When are you going?' I asked.

‘Haven't quite decided that, Billy-boy. I've got to get in touch with her, sort out a time.'

That night I heard them discussing it after I'd gone to bed. I stood at the crack in my door and listened.

‘Where will you meet her?' Ma was asking Dad.

‘Her place, I suppose,' he replied.

‘What are you going to say to her?'

‘Just what happened. It'll be hard, Alice, but I have to do it, for him as much as for her. I owe it to him. And her. I promised, see?'

‘You should take the boy.'

‘Why would I want to take him?'

‘Because he's your son,' Ma answered.

‘Aye, but why this time, of all times?'

‘He's never been to Launceston. He's twelve, and he's never been. You'll have to get a room anyway, so take him with you, show him some sights, spend some time with him.'

‘I do spend time with him.'

‘I don't mean mending fences and feeding calves — I mean special time. You've been away for a long while, Fred, and he's missed you.'

‘Aye, and I've missed him. But where would he go while I talked to Heather? Have you thought of that?'

‘He's not a child, Fred.'

‘Aye, he's a child! He's twelve years old, Alice — you just said so!'

‘Yes, a twelve-year-old who can keep a farm going when the other men are away. He was a child when you went away, Fred, but not any more.'

‘I didn't miss his childhood,' Dad said. ‘I didn't.' His voice was quiet, barely loud enough for me to hear. He didn't sound like he really believed what he was saying. Who was he trying to convince?

Ma sounded like she was close to tears again. ‘You did miss it, Fred, through no fault of your own. I think you should take him. It would be good for both of you.'

‘I'll think about it.'

‘Do,' Ma said.

So it wasn't that much of a surprise when a couple of days later Dad asked me if I'd like to take a trip with him to Launceston. ‘We'll go next week. School will be over by then, so you can come with me without worrying about that.'

I had to act ignorant then, pretending that I'd never overheard any of the things they'd said. ‘Why are we going to Launceston?' I asked.

‘I've got to see someone about something,' he answered.

‘Who about what?'

‘I'll explain on the way,' he said.

That Friday was the last day of school for the year. We made Christmas cards for one another, and I also made one for Mrs Grayson, just in case no one else did. I didn't want her to feel left out. When the time came to hand them out, I went straight up the front. She was sitting at her desk, gazing out the window, already thinking about her holiday, I suppose. ‘This one's for you,' I said, holding out her card.

‘Why, thank you, Billy,' she said, her eyes bright and her dimples appearing. ‘That's very kind.'

‘That's all right. Hey, we're going to see your ma next week,' I announced.

She tipped her head slightly, and her eyes narrowed, just a bit. ‘Really? Who is?'

‘Me and my dad.'

‘Truly? In Launceston?'

‘Yes.'

Her lips were tight. ‘What about?' she asked. ‘Is this about Duncan?'

I wondered if I'd said something I shouldn't have. ‘I think so,' I answered vaguely. ‘I'm not really sure.'

‘I see. What's he going to say to her?'

I shrugged. How did I know what he was going to say? He certainly hadn't told me.

‘Well, I might see you there,' she said. ‘We're going up to Mum's place for the break.'

At that moment one of the other kids made a smooching kind of noise. It might not have been meant for me, but I didn't take the chance. ‘Well, merry Christmas, Mrs Grayson,' I said quickly before returning to my desk.

‘Yes, you too, Billy,' she answered, her voice distant.

The following Tuesday Dad and I headed off on our trip. We each packed a suitcase, and Ma made some pasties to take with us in the truck. Before we left, she held me close and said, ‘Be good now, Billy. Your dad's got some important things to discuss with Mrs Tierney, so have a good time but don't get in the way, you hear?'

‘Yes, Ma,' I said.

‘When he tells you to do something, you do it.'

‘Yes, Ma.'

‘Good lad.' She kissed me on the top of the head, which meant I was free to go.

‘Billy, the twins,' she reminded me, as I opened the door of the truck. I had to chase them across the yard to give them each a kiss on the cheek, which they wiped off immediately.

