The Apple Core Wars

Effort

Are They Really On Our Side?

Nagasaki, Japan

Thursday, 2nd August, 1945

Jacky and Charlie

‘I reckon I’d enjoy the Yanks bombing the Japs a bit better if I wasn’t under their bombs,’ joked Jacky to his companions as they crouched in the makeshift bomb shelter at the far end of the dock.

The American air raid on Nagasaki was the first in a long time. This town had never experienced a full scale air attack, perhaps because the city’s industry was concentrated in a steep protected valley. Even in this year of widespread firebombing across many Japanese cities, their war planners naively believed this location was safe.

The morning air raid caught out the small contingent of Allied POWs from Fukuoka 14 camp. They were a long way from familiar territory and unaware of the designated ‘safe areas’ along the wharf. The group had been sent to the dock across the harbour from the shipyards, to collect some crates - provisions for their POW camp.

All members of the group had been keen - collecting provisions could mean discarded food scraps and, although they would be watched keenly, the tightness in their long starved guts meant it would be worth any risk. Besides, it was a chance to do something different and on this warm August day they knew the foundry would be a sweat box.

On arrival they noticed the unloaded cargo on the exposed jetty jutting out at the end of the wharf; the domestic freight ship had already cast off again. It was not considered safe for ships to stay too long in ports - particularly ports near shipyards. These were considered easy targets.

The hastily stacked piles of crates rested unsteadily on the bare timbers and these were being transported to the chain of flimsy warehouses lining the dock area. A mass of Korean slave labourers swarmed around the teetering piles, being directed fiercely by Japanese overseers. Loud instructions in Japanese and grunted high pitched responses mixing with the thumps and bumps of frenetic activity made this a noisy location long before the whines of the planes were heard overhead.

Already the first eleven crates destined for the POW camp had been shouldered by wasted, emaciated POWs, now stumbling their way back up the dock for the long arduous trek into the valley and then up to the camp. A trio of POWs lingered at the back of the group. They had already survived over three years of imprisonment and their survival skills were honed. Look keen but do as little as possible, preserve your strength, eat whatever and wherever you could. Oh, and look out for your mates - they would be the only ones who would look out for you! All that mattered now was to be alive when the war ended.

Behind this group, the tall figure of Corporal Charlie Parkin stood watching his charges. He might be in captivity but the chain of command was clear. Charlie wasn’t shirking work; he would shoulder his crate when it was his turn but he would do so from the defensive rear. Ever cautious and protective Charlie took his NCO responsibilities seriously.

The fifteen men and two guards from Fukuoka 14 heard the shrilling air raid sirens and such a signal always meant ‘every man for himself’. Their burdens discarded, eleven prisoners and both guards sprinted to the properly constructed shelter near the Nagasaki Port end of the dock. Charlie, and the trio of Jacky, Pom and Jan ‘Dutchy’ Baaker had been too far away. In their panicked state they’d reasoned the overhanging steel girder work at the land end of the jutting jetty would have to provide them with enough cover. In reality it didn’t provide much protection but it afforded them a spectacular view.

The bombs rained down, concentrating on the two Mitsubishi steel mills. The spectators had been scared but felt fairly safe. All four of these soldiers had survived many years of battle and over much of this time their fear levels were off the Richter Scale. These battle hardened men had faced death daily and besides, they weren’t the target this time. The damage was all happening at least a mile away.

‘I hope our men are all safe,’ muttered Jan. ‘It looks like they’ve hit the steel works.’

The prisoners all thought of their mates but also said a quick thanks that they were not at their normal place of work.

‘They’ll be in the shelters I bet. They’ll be right. And the more the Yanks bomb the shit out of the factories the more the Nips are being crippled,’ said Jacky.

‘An air raid in full daylight targeting Nagasaki is great news. Our side must be getting the upper hand. Not long until we all go home I reckon maties.’

