‘I wish it were me,’ she sighed, putting the dustcover back on the Remington.

A man Dad worked with had a daughter who was a typist for the Americans, and he set up an interview for me.

The Americans had entered the war at the end of 1941, when the Japs bombed Pearl Harbor, and it wasn’t long before their khaki uniforms spilled into the streets, bringing a new energy and purpose to what had so far seemed like a distant war. By the early months of 1942 the streets were overrun with Yanks. The war seemed closer than ever when Darwin was bombed by the Japanese on 19 February. I saw photographs in the newspaper of aeroplanes bombing ships in the harbour, of families fleeing town. Two hundred and thirty-five people were killed and no one had expected or prepared for it; everyone said we’d been caught on the back foot. So the sight of more uniformed soldiers on the streets gave us a sense of security, as well as a secret, belly-deep sort of thrill. They seemed so confident, so certain of their place in the world, that we let ourselves be convinced of it too.

Dad and Jack dropped me near the Grace Building on York Street on a sunny day in March. I was wearing my neatest belted peplum skirt and blouse, dove-grey silk stockings and my blue felt hat with a daisy on the brim. I had twisted my hair into rolls and pinned them either side of my head.

‘Knock ’em dead,’ Jack shouted out the window as they drove off.

I stood still for a moment, letting the human traffic flow around me. I could see the building from where I stood, a solid block of stone with tall narrow windows reflecting the sun, making my eyes water as I gazed up at the towering monolith. Down at street level, I was surrounded by smartly dressed women, some in uniform, some in skirts and blouses, others in dresses and heels, nearly all of them wearing lipstick and stockings, their hair in fringes and curls. There were men in uniform and men in suits with hats and ties. Shoeshine boys, paper boys in front of stands on the corner selling drinks and cigarettes and matches and fruit. A serviceman caught my eye and winked and I shut my mouth and looked away, remembering I shouldn’t stare.

I began to walk, and for the first time, perhaps because I was on my own, I felt a quiver of excitement about the city rather than just disdain, a quiver like the shudder that runs through a horse when you’re putting on his saddle. I walked through the crowd as if I belonged and I went into the Grace Building and caught my very first lift to the very first job interview of my life.