Page 8 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun

‘Matron Paschke looked particularly pleased with herself,’ Betty says. ‘To see her that close to water and not panicking was so strange. Remember, Nesta, how she wouldn’t even get her feet wet in Malacca?’

‘I remember how we used to make fun of her. She’s never going to let us forget how she survived out in the ocean after being shipwrecked.’

‘Should we separate and look for others?’ Betty asks.

‘Yes, try to grab on to one of the planks floating past. I’ll see you ashore,’ Nesta calls out as she allows the current to take her away.

‘Some of them have made it ashore, so if they can, we can,’ Norah yells to the others.

Norah, Ena, John and June join several survivors trying to swim to an island which comes into view each time they are lifted by a wave, only to disappear as they drop back into the calm ocean. Thank God the water is warm, Norah thinks, looking at her husband. The last thing he needs is an attack of hypothermia.

The strong current beneath them is fighting their approach. For hours, they move down the Banka Strait. June falls asleep from exhaustion or trauma. Ena holds her close, her little head resting on her shoulder as they tread water. The sun is finally setting on this terrible day and visibility on the water ebbs away. Closer now, they watch the fires burning on the shore they are struggling to reach.

None of them sees the raft until it has passed by. Several swim after it, grabbing hold and then dragging it back for others to cling on to. With exhaustion threatening to overwhelm everyone, Norah and Ena help each other onto the raft. As complete darkness engulfs them, they huddle together. Most of those on the raft fall into a deep sleep.

‘Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda

You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me

And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in his tucker bag

‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me …’

As night settles, Nesta finds herself alone, but realises that singing is of some comfort. The plank she grabbed hold of several hours earlier has become her home. With no strength left to paddle, she makes the decision to climb on and let the current take her.

Lying on her back, she looks at the stars above, the same stars her family and friends back, in Australia might also be gazing up at. She thinks of the vast skies of her hometown in rural Victoria, which she has marvelled at for most of her life, and imagines her mother and father are looking up too. She sends them a message.

I will survive and be with you as soon as I can. I know you never wanted me to go to war. I haven’t made your life easy, for that I am sorry. I promise when I get home, I will not leave you again.

She thinks also of Dr Rick, who she met when they were stationed together in Malaya, there to tend to the Allied soldiers positioned, they believed, to see off the invading Japanese Army. She remembers the first time Rick spoke to her, the last time he spoke to her, and wonders whether he made it out of Malaya safely, and where he might be now …

She had agreed to cover Betty’s night shift so she could accept a dinner date. As midnight draws closer, Nesta moves through the ward, ensuring the men are all sleeping, all comfortable. When she returns to her desk to record her notes, the night-duty doctor joins her.

‘Everything all right, Sister James?’ he asks.

‘Sleeping like babies. I think all the men here can be discharged tomorrow,’ Nesta replies, in hushed tones. It wouldn’t do to wake sleeping soldiers.

‘Do you now? Wanting my job are you, Sister?’

Nesta realises what she has just said. Mortified, she stands, her four foot, ten inches dwarfed by the much taller doctor.

‘I am so sorry, that was inappropriate. I’ll make my notes in each file for the morning shift to read,’ she stammers.

‘It’s OK, I’m sure you’re right. Especially with that amount of snoring going on. My money is on Dr Raymond agreeing with you. Take a seat, no need to stand to attention.’

‘Thank you, Dr Bayley,’ Nesta mutters as she sits down.

‘I’m Richard, but my friends call me Rick. I have never heard of anyone called Nesta, can I ask where you got your name?’

Nesta laughs. ‘It’s Welsh. I was born in Wales and my parents moved to Australia when I was a child.’

‘Ah, that explains it, some very different names come from Wales, am I right?’

‘Yes, they do like to be different. No one from Wales wants to be thought of as English.’

Rick sits on the edge of the desk, moving files away, scanning the ward, before turning back to her.

‘Would it be rude of me to ask what you were doing before enlisting and now sitting here with me tonight?’