‘Here’s hoping,’ agreed Charlie - his war had been going on for over five years. His heart ached with thoughts of home. ‘A Japanese guard told me Tokyo’s been hit hard. The end will come soon I reckon.’

Corporal Parkin’s thoughts lingered for a while on the shallow trenches the POWs had been ordered to dig around Fukuoka 14 camp. The NCO feared these were for graves and if an allied invasion occurred he had little doubt the guards would slaughter the prisoners before they could be liberated. His heart sank and the bubble of panic rose in his gut at these thoughts.

The group watched as the planes circled and headed south-east, away from the city. It seemed the attack was over and now they needed to sit it out and wait for the siren declaring the ‘all clear’. At least they were unharmed and this had been a very welcome reprieve from the back breaking drudgery of their normal routine.

‘Hey look at that box over there. It’s split. I’m gunna see if I can get my hand in. It just could be worth it,’ said Jacky.

Not waiting to hear any words of caution from his corporal he took off. Only fools leave a shelter before the ‘all clear’ is sounded but fortune favours the brave he reasoned.

The crate with the split side had been dropped by one of the POWs who’d obviously decided his own safety was more important than the load he carried. Jacky could clearly see it contained small, dry, chunky flakes of white and purple. They’d poured from the gap onto the wharf. Casting prudence to the wind like any starving man is likely to do, Jacky took a flake and put it in his mouth.

‘Oh yuk,’ he muttered and spat the flake out in disgust. ‘Flippin’ turnip flakes,’ he called angrily to his mates.

The prisoners were all too used to the regular broth fed to them twice per day, turnip was the main ingredient. They all hated this vegetable with blind passion. Even in their emaciated and starved state they were not going to be thankful to have discovered a treasure trove of turnips.

‘Do any of you want a handful?’ Jacky called to his mates, sarcasm dripping from his words.

‘See what’s at the top! The top board is broken too,’ Pom yelled back to him.

Jacky levered the top board back - expecting to see more white flakes but the upper portion of the crate was crammed with separately wrapped parcels. Not wanting to be seen, Jacky rapidly grabbed six packages, jammed the top board back into position and ran for cover. Being caught stealing supplies would mean instant death and Jacky was unsure how many hidden eyes had watched his brave sortie.

The three waiting soldiers grabbed at the packages and quickly removed the flimsy brown paper covers.

‘Look at this!’ exclaimed Pom, as a bottle of Sake emerged from the first pack. ‘Oh won’t I enjoy sipping this while sitting around watching the sun go down.’

Jan’s package held 2 small bottles of strange smelling sauce. He smelt it before hurling it into the depths of the ocean.

‘Well that was a waste. Inedible Chinese muck,’ he said in disgust. This was a strange irony. He’d lived in the Orient for many years and was very fond of Asian food but, as one of the lords and masters, he’d never been the cook so he failed to understand the value of fish sauce - the secret ingredient behind most oriental delicacies.

The next two packs were filled with dried fish. Not something any of them hankered for but they all knew the importance of protein. This was surely a gift from heaven.

‘Right Corporal, let’s see what’s in your packets,’ said Pom excitedly as Charlie ripped at the wrappings. The contents were totally unexpected. Most provisions were marked with oriental writing; ornate Chinese characters none of them could read. This contained little packets with English words on the labels. Red Cross Cadbury Chocolate bars - clearly labelled as: ‘Ration Chocolate Fruit And Nut. Forty Bars In Every Box’. All four men smiled broadly at the anticipated pleasure - this was unheard of luxury.

‘Right boys. If we get caught with this we’ll get it. So here’s what we’re gunna do. Each of us is going to eat a handful of the little fishies, wash it down with a swig of Sake and then finish off with a chocolate. We don’t know how long we’ve got ‘til they sound the all clear. But it’s usually about half an hour after the last sighting, so I reckon we’ve got no longer than twenty minutes. Here’s to making ourselves sick!’ said Jacky and he started off with a swig of Sake and then put a handful of the revolting little dried fish straight into his gob.

