brucehassan :: Sunland

	Chapter 1: Sunrise version #2
	Tom, it's started The whole building shook and shuddered as loud crashes and booms exploded around them. The terrifying sounds of high pitched whistles and the bright flashes of tracers laced the night air. The attack was truly frightening. Boom. A large explosion near the apartment building smashed open the french doors. Shards of glass flew in all directions, scattering slivers large and small around the room. The armchairs fell on to their backs, their stubby feet pointing towards the open doors. The radiola slipped sideways, with the glow in the dial fading and brightening in a strange imitation of the warfare erupting in the harbour outside. "Tom, Tom" Mrs Welsh called from the upturned armchair she huddled behind. "Tom, are you all right?" "Yes, yes I am" answered his shaky voice from the kitchenette "I'm glad I hadn't turned the gas on yet." Another loud crash shook the building, making the french doors flap helplessly as more glass fell from them. "We should try and get down to the cellar" Mrs Welsh yelled over the din. "It's to far, let's get into the bathroom" shouted Tom. Mrs Welsh darted out from her cubby and into the passage with an agility that belied her years. Tom ran from the kitchen, and both fell into the bathroom. The building rattled as another explosion rent the evening. Dust fell from the bathroom ceiling but the tiny windows remained intact and there was no broken glass to cut themselves on. Mrs Welsh emptied the washing basket into the bath tub, spreading the clothing around. "Get in" she told Tom. They clambered in, Mrs Welsh grabbing the towels from the rack and throwing them over them like a tarpaulin as they crouched on the palliase of clothing. "Well, its begun" crooned Mrs Welsh triumphantly "At last, the time has come." "Yes dear, so it seems." whispered Tom. The morning dawned cold and grey. It had rained during the night, and the parquetry floor of the lounge glistened with water and broken glass. The rug was sodden. The chaotic broken furniture and strewn books, the damp flapping curtains, the clouds of smoke drifting past - all gave the room a feeling of violation, of something unspeakable having happened. Mrs Welsh woke to the grey light falling through the broken window and across the rumpled bedding. Sometime in the early morning after the 'all clear' sounded she had crept from the bath into the bed. Now her eyes smarted and her mouth was dry. But she was awake. "It's begun" she said aloud, and began to hum. "Tom" she called. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. "Tom." She heard a muffled groaning from the bathroom. "Tom" she called again "see if the stove is working, I need a cup of tea". She climbed out of the bed, humming the tune of God Save the King. "Hmm, we'll see who saves who now. Tom have you got the kettle on yet" she demanded as she picked up her red candlewick dressing gown from the floor and put it on. "And turn the wireless on, we need to hear the news". She opened the door into the passageway, catching sight of the lounge room battle ground. "We'll need to clean up the flat too" she thought as she went into the kitchen. "Where is Tom, he hasn't even got the kettle on yet". She picked her way across the glassy lounge room and went out on to the balcony. The happiness of tea The alarm woke Mrs Welsh just before dawn. She got out of bed and wrapped her morning kimono around her thin frame. As she walked into the lounge room she turned on the radio. It was a few minutes before six, and she lit a small jasmine scented incense stick, placing it in the little holder next to the photograph of Tom. She ran her finger gently across his smiling face. "Oh Tom", she whispered, "if only you were still here, if only you could see". Her thoughts were broken by the radio. The familiar tune of the Kimigayo filled the room as Mrs Welsh turned and bowed deeply to her portrait of the Emperor. Beams of weak winter sunshine began shining through the french doors, illuminating the curling wisps of incense. The pungent smell of jasmine was filling the room as the strains of the Kimigayo faded away. Mrs Welsh straightened up and turned towards the kitchenette. It was unusually quiet, she noticed. "Well, it is a public holiday" she said to herself. