No-one could argue that the military invasion had happened quickly. The citizens of Townsville had been taken by surprise, as had those in many other North Queensland townships. Unlike the civilians of the Northern Territory, the local population had not been evacuated south in order to create a restricted military area. Those in North Queensland had been left to carry on as usual, as if somehow the war in the Pacific was something that needn’t concern them.

None of us gave things much thought really, did we, Val mused, counting out a bloke’s change. Well, we bloody well should have! She was actually surprised that she of all people had been caught so unawares. A tough old broad like me who’s been around the traps, I should have known better, she told herself. But crikey, there was only a handful of Aussie troops stationed here, and watching them drill was a joke. Hell, they wore shorts and sandshoes and no shirts, and when one lot had finished they’d hand their rifles over to the next lot so they could have a go. No wonder we didn’t take things seriously.

She grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the shelf and started pouring another bloke’s order, a Yankee officer with the rank of major, giving him a saucy smile as she did. Even at the age of fifty-three, Val always flirted. It was good for business and she knew she could get away with it. Old broad she might be, but she looked after herself; kept her hair blonde, never a strand of grey to be seen, still had good tits, she could pull a trick if she wanted to. Not that she did – that part of her life belonged in the past. She was a respectable pub owner and had been for many a year. But old habits die hard, don’t they. At least that’s the way Val saw things.

‘There you go, mate,’ she said, handing the major his two bourbons on the rocks – he was buying a round for his buddy – and giving him another special smile.

Of course, it was the fall of Singapore that did it, she thought. Then four days later they bomb bloody Darwin! Some wake-up call! No wonder we all had the fear of God put in us. The Japs were on our bloody doorstep. And they’re getting closer by the minute what’s more. Thank God for the Yanks.

Leaving Betty and Jill to man the bar, she weaved her way through the khaki throng, collecting empty glasses here and there, playing hostess and generally spreading bonhomie.

Just look at them, she thought, her eyes once again roaming those in the bar and through the windows those in the street. Some Aussies, sure, but mostly Yanks; they’ve taken over the whole place, and Christ alive it’s not even mid-March!