Tears of the Moon (53 page)

‘It was as if I’d let off a cannon from Buccaneer Rock,’ wrote Tyndall to Olivia. ‘I scored a direct hit on the Pearlers’ Association and also the Japanese Club, so help me. They’re all dead against it, accusing me of sabotaging the whole industry. I don’t mind some chaps tackling me in the Lugger Bar, in some cases I’ve almost persuaded them. But a few of them just cut me dead. I’m sure you know the ones! Toby and Mabel are my sole supporters at this stage. Ahmed remains loyal but doubtful, however I know he’ll be at my side whatever I decide. Yoshi is enthusiastic, having seen the Japanese operation although I was surprised at the lack of interest from the local Jap community. Yoshi tells me it is discussed in their club with downright fear. Where do you stand, my dear partner?’

Fondly,
Tyndall

Dear John,

I don’t feel well positioned to advise you on the matter of the cultured pearls. It sounds interesting, but I would like to see some of them. Would it be an expensive operation to set up? It’s all a bit experimental and perhaps it’s early days yet. Plant the seed … like a pearl and let them mull about it. In other words, let nature take its course. You tend to be impetuous and rush forth.

I’m sorry I can’t be more positive but I am aware of the
financial position of Star of the Sea and I’m very taken up with the running of the girls’ refuge here. It is rewarding work. There seem to be more girls in need at this time with so many of the young men going away and leaving broken hearts behind!

I hope you are well, give my best to Ahmed and the boys.

Olivia

Tyndall folded her letter and put it carefully in his desk drawer with her other correspondence. Damn you, Olivia, he thought. A polite formal note as always, signed with her neat signature, minus any expression of affection. He was hurt, too, that she didn’t want to be more involved with his idea. He just couldn’t see Olivia preoccupied with a home for wayward girls.

The local debate about Tyndall’s scheme soon came to a head. A meeting was called by the Master Pearlers’ Association at the Continental Hotel ‘for all interested parties’.

The dining room was packed with the master pearlers and their wives, leaders in the business community and, sitting in a row at the back, influential members of the Japanese business and pearling community.

There had been some mutterings among the executive about the presence of the Japanese but, after some discussion with Mr Takahashi who ran several stores in town, it was agreed they should be allowed to stay on the understanding that there
might be some remarks which may be disrespectful to their community.

Mr Takahashi bowed and said he understood.

Once everyone was settled, the chairman of the association, Mr Bernard, rose behind the small table set at the front of the room, outlined what Tyndall had proposed and opened the subject for discussion. Several men jumped to their feet and speaker after speaker condemned the scheme.

Tyndall sat beside the chairman becoming increasingly angry until he could control himself no longer and leapt to his feet. ‘Poppycock! Cultured pearls are real pearls. They are no threat to natural pearls!’

Another pearler stood. ‘I’ve seen attempts at making pearls on Thursday Island and it’s a jolly tricky business and what they did get was of no value. I have seen some of the Jap pearls and they are of poor quality lustre. My concern is that if we use our oysters, which are far superior, then maybe we could produce pearls with a better nacre that would undermine our natural pearls.’

Tyndall jumped to his feet again. ‘That’s the point!’ he shouted. ‘We can make good pearls, ones with a decent lustre that will meet a market for those who can’t afford natural pearl!’

The arguments raged and Tyndall sank in his seat stony faced, disappointed at the little support he was getting and stunned by the lack of vision and understanding among his pearling colleagues. Mabel Metta gave him a smile of encouragement which he acknowledged with a shrug.

Debate moved on to the issue of how to control a cultured pearl industry if it did get started. It wasn’t long before someone said what almost everyone was thinking.

‘Sooner or later, and probably right from the word go, the Japs will control it,’ shouted a master pearler and there was a murmur of agreement from practically all the whites present. The speaker went on, ‘We’ve had enough trouble with the dummying operations of the Japanese. You can bet your life that they will be running any imitation pearl business, not us. So what’s in it for us? Nothing.’