The other prisoners followed his lead. Even Cpl Parkin who obeyed regulations scrupulously, even the rules set by his Japanese captors, could see the wisdom of this course of action. This was about survival. Their stomachs revolted; so much food after months of privation. Gluttonously they stuffed themselves to get nutrition into their deprived bodies.

By a miracle they finished their last chocolate bar and still no ‘all clear’ had sounded. They lay back on the rough hewn wood, willing their stomachs to settle and hoping the nausea and dizziness from too much rich food and Sake would subside. Bloated and ill they were silent as they all tried to deal with the violent urge to vomit.

‘Hey look at the wood on this jetty would ya Charlie,’ said Jacky. ‘It’s bloody jarrah.’

‘You’re right. I’d recognise it anywhere,’ replied his mate. Charlie may have been his commanding officer but they’d known each other since childhood and informal conversation arose frequently when they were in private.

‘I wonder how it got here?’ asked Jacky determined to explore this mystery.

‘That’s easy - we sent it here and now it’s a long way from home just like we are. We Australians were pretty dumb - we sold cheap wood and pig iron to the Japanese for years and they used it to build planes and ships to send back against us after they declared war,’ said Charlie.

‘I hope we’ve learnt our lesson. From now on we should keep our riches in our own country,’ said Jacky bitterly.

‘That’s a bit selfish. Does that mean you don’t want to sell anything to England? The English need food and minerals from the colonies like Australia. We don’t grow much ourselves,’ claimed Pom, stepping up to defend his country of origin.

‘Oh no, I don’t mean countries like England or America or even Holland. They’re our allies. I mean these Asian countries. We just can’t trust ‘em. They don’t think like white men,’ Jacky said, with a heavy dollop of colonial bigotry.

‘Well, I’m a white man and I have a European background. From what I’ve seen you can’t trust anyone. Look at countries which fought on our side in the last war and are on the other side in this one; turncoat countries like Italy and even Japan. Holland’s been at war with England many times. This time we’re on the same side. Japan will be Australia’s friend again sometime in the future. I bet in fifty years your kids will be talking Nippon and you’ll be bringing your wife to Nagasaki for holidays,’ predicted Jan.

‘I don’t think so. Not me that’s for sure. When this is over I’ll never speak a civil word to a Jap again,’ said Jacky defiantly and then drifted out of the conversation as the others continued to talk about historical political skirmishes and fickle alliances.

Jacky traced around the grain of the wood; willing it to reveal its history. He smelt its scent and was sure he could detect a slight trace of jarrah sap - away from the smells of Japanese industry and the acrid smoke of the aftermath of a bombing raid.

‘My relatives were all woodcutters. Perhaps this sleeper was cut from a tree near home. I grew up in the jarrah forest,’ he mused bringing back memories. Jacky felt dangerously close to crying. ‘I just want to go home. I s’pose we all just want to go home.’

‘Where will home be? That’s what I want to know,’ said Pom wistfully. ‘The only folks I cared about lived in Singapore and I sure don’t want to go back there.’

Pom’s eyes were misty and a hardness tinged his voice. He’d seen his Chinese wife and child rounded up and slaughtered. Shot because there was no point in putting Orientals into the prison camps. There was nothing left for him in that hell hole.

‘You could come home with us,’ said Jacky cheering up again. ‘We don’t take to too many Tommies but you’re pretty good. You too Dutchy. Why don’t you come to Australia too? It’s not like you’ll want to go back to the East Indies. The Japs will have wrecked everything so you may as well come down to the Antipodes and soak up the pleasures of our lovely land.’

‘Yah. I don’t want to go back to Batavia that’s for sure. I had a good life there but my time in the camps was so awful. I don’t think the Dutch will ever be welcome there again anyway. It’s funny. You call me Dutchy but I’ve not been to Holland since I was 5 and I don’t think I would like living back there either. Too cold and too many bloody tulips. I was thinking of coming to Australia after this is finished, perhaps to Sydney or Brisbane. What do you think?’

