The Forgotten Pearl (14 page)

At the top of the cliff she checked the hospital. The pristine white buildings, only completed a few days before, were now battered and scorched, but mostly still standing. The lawn was littered with chunks of concrete, twisted metal and fallen rubble. She picked her way over the wreckage.

Back inside, she leant for a moment against the wall, overcome with shock and pain.

‘Poppy, what in the hell are you doing here?' called her father's familiar voice, raised in panic. ‘You're hurt. Are you all right? Where's your mother?'

Poppy collapsed against him. His white coat, usually crisp and clean, was rumpled and smeared with blood.

‘I've been helping Mama evacuate the patients.' Poppy's voice was husky against his shoulder. ‘Then we took shelter down under the cliffs. I was hit by some shrapnel, but Mum says it's only a flesh wound.'

Mark searched her face anxiously, then checked her expertly bandaged arm.

‘Go back down to the beach, darling,' Mark ordered. ‘The Japs will probably come back. It's not safe for you here.'

Poppy nodded and reluctantly turned to leave.

‘Poppet, I have to go back into the operating theatre,' Mark continued, his voice softer. ‘Dozens of men are arriving seriously wounded. We don't have enough doctors or nurses or drugs or blood – or anything – to treat them. I want you to get under cover and stay out of harm's way.' Mark held Poppy by each shoulder.

Poppy nodded again and stepped away. Mark kissed her quickly on the forehead and was gone.

Poppy walked slowly back outside. The air seemed eerily silent after the deafening thunder of the raid. Plumes of toxic black smoke billowed up into the sky. In the harbour, the once-proud ships were scattered and sinking. Columns of smoke rose from the shattered buildings of the town.

A huge explosion sounded from the harbour as the ammunition in one of the ships detonated, tossing debris hundreds of metres into the air. Poppy could see distant bodies flailing in the black water and men in rowboats floundering to rescue them.

A car raced up the driveway and stopped near the door. A man jumped out, his face half-shaved and the other side
white with soap lather. He wore a steel helmet, singlet and underpants, with boots on his feet, the laces undone.

‘Oi, miss,' he yelled to Poppy, opening the back door. ‘Give us a hand – I've got a mate here who needs urgent attention.'

In the back seat, Poppy could see a man doubled over and covered in blood. The bottom half of his leg was missing, ending in a crimson stump. Poppy glanced at the path to the beach, then ran to the back of the car.

She smiled at the wounded man in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

‘Come along now, sir. We'll have you inside in a jiffy.'

The driver helped carry the wounded man in through the door, where a makeshift emergency area had been set up. Cecilia and Sister Scott were assessing the wounded people who streamed through the door. They sutured, swabbed and bandaged the minor cuts and abrasions, gave tetanus injections and checked for fractures. The more serious cases were directed through to the doctors, who were operating among the dust and debris of the damaged hospital.

‘Poppy, what are you doing back here?' Cecilia said, astonished. ‘I told you . . . Oh, never mind. We're out of sterile swabs. For goodness sake, can you find some? Also antiseptic . . . Now sir, let me help you through to the surgical ward. We'll fix you up in no time at all.'

Poppy didn't wait for her mother to change her mind. She ran through the wide corridors of the hospital, which were now crowded with patients sitting, lying and moaning on the floor. Nurses bustled among the wounded, washing wounds, dressing burns with sterile bandages and dispensing morphia for pain.

In the first ward, the store cupboard was destroyed, the precious medical supplies smashed on the floor. Poppy ran to the next ward, where she found a supply of swabs, surgical tools and bottles of antiseptic solution. She found a doctor's jacket hanging on a hook and filled it with anything she thought might be useful.

‘What's happening, miss?' asked a voice from under a bed, inside a fortress of mattresses. ‘Has the bombing stopped? Can I come out now?'

‘Yes, sir, the bombing has stopped for now, but they might come back – you'd better stay where you are for a while,' Poppy suggested. Hoisting her sack of supplies over her shoulder, she ran back to her mother's station.

Cecilia was swabbing a man with a jagged, bloody gash down his arm.

