Wallgrove Camp, New South Wales, Australia—1964
Jack detrained at the Rooty Hill railway station. There were about fifty men in his detachment, under the command of a second lieutenant. This officer ordered his sergeant to form up the men in a column of three. Apparently, they were to march to the camp, a distance of several miles. It was early afternoon and very hot.
“Bloody hell,” someone said, “they should have some trucks.”
“Silence in the ranks,” shouted the sergeant.
The man next to Jack said, “Bugger me, what sort of a prick is that sergeant?”
“A prick with three stripes,” said another unknown voice, “don’t argue with the bastard.”
The sergeant began to march up and down the lines yelling abuse and threatening every one with defaulters, whatever that meant. They moved off, kitbags on shoulders. While some had been in the Regiment for a few months and knew basic drill, others had only just joined. They moved down the road like wounded stragglers. Finally, the camp came into sight. They were marched to a parade ground and ordered to wait. The commanding officer was about to address them. They put their kitbags down and sat on them; some lay down and used their kitbags for pillows. They waited. An hour later, they were still waiting. The sun beat down, the heat increased. They waited. They had no water and some of the pale city type recruits began to become red in the face. Heat exhaustion was not far off. They waited.
Then there was frenetic activity, NCOs shouting, jerking them back to reality. They formed up in a shambolic parade-like order. Several of the men had gone to sleep on their kitbags; they were rounded up for defaulters, whatever that meant. Out in front of the gathering, a fat officer climbed up onto a dais near the flagpole, accompanied by the second lieutenant, the Sergeant from the railway station, and four tough looking corporals. “Men,” he began, “you are about to undergo recruit training. The next three weeks will be the worst three weeks of your life. Reveille will be at 0500. You will have fifteen minutes to shower and shave. If you are late, you will be on defaulters. If you do not shave properly, you will be on defaulters. If you are incorrectly dressed, you will be on defaulters. If you fuck up any orders we give you, you will be on defaulters. If you are in breach of the Code of Military Law, you will be on defaulters. In fact, it will be the intent of my staff to make sure you are on defaulters every day. By the end of your time here, you will be the fittest, meanest, most efficient soldiers in the Australian army. You will hate me, you will hate my staff, and you will want to kill us. However, in three weeks, you will thank us, because we will have transformed you into the best soldiers in the world—infantry of the Australian Army. You will, at all times, move around this camp at the double. Good luck!”
“Hey, mate,” said someone in the front row. “What’s this bloody defaulters caper?”
The officer swelled up like a bullfrog and went purple in the face. “Sergeant, take that man’s name. You, soldier, are to address me only when spoken to. You will always address me as Sir. Do I make myself clear?”
“’I s’pose so. Anyway, what’s defaulters?”
“You are about to find out, private, in a most unpleasant way. Corporal Rodgers, take defaulters’ parade!”
The corporal saluted, “Yes sir! On my command, defaulters fall in here on my mark. Move it!” The sleepers and the unfortunate man who had asked the question were marched away at double time. The fat officer turned over the parade to his lieutenant and waddled away towards the officers’ mess.
While the defaulters were marched away to their fate, the corporals split them into four groups and allocated each group to a hut. The hut commanders were the corporals. Jack was in hut C under the command of Corporal Brennan. Brennan, away from the attention of officers and sergeant, relaxed. He addressed them in an informal group. “That fat captain is a pompous arsehole. The second looey doesn’t have a clue. The Sergeant is okay, but do not fuck with him. I will be here to instruct you and monitor you. You will be clean and attentive at all times, you will work hard, and you will keep this hut and your equipment in first class order. You will depend on me. I hope I can depend on you. Now fall in outside for quartermaster’s parade!”
They were marched to a large building a few hundred yards away, and issued with bedding, field equipment, steel helmets, bayonets, webbing and ammunition pouches, and an SLR. “Your weapon is your new girlfriend now,” said the corporal. “Treat her better than all the others. You must remember the serial number and repeat it whenever an NCO or officer asks for it, or you will be on defaulters.” Thus encumbered, they were marched back to their hut and dismissed. They found the mess hall and had a meal, then went to their rooms to unpack, make beds, and clean up their equipment. Jack looked around him. I don’t think all these blokes will make it, he thought. Some of them look buggered already.