‘Well you haven’t really got a random sample here. We’re both West Aussies so of course we’re gunna say WA’s the best. I’ve only been to the east once and that was for basic training so I’m no expert on the east coast.’

‘Where’d you live? I went to Perth once and stayed with my aunt down in Maylands. I liked the place,’ said Pom.

‘That’s funny. I lived not far from there as a teenager but I grew up in the hills above Perth. I come from a spot called Karragullen,’ reminisced Jacky. ‘Nobody’s ever heard of it but to me it’s paradise.’

‘And what about you Charlie - where did you call home?’ asked Pom.

‘Yep I’m a West Aussie through and through. I grew up in the hills too, not far from Jacky - a place called Roleystone. Our farm was about three miles from Jacky’s - as the crow flies.’

‘Wow you two were from the same place - how unlucky that you both ended up here. There can’t be many Aussies in Nagasaki. What are the odds of that?’ asked Jan.

‘There are 22 Aussies at Fukuoka 14 and I’ve only run into two other sandgropers. I suppose it’s both lucky and unlucky really. Unlucky to have landed in a POW camp at all but it’s been a comfort to share it with a mate who knew me before this mess. Jacky and me certainly know where we want to go back to after this is all over,’ said Charlie wistfully, thinking about his home again.

‘So if you grew up so close to each other, were you friends before the war?’ asked Jan.

Suddenly Jackie and Charlie looked at each other and a very strange sound rang out; the sound of unbridled, uncontrolled, hilarious laughter. Their mirth made an incongruous echo against the wreckage of war. The pair clung to each other in a bear hug and their eyes filled with tears. Neither could speak. Every time their eyes met they would start to cackle again. Pom and Jan looked on at the giggling duo amazed and puzzled.

‘Did I say something wrong?’ asked Jan with concern creasing his face. ‘I sometimes find English a bit puzzling.’

‘Nah. It wasn’t what you said,’ giggled Jacky, still trying to get his words out.

‘I’ll explain,’ said Charlie taking control. ‘In truth we knew each other really well. But most of our life we hated each other’s guts. There was great rivalry between us all our lives. When we were kids we could only see the things that separated us. It wasn’t until we grew older we saw how much unites us.’

‘So you’re great friends now obviously. Are those things that divided you all buried and forgiven?’ asked Pom.

This was an extremely insightful remark, but both Charlie and Jacky needed to work out the answer to this crucial question for themselves before they could discuss it with others.

The silence that made up their answer was swallowed by another series of explosions. This was why there had been no ‘all clear’; the American bombers had returned.

This time they targeted the shipyards, straight across the harbour from where they sheltered. The first bombs exploded less than half a mile away. The fireworks lit up the already bright summer’s day. The calm blue ocean glinted and danced with flame as surface fuel ignited.

The group made no comment as they gazed at the mesmerizing scene. This was a place where POWs were working and elation at seeing it pulverised was tempered by thoughts about the poor blighters caught under those bombs.

The next explosion was even closer. The warehouses on the wharf just to the north of the group exploded with a deafening crash. The shock wave radiated through the pylons of the jetty beneath them.

‘Strewth,’ screeched Jacky. ‘How are ya ears after that little bang?’

‘Shit. That was too bloody close,’ muttered Charlie as dust and debris covered them. ‘The poor buggers who ran to the other shelter. I reckon that exploded right next to them.’

It was too murky to see much; billowing black, choking smoke came from the warehouses which were already alight. The flames were obviously enjoying whatever was stored there as the fire rapidly became a furnace.

‘Hey you’re bleedin’ Jacky. You’ve cut ya eyebrow!’ announced Pom.

