The captain was true to his word – her tank was topped up regularly. Edie was grateful. But it didn’t stop her being critical of the situation.

‘Too many people, not enough water,’ she said. ‘Simple as that. They’re nice boys them Yankees, but too many of ’em. Too many of ’em all in one place.’

Edie was right about that, too. The population of Townsville had already doubled and was rapidly on the way to tripling in number. With such a vastly expanding populace, the town’s water supply was under tremendous strain. And adding to the strain was ignorance.

From the outset, the American military had demanded clean, fresh water for its troops and it was up to the Townsville City Council to provide and regulate the supply. But the American troops had no idea of the value of water or the need to employ its use economically. In many a military barracks ablutions block, men simply dumped their clothes on the floor and turned on all the showers as a method of laundering. The City Council not unsurprisingly determined to bring this practice to a halt, and regular inspections of military camps came into play, with fines imposed upon offenders. The American Command, by now aware of the problem, supported the TCC and helped enforce the penalties incurred by its troops, but the water supply continued to be an ongoing problem, and was destined to become even more so.

‘The council’s approached the Bulletin with the idea of running daily water-usage tallies,’ Pete Vickers confided to his good mate Bruce Desmond. They’d met up at the magnificent Queen’s Hotel on The Strand, home to the American Officers’ Club, and a popular watering hole for many when its bar was operating.

‘A copper and a journo walk into a bar …’ Bruce had said as they’d entered the place. It was a running gag between them, originally demanding a witty response, but these days producing no more than a shared smile. Both of them were Townsville boys born and bred, and now in their mid-twenties were well-respected identities in their home town. Having grown up together, Bruce and Pete were the firmest of friends.

They’d settled themselves at the bar with their beers, Senior Sergeant Bruce Desmond in civvies, having come off duty after an eight-hour shift, and Pete Vickers having left the Townsville Daily Bulletin offices for the day. Not that Pete had stopped work. Far from it. The American Officers’ Club was a favourite hangout of his, even when the bar wasn’t open. He’d hang around the lounge, drinking cups of tea and eavesdropping for any piece of inside information he might glean. And he gleaned quite a bit, although to his constant chagrin there was very little his editor would agree to print.

‘You can go ahead and write it, Pete,’ Jim Burnet would say in his infuriatingly placid way, ‘but you’ll be wasting your time. It won’t see the light of day.’