After the war ended Dad decided it was time for the family to go back down south near Milton/Ulladulla. He had a friend who was going to sell him land cheap and he’d have another go at farming. He’d saved money from the delivery business—God knows how—and could buy enough equipment, now, to run a proper dairy. Mum didn’t say much about it, but I could see it would be good for Fred. I wondered whether Dad had broken things off with the woman I saw at the races. Whether it was just farming he was giving another go, or his marriage as well. I wished I could be there with them, in the valley, leaning my head on a cow’s flank at dawn. I had to stay in Sydney, though, and wait for my boat.

In October I finally had a letter from Roy.

Dear Sarah,

Well, things have been rough but I’m alive and that’s what matters. Just before the war ended we got caught in an ambush, hand-to-hand combat, and nearly half my unit didn’t make it through. I had a hit to the hip and woke in a pool of blood. They must have thought I was dead. Turns out I wasn’t, and the doctors have done a good job stitching me up, but there are things I’m having trouble with, like walking’s pretty stiff, and there’ve been some other problems too. Lucky I had your letters in the pocket of my coat, not my hip pocket. Your photograph as well, though it’s looking mighty worn. We’re on a hospital ship headed home now. There’s plenty of boys worse off than me and some of my best pals are dead. Ma and Pa wrote and said I should write to you and tell you all this, in case you change your mind and don’t want to come. I know it sounds bad but it’s okay. Like Ma said, you’ll have to make up your own mind about it.

Love,

Roy

Dear Roy,

Oh, love, what awful news, but I am also so glad you are alive. It breaks my heart that I can’t be there on that ship with you, nursing you myself. Of course I still want to come, I am coming, and the only reason I won’t is if you tell me you don’t want me anymore.

You do still want me, don’t you?