* * * *
The next day the hard work began. At 0500, a bugle called reveille, rudely awakening the whole camp. The corporals dashed through their huts, beating against the walls with cries of “Wakey, wakey, hands off cocks and on to socks!” Fifteen minutes is not much time when you are jostling with twenty others for space in the ablutions block. They double marched to the mess hall. To their surprise, a very good breakfast was available, gulped down in fifteen minutes. Almost before they knew it, they lined up outside their huts, bullied by the corporals into some semblance of order. They formed up in three rows.
The sergeant appeared from the sergeants’ mess. He looked relaxed and well fed. Apparently, he had had more than fifteen minutes to have his breakfast. The sergeant called them to attention. The fat captain waddled across from his accommodation, returned the sergeant’s salute and began to inspect the parade. At every soldier, he stopped and subjected him to close scrutiny. He found a litany of faults, a button undone, a poor shave—“We don’t have beards in the army, soldier!”—dirty boots, chinstrap buckle in the wrong position, incomplete clothing, inattention, dirty rifle, etc. etc. Any transgressions resulted in an addition to the Defaulters’ Parade. This punishment consisted of running around the camp perimeter with full battle equipment, steel helmet, and rifle at the high port. The camp, built in 1940 to house a Division of fifteen thousand had a long perimeter.
Drill, and drill, and drill took up the first day. Without rifles, they learned how to form up, how to march in step, how to dress by the right, how to stand at attention, stand at ease, and to stand easy. Drill took up most of the week, with or without rifles. Jack was getting tired of it, and even more tired of some of his fellows who just did not seem to get it.
Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1964
Susan still felt wonderful. She was not showing yet, but she was aware of the growing child. Grow away little one, your mommy and your daddy love you so. Soon you will be with us. We will see our new home and meet our new family. She thought constantly of Jack. My love, be careful and come back to us. I love you and we need you.
She had told no one. She wanted to confide in Sarah, but was not confident she would keep it from Marci. Jack had said they would tell her as soon as he came back from the army. There were only a couple of weeks to go now.
* * * *
Marci was on the verge of a breakdown, but she had laid her plans well. It was all in train. She knew she had to remain strong to keep her family together. In her anxiety, she did not realise that her actions would drive her daughters away and expose her son to a bloody, vicious, guerrilla war. Her plan was to drive straight to Sydney and catch the Honolulu flight. She had told Sarah they were going home. Sarah protested that John wanted to marry her. Marci was adamant. “You will come with me. You are still a minor. If John still wants you, after six months, he can come to America and marry you, but you won’t come back to Australia.”
“Oh Momma,” cried Sarah, “That is too much to ask of him.”
“Well, it will be a good test of how much he wants you, won’t it? If he doesn’t come, the answer is obvious, isn’t it?”
Sarah could not argue the logic of this, but she was heartbroken. As for Jimbo, Marci was now the only constant in his life; he had nowhere else to go.
* * * *
A week after Jack had set off for Wallgrove, Marci set her plans in action. She produced a typewritten letter she said had come from Helen. She thrust it at Susan. “Here, read this,” she cried angrily. Susan took it from her:
Dear Mrs. Baker
I am sorry to have to send this letter, but I must set things straight. I will never agree to Susan marrying Jack. After due consideration, I feel that she will not fit in here at Ballinrobe. I would prefer that Jack remain single until he has completed his studies, and then marry an Australian girl, a local, who will know what is expected of a farmer’s wife. Jack has accepted this and has promised me that he will abide by my wishes. He does not want to see Susan again.
Helen Riordan
Susan read the letter with dread filling the pit of her stomach. “Momma,” she said, “This cannot be true. It’s a lie. Helen doesn’t have a typewriter. Helen loves me, she wants me to marry Jack; she has spoken of nothing else. Jack loves me. Wait until he comes back and he’ll tell you. We will get married even if you forbid it; we will live together and as soon as I am twenty-one we will be married. Jack loves me…Jack loves me…Jack loves me…Her voice trailed off and she began to weep bitterly.
