They had stayed longer than intended, for the company was pleasant, the children enchanting and the rice wine potent. In this small oasis it was easy to forget their reasons for being here and the dangers that always lurked in the steaming jungle that surrounded them.

Hakim was about seven or eight – it was hard to tell because the natives were all tiny compared to the hulking great Australians who sat around their campfire – and he’d singled him out as someone who could do magic with a bit of string. He was trying to fathom out how to emulate the intricate twists and shapes in the cat’s cradle when the jungle seemed to explode with movement and noise.

Responding on instinct, he pushed the boy and his mother to the ground and shielded them with his body as he grabbed his rifle and fired into the line of Japanese soldiers who had appeared and were advancing on the village.

But the village was surrounded, the native spears useless against the hail of enemy bullets – and he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late. He half turned, saw the butt of the rifle coming swiftly down towards his head and didn’t have time to defend himself.

When he came to, he discovered that two of his men lay dead and that he and the other battered and bloodied survivors of his group had each been tethered hand and foot to the man next to him. His vision was blurred and it felt as if his head had been cracked in two, but as the fog finally lifted from his bleary eyes and his senses returned he wished he’d remained in oblivion. For the scene before him was blood-chilling.

The fearless little native warriors had fought valiantly to protect their families, but their spears and pangas had been no match for the bullets and bayonets, and the headman and his warriors lay dead alongside the women, the elderly and young babies they hadn’t been able to protect. The terrified survivors, women and children, were being herded up the bamboo steps and into the thatched wooden longhouse.

In his sleep he knew what was coming and moved restlessly as he tried to shy from it – to break the shackles that bound him to that moment. But the images had been etched deep into his memory and they returned full force.

The Jap soldiers had kicked away the bamboo ladder and were now throwing lit sticks from the communal fire up into the dry thatched roof and in through the doorway. Making a competition of it to see who could throw the most accurately, laughing about it, admiring their handiwork as the flames grew and the black smoke rose above the jungle canopy.