Gus had been worried about the reception he might get from his shipmates and expected to be teased about his embarrassment in the brothel, but when he arrived to board the waiting liberty boat, they were far more interested in his new friends. He had ‘fallen on his feet there, all right’ was the consensus, and he seemed to have gone up in their estimation.

The Shenandoah’s stay in Melbourne was longer than anyone expected. She was taken into dry dock for repairs and it was discovered that more work was needed to make her seaworthy than previously thought. Her crew had no objection to the delay. Her officers, who had once been so doubtful about the wisdom of calling at the port, found themselves lionised and invited to balls and dinners at some of the most exclusive clubs and hotels. Gus, too, was more than happy to stay.

Whenever he was allowed ashore he headed straight for Croft’s Hotel, where Victoria and her mother undertook to give him a thorough tour of the city. After the soot and cloudy skies of Liverpool, he relished the sunshine and was enchanted by the tree-lined banks of the Yarra River and the streets of pretty, clapboard-fronted houses with their elaborate wrought-iron balconies.

There were less attractive areas, too – streets of hastily built shacks and smoking factory chimneys – but his hosts avoided them. The high point of his explorations was a visit to Melbourne Zoo. He had seen very few animals in his life. There were cats in the workhouse to keep down the mice and the occasional stray dog that wandered in, and in his rare glimpses of the outside world he had seen horses pulling carts and traps. On board ship there had been pigs and live chickens. Now he saw creatures whose mere existence was almost beyond belief: kangaroos that bounced along as if they had springs in their feet; somnolent koalas and spiky echidnas. And birds in such vivid colours that at first he could hardly believe they were real. He wished that he had May’s ability to draw, so he could keep a record of them.

The thought of his sister brought to the surface a sense of guilt that he had been trying to ignore. He mentioned it to Victoria, who said at once, ‘Why don’t you write her a letter?’

‘Could I? How would it get there?’

‘There’s a mail boat that goes from here back to England with letters – and it’s sailing in a couple of days’ time.’

‘I don’t know,’ Gus muttered. ‘I’ve never written a letter. I wouldn’t know how to begin.’

‘I’ll help you,’ she offered.