On the wooden deck of the troopship SS Port Lyttelton, as it steamed across a serene Mediterranean Sea in warm spring sunshine, Taz sat with his back to a ventilator, writing a letter. Beside him, Richard was stretched out with his eyes closed, naked to the waist and sunning himself. They’d survived the last months of the war and had celebrated the Armistice on 11 November, followed by boring months in camp before boarding the troopship. Now the 26th Battalion’s survivors were returning home to Australia – with most of them unaware that they were taking an ex-German soldier with them.

‘Got a bit of good news for you, Archibald.’ Ambling up to his two friends with a full canteen of water, Frankie sank down cross-legged on the deck.

‘Where’ve you been, Frankie?’ Taz asked. ‘I thought you were going for water.’

‘I did – via the engine room. I love watching the dirty-great pistons turning over.’ Frankie had developed a fascination with engines. ‘On the way back, at the water tanks, I was talking to a bloke from Rockie.’

‘What is Rockie?’ Richard asked, opening his eyes.

‘Rockhampton, a city in Queensland,’ Taz explained.

‘This bloke was an old school friend of Eager Beaver,’ Frankie continued. He took a sip of water then offered the canteen to the others.

Taz shook his head to the offer. He had a worried look on his face. ‘How did Eager’s name come up?’

‘The bloke from Rockie had heard we’d been in the 52nd and was wondering if I knew Eager. Turns out that Eager went to the 28th Battalion and was killed at St Quentin about a month before the war ended. So there’s no danger of him twigging to who you really are, Archie boy.’ Frankie jabbed Richard good-naturedly in the ribs.

‘One man’s misfortune is another’s good fortune,’ Taz remarked with a sigh.

‘So who are you writing to, Taz?’ Frankie asked.

‘My mother, telling her I’m on my way home. I’ll post it when we land in Brisbane. Have you written to your family yet, Frankie, to tell them you’re alive and coming home to them?’

‘Don’t know yet if I will go home to my family,’ Frankie responded wistfully.

‘What?’ said Richard, surprised. ‘You have a mother, a father, sisters, and you don’t want to see them? I would if I were you.’

Frankie shrugged. ‘I left home on a pretty bad note. Dad and I never got on, and when I left he said to never darken his door again.’

‘But at least let your mother and sisters know you’re alive,’ said Taz. ‘Here . . .’ He held out a blank piece of writing paper. ‘Jot them a note.’

Frankie looked at the piece of paper and flushed red, embarrassed. ‘To tell you the truth, Taz, I’m not all that good at the reading and writing.’

A look of realisation came over Taz’s face. ‘Of course!’ He slapped his knee. ‘In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you read or write – not once. You left school pretty early, didn’t you? But you’ve done a good job of hiding the fact that you can’t read and write all this time.’

‘Yeah, well, you learn a few tricks to camouflage it. I can sign my name and I know a few numbers, but that’s about it.’

‘I will teach you to read and write English, Frankie,’ Richard volunteered, sitting up. ‘On the ship, while we sail to Australia.’

‘You teaching me English?’ Frankie chuckled. ‘That’d be one for the books, mate.’

‘I mean it,’ Richard assured him. ‘I learned English at school in New York. I can read and write it very well. So let me help you, the way you are helping me. Better reading and writing skills will help you get a job back in Australia.’

‘A job?’ Frankie pursed his lips. ‘You know, I was so convinced that I was going to be killed there in Flanders or France, I never gave a thought to what I’d do after the war.’ He looked at Taz, who had resumed scribbling. ‘What about you, Taz? What are you going to do with yourself? Go into the God business, like your old man?’

Taz stopped writing and slowly raised his eyes. ‘After what I’ve witnessed over the past year or so, in the war, I can’t believe that a truly compassionate god would have permitted those horrors to occur. From now on I don’t think I’ll be able to believe in God. I’ll only believe in good – if I can find it any more.

‘So what’ll you do? Work-wise, I mean?’

‘I’d like to write,’ Taz declared. ‘And I like history. Perhaps I’ll write about history.’ He turned to Richard. ‘What about you?’

‘I don’t know,’ Richard confessed. ‘A wise man once told me that I should become a scientist. Perhaps, if it is possible, I will study to become a scientist. But first –’ he looked at Frankie and burst into a smile – ‘I will become an English teacher, here, on this ship. What do you say, Frankie? Will you let me teach you?’

Frankie shrugged. ‘Why not? We’ve got a couple of months to fill. Yeah, I’ll be in it. From now on I’m going to make every day count.’