The twins sorted out, I waved to Ma and climbed up next to Dad in the truck he crunched it into first gear, and we drove away. He didn't say a word until we'd reached the end of the long driveway and had turned onto the main road. Then he looked across at me and smiled. ‘Adventure time,' he said.

‘I've never been to Launceston,' I said.

‘You'll like it,' he replied. ‘It's a good town.'

The trip took several hours, and we stopped for lunch where a little bridge took the road over a creek. We scrambled down through the long grass to the bank and sat under a huge weeping willow. Cows watched us from the opposite bank. Dad took his boots off and dangled his feet in the fast, clear water. ‘Here,' he said, taking one of the pasties from the paper bag and handing it to me.

‘Dad?'

‘Aye?'

‘You said you'd tell me about the medal.'

‘Did I?'

‘Yes, you did. You said you'd tell me how you won it.'

‘It wasn't much, laddie. Just something that seemed right at the time.'

I shook my head. ‘Dad, I know it must have been big. They don't hand out VCs for just anything. I've read about them. They only give them to people who've been real brave, like gone charging into a dangerous place, or gone on some secret mission —'

‘It wasn't a secret mission,' he said.

‘Then what was it? Please, Dad? I want to know.'

‘It was in Burma,' he said, ‘just before we were captured. Our advance was very slow going, and we were dug into the jungle, and it was hot, and humid, so humid. Awful, it was, oppressively hot, like nothing you've ever experienced. Nor me — I'm from Scotland, for crying out loud! Plus it rained almost every night. You could have set your watch by it. So you can imagine, Billy-boy, there was mud everywhere, in everything, and insects to bite any bit of skin that wasn't covered. We knew there was a decent-sized patrol of Japs lurking out there somewhere, because a couple of our forward scouts had been ambushed. So we didn't sleep very well at night, wondering if we were going to be attacked.'

‘Didn't you have people on guard?' I asked.

‘Aye, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to relax.
We
all knew how hard it was to stay awake at night, staring into the darkness. And because it's so hard, when it comes your turn to sleep, you wonder if that lad sitting under the tree over there with his rifle in his lap is actually awake. So one night, I was lying there trying to stay dry under the ridiculous wee cape thing they gave us, and suddenly all hell broke loose. Grenades and machine-gun fire from every direction, and God knows what else. There was panic, absolute panic, and I'm screaming at the lads to sort themselves out.

‘I shouted at one chap — er, Craigie it was — to flank left, because I hadn't seen any fire from over there, and I thought he might be able to get in behind at least one of the Japs and gain some advantage from that side. He walked straight into a Jap who was trying to un-jam his rifle, and that was it for Craigie. It was mayhem, and the noise! And to make things worse, we couldn't see much except muzzle bursts from the dark so we had to fall back. There was only a wee gap we could go through, like a kind of gully.'

‘So what did you do?' I asked.
‘You,
I mean, not the whole group.'

‘It really wasn't much,' he said, digging in the dirt at his feet with a short piece of stick.

‘Dad, it must have been something.'

He looked up at me. ‘One of our submachine gunners, McKellar, had been shot, so I took his weapon and laid down covering fire while the lads tried to retreat through the gap. But they were pinned down, you see, and there were quite a few chaps still in there, some injured, some dead. I couldn't leave them there, so I went in and got them.'

‘By yourself?'

Dad looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Aye,' he admitted.

‘And you were a hero.'

He smiled. ‘Apparently.'

‘Well done, Captain McAuliffe!' I said.

‘Aye, well … But like I told you, your mother made me promise not to do anything brave or stupid. And while this was probably more stupid than brave, we managed to save quite a few of the lads. Obviously the boys upstairs thought it was something, because they gave me the medal.' He shrugged. ‘That's the gist of it, Billy-boy.'

‘Well, I think you're really brave, and not stupid at all,' I said, suspecting that this was almost certainly the modest version of what had actually taken place.

‘Thanks, laddie,' he said, taking a long drink from our water bottle.

‘And was Tierney with you then?'

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Aye, he was there too.'