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.

During his last weekend visit to town, as they’d sat eating scones and drinking tea in the kitchen, Samuel had been most gratified by Amelia’s response to the note he’d promised to deliver.

‘From young Private Hill,’ he said, handing her the envelope, ‘a thank you for the book you gave him, I believe.’ That’s what Rupert Barrett had said anyway when he’d delivered the note to the officers’ tent.

‘Oh my goodness,’ Amelia exclaimed as she looked down at the envelope, upon which was very clumsily written, ‘Mrs Sanderson’. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she repeated in breathless amazement, ‘Ant wrote this himself.’

‘So his corporal tells me, yes,’ Samuel said.

She opened the envelope and took out the note. Watching her closely, he could see she was touched as she read its brief content, several times over, it seemed.

‘How lovely,’ she murmured finally. She looked up at him and smiled.

Such a sweet smile, Samuel thought. Then, looking down once again at the note, she read it out loud to him.

‘Dear Mrs Sanderson,

‘Thank you for the book you gave me. I am reading “How the Leopard Got His Spots”.

‘Yours sincerely,

‘Anthony Hill (Ant)