Gibber’s Creek Gazette, 24 January 1943
Victory at Guadalcanal: Allies Retake Solomon Islands
In a stunning victory, Allied forces have retaken the Japanese garrison at Guadalcanal. According to Colonel Angus ‘Mattie’ Matherson (retired), of Skye Station via Gibber’s Creek: ‘This gives the Allies a base from which they can take Japanese stronghold Rabaul. If the Japanese thought they’d crippled America at Pearl Harbor, this victory shows them they were wrong.’
GIBBER’S CREEK, 24 JANUARY 1943
MICHAEL
Michael sat in the armchair in his father’s office often, partly flattered by his father’s need for his company, partly disturbed. He had been at school through the worst of his father’s recovery from his stroke. He’d assumed that his parents were ageless. But he and Jim were his father’s second family — their half-sister, Anna, was down in Melbourne, married to a banker, neither of whom had enough of a taste for country life for them to holiday at Drinkwater. Dad was in his sixties now; and Abercrombie, his foreman for decades, was like Mr Fothergill back at school — past retiring age and still working only because of the war.
For the first time Michael realised that there would come a time when he was the protector of his parents, not the other way around. And earlier than for lots of the chaps because his parents had been older than most when they’d had himself and Jim. Not yet, perhaps, or never entirely. But today, at least, his father relied on him enough to delay his going back to school.
What would Dad think, he wondered, if I suddenly told him: I want to leave school now? Work at Drinkwater till I’m old enough to join the AIF …
A sharp rap at the door interrupted him.
‘Come in.’
George Green was tall with light brown hair and blue eyes. He still looked pale. According to his landlady, he had been ill with bronchitis since before Christmas. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
‘Sit down.’
George sat on a hard chair opposite the desk. ‘Is there a problem with the trials for my new secondary valve? I thought the results were good.’
‘No. Not about the valve. Mr Green, I won’t beat about the bush. Your family name is Grünberg, isn’t it? Not Green.’
A moment’s stillness. The man looked from his boss to Michael, then back again. ‘It used to be Grünberg,’ he said carefully. ‘My grandfather changed it to Green at the start of the last war. But we are loyal Australians.’
‘Ah.’ His father seemed slightly flummoxed by the man’s evident sincerity in the last statement.
‘But what does being a loyal Australian mean?’ asked Michael. This matters, he thought. The Nazis lumped anyone who wasn’t white, and a certain kind of white at that, together as enemies of the state or even as sub-human. We are better than that. Aren’t we?
‘I suppose … doing what’s best for your country.’
‘Australia is your country?’
‘Yes.’
That sounded honest too, thought Michael. But there was another tone beneath the words.
‘What do you think is the best future for Australia then?’
Another pause. ‘You know I’ve been to Germany then.’
Michael nodded. His father said, ‘Yes.’
‘I won’t pretend to you. Hitler’s done a lot that I admire. National socialism — it’s good for workers to have a say in how the factory in which they work is governed. The Jews have too much power, and the old guard too. Those who inherited money or position, but who didn’t earn it.’ Michael wondered if he was imagining the hint of a German accent now.
‘You would like to see this for Australia?’
‘I should lie, and say no. But, yes, I would. The socialists say every man is as good as another. National socialists say that is nonsense. You know it is nonsense. Why should a man of intelligence, or education, have no more say than a fool who drinks his pay? But that is the system we have now.’
‘You admit you’re a Nazi?’ Thomas Thompson’s face showed his horror. ‘Well, you can get out. Now.’
‘No,’ said Michael. ‘Dad, please. George isn’t saying that, are you?’
‘No. I am being honest. You wanted honesty. I could have told you I want none of these things. But I want Australia to choose them, not because a foreign power says we must. I don’t want German overlords here, nor Japanese ones. You think I’m a spy for Germany? No. Never. I love this country as much as you. I want the best for it. And when your country is at war, you do your best for it. As I do my best here.’ He looked at his boss now. ‘How much overtime have I put in and never charged for? How often have I come in with new designs on a Monday, after working during the weekend? Even when I was sick I was sketching, planning.’
‘And your ham radio?’ Thomas kept his voice neutral.
‘I handed it in, like all the others. You can ask the police to search. I expect you will. They will find nothing.’ There was slight contempt in his voice now.
No spy would hide a transmitter in his own home, thought Michael. Not with a thousand miles of bush to hide it in. ‘You like to walk on the weekends?’
George looked at him warily. ‘Is that a crime? Yes, I like bushwalking. It keeps me fit. Helps me to think. I haven’t been for a walk since I was sick though.’
Michael exchanged a glance with his father. His father nodded slightly, as if to say, up to you.
‘Mr Green, what would you say if we told you that you have been accused of being a spy for Nazi Germany? But rather than report you to the police — as probably we should do — instead we are offering you the chance to go back to Rocky Valley. To work at the Macks’ farm.’
‘Digging potatoes? I’d say you are a fool. Both of you. Your factory needs me. Our country needs me. It needs the new valve I’m working on too. I’m an engineer, not a potato farmer. Australia has all the potato farmers it needs, but not enough engineers.’
His face was flushed. From anger, thought Michael, then realised that it was humiliation. George Green was his valley’s success story, along with Joseph McAlpine, the only two in their community to go to university and work with more than their hands. For the first time Michael accepted finishing school as a privilege, one that he would be stupid to turn down. Now George Green would be returning to dig potatoes.
And Australia desperately needed engineers.
‘How about this then?’ suggested Michael slowly. ‘You say you are working on a new valve. No, don’t tell me more,’ he added, as the man began to speak again. ‘I don’t need to know about it.’ Nor would I understand it, he thought. Jim, with his love of all things mechanical, should be doing this. ‘Can you work on it at Rocky Valley?’
The man still looked at him warily. ‘Yes. I have tools at home. I can work on the design there. If I have to.’
‘Then tell your family part of the truth. Tell them that for security reasons you need to work on this valve of yours away from the factory. Say there is a danger of security breaches here. We’ll pay, say, half your salary.’ He looked at his father. ‘Is that OK, Dad?’
His father nodded.
‘But you’ll also dig potatoes, or whatever else is needed.’ And Sandy and all the others can keep an eye on you, he thought. Put one foot out of line — try sneaking away to transmit messages — and you’ll find you have as many eyes on you as a flock of cockatoos.
The young man considered it. ‘I’ve no choice,’ he said at last.
‘No,’ said Thomas Thompson. ‘Under the circumstances we have been generous. We don’t want to see you or your family interned unnecessarily.’
‘You think you are generous. But I’m the one who is the loser.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Mr Thompson, Mr Michael Thompson — what happens when the war is over? Will you give me my job back then?’
‘If the Nazis win, they might give you the factory,’ said Thomas Thompson dryly.
‘They won’t win. We’ll beat them,’ said George Green and, for the first time, Michael knew that he did tell the truth now, or at least what he believed. ‘We’ll beat the Japanese too. When that happens, will you take me back?’
Michael didn’t look at his father. ‘Yes.’
‘Even though my beliefs are not the same as yours?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael again. ‘That is part of what we are fighting for, isn’t it? The right to free speech.’ Even as he said it, he realised it wasn’t true. It was a good propaganda slogan, but not the truth. They were fighting to keep their country their own, no more, no less.
George Green — or Jürgen Grünberg — stood up. ‘I’ll pack my things. I’ll send a report on my work to you,’ he nodded to Thomas Thompson, ‘each Monday.’ He raised his chin and looked at both of them. ‘And if the Japanese ever land on Australian soil, I will fight against them as hard as either of you.’
He shut the door behind him.