There was a burst of applause.

From the back of the hall came a polite call. ‘Mr Chairman.’ It was Mr Takahashi. All heads swivelled around as the chairman acknowledged the call. Mr Takahashi bowed slightly to the chairman. ‘We have conducted our own discussions about this idea of Captain Tyndall and we are against the venture. We feel it will be bad for Broome business. No good for our divers, no good for business people and bring bad feelings between Japanese and Broome peoples. We say no start make pearls. We no let any Japanese start such an enterprise.’ He sat down to loud applause.

All heads turned to Tyndall. Slowly he stood and spoke calmly. ‘I understand what you are all saying. I believe you are wrong. You are short-sighted businessmen. Kokichi Mikimoto is a man with a vision, a dream and passion. He can see the future. One day Broome will produce, by deliberate means, large perfect round pearls of a lustre and quality that even
people like my good friend here, Tobias Metta, will not be able to tell apart from a pearl brought up from the seabed by a diver.’

Tyndall didn’t hang around after the meeting but retreated to his office and sat down to pour it all out in a letter to Olivia, but after half a page, he screwed it up, threw it over his shoulder and reached for the whisky bottle.

A few weeks later, Tyndall received a letter from Olivia which gave him no comfort.

Dear John,

I read in the paper a report about the meeting over the pearl culture business. How distressing for you. The Mettas wrote me that you put up a spirited defence. Perhaps you are ahead of your time, John. These are hard times with the war getting worse and casualties beginning to add up. Be patient, your time will come I feel sure.

He added her letter to his stack and spoke aloud to the empty office with some bitterness. ‘The only time that counts, Olivia, is time with you. And I have precious little of that to look forward to.’

Olivia longed for letters from Hamish, which were few and far between. When a fat one arrived from Port Said, she made herself tea and sat alone in the lounge room to savour it.

He explained it was an ‘illegal’ letter in that he was getting a friend to carry it and mail it so it wouldn’t
be censored. He talked of the great mates he’d made, of the strange places and people he had seen, of how he missed everybody back home …

… especially you, dearest Mum. It’s been a hard trip at sea for the horses … we lost seventy-nine of them due to sickness and exhaustion between Australia and Bombay. We were recalled to Colombo and returned to Bombay to land the rest of the horses rather than lose the lot—we need them for haulage. We got our orders to the Dardanelles to help prepare the British Army IX corps for the landing on Suvla Bay. But we had no tugs or lighters so our unit made timber rafts to get men, stores, baggage and equipment ashore. We were all loaded up ready to go when we got word someone had found us a tiny steamer, the
Itria,
which meant unloading and dismantling the rafts and reloading the lot onto the steamer. Once ashore we had our only training in building pontoons and piers and the like—-five days training, mind you! Now we’ve loaded pontoons and everything onto the
Itria
for the proper’ landings. What a job it’s been but as our CO said, we refuse to be associated with failure!

On 7 August, the
Itria
anchored off the invasion beach under orders to locate sites for a pier. At dusk Hamish was in the first group to go ashore and build a landing pier of barrels and timber. They’d had no rest for forty-eight hours, were under continuous attack by artillery and shrapnel fire and even had a bombing raid by a Taube aircraft. The anchorage was declared too hot and shifted.

Hamish was then part of a group helping to
disembark and land troops and their stores. No thought had been given to water supplies and thousands of troops were suffering thirst.

‘It’s as bad as being lost in the Nullarbor,’ muttered one of the men to Hamish.

On August 12, the ‘train’ men were ordered to take over supplying water as well as their other duties. Hamish tried to ignore the sporadic fire from the ridge as they feverishly buried spare pontoons on the beach to use as water tanks, filling them from lighters with borrowed pumps and fire hoses from ships. Men who weren’t killed or badly wounded succumbed to paratyphoid, jaundice, pneumonia and blood poisoning from flies and dirt on even minor wounds.