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove, lighting the gas ring beneath it. The tea canister was on the bench, and as she scooped the dark tea leaves into the pot she consciously noticed, as she often did these days, that she still preferred black Indian tea to the many green teas so fashionable now. Mrs Welsh walked around opening the curtains in the flat. Low grey clouds drifted across the grey sky, and little white caps on the harbour reflected the cool breeze blowing in through the heads. "Just like it was back then, on this very day" she thought. Looking through the french doors she could vaguely see the holes and chips in the timber frame, long-ago filled with putty and covered in a thick coat of glossy dark paint. In the distance the little tea house in Bradfield Park was being opened up to its patrons. "A busy day today" she thought, as she watched a woman folding back the wooden shutters, and smoke started to curl up from the chimney and into the shadows of the great bridge above it. The whistle of the kettle interrupted her reverie, and Mrs Welsh went back into the kitchenette and poured the boiling water into the tea pot. She covered the pot with one of the little red and white knitted cosies produced in large quantities by her Women's Guild branch. She took the pot and set it on the table, then placed a little cup and saucer of fine china beside the pot. It's satsuma pattern of pale pink cherry blossoms had always pleased her, and she kept it for special occasions. She sat down at the table, staring for a few moments at the mynors flitting in the bare branches of the plane tree outside the window, their dark little bodies silhouetted against the ashen sky. Mrs Welsh arranged the tea pot, cup and saucer around her, so as to be in just the right place. Then she picked up the sealed envelope leaning against the vase on the table. She caressed the envelope, feeling the indentations made by the pen on its surface, and the perforated edges of the stamp. Then she leant it against the vase again, and picked up the tea pot and slowly poured the dark, steaming tea into the little satsuma cup. She picked up the envelope again and read the carefully inscribed envelope: Mrs Adela Welsh, Bridge Apartments, Karafuto Avenue, North Sydney. She turned it over and longingly read the sender's address: Welsh (T) San, Governor's Tower, Sidoni Nihon Machi. The mynor birds in the tree began squabbling, jumping from branch to branch until one of them suddenly whirled away into the sky, and the others began a jubilant chattering. Mrs Welsh picked up her ebony handled letter opener and prised the flap open. She drew out the folded sheets, and opened the pale pieces of rice paper. Mrs Welsh took a sip of hot tea, and finally began to read. A son cherished Tue., 29^th May 2622 My darling okaa-san, Just a quick note to wish you all the best for this coming Awakening Day. I know how much you regard this day and all that it stands for and means to us all. It would be great if dad could still be with us, and we could all be together - especially as this year will be the 20th anniversary. But, as you know, I have to be here and support our Governor in his official duties. If you watch out for me at the ceremony at the Shrine you may catch sight of me assisting the Prince. I will be lighting incense at our little shrine here to father, and also for everyone who suffered and paid the highest price for our nation's awakening. And, of course, you are always in my thoughts, and I pray everyday for your good health, prosperity and comfort, Your loving son Thomas P.S. have you heard anything from Della? Mrs Welsh shuddered at the mention of Della's name. That girl. So ungrateful. So rebellious, So blind to what had been achieved, so completely self-centred. She took in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled, feeling her exasperation gradually dissipate with her breath. She looked out of the window again. The errant mynor had returned, and was again causing a disturbance in the flock. The angry chattering of the birds could be heard above the music of the radio, and again they began to attack the outcast, until it abruptly flew away. Mrs Welsh looked back at the letter. "My darling okaa-san" she read again and smiled. She held the letter to her heart for a moment, then taking another sip of tea from the pink satsuma cup she read the letter again, and then again, each time stopping at the farewell and returning to the salutation without reading the 'P.S.' The clock chimed for 6.30, and Mrs Welsh sipped the last of the tea in her cup, stood up and took the tea things to the kitchen. She emptied the tea pot down the sink, rinsed it and the cup and saucer and left them in the dish rack to dry. By 7.30 Mrs Welsh had showered and dressed, and was waiting at the little bus stop outside Bridge Apartments. Within minutes a city bound bus came around the corner and Mrs Welsh boarded. She didn't have to pay a fare, just show her pass stamped with its large Imperial mon. The driver cast his eyes down in deference, and she took her seat by the window just behind the driver. It was her favourite seat. A daughter scorned They met for the first time that morning. It was a furtive meeting - drawn curtains, a