A large gap had opened and the red blood streaking down Jacky’s cheek was clogged with dust. Charlie ripped some material from his uniform and pressed it on the wound in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

‘Ouch. Shit be gentle,’ screamed Jacky pushing Charlie’s hand away. The gap above his eye now showed an exposed wedge of steel. Charlie pulled at it with his right hand and used his left hand to dab the material back onto the wound again to stop the blood flow.

‘Look at this Jacky. You’re lucky ya weren’t blinded.’

Charlie’s palm held a half inch metal square. It was painted with an unmistakable red diamond; one of the diamond pointers of the well known Mitsubishi logo.

‘I’ll be blowed,’ said Pom. ‘I don’t know what this was part of but it’s come from the shipyards that’s for sure.’

‘Blimey, what force - that means it’s flown for half a mile to get stuck in your head Jacky,’ said Charlie.

‘What a warrior you are Jacky. Taking the Nip’s ships on with your skull,’ exclaimed Jan erupting with laughter. But the Dutchman’s laugh was cut short. They all heard the high pitched whine - the unmistakable sound of a falling shell.

‘Drop!’ yelled Charlie as he fell to the ground, dragging Jacky down with him. Pom was already crouched with his hands over his ears and head tucked in close to his body. Jan, the last to respond lay over the prone bodies; an insulation layer to those beneath.

The explosion was huge. A loud roar and sharp crack echoed as the wharf suffered a direct hit. The four men felt the tremendous power of the blast and then the shock wave as the air around them pulsed. The shell hit less than 50 yards away from where they sheltered.

The bomb was actually on the small side, only a 100-pounder filled with jelled-gasoline but it was the white phosphorus inside it that ignited on impact which caused the real damage. The pylons and fuel soaked wooden boards of the wharf were soon engulfed in flames as a tower of fire whooshed into the air from the bomb crater.

The four cowering prisoners didn’t need to discuss what to do next - they needed to get away from the firestorm. They ran towards the water, down to the very end of the quarter mile long jetty. Three lean-to sheds, a water tank, three fuel drums and a tall rickety stack of uncollected crates were the only structures at this end of the jetty. A strong westerly wind was blowing at their backs and luck was with them as it drove the flames away from the men and back towards the city. The exhausted, traumatised prisoners sat at this unprotected end of the Nagasaki Dockyard; watching, shivering and waiting as the fire raged.

Three hours later they still sat in shock. The wharf now contained a huge four hundred yard hole and their part of the jetty had been completely isolated. They were perched on a little jetty island on the edge of Nagasaki Harbour. They were cut off from the wharf, from their mates, from their captors and from the rest of Japan.

To all intents and purposes they were free.

Only going home wasn’t an option.

Traitorous Acts

Roleystone and Karragullen

Monday, 24th March, 1930

Jacky

Jacky’s first day at his new school had been horrible. The good looking lad sat gloomily staring at his slate; the long division sums untried, little annoying obstacles feeding his sense of gross injustice. It’s not that he couldn’t do them. Jacky had a good brain and usually mathematical problems, in fact any brain challenge, were devoured eagerly. But late into this hot morning, in this strange alien classroom filled with weird looking strangers, Jacky just wasn’t in the mood to put in any effort at all.

It just wasn’t fair. He was being punished, made to go to school in Roleystone - with his avowed enemies. He was a Karra Kid, born and bred and he would never forgive his mum for her act of treason.

The real ringleaders of the Karra Mutiny - Ken Smailes and Jack and Tommy O’Meagher, had got away with it. They’d been allowed to leave school and go to work. Just because they were already over 12 - and their folks didn’t have aspir-bloody-ations. Jacky wasn’t 12 until August and his mum, Mary Bellamy, wanted him to get a scholarship to finish high school at Perth Modern School. The entry exams were in June and so he needed to stay on but the new head teacher at Karragullen didn’t want him.

