At the Foot of the Cherry Tree, page 1
DEDICATION
This book is for:
Nobuko & Don,
Cherry & Gordon,
or, as I call you,
Grandma & Grandpa
CONTENTS
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
August 1945
Death was in her hair.
Screams echoed in her ears, every blink brought a flash of fire and wrath, and death was in her hair. Dust and dirt clung to every strand, the once glossy black buried beneath a mask of darkened grey. Her eyebrows, her eyelashes, smudges against her vision, were sprinkled with fine powder she couldn’t remove, painful grit and grime. Behind her was a trail of footprints and ash, leading back to a living nightmare. Her feet were bare, long since numb, a limping rhythm with every step she took. The world was empty, the world knew nothing, and she had seen it all.
The verdant sakura trees shivered as she passed beneath their boughs, a death angel on a dirt road. She lifted a shaking hand to brush her fingers through the leaves, to touch something real, to remind herself she existed. The leaves reached for her blackened hands, deep green stroking against dirt and ash and blood. The rough branches pressed into her skin, sensitive and tight, promising she was here in this moment. She was alive.
Bile rose in her throat and she doubled over, face throbbing as black sludge spilled onto the road. She gasped for air, convulsing, trying to breathe, to purge. The shaking started then, a quivering that wouldn’t ease, tears snaking around cheekbones and mud and filth. She steadied herself, wiping her eyes, smearing the muck that covered her entire body. Thunder rumbled in the distance and, for the first time since she began her death march, she looked back.
In the valley far below, hidden beneath a blanket of deep grey clouds against an otherwise perfect summer sky, was a city screaming as it died. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched her home burn, heard the shuddering echo of buildings surrendering to the fall. There was only one place she could go and only one way to get there. She turned away and took one slow, painful step. The cuts on the soles of her feet split open as she limped forward, fresh blood spotting the path, ash snowing from her hair.
Hiroshima was gone.
She was not.
And so she walked.
CHAPTER ONE
GORDON: Melbourne, July 1945
It was war. Gordon Parker was armed, prowling through the undergrowth, scanning for his target. The wind rustled overhead, dancing across the back of his neck. Any moment now, he would find what he was hunting and attack.
A voice broke through his concentration.
‘Have you got them yet?’
Gordon glared at his sister, gesturing for her to be quiet. June rolled her eyes and sat on the grass, opening a book, no longer interested in her brother. Somewhere above him, a kookaburra chortled, the gum trees sending leaves to the grass below.
There was a giggle.
Gordon stepped forward, feet soft. The sound came from the blackberry bushes. He couldn’t see through the foliage but his target had finally revealed itself.
Gordon raised his weapon, readying for battle.
A roar, and the bush split apart as Gordon’s prey launched at him. There was no time to react, his weapon – a tree branch posing as a gun – skittering aside as he was tackled by four of his younger siblings.
There were nine Parkers in all: Venn and Harry, plus their seven kids. June was the eldest, thirteen months older than Gordon, something she took great delight in. After Gordon was Donald, a year and a half younger, currently tugging at Gordon’s right arm, trying to pull him to the ground. Jeanette was the fourth, sharp and observant, watching the fight in front of her and waiting for her moment. Then came his brother, Robin, thirteen years old, quiet, with cheeky eyes, too busy laughing to make use of the ambush, and a few years younger was Jennifer, raining gentle but considered blows on Gordon’s stomach. It had seemed like the family was complete, until Jim arrived three years earlier, a surprise wartime baby.
If you needed anything, the door to the Parker farmhouse on Greenwood Avenue was always open. A sympathetic ear, your socks darned, a new jacket; nothing was too much trouble. Gordon often hid his favourite things under his mattress because, if they were easily in reach, Venn would gift them to someone who needed them more.
They didn’t have much, but they had one another. That was more than most, with families divided across the world as the war against Japan stretched on.
As did the war under the gum trees.
It wasn’t hard to fend off Donald, Robin and Jennifer. Gordon played it up, dodging imaginary bullets and closer hand-to-hand combat. Then Jeanette got involved. She sprinted and leapt at his chest, Gordon catching her at stomach height. They all collapsed to the ground, battle cries fading into the air.
‘It’s an ambush!’ Gordon cried.
‘It’s good practice for when you go to fight!’ Robin wrapped himself around Gordon’s left leg, Gordon twitching it to kick his brother off.
‘That’s still a while away.’
‘Why?’ Robin held Gordon tightly, riding every kick. ‘You’re eighteen now.’
‘Dad has to give permission. It’s the same for anyone under twenty-one. You need permission from your parents.’
‘I don’t see why Dad won’t let you go.’ Donald dived onto Gordon, he and Jennifer taking an arm each. ‘He was a Highlander when he was sixteen.’
‘Yes, well, you all know how that conversation went.’ Gordon had tried to convince his father to let him sign up a couple of years ago, at the same age Harry had fought in the Great War. The argument that followed had been heard in the main square in Ringwood, and Gordon hadn’t been the one to get his way.