gloomy room, thick with cheap garam smoke and the aroma of strong Java coffee. "Perhaps it was like this for Dad once", she thought, "organising a strike, taking on the bosses on the Sydney waterfront in the 1920s - but of course, they broke his spirit when they expelled him, accused him of being a class traitor, a running dog ... of course, they airbrush that part of his life away now, as though it had never existed." But it had. She knew that. They hunted old communists down for sport in New Siberia, but here they simply denied that there had ever been such a thing - unless it was convenient to destroy someone's reputation. She winced at the thought. "Della, hello, are you still with us?" His deep voice sliced through her day dreaming, demanding her attention. Now. "We have an action to carry out, and we must all focus. The arrow has to fly direct to be true". The others all nodded their heads in sage agreement. Della nodded to. "Sorry. its been a long trip to get here. I think I need some more coffee". Someone slid the coffee pot towards her, and she felt her forearm stick to the plastic table cloth as she moved her cup towards it. "Oh yes, it's true", she thought, "I am here". The tall man with the brown hair and beard stood up. "For those who haven't met me before I am called East. We've been over this plan before - or at least, you have all been over your parts of the plan. None of you knows the whole plan, for obvious reasons. But you do all know what today's action is part of. We are going to disrupt the Awakening Day rituals, we are going to rescue the idea of awakening and make it ours". "yea" "right on" "Twenty of these actions are going to take place today. There will be twenty people involved in each action. And being on the twentieth anniversary we will make this day our day - the Triple Twentieth". "Wow" "Yes, yes" "twenty, twenty, twenty" Della's head began to swirl. The stuffy room, the cloying smell of garams, the strength of the coffee, the intensity of the moment, and all on an empty stomach. "Is there anything to eat?" she asked. "Eat! today we are going to eat freedom - we are going to taste it and smell it and feel it and hear it - we are going to be it - that is what we have to eat". The others looked at her. Della didn't feel well. The thought of seeing her mother again flooded her mind, and she suddenly ran from the room into the cool morning air of the tiny back yard and vomited. A yellow-eyed dog lying in the yard watched her, and sidled over to sniff at the mess. A mother's pride The bus from the north shore pulled into the bus stand at the bottom of Martin Place. Mrs Welsh alighted along with a number of other well dressed women and men. Some of them bowed softly to each other in that Australian adaptation of the bow that visitors from the Homeland sometimes found irreverent, but which had become the local way. "Ah, Welsh San" a quiet voice said at her side "I am so happy to see you here today". "Tanaka San, I too am pleased to see you on this auspicious day" replied Mrs Welsh as she bowed deeply in the Imperial manner to the bemedalled and uniformed man now beside her. "Come with me, we have a place of honour set aside for you". Mrs Welsh followed him across the rapidly filling square and up onto the little dais next to the Shrine to the Brave, until they stopped at a seat towards the end of the front row. Mr Tanaka indicated with his gloved hand the seat she was to take, and Mrs Welsh sat down, smoothing her dress across her knees and adjusting her hat. Several other people already sat in the end seats and the back row. They all sat quietly, not speaking, just watching the crowd that was filling the square. Mrs Welsh looked around. The red and white bunting blew gently in the breeze, and the GPO looked positively imperial in great swags of the Hinomaru and naval ensigns all emphasizing the huge portrait of the Emperor that now occupied the middle of the building's facade. An officer of the Imperial navy was escorted to the seat on one side of her, followed soon after on the other side by the wife of a local politician and her husband. "Konichiwa, Welsh San" she said quietly. "Konichiwa, Kelly San" she replied. Several sparrowhawks began flying around above the crowd, screeching to each other above the noise. The military band that had been tuning its instruments suddenly snapped to attention. Three limousines drew up to the edge of the square, and the crowd began to fall silent as the band began its fanfare of arrival. Within a minute a small party of dignitaries had gathered. They walked along the red carpet towards the dais until they were directly in front of the Emperor's portrait. There they stopped and faced the great icon. The assembled guests on the dais rose and also faced the