“I’m afraid there will be no time for that. We are leaving here tomorrow, and we will be home in Worcester in a week. I have told Sarah and I will tell you. Jack Riordan will not marry you unless he is prepared to come to America to do so.” Susan looked at her mother with disbelief and revulsion. “You can’t, you can’t; it’s my life, not yours.”
“I can and I will. You are not of legal age and you must obey me. Tomorrow we leave.”
“Oh, Momma, I can’t leave Jack. I am having his baby!”
Marci was not surprised. “You little tramp! What did I say would happen? Why have you defied me all this time? You most certainly cannot have anything to do with that boy again; he has used you; he has despoiled you; you can never see him again.”
“I must, I must. He loves me and he loves our baby. Oh, Momma, can you not see? Can you not see how happy we have been?”
“You cannot. I forbid you to contact him. There is no longer a phone in this house and we are leaving first thing in the morning. I have packed your bags and I have thrown away all those revealing clothes and that disgusting underwear. Now go to bed. We have an early start.” In her room, Susan and Sarah lay sobbing together. How could their mother treat them this way? How could she be so cruel? They sobbed for hours, finally drifting into an uneasy sleep.
In the morning, Marci bundled the two weeping girls and a very confused Jimbo into the car and drove away, away from the city that had brought her such grief. On the journey, she did not leave the girls alone for a moment, even accompanying them to the restrooms. Next day, as their flight lifted off, Susan felt her baby move. Oh, my baby, she thought, are you sad at leaving your country, is your spirit being torn away from that magical place, our thinking place? She made a vow to herself and her unborn child and to Jack that she would return.
She cried for most of the way to Honolulu.
Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1964
Dear Mrs. Riordan
I am sorry to have to send this letter, but I must set things straight. I will never agree to Susan marrying Jack. After due consideration, I feel that she would be foolish to marry an Australian. She would be too far away from her family. Susan will be returning to the United States very soon. She has accepted this, and has promised me that she will abide by my wishes. She does not want to see Jack again.
Marci Baker
Helen looked up from the letter in her hand, tears blurring her vision. How could this be? She loved Susan as a mother loves a daughter. Jack and Susan were so happy! She must hear this from Susan’s own mouth. She hurried to the telephone. The Baker’s telephone did not answer. Lil’s telephone did not answer. What could she do? Jack would be home soon. He would sort this stupid situation out.
Meanwhile, on the tenth day of November, Australia announced that the 1st Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment, would be sent to combat duty in the Republic of South Vietnam. This decision and subsequent ones would cost billions of dollars and more than five hundred young Australian lives.
Wallgrove Camp, New South Wales, Australia—1964
Jack was worried. He had tried to phone Susan a dozen times from the pay phone in the mess hall. All he could get was the ‘number disconnected’ signal. He begged the orderly room clerk for permission to use the company phone. He got the same result. He phoned Bernadette, but Aunt Lil and her family had gone to Sydney for an extended holiday and no one answered. He phoned his mother, but storms had brought trees down on the phone line and he could not get through. He had written several letters to Susan. There were no replies.
The recruit course went on. Every morning, they paraded, and then men and their huts were subjected to thorough inspection. Petty offences became capital crimes. Every afternoon, men marched off to Defaulters’ Parade. In the second week, the firearms lessons and the shooting ranges were of much more interest to Jack. They fired their rifles in a full range shoot at man-sized targets. Mostly, they missed. In order to be accurate, its owner must zero a rifle and none of these rifles was, since they were not on permanent issue as a personal weapon. Jack was disappointed at his result. The range officer said, “Private Riordan, have you even hit the bloody thing?” There was a mess of torn target in the bottom right. The range officer threw it away in disgust. Jack said, “Hold on a minute sir, let me have a look.”
There in the corner were six holes, so close together it looked as if it was a single large hole punched through the target. Jack took it to the range officer. “Look, sir, I hit it with every shot, the rifle is off. It’s shooting low and to the right.” The officer looked at the target then at Jack and repeated his father’s words of long ago. “Bugger me, how did you do that?” he said. “You’ve shot a perfect group!”