‘Good girl – can you lay them out on the trolley for me, please?'

Poppy rushed to obey. She had seen her mother do it for her father many times, the instruments, swabs, bandages and bottles laid out in precise rows.

‘Sister Trehearne, do you have any sterile instruments over there?' called Sister Scott. ‘I'm all out.' She held a bloody pair of tweezers that she had been using to pick shrapnel from a man's face.

Cecilia thrust a bucket of bloody instruments towards Poppy. ‘Darling, can you go to the kitchen and scrub these, then boil them up to sterilise them? The sterilising unit was damaged during the bombing. Remember to boil them for at least ten minutes – it's really important.'

‘Sure, Mama,' Poppy said, eagerly taking the bucket and darting once more among the bodies of the wounded.
Bewildered men called out as she passed, begging for pain relief or a drink or simply a word of acknowledgement. She smiled and said hello but kept running.

She recognised a patient who had been bedridden this morning. He was mopping the floor of the hallway. Other patients worked to help those who were worse off. Near the kitchens she had to jump over a pile of rubble.
Dad will be distraught
, thought Poppy.
The beautiful new hospital has only been open for seventeen days, and now it's been devastated.

Coming towards Poppy from the other direction was a handcart piled high with bodies, pushed by two men. Most of them were black with burns. The stench of burnt flesh and fuel filled the corridor.

Poppy averted her eyes and tried not to breathe, her stomach heaving.

‘Sorry, miss – excuse us, miss,' apologised one of the men.

Focus
, Poppy told herself, fighting back the nausea.
I have to sterilise these instruments so the nurses can keep doing their work.

In the kitchens she found two more patients who were boiling saucepans of water on primus stoves that they had commandeered from somewhere.

‘Hello, love,' one of the men greeted her. ‘Need a hand there?'

Together they scrubbed the blood from the equipment and boiled it for ten minutes. Poppy loaded the hot instruments into a sterile container and raced back the way she had come.

The emergency clearing room was more crowded than ever.

The door burst open and two men struggled in, carrying a stretcher. The body on the stretcher, black with oil, writhed in agony.

‘We've got another truckload of wounded from the harbour,' the lead stretcher bearer told Cecilia. ‘Many of them are badly burnt, but they're lucky to be alive.'

‘Okay, put him here,' ordered Cecilia. ‘How many do you have?'

Cecilia took the wounded man's pulse and examined his body, checking the extent of the burns.

‘We got thirty-odd in this load but there're hundreds of them coming in. Hundreds been killed, too. The town's destroyed. The post office took a direct hit, too, and ten of the workers were killed in the slit trench.'

‘The workers?' asked Cecilia, stopping for a moment. ‘Do you know who?'

The stretcher bearer rubbed his forehead, which was smeared with oil and dirt.

‘Six women. The whole Bald family. The Mullens sisters. Mrs Young and Freda Stasinowsky. Their bodies have just been brought to the hospital morgue.'

Poppy reeled in shock.
The whole Bald family?
she thought in horror.
Gorgeous Iris – Phoebe and Edward's friend? And her mother and father? How could that lovely, vibrant girl be dead?
She thought back to the last time she'd seen Iris just a few days ago when she'd told Poppy that the Administrator had once again urged the women to leave their jobs and escape south.

Cecilia swallowed but completed her examination of the patient. ‘I'm so sorry to hear that,' she said. ‘All right. This man needs to go through to the surgical ward now. Poppy,
can you please show these men where to go? Then perhaps you could check the operating theatre – they might need help topping up supplies.'

Poppy ran from emergency station to ward to operating theatre to kitchens, fetching supplies, directing stretcher bearers, sterilising instruments. The doctors and nurses, volunteers and orderlies worked tirelessly as patients poured in from the harbour, the town and the bases with wounds ranging from gunshots, burns, lacerations, broken bones and blindness.

In the kitchens, two of the patients made hot drinks and food on the primus stoves for the patients and staff.

Around midday, the air-raid sirens sounded again, heralding the return of the Japanese bombers. This time the target seemed to be further south near the RAAF airfields.