‘It’s probably just as well. If you can’t beat us, you’ll hardly beat the Japanese.’ Donald’s face contorted as he wrestled Gordon’s arm.
‘You’re just lucky this isn’t a real gun, otherwise you and any Japanese fighting out here would be long dead.’ Gordon lifted his arm, picking up Jennifer, who shrieked. ‘I might not be able to beat you alone, but with reinforcements . . .’
The children stilled as they turned to June, sprawled in a patch of winter sunshine.
Her gaze never left her book. ‘Can’t.’ She turned the page. ‘Impossibly busy.’
‘You’d let your favourite brother die for a book?’
‘A very good book,’ June replied.
‘You’re not her favourite brother, anyway!’ Robin giggled as Gordon’s spare hand darted around, poking him.
‘I am!’ Gordon and Donald said together, identical smiles on their faces.
June slammed her book shut. She stood, brushing the grass off her Land Army outfit, the bottle-green woollen jumper softened with wear. If June had been a boy, she would’ve enlisted the previous year when she turned eighteen, but volunteering with the Land Girls had been the perfect, if only, alternative for her. Working on the land, physical labour, getting her hands dirty: that was all June needed.
Her boots crunched on dried leaves as she stalked forward. No-one moved, waiting.
She pounced on Gordon.
‘Wait, what?’ Gordon tried to fend her off as she tickled him. Gleeful, the others joined in, Gordon powerless against several sets of tickling hands. With a roar, he burst to his feet, scooping Jennifer into his arms. ‘I’ve taken a hostage! Shall we negotiate the terms of surrender?’
‘Never!’ June cried, and they surged forward, chasing Gordon as he ran laps around the gums, holding Jennifer as she shrieked with laughter. He clutched her close as Donald turned to trap them and Gordon retreated against the gum tree, a calm smile on his face, planning his way out.
‘Coo-ee!’
The cry bounced off the bush, echoing against trees that seemed to shudder at the sound. Everyone froze.
‘Coooo-ee!’
Robin drew closer to Gordon. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s the cry of the fiercest enemy known to mankind.’
Robin’s eyes grew wide. ‘The Japanese?’
‘Close,’ Gordon said, adjusting Jennifer on his hip. ‘Mum.’
They headed to the house, Robin and Donald fighting with two branches they’d found on their way back, furiously parrying, thrusting and dodging as they went. Gordon piggybacked Jennifer, breaking into a trot to stretch his legs, both laughing. June and Jeanette walked together, Jeanette claiming she had read her sister’s book. Between the two of them, they were recounting a sprawling epic across fifteen countries that didn’t seem like the likely plot of Death on the Nile.
Ahead of them, the farmhouse loomed. A huge two-store
On the veranda was their mother, Venn Parker, her light hair immaculately curled, an apron around her waist and toddler Jim perched on her hip. She thrust Jim at Donald, who took him and dropped the stick, Robin crowding around to pull faces at his youngest brother.
Venn forced a smile at Gordon. ‘Your father wants to see you.’
Concern flared in Gordon’s chest. ‘Is everything all right?’
Venn cleared her throat. ‘He wants to talk to you about something.’ She hesitated as she searched for the words, then smiled, genuinely this time. ‘He’ll explain it.’
Gordon leapt up the steps to the house. Venn touched his arm as he passed, stopping him. She squeezed his shoulder, then turned her attention to the other children.
Confused, Gordon’s heart thudded as he walked through to the living room, where the rich smoky scent of Harry’s tobacco grew stronger. The repressed emotion from his mother made Gordon nervous.
Harry turned as Gordon entered, left hand tucked into his navy jacket pocket and right hand clutching the end of his pipe. He exhaled, tendrils of smoke snaking past his shining blond moustache and drifting across icy blue eyes identical to Gordon’s own.
‘You look terribly serious.’ Harry’s polished British accent was a stark contrast to his children’s Australian ones. ‘Has your mother lost her temper so soon after lunch?’
Gordon bit back a grin. ‘Not yet, but there’s still time.’
Harry chuckled and set his pipe down on an ashtray. ‘I wonder if you may indulge me in a drive.’
‘Is it to the council?’ Harry rarely asked his children to join him at work. The local council offices were always busy and full of people, and the Parker children had a habit of getting unintentionally underfoot. Although Harry had been mayor of Ringwood a few years earlier, he worked as a councillor these days, providing what he could for the community and developing the country town. Perhaps Harry wanted to introduce Gordon to more of his colleagues, get him a job at the council now he was eighteen. A small way to carry on the Parker legacy.
Harry shook his head. ‘It’s a little further.’
‘Does it have to be today? I promised Robin we could catch some frogs by the creek.’
‘Very important birthday celebrations, I understand.’
Gordon laughed. ‘Mum said you wanted to talk about something.’
‘I thought we could discuss it on our drive. But as you have a previous appointment, perhaps now is not the time.’ Harry ran his fingers through his silvering hair and sighed. ‘Shame though. It’s a long drive to Albert Park alone.’