Training continued. They learned how to break down and reassemble a GPMG M60. When they could do it in the regulation time, they wore blindfolds and learned to do it in the dark. They did the same with their rifles. They were introduced to the Browning 9mm pistol, and the Owen Machine Carbine. They learned the different grenades, M26, Smoke, and White Phosphorus, a fearful weapon, nicknamed ‘Willie Pete’ and they learned how to use them. All the time, the drilling and marching went on. They went everywhere at the double, they force-marched twenty miles, and then did a cross-country night march to test their map reading and navigation. They learned about the use of field radios and voice procedure. They learned basic first-aid.
Every afternoon, the defaulters marched off at the double. However, there were fewer of them every day now. When the change started it was barely noticeable, but within a day or two, the members of C Company, 2nd Recruit Battalion, had become soldiers. They presented immaculately, their drill was perfect, and they passed their weapons assessments and were fiercely proud of their status as Australian soldiers, entitled to wear the distinctive slouch hat.
Before leaving Wallgrove, Jack received a summons from the orderly room. Major McIntosh wanted to see him. He entered the orderly room and saluted the officer of the day; “wait,” said the officer. Soon the company clerk told him to go to the major’s office. Jack entered and saluted.
“At ease private,” said the major. “I have been reading the individual efficiency reports from your course. Your instructors report that you performed more than creditably. I have promoted you to corporal, effective immediately. You will attend the senior NCOs course in May next year and report back here for the next recruits’ course in December, where you will be the senior firearms instructor. Well done!”
Bugger me, thought Jack. Corporal Brennan was not such a bad bloke after all! He left the orderly room filled with pride. His main concern now was to get back to Armidale to find Susan. Where in hell was she? They had never been out of touch for so long. He hurried to his hut to pack up. However, he still had to complete the Q-store Parade. One of the great mysteries of army life was the Quartermaster’s Store. Hell, they even had a ribald marching song about it. When returning items to the store, all of them had to be folded correctly, packed in the approved manner, complete in every respect, and clean. However, when items were drawn from the store they were usually unfolded, half-packed, incomplete, and dirty. Consequently, returning took longer than drawing. Jack waited impatiently for his turn. The soldier in front of him in the line had lost an entrenching tool and was completing what seemed at least a dozen forms. Finally, he got his turn, and in addition, drew an issue of the insignia of his new rank, and then he almost ran to the transport pool, just catching a lift to the railway station. He wished he had been able to bring his ute to the camp. Now, he faced a long convoluted train ride to Armidale.
Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1964
The journey home was interminable. Jack couldn’t sleep. At eight in the morning, he arrived in Armidale, found his ute in the station car park, and hurried to Susan’s house. There was no VW in the driveway, no lights showing. He hammered on the door. There was no answer. He went around to the back of the house and got the same result. He pounded on the door, calling her name repeatedly. The next-door neighbour leaned over the fence, watching curiously. “Hey, Digger,” he called. “Them Yanks is gone, mate. Left a coupla weeks ago.”
“Where did they go? Did they say anything?”
“Dunno, mate, they never said nothin’ to me.”
Reluctantly, he returned to his car. Then he noticed for the first time a sign that said, ‘For Lease. Contact Highlands Real Estate’. Highlands Real Estate had an office on Main Street. It was closed. Jack went to a café for coffee and breakfast. He crossed the street again. The office was still closed, but there were lights on and he could see a woman inside. He knocked loudly. She ignored him. He pounded on the door. With a look of annoyance, the woman came and opened the door. She was middle-aged, heavily made up, and looked as if she regarded customers as annoying pests, ever ready to spoil her day. “We’re closed,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
Jack pushed his way past her into the office, despite her protests. “Where have the Bakers gone, tell me!”
“If you continue on in that vein, I’ll get the police to throw you out. I can’t tell you confidential things about our clients anyway.”