While Hamish was working at the base of the ridge, digging in a post to hold part of a line, a soldier a short way up the hill was shot from above and his body rolled down close to Hamish. Without thinking, in a burst of anger and frustration, Hamish picked up the soldier’s rifle and crawled up the ridge. He lay by a boulder for some minutes before spotting movement against the skyline. He fired, and fired again, knowing he’d got the sniper and felt an immense elation and satisfaction as he scrambled back to his duties.

‘You navy blokes aren’t supposed to fight,’ yelled an army officer, crouching and running past him, adding, ‘Good bloody shot, by the way.’

Feeling quite pleased with himself, Hamish grinned at his mate who gave him the thumbs up and waded towards their lighter which was returning for
more equipment. Hamish was about to scramble aboard, when he felt a sharp pain, a searing burning sensation in his back. He cried out, as the world went black and he slipped beneath the bloodstained water.

Everyone at Shaw House had gone into shock over the news of Hamish’s death. Gilbert sat by Olivia, who refused any kind of sedative, as she talked and talked. He had no answer to her anguished questioning as to how God could be so cruel. What had she ever done to deserve such punishment? How could she go on?

Gilbert took her hand. ‘You must and you will. Hamish was so proud of what you are doing here. You’re helping others, didn’t you say among his last words to you were to look after the girls?’

Olivia nodded, but in a small voice asked, ‘Who’s going to look after me?’

‘I am, my dear. We all are. But you must help yourself, too. It’s wartime, there is so much suffering. You have been struck a cruel blow, how you deal with this is the measure of where your life will go.’

‘I don’t care what happens anymore.’

‘Olivia … that isn’t true. Listen to me. There is a young girl just arrived. She’s pregnant and her husband, lover, I’m not sure, but she apparently adored him, has been killed. Help her. In doing so you will help yourself. Trust me.’

‘Oh, Gilbert, how can I help her? I feel like telling her not to have the baby. It’s not worth the pain of one day losing your child.’

Olivia collapsed in his arms and sobbed as he held her and murmured soothing words.

When news reached Tyndall of the death of Hamish, he quietly broke the news to Ahmed and then Yoshi and Taki who spread the word amongst the men who’d known the effervescent youngster. Tyndall’s heart broke for Olivia, and he wanted to rush straight to her and comfort her but knew it was not his place. He struggled over a letter to her, trying to find the words to comfort her and make some sense of yet another loss in her life.

My dearest Olivia,

I loved him too. After losing Maya, and your Conrad, Hamish became like a son to me. His love of the sea I like to think came from our happy days in Broome. How I wish I could ease, no, take on, the pain you must be suffering. So much promise, such hope, I find it hard for God to justify taking him. But so many good young men have been taken in this ghastly mess. Be proud of him, he didn’t shirk his duty, and have faith there is some reason for all this. It hurts that I can’t be more comfort to you. But I am with you, thinking of you, and remembering such happy times … hold on to these, Olivia.

You know I will come in an instant should you need me.

Always,
Tyndall

Olivia had read the letter quickly, then stuffed it in the pocket of her skirt. Several times during the day
she took it out and re-read it then resolutely put it away. The passion and deep caring that jumped off the page touched her deeply. She realised that others had loved Hamish too, that he had touched other lives. Memories came … of the boy riding on Ahmed’s shoulders, trying on Yoshi’s copper helmet, standing by the wheel with Tyndall. The shared memories of Hamish somehow helped keep him alive in more than her own heart and made her feel a little better.

Gilbert’s patient understanding and wise advice penetrated the shroud of grief that enveloped Olivia and she steeled herself to go back to work and hide her pain, to try to get on with life in the hope that helping others might deflect her anguish and sense of loss. She asked Gilbert to tell everyone not to offer sympathy or pity. She returned to her duties and stoically looked on each minute of each day as a hurdle to be faced, overcome and the cycle repeated.