Page 22 of Under the Dark Moon

Chapter 7

Townsville

Truck, train, car . . . I only need to take a boat and a plane, and I’ll have used every form of transport known to man.

Travel-weary, Meg leaned against the telegraph pole outside the RAAF supply-store and waited for a ride to her new posting. A duffle bag containing her new set of uniforms lay at her feet. The clerk had grudgingly handed over a replacement kit when she told him hers had been lost in the Darwin bombing. The paperwork had been painful, but it hadn’t been worth getting into a long explanation with him. Most of what she’d lost had been uniform items, but she regretted the loss of her family photos. And given her poor recall for mundane details, the loss of her little address book limited her ability to write to friends.

But she’d memorised the information about Seamus’s company. In her first free moment, she was going to contact him. Had he teed up an army chaplain already? At least she’d have a new uniform to walk down the aisle in, but a small part of her regretted not being able to dress up for him. He’d never seen her dressed to the nines and she was just vain enough to want to wow him on her wedding day.

A jeep pulled up beside her and a corporal leaned across the passenger seat. ‘Lt Dorset?’ Meg nodded and the driver patted the seat. ‘Hop in.’ He came around her side of the jeep and tossed her duffle bag onto the back seat while she climbed in. ‘I’m to take you to the MRS, Central Sick Quarters.’

Her tired brain couldn’t remember what she’d heard about this unit. ‘Central? Does it serve all defence forces?’ Meg prayed it included the army. Surely it would be easier to find Seamus if she were based in a hospital that included the army.

‘It serves the squadrons out at Garbutt Airfield. Central Sick Quarters is a RAAF acquisition. It’s an old home that’s been acquired. We’ve taken out walls to make two wards and now we’re turning the rear rooms into an operating theatre.’

Matron had promised Meg she would be furthering her skills as a theatre nurse. It looked like she was coming in on the ground floor, but the news she was to be stationed in a RAAF hospital wasn’t so promising. Not when she still had to find Seamus. Grateful he hadn’t yet been deployed, her mind turned over her driver’s comments, and thrilled to the information about the operating theatre. In Darwin, before the bombing had changed everything, she’d already decided that being a theatre nurse was where she felt most at home, and she had requested as much time there as her matron was prepared to give her.

‘Do you know where my barracks will be?’

‘On site at Currajong. There are huts for the nurses around the croquet green. Croquet, hey! The owners must have been posh.’ Her driver said no more until they turned a corner and he pointed ahead. A soldier was guiding a reversing truck down a driveway while another stood in the middle of the street, holding back a single civilian car until the truck cleared the road. ‘That’s you, where the truck just turned in.’

He pulled up near the front corner of the property and Meg clambered out of the jeep. Turning back to grab her duffle bag she asked, ‘Where and to whom do I report?’

The corporal was halfway to the front steps when he flicked an abrupt finger along the driveway. ‘Down the side that way. Temporary office in the first hut you come to. Can’t miss it. I’ve got to get back to work.’ With no more small talk, he strode up the front steps and through the door.

Meg looked at the building set well back from the road. The front garden must have been sizable judging by the cleared ground. Sounds of hammering came through the open front door of what, despite the army’s worst efforts, had clearly once been a beautiful home.

Palm trees filled one corner of the property but churned up earth surrounded them, and Meg wondered if their days were numbered as she approached the fence line. Two prefabricated tents with wooden flooring had been erected and wooden pegs indicated where others would be added.

The house was a grand structure, gracious and beautifully proportioned, with a wide veranda running down each side. Soldiers were in the process of adding flyscreening and materials for multiple beds were stacked nearby. This was a major facility and Meg more fully appreciated Matron’s recommending her for the transfer. The size and scope of what was happening here would be good experience and once the war was over, she hoped it would help her to find work in a surgical hospital.

Following the churned-up driveway, the sounds of hammering and sawing grew louder, and she glimpsed her driver on a ladder climbing onto the roof. Rounding the corner, she understood why he hadn’t bothered to escort her further. Overgrown grass, lush, but contained within a croquet-shaped area was surrounded by huts. She’d found the nurses’ accommodation, but nowhere stood out as an office where she could report her arrival.

Slowing her pace, she strolled towards the nearest hut. At the open door she peeked inside. A WAAAF officer sat at a file-covered desk, a set of shelves lining the wall behind. The woman looked up suddenly. ‘Can I help you?’

Meg stepped into the room, lowered her duffle bag, and stood at attention. ‘Lt Dorset reporting for duty, ma’am.’

‘Dorset? You were in Darwin during the bombing, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘And after that?’

‘On an evac truck to Adelaide River where I’ve been since Darwin.’

The woman sorted through a pile of files, pulled one out and opened it. Meg could just make out ‘Dorset, Margaret Olivia-Lt. Nurse’ on the tab. ‘You’re coming in as a theatre nurse. Good. The matron at Adelaide River recommended you as being cool and calm in difficult circumstances.’ Closing the file, she stood and came around the desk to join Meg. ‘I’ll show you to your quarters. Fifteen minutes to freshen up and then I’ll introduce you to Dr Ransom. You’ll be on his team and answerable to him in the first instance.’

Meg nodded. Why did that name sound familiar? Tired from the constant travelling to get to Townsville, her sludgy brain took a while to remember where she’d heard it before—Corporal Ransom had been their driver as they escaped from Darwin. As she followed the WAAAF officer to a hut two doors down from the office, she wondered if the corporal was related to the doctor she was to work under.

‘You’re the first to move in here, Dorset. Ablutions are in that building.’ Meg followed the pointing finger. Not that she needed to be told. Signs clearly labelled the block, and the nearby mess hut. Beyond these buildings and at a distance stood a separate building, as yet unnamed.

‘What’s that far building for?’

‘The morgue. Come back to my office when you’ve tidied up. I’m Lt Breeks.’ Turning on her heel, the lieutenant strode back the way they’d come.

Meg stepped into the basic hut and looked around. Two double-bunk beds were set at right angles along two walls. Four upright metal lockers and four hooks lined the third wall, and she stood in the doorway in the fourth wall, surveying what was to be her home for the foreseeable future.

Unless I’m pregnant or married.

---