Once again, Poppy and her parents took shelter down under the cliffs of Kahlin Bay, together with the mobile patients. The hot sun beat upon their heads, blistering in its intensity. Poppy's throat was parched with thirst. She couldn't remember the last time she had had a drink. They huddled together at the base of the cliffs for over an hour, which stretched out like an eternity.

As soon as the all-clear finally sounded, it was back to the operating stations.

14

The Aftermath

‘This is not good, love,' one of the orderlies told Poppy. ‘They say this is the softening up by air before a land invasion. The Nips have wiped out all our defences and most of the planes were destroyed at the airfields. They say they'll be landing tomorrow and we'll be outnumbered twenty to one. I, for one, am heading south before they get here.'

Poppy's gut twisted in fear. It couldn't be true.

As Poppy delivered another container of sterilised instruments to her mother, Mark dashed in.

‘Cecilia, Poppy – there's an evacuee train leaving Darwin this evening,' Mark announced. ‘All women and children are to be on it. I want you to go home, get your bags and get on that train.'

Cecilia looked around helplessly at the room crowded with wounded men.

‘But –'

‘No “buts”, Cecilia,' Mark insisted.

One of the soldiers took Mark by the arm. ‘Sorry, Doctor – the evacuee train left half an hour ago. It was jam-packed to the gunnels. Apparently they had to fire warning shots above the crowd to stop them from trying to stampede onto it. People are absolutely panicking with the rumours that the Japanese will be invading before dawn.'

Mark wiped his brow wearily.

‘Doctor, we have another truckload of wounded coming in.'

He smiled at Cecilia and Poppy. Cecilia smiled back.

‘You know we can't leave all these patients to look after themselves, can we, Poppy?' Cecilia said.

Poppy smiled too, feeling a wave of pride surge through her. She was part of a team – a motley collection of medical professionals and volunteers who had suffered through a terrifying ordeal but were still achieving amazing things.

‘Of course we can't, Mum.'

‘Well then, Poppet, you can come and give me a hand in the operating theatre,' Mark suggested. ‘Our emergency lamps have died; you can hold up a torch for me so I can see what I'm doing.'

A sister helped her scrub up and she followed her father into the theatre. She had to focus her torch on where the surgeons needed the light, trying not to think that the area she was illuminating was someone's abdomen that had been ripped open by a bomb, or a stump that had once been a leg or an arm.

At five o'clock, the patients in the kitchen came to beg Cecilia, Poppy and some of the other nurses to take a short break to drink hot tea and eat something. Poppy realised
she had had nothing to eat since that peaceful breakfast on the verandah nine hours ago. Cecilia sent Poppy on ahead while she finished bandaging up a policeman with shrapnel lacerations.

Poppy collapsed into a chair in the nurses' dining room and closed her eyes. Now that she had stopped moving, her left arm stung painfully, her head ached and every muscle in her body hurt. She opened her eyes gingerly. Then she noticed today's newspaper lying on the table:
The Army News
, Darwin, Thursday, February 19, 1942.

A sentence leapt out at her from the front page – a quote from one of the military experts:

‘Australia is safe from immediate attack.'

You must be joking
, thought Poppy, remembering the events of the day: two air raids, hundreds killed and hundreds more injured, ships sunk, buildings shattered, planes destroyed.
Explain that we're safe to Iris, to Mrs Bald, to Jean and Eileen Mullen, to Emily Young and Freda Stasinowsky, to everyone else who was injured or killed.

Tears filled Poppy's eyes; she wiped them away angrily and picked up the newspaper. Prime Minister John Curtin was quoted on the front page:

‘Just as Dunkirk opened the Battle for Britain, Singapore opened the Battle for Australia.

‘On its issue, depended, not merely the fate of the Commonwealth but in a very large measure the fate of the English-speaking world . . . Protecting this country is no longer a question of contributing to the world war but resisting an enemy which threatened to invade our own shore.

‘Our honeymoon has finished. It is now work or fight as we have never worked or fought before.'

