‘I don’t want to go home,’ muttered Danny. ‘I want to stay here with you and talk about my dad and Malaya and the war. Ben and Jake were in Africa and Europe, Mum doesn’t know anything and you’re the only person who doesn’t talk to me like a kid.’

He lit the cigarette and leaned back against the ledge of rock that ran down one side of the cave. The boy was bright and inquisitive, and there was a vulnerability about him which tugged at his heart, for he clearly needed some answers. But he knew he would be treading a very fine line with Danny. To tell him everything would be a mistake, perhaps give him false hope. But to lie to him would be a betrayal.

‘John? Please can I stay with you for a little while longer?’

He looked into the boy’s eyes, saw the yearning there and knew he couldn’t abandon him to the uncertainties that obviously plagued him. ‘Only if you drink that tea before it gets cold,’ he said with a sigh.

17

The battle at Blackman’s Creek had been won – but the war was not yet over on Bob Freeman’s Wilga. The men had been fighting the fire for over eighteen hours now and everyone was exhausted, faces blackened into anonymity by the smoke and ash, lungs burning and eyes streaming. But the wind was gusting and the inferno was still raging against the pale dawn sky, devouring homesteads, barns and outbuildings, roaring across the empty plains like a great broiling fiery sea.

Ben continued to hack down trees to clear a firebreak while he kept an eye on the bowsers and the hundreds of volunteers that kept pouring in. So many of them were young and green when it came to firefighting, and although there was a hardened core of experienced men, he knew all too well how easily accidents could happen when over-enthusiasm and tiredness took over.

The heavy hand clamped on Ben’s shoulder, making him jump. ‘Give me the axe, son. I’ll take over here while you get some rest.’

Ben tightened his grip on the axe, unwilling to hand it over. His father had aged within the past few hours, his usually rugged and ruddy face grey and lined with weariness and anguish. ‘I need someone to take over one of the bowsers,’ he said. ‘Young Pete Baker has been on his own for too long.’

Bob Freemen raised bushy brows and his eyes twinkled. ‘Send an old man to do a boy’s work, eh? Give the old fella a bit of a rest?’

‘That’s about it, Dad,’ said Ben. ‘Mum would never forgive me if you dropped dead from a heart attack – and I have to say you look crook enough to keel over at any minute.’