Jack took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry…” He looked at her name badge. “Mrs. Franz, I’m in a bind. My fiancé lived in that house. I must know where she is, I must.”
He was such a good-looking boy, she thought, and he looked all-in with worry, close to tears. “I don’t know,” she said, feeling sorry for him. “They left the house a couple of weeks ago. Mrs. Baker said there was no need to leave a forwarding address.”
Jack stumbled from the office in a daze. What had happened? Where were they? Who would know?” Bernadette...She would know. He sped off for Aunt Lil’s house. There was nobody home. He drove out to the university. In the registrar’s office, he asked about Susan’s enrolment for next year. They told him they could not disclose students’ confidential information. It was a dead end. What else could he do? He racked his brains, who...who...who would know? Then he remembered Professor McKenzie. He hurried to the zoology department and asked reception if he could see him.
“Professor McKenzie is in a meeting. If you come back after lunch, say around two this afternoon, he may be able to see you.” Two seemed like days away. When he returned, the receptionist offered him an appointment in thirty minutes. The young woman on duty looked at him. She saw a handsome young soldier. He looked strained, exhausted, at a breaking point. Her heart moved. “Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?” she said.
He looked pathetically grateful. “Thank you; that would be nice.”
* * * *
Professor McKenzie remembered him at once, and greeted him with congratulations. “Well done, young Riordan, you scored well in zoology.” Jack vaguely remembered his examinations. They seemed part of another, distant, life. He mumbled a reply.
“Now,” Mackenzie said, “What can I do for you?”
“I can’t find the Bakers. Do you know where they are?”
A furtive look came into McKenzie’s eyes. “I’m afraid I really can’t say.”
“But you know, don’t you? Why don’t you tell me?”
McKenzie would not meet his gaze. “I can’t,” he said. “I made a promise.”
Jack pleaded. “Professor, you must tell me what you know. Susan and I intended to marry. She is going to have my baby, for Christ’s sake!”
This time there was genuine surprise on his face. He looked at the boy. He had been a good student, and he liked him. God, he thought, how terrible for him, how terrible! Mackenzie was a kind man. He remembered meeting Jack at dinner. He remembered his wife remarking on his relationship with Susan Baker. “I wish Ellie could find a boy like that,” she had said. Now, he was going to deceive this young man. No, damn it, he thought, I cannot send him away with nothing. He looked straight at Jack. “They have gone back to the United States. They left here two weeks ago. I can tell you no more than that. This conversation is over. Goodbye, Mr. Riordan. Good luck to you.”
* * * *
John Starr, he thought. What happened between John and Sarah? What did he know? He did not know where John lived, so he went to the restaurant and found Tony Starr in his kitchen. “Aren’t you the young bloke that used to go out with Susan Baker?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “I’ve just been told the family left town. Is that right?”
“So John says.”
“Can I speak with him, please?”
“He’s at home at the moment. He’s having a bad time of it.” He thought for a minute, looking at Jack. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. He needs to talk to someone. I’ll give him a ring and tell him you’re coming.”
The Starrs lived on the other side of town. Jack knocked on the door; John’s mother opened it. “Come in,” she said. “He’s in his room; I’ll take you there.”
John Starr looked frightened. “I can’t tell you anything. If I do, I will never see Sarah again. She made me promise to say nothing to you.”
“Do you know where they have gone?”
…Silence.
“Why won’t you tell me? Tell me damn you, tell me! My whole life depends on it!”
…Silence.
Jack walked over to John, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “Tell me you little prick, or I’ll beat it out of you!”
…Silence.
Jack dropped him in disgust. This boy was terrified of something, but it was not Jack Riordan. He wondered what Marci had said to him.
* * * *
He drove back to Robb College, despondent, broken hearted. He stuffed some things into his car and headed for Goondiwindi. It was late at night when he arrived at Ballinrobe. His mother came to the door, surprised to see him. She looked at him; she saw the fatigue, the sadness, the shock. “Jack, whatever is the matter? You look awful!”
He fell into her arms. “Mum,” he said, “Mum, it’s Susan. She is gone. I cannot find her. Oh God, I can’t find her.”