April 1946
Amelia leaned against the rail of the ship, the salty air kissing her cheeks. The bow sliced through the calm waters of the Huon Gulf as the sun rose above the Rawlinson Range. A trickle of sweat dripped from her brow; she’d have to get used to the wet, sticky heat again. A pod of dolphins leapt out of the glassy sea. She laughed – a full body laugh that helped to settle her churning stomach – and hoped it was sign: how some things never lose their magic.
The towering peaks of the Herzog and Saruwaged ranges that lined the Markham Valley remained lush and verdant, exactly as they were when Amelia last saw them. She shuddered to think of Daniel climbing those ranges – some twelve thousand feet – when the Allies chased the Japanese out of Salamaua and Lae, before advancing further north to Finschhafen and Madang. He’d written about it over the past three years; his letters had arrived every week as promised. She wrote back, first informing him of the falling-out with her parents, then how she’d secured a position with the RAAF’s air evacuation unit stationed at Morotai.
His latest letter had informed Amelia that he’d been discharged from the PIB, or the Pacific Islands Regiment as they were now called, and was returning to Lae. He wanted to start an airline and had bought a small plane with some gold he’d found when he was on the Lakekamu. When he asked if she’d consider coming back, Amelia did everything she could to seek approval from the Australian Government to return to New Guinea and had secured a passage on the Ormiston – the first ship carrying the civilians who’d been allowed back to the territories. She’d written to tell him of her arrival date, but there hadn’t been time to wait for a reply. She didn’t know if he’d be there to greet her when the ship docked. But it didn’t matter; she was getting what she wanted after all these years, and while she didn’t know what was ahead, she was determined to make a life back in New Guinea – her own life, on her own terms.
As the ship pulled into Voco Point, she leaned even further over the rail, joining the other women as they searched the faces of the men who were there to meet them. These men were mostly discharged Australian soldiers who had gone straight back to Lae after the war ended, straight back to the place they all held dear to their hearts. She’d been polite to the women on their journey up, several of them being former acquaintances of her mother, but left it at that, wary of falling back into old habits. The women burst into tears as they spotted their husbands, running into their arms as they disembarked. Amelia waited for the crowds to clear, for the husbands to sweep their wives and families away to what was left of their former lives, before she slowly stepped onto the gangway, single case in hand. She paused to look out across Voco Point, towards Lunaman Hill and beyond, at what was left of Lae.
The detritus of the Japanese occupation littered the foreshores, and further out, directly opposite the airstrip, the bow of a Japanese freighter rose out of the sea at an acute angle. On land, the Cecil Hotel, the houses that once sat beneath the hill and the family house she once called home had been swallowed by the sunken craters that were now scattered about, the buildings replaced with makeshift tents and marquees that’d serviced the Army. Lae was a dilapidated version of its former self, the ruins of war devastating. She’d heard the stories – and couldn’t even imagine how she’d feel when she got to Salamaua, having been told the town had been flattened out of recognition – but to see it in real life, to witness the utter fall of her former world was shocking. Her old life really was gone.
Amelia suddenly felt faint. She steadied herself on the rail of the gangway, breathing in the warm air. The familiar scent of frangipani floated in the breeze. She smiled. Lae was still there. Underneath the rubble its natural beauty prevailed. Everything else could be rebuilt. She smoothed down the front of her khaki trousers, lifted her chin and walked the length of the jetty, heart accelerating.
She took a final look at the men who lingered, searching for a single face, that last remaining connection to her past, the familiarity she refused to give up. Her shoulders slumped and chest constricted when she couldn’t find it – until, out of the corner of the eye, she saw a glimpse of the dimpled cheeks that’d stolen her heart, the boyish grin that’d forever be hers.
She’d finally made it home.
Em Tasol