Poppy sat up straighter, filled with resolution.
Well, that is exactly what we have been doing
, she thought.
Working and fighting as we have never worked or fought before
.
We
can
turn the tide
.

Mark came in and sat down beside her, smiling wearily. A volunteer patient brought them both a cup of hot, strong tea. Poppy stirred in a spoonful of sugar and sipped appreciatively. Its warmth flooded her with a sense of comfort.

‘How are you holding up, Poppet?' asked Mark, stirring his tea.

‘I'm okay,' Poppy replied. ‘I'm exhausted, but I feel really good. I feel like I've helped to do something really worthwhile today.'

‘I'm so proud of you, Poppet. You've done an absolutely sterling job.'

Just then Cecilia came in, looking pale and drawn. She hobbled a little and winced as she lowered herself into the chair.

‘I'd kill for a cup of tea,' murmured Cecilia, closing her eyes and sighing.

Mark frowned. ‘Are you all right, darling?'

‘Tired and feeling a little knocked around,' Cecilia admitted, opening her eyes and trying to smile. ‘I feel a bit bruised from where I fell during one of the explosions, and it's a hard to breathe when I walk.'

‘You didn't tell me you were injured,' Mark said, concerned. ‘Let me take a look at you. Where does it hurt?'

‘My left side and left elbow – I'm sure it's nothing much,' Cecilia insisted, but she winced severely as Mark probed her injured ribs. He took his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to her chest.

‘Breathe in slowly,' he ordered. ‘Breathe out.'

He frowned and then probed her elbow gently with his long, slim fingers. Cecilia gasped in pain and jerked away.

‘I can't be sure without an X-ray, but I suspect you have two fractured ribs and a fractured elbow. Poppy, can you run and get your mum a cup of tea and some hot soup? Make sure you have some as well. I'll go and fetch some bandages and something to take for the pain.'

‘I took some aspirin an hour or so ago,' Cecilia said.

‘I'll find you something stronger.'

‘No – I don't want anything stronger or I won't be able to focus on what needs to be done.'

Mark stood up and smiled. ‘What
needs
to be done is for you to rest and drink some tea,' he advised. ‘We've got some extra nurses now, who have come over from the Army hospital at Berrimah to help, so we need to look after you.'

Mark returned in a few moments and took Cecilia aside to strap up her ribs and immobilise her arm in a sling. He then made her sit beside Poppy to rest and sip some soup.

‘It sounds like most of Darwin is being evacuated, except for men fit for military service,' Mark explained. ‘There are rumours the Japanese might arrive at any time, and we are being told to prepare to evacuate the hospital before dawn, even though many of these men are barely out of the operating theatre.'

Poppy rubbed the grit out of her eyes, trying to concentrate on what her father was saying.

‘They want us to move the patients to the Army hospital, which is already completely full, or evacuate the worst cases on the hospital ship
Manunda
tomorrow. But the nurses said the army hospital was bombed multiple times today as well, and the
Manunda
was bombed twice and has been severely damaged. I want to get you two out of Darwin as soon as possible.'

‘Do you mean the Japanese intentionally bombed both hospitals and the hospital ship?' asked Cecilia.

‘Perhaps they didn't see the huge red crosses painted on our white roof,' Mark replied dryly.

Poppy thought of the Japanese pilot who had tried to machine-gun them down outside the hospital. He must have known they were nurses and wounded patients. She picked up her pearl pendant and twisted it in her fingers.

‘I think the best plan is for you both to get on the next evacuee train if you can or, if not, go south by road to Adelaide River. It's only seventy-odd miles away,' Mark continued. ‘There, you can get on a train south. I wish I could take you, but there are so many wounded and dying men, I have to stay and help them.'

‘But, Mark, I can –' began Cecilia.

‘Cecilia, I know you want to nurse them, too, but now your responsibility is to get Poppy to safety, and look after Daisy and Charlie. I want you to go home, get them both, fetch your bags and head south. It might be a good idea to take my old rifle.'

Cecilia took a deep breath. ‘All right, Poppy. Let's go.'