Jacky’s ears reddened in shame as he recalled the booming voice of Mr Oliver explaining this to his mum and Marco:

‘Jacky may be bright but he has a mischievous streak. I cannot have any of the troublemakers back at Karragullen school. I intend to mould this group of students into an obedient and conscientious unit. All of the senior boys must go - either out to work or they will need to find a new school. Roleystone may take your son. You could make an appointment to see Mr Neville. He is a reasonable man. Or you could try the Catholic Parish School over in Carmel. Are you Catholics?’

Jacky had been sitting outside the classroom with Stella and the twinnies. This had been a black day and Jacky’s face scrunched as he recalled this humiliation.

Of course Mary had instantly dismissed the idea of Jacky being sent to the Catholic school and so Jacky Bellamy and Marco’s daughter Stella Cerini had been enrolled at Roleystone Primary School. Today was their first day.

Jacky glanced over at Stella. She was with the grade 6s in the next row of this very packed classroom. There were more kids in this room than in the whole Karragullen school. That girl raised some very funny emotions in him. She was clearly very pretty and he was exceptionally proud of her. He was even more protective than if he’d been her brother. Stella was Uncle Marco’s and Aunty Concetta’s daughter. These were not real relatives but sometimes explaining the relationship was just too darned hard, so he told everyone Stella was his cousin.

As he looked at Stella his gut churned. He was glad they weren’t related - she was beautiful and he felt the uncomfortable stirring in his groin which would not be right if they really were related! Stella was doing her sums and her concentration, as she chewed the end of her pencil, was intense.

Stella’s long blonde hair had been tied up into high pigtails. Her dark eyes were focussed on her work and no smile touched her face. Stella was determined to make the most of her new circumstances. She’d shyly accepted the offer to sit with Bernice Buckingham and at morning playtime she’d been accepted by the tight coterie of senior girls. Stella listened and smiled and of course the girls took to her immediately.

Jacky stood alone on the edge of the playground, brushing aside Colin Neville’s offer to join the cricket game. Jacky had known Colin only offered because his dad was the Headmaster. Instead Jacky just watched - malevolently. He was not yet ready to try.

Some of the boys made brushed off comments of half welcome -but no-one had really meant it. Jacky was from Karragullen - they were all from Roleystone. They were his enemies. Besides, lots of them had been warned about him already. Whispered comments before he’d arrived or last minute admonishments from mothers as they’d dropped their children off this morning to: ‘Stay away from that Bellamy kid - he’s a trouble maker.’

Not that the Roley kids needed to be told; the story of the Karra Mutiny had been widely gossiped about. A weak head teacher and strong minded senior boys had led to the trouble. From the very first day of Brocky’s arrival, the lads had been rude and insolent.

They’d let the teacher’s tyres down, taken his car for a joy ride, hidden his cane, peed in his lunch box and done next to no work. One month of riotous behaviour had preceded the riot.

By the 17th March the head teacher had totally lost control and the big kids decided to go on a picnic. So the whole school traipsed off to Boulder Rocks. What a day they’d had. The next day they went to Mahars-n-Hanbury’s Pool. On Wednesday it was Slippery Rocks and this proved to be their downfall. Just too many kids came home with the backs ripped out of their trousers as they’d spent the day sliding down the slimy rocks of these wonderful rapids. The parents were instantly suspicious and by morning the mutiny was over and the punishments had begun.

The little kids had been more afraid of the big kids than they were of the teacher so they’d all been involved. The canings were widespread. Everyone was punished to some extent but they all knew who was really to blame. The four senior boys. Jacky’s version of events minimised his role and he told everyone he was only a minor player but this was a long way from the truth. Jacky Bellamy had never been a follower in his life.

After recess Mr Neville set the class grammar exercises and left the room. The quiet obedience that pervaded the class vanished with his shabby brown suit. The trouble for Jacky started straight away. A stinging ear indicated the first spit ball pellet had landed with deadly accuracy. This was followed by a sharp bite as another hit his cheek. Jacky whipped around. Five boys at the back stared back - smirking defiantly.

