He had gone, and found himself on a sampan with an Australian general and a handful of staff officers. The general, who had handed over his command before leaving his men to their captors, sat on the deck of the boat and looked moodily towards the shore. He watched him. What should a general do in such circumstances, he wondered. Should he stay and join his men as a prisoner of war, or should he escape, if he can, and live to fight another day? He wanted to speak to the general, but he seemed sunk in his thoughts, and he left him to himself.

Later, when the party split up, Dr St Clair fell into Japanese hands and was taken to Changi. He resumed his role as a medical officer, coping with what primitive supplies they had, surviving forced marches and the horrors of the labour camps. He became more of a nurse than a doctor, tending to men dying of dysentery and starvation, making representations when he could to the guards. He learned about cruelty; about the ease with which one person may kill another, by a nod of the head, by a tiny movement of the lips; he learned about all the workings of inhumanity. And then, as suddenly as he had been captured, he found himself free. He wondered how the Japanese would respond to defeat: would they fall upon those very swords they had used to decapitate their prisoners? He looked into the face of his erstwhile captors, and saw nothing. They were like puppets, he thought; puppets whose strings had been cut from above.

He returned to Brisbane. None of his clothes would fit him now. You sent a man off to war, he thought, and you got a skeleton back.

She said, ‘Let’s not talk about it. Let’s forget that all this happened.’

He looked at her. He could not speak, even had he wanted to. He wept. She held him, remembering how her father had wept over Gallipoli.

She became pregnant and they had a son. This was Dr St Clair’s father.

44. A Move to Moray Place

‘We can’t stay here,’ Matthew announced. ‘I like India Street – it’s one of the nicest streets in the New Town – but how can we stay here? How?’

Elspeth cast an eye down on her stomach, now rather larger, she imagined, than it would otherwise have been. The thought of three babies within her – three! – made her feel slightly light-headed. I’m going to be vast, she thought; really vast. I’ll require scaffolding. ‘I don’t see what you mean. What’s wrong with India Street?’

Matthew shook his head. ‘It’s not India Street itself,’ he said. ‘In fact it’s nothing to do with India Street. It’s to do with us – all six, no, five of us. You can’t have three children in this flat – you just can’t.’