Loyal Creatures Read Free Page B

older.’

    â€˜How do you spell pharmacy?’ I said to Dad.
    â€˜Search me,’ said Dad.
    He was lying on his army bed, staring at the roof of the tent. He’d been doing it most nights since training started. Probably thinking about Mum. Worrying about what she’d think of us being in the military.
    Lucky it was a big tent. About ten other blokes in there. One of them helped out with the spelling.
    â€˜Ta,’ I said.
    Blokes of all types in the army. Even smart martins who’d been to university.
    â€˜What you writing?’ said Dad.
    I explained it was a letter to Joan. Letting her know what I was up to. We hadn’t said goodbye to many people, Dad hadn’t wanted to.
    â€˜I’m sending it care of the pharmacy,’ I said. ‘That way she might get it before her mother sees it.’
    â€˜Good thinking,’ said Dad.
    He went quiet again. I could see he was back thinking about Mum.
    I got up from my bed and went over to him.
    â€˜She’d understand,’ I said. ‘If she’d seen that feather she would.’
    Dad didn’t say anything for a bit. When he did, his voice was quiet.
    â€˜She does understand,’ he said. ‘I’ve talked to her about it.’
    I stared at him. I’d had natters with Mum myself a couple of times, in dreams. All she’d wanted to talk about was keeping the birds off her veggie patch.
    â€˜What did she say?’ I asked Dad.
    â€˜Private stuff,’ he said. ‘But one thing she wants me to tell you. She loves you, but she doesn’t want to see you for a very long time.’
    I thought about that.
    â€˜Right-o,’ I said.
    Poor Mum, she didn’t have to worry. I wasn’t planning on making a visit any time soon. What I was planning was a life with Joan.
    A very long life.

Top clobber they gave you in the Light Horse.
    Boots, hat with a feather, the lot. And the kit, quality stuff. Rifle, bayonet, even spare shoes for Daisy and Jimmy.
    Training was tough. For Daisy and Jimmy too. Lot of standing around for them while we did shooting practice. Army reckoned we had to get them used to the sound of gunfire, and we only had two months to do it.
    Daisy wasn’t amused.
    â€˜Who broke this ammo box?’ said the gunnery sergeant angrily.
    I gave Daisy a look. That’s all I needed, her being sent home for treading on army property.
    Luckily the sergeant let it go, and as it turned out I was pretty alright at the shooting side of things.
    â€˜Cheeky blighter,’ said Dad, peering at my target.
    The targets were sheets of roofing tin with blokes painted on them. I’d got six hits, Dad had only got three.
    â€˜Mother’s son, you are,’ muttered Dad.
    Mum was a crack shot. She used to win heaps of dolls at fairs. Not to mention keep the birds off the veggie garden, permanent.
    The bloke next to me and Dad, he knew how to handle a gun too. Ten shots on target, all in the head. He was a few years older than me and dead-set full of himself.
    â€˜Too easy,’ he said. ‘Be better with moving targets. Army should ship some Turk prisoners back.’
    Me and Dad swapped a glance. The bloke’s name was Johnson. Angry eyes, black moustache. Looked like the sort of bloke who’d flatten the umpire with his bat if he was given out.
    â€˜Bush pigs’d do,’ said Johnson. ‘They look like Turks.’
    I ignored him. Concentrated on squinting down the barrel, squeezing the trigger gently like Mum taught me.

    â€˜Letter for you,’ said Dad a few weeks later.
    He pointed to the envelope on my bed. Gave me a wink.
    I was tuckered out after a long day on the training field, but I ripped that envelope open in record time.
    It was from Joan.
    Dear Frank
    I was sad we didn’t get to say goodbye. But I think I understand.
    This is just to say good luck over there. Look after yourself. Specially your feet and armpits and the rest.
    When you get there,