‘What’s wrong? Can’t you handle our Roley mozzies?’ sneered the apparent ringleader. ‘The new boy’s got baby bum cheeks and our mozzies just want to kiss ‘em.’

‘Yeh Doug. He’s a pretty boy alright, might appeal to the sheilas but I bet he’s hopeless at sport. That’s why he stood out of the game at play time,’ whispered the second of the adversaries.

‘Skinny arms - I bet he can’t catch. And look at those scrawny chicken legs - wait for footy season - he’ll be useless,’ commented a third.

Jacky felt his face colour up and he quivered with indignant rage. The comments were sharp and cruel but there was no chance of a response. The shabby suited Mr Neville returned and the classroom reverted to studious, focussed concentration.

Jacky had never met these lads before but he immediately understood the rules, this was about power. He was the new kid. He recalled his mum’s words as he left this morning.

‘I’m sure things will be alright Jacky. Try to make some friends. Just be nice to everyone.’

How wrong could a mum be? Being nice wouldn’t help him fit in. No, this could only be solved by action and he knew what he’d do. Karragullen only had 22 kids so organised sport had never been possible but he was a natural athlete and excelled at running. His swimming was untutored but he could hold his breath and go twice across Roley pool. Weak at sport - he’d show them.

The bell for lunch clanged loudly. A tall lad they called Charlie was the bell monitor and he’d started clanging close to Jacky’s ear.

‘Right then class - lunchtime. I needn’t remind you all to sit in the shade until you’ve finished your lunch. Pack up your desks and you can go,’ Mr Neville said severely as the pupils stood to file out. ‘Not you Jack Bellamy. I need to have a word.’

As the clatter and commotion of the last child to leave the room subsided, Mr Neville eyed Jacky sternly. The new boy’s heart sank - he knew he was in for a heavy lecture.

‘Now Jacky, I made a special dispensation to allow you to come into this school. I was very unimpressed with all of the shenanigans you and those other rat bags got up to in Karragullen. I told your mother I was only making an exception because of your excellent grades but you’ve not made a very good impression so far son. Look at that slate - you’ve not completed any sums and I was not impressed with your grammar this morning. If you are trying to get a scholarship then you’d better pull your socks up and start putting in some effort.’

Mr Neville was peering at Jacky through thin, gold rimmed spectacles which partially hid his wild eyebrows. His breath was heavy; rancid with the sour staleness of a heavy smoker. Hairs protruded from his nostrils perched in a very large though somewhat flat nose. The 38 year old looked old for his age with thinning brown hair and a dust of dandruff littering his collar.

‘My Colin says you didn’t join in with the other boys at recess. They haven’t taken to you. I will give you some advice - work out how to get on here or life at this school could be very miserable for you. Have I made myself clear?’ Mr Neville paused but didn’t wait for an answer before delivering the next blow. ‘Now before you have lunch, as punishment for your complete lack of effort all morning, you can wash down the blackboard and clean the classroom ready for the afternoon. While you work, think carefully about what I’ve said.’

With that the unsympathetic man left and Jacky, scowling and unloved, started his chores. Ten minutes later a despondent Jacky emerged from the classroom and looked out at the sweltering yard. To his great relief the boys were all off playing cricket on the makeshift pitch below the school house. Only the clump of senior girls were on the verandah and Stella was in the centre of the group.

Jacky made no move to go towards them instead choosing an isolated section of bench to unwrap his unappetising sandwich. Starvation forced him to eat it even though his stomach revolted. He dug his hand into his bag without looking, hoping to find something more appetising to finish off. Sadly the bag did conceal one other item but it was hardly appetising. His fingers felt a smooth shape and then sunk into slippery, gooey slush.

