The Forgotten Pearl (19 page)

The American puffed his chest out, stepping up to the challenge. Poppy thought they looked like two bantam roosters fighting over the kitchen scraps.

‘It's none of your business, buddy,' the American retorted. ‘I was just asking the young lady if she wanted an ice cream.'

Maude stepped back, frightened by the aggression in the two men's stances.

‘It's okay,' Poppy muttered, dragging both Jack and Maude forward by the arms. ‘We have to go.'

Jack put his arm around Poppy's shoulder and drew her away.

‘Can't you see she already has an Aussie sweetheart?' demanded the irate Australian. ‘You Yanks are all the same – over
paid
, over
fed
and over
here
!
'

‘If you Aussies weren't such softies, we wouldn't need to be here covering your backsides,' retorted the American. ‘We're here to save your bacon, buddy.'

The Australian bristled and charged at the American.

Jack stepped towards the soldiers, determined to calm them down. ‘It's okay, fellas. Thanks for your concern, but there's just been a small misunderstanding.'

The American shoved Jack out of the way, swinging a punch at the Australian soldier. Jack stumbled and nearly fell. The Australian retaliated with a blow to the American's nose. The other soldiers swarmed over to protect their friend and pull the two brawlers apart.

‘It's all right, buddy,' soothed another American. ‘He's just had too much to drink and a touch of the sun. Come on, Hank, let's take you home.'

Poppy, Jack and Maude hurried away, feeling quite shaken.

‘I don't feel like a milkshake anymore,' Poppy confessed. ‘Let's go home.'

19

The Apparition

Later that week, Poppy and Maude arrived home from school to find the sitting room crowded with local ladies sitting in a circle, knitting socks, drinking watery tea and gossiping.

Honey whimpered and pranced around on her hind legs, delighted to see the girls again after the long school day. Poppy patted her head, careful not to make too much fuss. Mrs Tibbets had only recently relented and allowed Honey to come inside during the day. If she became too excited, she was banished outside to the garden again to be tied up. At night-time, Poppy would sneak down and let Honey in to curl up and sleep on the foot of her bed.

‘Come in, girls,' Mrs Tibbets said, gesturing welcomingly. ‘There's some hot tea in the pot. Help yourselves. Why don't you join us in knitting a few socks for the lads overseas?'

Poppy and Maude exchanged glances. Poppy hated
knitting, especially boring, khaki socks. She knew Maude hated it, too, and was mentally rolling her eyes in disgust. But both girls smiled dutifully, poured a cup of watery tea and picked up a ball of dull-green wool and some knitting needles.

‘Sorry, we're out of sugar, but there's some honey if you'd like it,' Cecilia invited, smiling sympathetically at the girls.

‘How are you enjoying your new school, Poppy?' asked one of the local ladies. ‘It must be a big change for you going to a proper high school. I sent my Sally away to boarding school in the country. She moans that it's boring, but at least she's
safe
.'

‘Thank you, it's fine,' Poppy replied politely.

Poppy frowned as she concentrated on the rhythm of the knitting, swearing under her breath as she dropped a stitch and had to waste minutes trying to unpick it. While Maude hated knitting, her stitches were neat and dainty, producing perfect ribbed socks.

‘Bert says we should move away from the coast – it's too dangerous,' said Mrs Morris, her needles flying. ‘If the Japanese invade Sydney, Manly would be a prime landing spot. I have a sister who lives in the Blue Mountains, so I think we might move there for a few months.'

Maude passed around the platter of dry, tasteless scones. It was hard to make a good scone with margarine. The knitting needles clicked and clacked rhythmically.

‘It might not be too dreadful if the Japanese invaded,' replied another older woman, who lived in one of the original grand mansions on the ridge. ‘It would stop these awful shortages, and at least that might solve the servant problem. I hear the Japanese make excellent men-of-all-work.'

Poppy had to pretend to sneeze to repress a guffaw. Cecilia glanced at Poppy warningly.

‘Mrs Gibbs, I don't think the Japanese who invade will be interested in becoming servants,' reproved Mrs Tibbets. ‘I think they might be more interested in taking over your beautiful house and making
you
the servant.'

‘Oh,' Mrs Gibbs replied. ‘Of course . . . I mean . . . Well, I'm sure it won't come to that – our boys will teach them a lesson they won't forget in a hurry.'

Poppy thought about the steady Japanese advance through Malaya, Singapore and the Dutch East Indies. It didn't sound like they would be easy to defeat at all. She put aside her knitting, finished her cup of tea and dry scone, then rose to leave. ‘I have some study I have to do for school,' she explained. ‘We have a Latin test tomorrow.'

‘Latin?' asked Mrs Morris. ‘Wouldn't you be better off learning sewing and cooking? Perhaps a little typing? You'll need to know how to manage a household when you're married.'

Poppy and Maude glanced at each other. Poppy's mouth twitched in a little smile.

‘At our school, girls are expected to perform just as well scholastically as boys,' Maude replied. ‘Our headmistress believes girls are capable of tackling anything they set their minds to.'

The two visiting ladies glanced at each other. Mrs Morris coughed.

‘My, what strange notions they teach girls at school these days,' said Mrs Morris. ‘I'm glad my daughter's school doesn't teach them such nonsense. She's being educated to make a fine wife and mother.'

‘Don't worry, Maude,' Mrs Gibbs assured her. ‘This war will be over in a couple of years, and you'll be keen to marry a nice young man, keep house and raise a big family.'

The weather started to turn colder. During the week, Poppy's life was a busy whirl of school, sport and homework, helping in the house and garden, knitting and weaving camouflage nets. On the weekend, she had more free time to take Honey for walks along the beach, meet Jack and Maude to go to the cinema or hang out at Burt's Cafe, drinking icy-cold, frothy chocolate milkshakes.

