BARNEY: Chances of pneumonia that I should be goin’ on about. [Entering the living room] Bloody deathtrap, this place, if a bloke’s been up the Islands. Why can’t she have a fire in the mornin’? Boardin’ house, you do expect a few home comforts. Might as well be shivering it out in an army barracks somewhere.

He sits and rubs his feet to restore circulation before putting on socks and boots. NANCY collects Bubba’s schoolbag from the newel post and follows him into the room.

NANCY: Lucky you weren’t here around July. It was really freezing.

BARNEY: Put my socks along the fender last night. Thought they might warm up a bit.

NANCY: Never struck it in the real winter. Any of your leaves.

BARNEY: Bad enough in what they call the summer. If you’re used to decent weather—God almighty, these socks, you can feel the damp. I’ll keep ’em on tonight, go to bed in ’em—

NANCY, who has seated herself and opened Bubba’s schoolbag, raises her eyebrows, and BARNEY amends the statement.

Well, ’least I’ll hang them in the kitchen. Don’t care what she says. It’s the only warm spot in the house.

He starts to pull on his socks and boots and NANCY opens the first of Bubba’s exercise books.

You comin’ down the station, see us off?

NANCY: Might, maybe. If you were heading for Japan. Bit much when it’s just a day trip to South Ken.

BARNEY: Olive comes down. Every mornin’.

NANCY: [her eyes on the homework] Uh-huh.

BARNEY: Makes it look as though you’re not too keen.

NANCY: G’wan. You know me. Keen as mustard.

BARNEY: Yeh.

ROO comes through the French windows, now wearing his boots and carrying the container with the cleaning equipment, which he sets aside. BARNEY eyes him sourly.

I know all about that keen as mustard lark. You been polishin’ up again, have you?

ROO: [on his way upstairs] Ought to get stuck in yourself. Them boots of yours look like they still got mud from up New Guinea.

BARNEY: Bet your life. And that’s the way they’re gunna stay. The army wants me hangin’ around, pretendin’ that the war’s still going on, they can take me as I come.

ROO has vanished upstairs, and BARNEY tugs at his bootlaces with savage energy.

All his lousy spit and polish—killed our chance of a discharge. He went up before the Board at Royal Park, smart as hell, full five-year veteran. You could see the Board, they hated him. Base bludgers, never been near a frontline in their lives, couldn’t wait for some excuse to knock us back—

The sound of a short, sharp double whistle brings him to a disconcerted halt, before NANCY supplies an explanation.

NANCY: Postman.