Jacky had been off school for two weeks. The aftermath of the Karra Mutiny was that the ring leaders had been temporarily, and in most cases permanently, expelled. Jacky hadn’t minded at all, even when his embarrassed and totally frustrated mother had filled his days with work and nagging. But with an absence of school, Jacky hadn’t done the usual clean-out of his school bag. Two weeks ago what Jacky now clutched had been a beautiful recently picked Jonathon apple. Now one side of it was putrid, rotten mush. This summed up his day. His whole life was turning rotten.

‘Oh bugger,’ he muttered and quickly withdrew his fingers, wiping his slime covered fingers onto his shirt. He swallowed any more comments as he looked up and saw Stella approaching. Her smile was radiant.

‘Hey Jacky how are you settling in? I’m having a great time and I’ve met some lovely girls,’ she gushed, ‘And they want to meet you. Come on over.’

‘Ah - no thanks Stella. I’m not feeling too good. I’m having a cow of a day. I just hate this school and everyone in it,’ grumbled Jacky.

‘Well there’s no use feeling like that Jacky Bellamy. You can’t go back to Karragullen. They won’t have you. And I’ve come over here to keep you company so there’s no sense in sulking,’ Stella said, very adult about it all. She was six months younger than Jacky but she was certainly showing far more maturity than her bad tempered friend.

‘These girls want to know about the Karra Mutiny. Now I know we promised not to talk about it but I’ve let out a few hints - and I’ve told the girls it was all your idea. They all think you’re special. So come on over - this is your chance to make an impression. Don’t be pig headed!’

Stella took his hand and pulled him up before dragging him along the verandah towards the group of tittering girls.

‘Here he is ladies. This is Jacky Bellamy. He’s a real hero - the instigator of the Karra Mutiny.’

Stella announced his name with a flourish. The last bit she whispered. This was unsafe ground. One of the conditions of enrolment at Roleystone was that Jacky and Stella were not to talk about the incident.

Mr Thomas Neville was not really concerned that such insurgency would spread to Roleystone; he’d been at the school for many years and his discipline was absolute. Mr Neville also knew that the substitute teacher placed at Karragullen school had been old, weak and very ill. Mr Brockhouse had never established the firm control head teachers require in these country schools. The older boys were almost men - used to working on farms, they had little love of learning. For most of them schooling was barely tolerated. Such lads needed to be taught respect, they needed to be forced into submission - or kicked out.

No, Mr Neville had demanded Stella and Jacky stay silent because he wasn’t keen on students getting too big for their boots. He didn’t want to see Jacky becoming a hero or a martyr.

So the whispered confidence that Jacky was the instigator of the Karra Mutiny was very risky. But it worked. The senior girls giggled and gazed at him in admiration. For the first time all day Jacky felt good. In fact he felt elated.

‘Can you tell us all about it? Please?’ pleaded one of the girls.

‘How exciting. You were so brave. I would’ve been so worried about getting caught,’ enthused another.

But Stella the little actress was orchestrating this. She was in charge and she wanted to keep the power over the story. It would be told all right, but under her terms.

‘We are under strict instructions not to utter a word about this incident while at school,’ she said dramatically. ‘And we both intend to keep our word don’t we Jacky?’

Stella theatrically grabbed Jacky and pulled him close to her in a conspiratorial hug. The disappointment across the group of enthusiastic girls was palpable but Jacky’s enjoyment was magnified as he brushed against her comforting and ‘oh so delightful’ breasts.

Stella

By midday the new girl was enjoying herself immensely.

At Karragullen, Stella had been the only girl in grade 6. There had been three in grade 7 but they were all extremely mean to her. The root of this nastiness wasn’t hard to fathom - Stella was absolutely stunning. She was tall and tanned with long streaky blonde hair. Italian parentage meant she’d matured early and her body-shape was already curvaceous. Her eyes were dark caramel brown and she had dark brown brows and long seductive eyelashes. These looks were not lost on the senior boys (and girls) at her new school - even Mr Neville had needed to remind himself that she was ‘just a slip of a girl’ when he had welcomed the two new students that morning.

As they trooped in after lunch, the senior