Gordon frowned. The only things in Albert Park were the lake and the enlistment office.
Gordon stared at his father, the implication dawning. Harry reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out an envelope. In sloping dark ink, the curled letters read ‘The Enlistment Officers of the Australian Army’.
Jeanette appeared in the doorway. ‘Are you going or what?’
Gordon swept her into his arms, carrying her to the front door, unable to believe what was happening. The whole family spilt outside. Gordon gave Robin a tight hug and shook Donald’s hand, a solemn nod between them. Donald was now the eldest son at home. He wrapped June in a bear hug, feeling a pang of regret as the reality dawned that he was leaving to fight. He wasn’t expecting the lump in his throat as he kissed Jim, who grabbed at his older brother. The lump grew larger as Gordon turned to his mother. She was already crying, and pulled him into a tight embrace.
‘Don’t do anything foolish.’
‘When have you known me to ever do anything foolish?’ Gordon asked, trying to keep things light. ‘I’m a Parker. We don’t do foolish.’
‘You come home.’ Venn’s voice was barely a breath. ‘I’ll hunt you down if you don’t.’
‘Now there’s a threat if I’ve ever heard one. I’ll be fine.’ Venn held him for a moment longer, then Gordon stepped away as Harry hit the horn. ‘See you later!’ He jogged to the car and slipped into the passenger seat.
Harry adjusted his gloves, a pensive silence settling between them.
Gordon shifted, curious. ‘Dad?’
Harry turned to his son, face grave. ‘War is a time full of difficult choices. Sometimes those choices will not make sense. If you believe you are right, you must stick to your principles. But if you are wrong?’ He exhaled deeply. ‘If you are wrong, you must take your medicine, no matter how bitter.’
Gordon nodded. The weight of expectation settled onto his shoulders. It was tempered with a rush of nervous energy, exhilarating and anxiety-inducing. He was being taken seriously on his own terms.
Harry put the car into gear and Gordon stuck his head out the window, waving back to everyone congregated on the front steps as they drove away. Robin and Donald chased the car, laughing and shouting, until they were blurs in the distance.
Overwhelmed, Gordon gathered himself and took a breath.
Harry glanced to his son. ‘Changed your mind?’
Gordon drew strength from his father’s permanent calm. If Harry had fought the Germans at sixteen, there was no reason he couldn’t fight the Japanese at eighteen.
‘How long to Albert Park?’
CHAPTER TWO
GORDON: Cowra, August 1945
The training camp at Cowra in New South Wales was the furthest Gordon had ever been from home. It was strange to have everything laid out for him, a schedule for every moment of his day, but the routine of Army life made the adjustment easier. Gordon enjoyed the structure of basic training. He didn’t need to think about it; he just went where he was told and did what was asked of him.
Still, in the evenings, after the lights went out and as he lay on the uncomfortable straw mattress, Gordon’s thoughts drifted home. Had Robin stayed quiet so Harry and Venn could listen to the news broadcast? Had Jennifer managed her homework without him to guide her? Perhaps Venn had talked the ear off the butcher, telling him her eldest son had gone to do his basic training? Maybe Harry shared a cigar with his fellow councillors as they discussed where Gordon would be deployed first?
Those thoughts disappeared when he rose before dawn for the morning run. Two weeks in and he was running most mornings, hauling kitbags and guns, and clambering through obstacle courses as though it was second nature. He’d take an icy shower before breakfast at the mess, ducking and weaving among boys who shouted across tables as they ate and laughed.
Today, Gordon was heading out to the trenches. The camp had built a replica of those in Europe, cut into the ground and sandbagged. Gordon hadn’t done trench warfare training before, and the deep gashes hacked into the earth filled him with dread.
‘Not to worry, cobber.’ A stocky, russet-haired older bloke clapped Gordon on the shoulder as they approached the entrance. ‘I’m told the real ones are much worse. The mud on the bottom will eat your whole boot and then some.’
‘Mud?’ Gordon asked. ‘Isn’t it summer in Europe?’
‘It is.’ The man grabbed his rifle before heading to his allocated trench, Gordon following behind. ‘But there’s no drainage and the dirt stays wet from constant piss and blood.’ The man laughed. ‘We won’t be heading to the trenches though. The Germans are done. Old Hitler’s eaten lead and there’s none of these in the Pacific where the Japanese are hiding in the trees to shoot you on sight. It’s a much nicer thought, isn’t it? You’ll never see death coming.’ He flicked his hair out of his face, eyes glinting with amusement, and held out his hand. ‘I’m Ticker Gammage.’
‘Gordon Parker.’ He shook Ticker’s hand. ‘The Japanese hide in the trees?’
The other man tilted his head. ‘You’re a little green, aren’t you? You just eighteen? Maybe younger?’
‘Eighteen,’ Gordon said, firm.
‘Stick with me and you’ll be right. Some of these blokes you can’t trust as far as you can throw them.’
‘Speak for yourself.’ A voice cut across them. Leaning on the back wall of the trench were two soldiers, one lighting up a cigarette.