‘One more thing,' Mark said, in a gentler tone. ‘Apparently, Myilly Point has been badly damaged during the
raids. Many of the houses have been destroyed. I don't know what you'll find at home.'

Poppy caught her breath in pain when she stood – her whole body ached and throbbed. Cecilia and Poppy said their farewells to nurses, orderlies and doctors, both feeling that they were abandoning their colleagues. But the tension in the air was palpable. Everyone was sure it would only be a matter of hours before the Japanese would attack again.

Mark walked them to the entrance of the hospital and hugged them both close.

‘Take care,' he begged. ‘Leave as soon as you can, and try to send me word. I'll feel better when I know you're safe.'

He whispered an aside to Poppy as he kissed her. ‘Poppet, look after your mother. I'm worried about her. Be brave. I love you.'

Together, Cecilia and Poppy hobbled outside into the early evening light. To the west, the harbour was a disaster. Misshapen hulls, still smoking, were partially submerged. Wreckage and vast oil slicks floated on the water. Down on the beach, men were still working to retrieve the bodies washing up on the shore. The gardens around the hospital were decimated with fallen building rubble, wide bomb craters, twisted metal and collapsed walls.

On the short walk back to their house on Myilly Point, they passed several homes that had been destroyed, the water tanks blown onto their sides. In other homes, whose owners had been evacuated, shipwrecked sailors had swum ashore and made temporary camps.

At first glance, their own home appeared intact. Honey sprinted out from under the house and jumped up, her
tail wagging madly as she whimpered. Poppy scooped Honey into her arms and wept for joy to find her alive. Honey wriggled out of her arms and ran into the garden, stopping and turning, whining, as though begging Poppy to follow. Poppy walked along the path after Honey, who bolted off towards the slit trench in the garden, pausing repeatedly to urge Poppy along.

Poppy had a terrible sense of foreboding. ‘Mum!
Mum!
' she called, her voice rising in panic.

Cecilia came running, and together they walked to the slit trench. Honey jumped down into the hole, whimpering. At the bottom, curled up together, were Daisy and Charlie. At first, Poppy thought they were asleep, with Daisy huddled protectively over her baby. Her once-starched, white apron, now soaked with blood, was tucked around him.

‘Daisy!' shrieked Cecilia, her voice filled with panic. ‘Charlie!'

There was no answer.

‘Don't look,' Cecilia cried, pushing Poppy away. ‘Stay back, Poppy. I don't want you to come any closer.' Cecilia dropped into the trench to check the bodies for any sign of life. ‘Poppy, fetch me some blankets, please, darling.'

‘Are they all right?' Poppy begged, crouching down on the ground, her fingers clutched around her pearl.

‘No,' sobbed Cecilia. ‘I'm afraid not. They've been shot by a machine-gun.'

‘
No. No
,' Poppy screamed. ‘Daisy. Charlie.'

Cecilia climbed out and hugged her daughter for many long minutes, both of them sobbing. Poppy felt the grief and panic well up, seizing her throat so that it was so tight she could hardly breathe. She clung tightly to her mother,
shutting her eyes against the terrible sight of the open trench and those limp, lifeless bodies.

‘I can't breathe,' Poppy panted, struggling for tiny gasps of air. ‘I can't breathe.'

Cecilia rubbed her back soothingly. ‘You
can
breathe, darling,' she assured her. ‘Just concentrate on breathing and nothing else.'

Gradually, her chest loosened up and there were no more tears to cry.

‘Come on, Poppy,' urged Cecilia at last, gently mopping Poppy's face with her handkerchief. ‘I want to bury them here. I don't want them to go in the mass grave with everyone else at Kahlin Beach.'

Together they fetched some blankets, which Cecilia wrapped around the bodies, Charlie still clutched tightly in his mother's arms. Poppy ran to Daisy's room to find some little treasure she could bury with them. The room, next to the storerooms and kitchens, was simple and bare, a dark-grey blanket pulled up neatly over the bed.

On the chest was a teddy bear that Poppy had given Charlie for his birthday. She took that and carefully laid it in the grave.