‘Why not?’ Baz was puzzled. There was big money in brothels, as Val well knew.

‘Because to publicise the place as a brothel would call a lot of attention from the authorities, both military and civic,’ she firmly replied. ‘Like I told you before, Baz, the club is to be legit, the hookers are a sideline. We’ll have girls here for the men to dance with and there’ll be a few of them willing to make themselves available if the blokes want to fork out a bit more for a fuck. Do you get my drift?’

‘Sure, Boss,’ he backed off immediately, ‘sure, whatever you say.’

Under Baz’s instruction, the team of workers he’d organised set about clearing anything and everything unnecessary from the house and the barn and the stables, the whole lot being unceremoniously dumped into the tractor shed.

Johnno, the young, ginger-haired, hired hand, looked on in horror. The whole place was being gutted – what would Ned say? But it wasn’t up to him to interfere, he told himself. Baz had upped his wages, paying cash in advance what’s more, and Baz had told him to employ another worker to help him. A worker who was to be paid the same wages he’d previously received himself as the hired hand. Which now made him the boss. A foreman no less.

Seventeen-year-old Johnno lived with his widowed mother and younger brother on the outskirts of town, travelling to and from the farm on his bicycle as he had for the past three years. He’d never before been given such responsibility, but he was determined to meet the challenge. He intended to hire his brother, Mick, who was fifteen and having recently left school was looking for work as a labourer. Mick was a very good choice, Johnno decided, because Mick wasn’t afraid of hard yakka. And their mum’d be pleased too, another wage coming into the house.

Johnno was very happy with the current arrangement. He just wished they weren’t wrecking the place. Ned could be scary when he was angry.

Upon being informed of the proceedings, Samuel Robinson offered Val the assistance of a work team from Company C, a work team comprised of those volunteers willing to offer their R and R time on a roster basis. There were many such volunteers as it turned out. The troops were only too keen to pitch in and help with the construction of a Negro Servicemen’s Club. Besides, what else did they have to do with their R and R time?

Samuel was pleased. The creation of the club would give his men a sense of purpose and might hopefully defuse a potentially dangerous situation as tensions continued to mount at Kelso.

Chuck Maxwell did not in the least agree. Chuck Maxwell found the whole exercise intensely irritating.

‘You’re babying them, Robinson,’ he sneered. ‘Who the hell builds a country club for niggers! You’re weak as piss, you really are.’

Samuel made no reply.