Page 122 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun

The day after Gillam, Bates and Major Jacobs leave, a low-flying plane appears above the trees, to parachute crates of supplies into the camp.

‘This one’s medicine! Get it to the hospital quickly,’ someone shouts.

‘And there’s so much food. A banquet!’ another announces.

‘This one has a message on it.’

A large crate, reinforced with extra slats of timber, sits adrift of the rest.

Betty rushes to the box and begins to read.

‘“Baked with love this morning from the cooks of the Royal Aus—”’ Betty drops to her knees hugging the crate, sobbing. Another nurse takes over.

‘“Baked with love this morning from the cooks of the Royal Australian Navy”.’

The crate is prised apart.

‘There’s another message inside. Let me read it to you,’ Jean says. As her eyes sweep over the words, she bites her lip. This will be tough. ‘“This morning, the cooks on HMASWarregoand HMASManoorafought off their entire crews who attempted to enter the mess and take part in the cooking of this small token of our gratitude, respect and love for the brave women and children who have survived in the jungles of Sumatra. Please accept and enjoy scones with strawberry jam and cream. We’ll get you home, ladies, each and every one of you. Lieutenant Commander Leslie Brooks”.’

The food – fruit, vegetables, meat, eggs – is pored over, handled and passed around the women. Here is everything they need to nourish themselves and begin healing.

With military precision, tables are set up in the camp; the scones, jam and cream distributed between the internees. The men and women fall silent as they enjoy this bounty. The scones are declared the best they have ever tasted.

‘What is this? Vege … Vegemite?’ one of the English women calls out, holding up a small jar of thick dark brown syrup.

The nurses squeal and rush to inspect the jar.

‘That smells terrible,’ the English woman confirms, having managed to unscrew the lid and hold it to her nose.

Fingers are dipped into the jar and popped into mouths, to the pleasurable groans of the nurses.

‘Is that how you eat it?’

Between moans, one of the nurses says, ‘Yes! I mean, no – usually you spread it on toast or just plain bread.’

‘There’s bread here!’ someone shouts. ‘Let’s all try it.’

Norah finds Nesta and the other nurses hard at work in their hut fixing up their uniforms in readiness for departure.

‘You will all look so smart,’ Norah tells them.

‘Well, we’ve washed them and mended holes where we can,’ Nesta says. ‘But they don’t fit right.’

‘That’s because we’ve all lost so much weight,’ Jean says.

‘I’m not mending the bullet hole in mine,’ Vivian tells them. ‘I never want to forget what happened.’

The room falls silent for a moment until Nesta gets up to hug her friend, and one by one the nurses offer Vivian a smile, a soothing pat on the arm and a few words of comfort.

‘Want me to look at your leg?’

‘Please,’ says Norah. ‘I think it’s on the mend, but it’s still so hard to move around.’

‘Let’s go into the garden,’ suggests Nesta.

She helps Norah to shuffle the few steps to the back door. She pulls up a chair and Norah collapses into it.

‘I want to put on a new dressing.’ Nesta pulls a pack of bright white bandages from her pocket and gently hoists Norah’s foot onto her lap. Norah winces in pain.