Cecilia was thrilled because Poppy soon caught up with her other classmates and managed to top her class in her English test.

In late May, early one Friday evening, Poppy was walking Honey west along Addison Road when she saw a young boy, about seven years old, who lived in a block of flats there. He was playing fighter pilots, zooming and droning up and down the patch of lawn. Poppy often saw him on her walks and stopped to chat.

‘Hello, Ian,' Poppy called. ‘Glad it's the weekend?'

Ian stopped swooping and bent to stroke Honey, who promptly rolled over and offered her tummy for a tickle.

‘Sure am,' he replied, obligingly scratching Honey's belly. ‘Mum says we can go to the cinema tomorrow afternoon if I get all my chores done.'

Poppy heard a low droning coming from the north-east. Ian stopped scratching Honey's tummy, distracted by the
sound of the plane. Honey pawed his hand. When Ian still ignored her, she jumped up on her hind legs and begged, paws pressed together in supplication.

‘Oh, Honey,' Poppy complained, ‘you are such an actress. Ian doesn't want to pat you anymore.'

The sound of the plane drew closer. Poppy scanned the sky. From the garden's elevated position, she and Ian had a close view of a bottle-green seaplane flying close to the ground, nearly skimming the trees with its fat, boat-shaped floats. It was only about one hundred and fifty metres away from them.

‘That plane's flying unusually low,' Poppy observed.

‘It sounds different, too,' Ian added, his brow furrowed in concentration. Poppy remembered that Ian, although only seven, was a passionate plane-spotter. He could rattle off the make and type of almost any aeroplane passing overhead, and his greatest ambition in life was to be a fighter pilot when he grew up.

‘I wonder what it's doing?' asked Poppy. ‘It looks like some kind of war manoeuvre.'

Ian shook his head. The plane continued heading south-west and was quickly out of sight.

‘It's not one of ours,' Ian decided firmly.

‘Maybe it's American,' suggested Poppy nonchalantly, not really caring one way or the other.

Ian shook his head again more certainly.

‘No, it's definitely not American,' replied Ian.

‘Oh.' Poppy shrugged her shoulders and picked up Honey's lead, preparing to continue her walk.

‘I think it's a Japanese float plane.'

Poppy felt like Ian had punched her in the stomach. ‘Japanese?' she cried. ‘Are you sure? How could a Japanese plane get all the way down here?'

‘I don't know, but we better tell someone,' Ian replied over his shoulder as he sprinted towards the flats. Poppy followed at a slower pace.

‘Mum, Mum,' Ian yelled. ‘I just saw a Japanese plane.'

Ian's mother came running out the front door, wiping her hands on her floral apron.

‘
What?
'

‘A Japanese float plane just flew by, heading towards Sydney Harbour,' Ian insisted.

‘Are you sure?' asked his mother, her voice raised with anxiety.

‘Yes, it definitely wasn't one of ours.' Ian's mother glanced at Poppy, frowning. Poppy shrugged – she had no way of knowing whether the plane was an ally or a foe.

Ian's mother paused, pondering what to do. ‘Let's go and see the army sergeant next door,' she suggested.

The army sergeant was obviously looking forward to a relaxing night at home. He opened the door with his collar open, shirt sleeves rolled up and slippers on his feet.

‘Sorry to disturb you, sergeant, but Ian thinks he just saw a Japanese plane flying low over the harbour.'

The sergeant looked at the young boy before him and smiled. ‘Now, Ian,' he began kindly, ‘I know you love planes, but I think your imagination must have been playing tricks on you. It's absolutely impossible for you
to have seen a Japanese plane. An enemy aircraft would require a Japanese-occupied airstrip, and there's not one of those for thousands of miles. A Japanese plane would never make it this far.'

Ian straightened his shoulders and looked the army sergeant in the eye. ‘Or a Japanese aircraft carrier, or even a submarine,' he insisted.

‘Yes, yes,' agreed the sergeant impatiently, ‘but our defences would detect a Japanese vessel long before it came close to Sydney. It must have been an American plane.'

Ian pouted and shook his head. ‘It was a low-wing float plane, very unusual looking, with a radial engine. It didn't look or sound like any plane I've ever seen before.'

The sergeant sighed and glanced at Ian's mother, then at Poppy.

‘Did you see it?' he asked Poppy.

‘Yes, it was bottle-green.'

‘Do you think it was a Japanese aircraft?' asked the sergeant.

Poppy thought back to the Zero fighter planes she had seen in Darwin, with their distinctive rising suns painted on the underside of the wings, dropping those lethal silver bombs. She shuddered at the memory, her stomach clenched in fear.

‘I . . . I don't know,' she admitted. ‘I didn't see any identity markings.'

‘It was Japanese,' Ian insisted. ‘I'm sure of it.'

The sergeant sighed once more and clapped Ian on the shoulder. ‘Okay, son,' he said. ‘Thanks for telling me. I'll look into it.'

Ian, his mother and Poppy said their thank-yous and goodbyes. Poppy continued her walk with Honey, her eyes following the path the mysterious plane had flown.

It was now nearly dark and, from the top of the hill, she could see the harbour spread out below, dotted with strings of navigational lights. On the southern side, houses glowed, golden and welcoming, and the horizon gleamed with lights from the city and naval dockyards beyond Middle Harbour.

It's so beautiful
, thought Poppy.
Could it really have been an enemy reconnaissance plane scouting over Sydney? Could the Japanese really be so close?

She shuddered, pulling her collar up around her ears, and hurried home in the darkness.