‘Of course there was noise,’ Samuel said, exasperated, ‘there was always going to be noise. It’s a club, there’s a band, there’s singing and dancing. The farmers were told about that, weren’t they? And besides, their properties are miles away, it’s hardly as if they’re cheek-by-jowl neighbours.’

‘It’s the wives rather than the farmers themselves,’ Hank admitted, aware he’d have to get to the point. He might as well have come out with it right from the start, he thought. ‘You’re right, the farmers were told there was to be a servicemen’s club set up at the old Parslow property, but the wives say they weren’t told exactly what sort of servicemen’s club.’

‘Ah,’ Samuel said slowly, the truth dawning, ‘I see.’ And he did. ‘A Negro servicemen’s club, you mean.’

‘Exactly. They’ve lodged a formal complaint with the US military. They feel their children are not safe with so many soldiers nearby, particularly on premises where alcohol is available —’

‘So many black soldiers, you mean,’ Samuel interrupted with uncharacteristic force, ‘they’d have felt perfectly safe if the soldiers had been white.’

‘Exactly.’ Hank decided to stop pussyfooting around. Robinson had every right to be riled up; he’d stuck to the rules and done a damn good job with the club. ‘That’s it in a nutshell,’ he admitted. ‘The farmers had been quite happy to have a servicemen’s club a few miles down the track. Hell, one of them even asked if there’d be girls there,’ Hank’s smile was sardonic, ‘maybe he liked the idea of popping in for a quick poke.’

Samuel didn’t return the smile, which didn’t matter, Hank had not intended to be humorous.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘seems around dusk a few of the local kids were out riding their bikes when a load of army trucks passed by. The kids followed the trucks and watched them pull up at the Parslow place. Said they saw blacks, hundreds and hundreds of blacks, exaggerating, you know, the way kids do.’ Hank shook his head dolefully. ‘Well, the wives didn’t like the sound of that at all. Told their husbands they wouldn’t stand for it. The safety of their children is threatened, they say, and they won’t have a bar of the club. So the farmers have lodged a formal complaint.’

Hank Henry went on to sum up the situation in his customary blunt manner. ‘It’s a complaint we can’t ignore, Samuel, we need to take immediate action. The club will be closed as of today. We can’t afford to offend the locals.’

‘But what’s wrong with these people,’ Samuel protested, ‘why this over-reaction to the presence of Negroes? Surely they know there’s a huge labour force of black soldiers camped five to ten miles down the road from wherever their farms happen to be.’