portrait, as did all the people in the square. As one the whole mass of standing bodies bowed deeply to the portrait, then straightened up again. Within another minute the dignitaries had ascended the dais and taken their seats. Mrs Welsh could almost feel the presence of her son who now sat behind one of the dignitaries, and only a few seats away from her. He didn't know that she was going to be here, and she thrilled to her little secret. "So tall and handsome" she thought" with all the best qualities of east and west and none of the bad, so unlike Della". She smiled inwardly, but had little time to think further when the precentor rose and moved towards the bank of microphones at the front of the dais. The Green Arrow The Sidoni Twenty, as East had told them they were now known, climbed the steps from Town Hall Station without acknowledging each other in any way. They had said they understood Della's fear, they assured her that they had all been through this themselves. "Don't worry" they said "it's just first-time nerves, you'll get used to it". She had eaten a bowl of rice, which had calmed her stomach. Now there was no more time for thinking. It was time for action. "The Green Arrow is about action, not debating", East had reminded her "If you want debating, go back to your university and debate away your life with your Nippon professors. The arrow has to fly direct to be true, and today is the day for direct action". They had all cheered him, and themselves, before setting out for Martin Place. Della tried to focus only on her allotted task. Her hands sweated, and she felt certain that she looked all too obviously like one of the 'wreckers' that the government (and her mother) never stopped railing against. But no one stopped her, and within minutes she was walking along George Street like any other loyal subject out to celebrate Awakening Day. A sparrowhawk sees the Emperor "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to this auspicious day in our city where all is at one with the Emperor". As the precentor spoke into the microphones the grey clouds began to part. Patches of blue sky appeared and the light in the square began to brighten. "Oh, auspicious sign of the gods" gasped the precentor. A sun beam had broken through the clouds, directly illuminating the Emperor's portrait. The dignitaries on the dais, including Mrs Welsh, rose as one and bowed deeply to the portrait. The crowd in the square also bowed. A sense of reverence rose from the assembly in its ordered obeissance. The shrill call of a young hawk broke the quietness. People in the square looked up as the hawk swooped on a little fairy martin. The martin evaded and twisted, while the hawk tracked it through the air. The martin flew straight at the portrait, then at the last moment shot upwards, skimming the painted surface. The hawk, suddenly aware, screeched before crashing into the very face of the Emperor. Stunned, it fell down the facade of the building, landing on the carpeted steps with a feathered thud. The crowd, equally stunned, stood in a kind of horrified silence, unsure of how to react. "Banzai" cried the precentor "Hail the Emperor who has faced every enemy many times without blinking, who remains the calmness at the centre of every storm. Banzai" "Banzai", roared the crowd "Banzai, Banzai". "This is a great omen" continued the precentor as he warmed to his interpretation "sent by the gods to show us, to re-awaken us. Today we celebrate twenty years of the Awakening. Every day we see the strength of the Emperor, every day we feel his power, the power to awaken the spirit throughout Dai Toa." The crowd, reassured by his interpretation of the omen, began to relax. At a signal from the precentor the band burst forth with the Kimigayo. The crows again bowed to the now triumphant portrait. Around the square the Sidoni Twenty, aping those around them, began to slowly move closer to the Shrine to the Brave and the dais. Della could see her mother, resuming her seat along with the others. "So ancient, so regal" she thought "so not my mother". She tasted the bile in the back of her throat. Then she also noticed her brother. "Thomas, why, why can't you see what's happening, why are you up there with her, with all of them?" Della felt her face flush as she continued to slowly inch closer to their target. Tom looses his voice Tom Welsh lay in the bath. He felt stunned. He knew something had happened to him. The clothing and the towels were soaked by bloody dust. His head ached and ached. He felt cold but also numb. He could hear his wife calling him, hear her moving around the flat, crunching glass underfoot. "Tom, Tom" she called. He tried to answer but nothing happened. He heard the door open. He heard his wife come into the bathroom. "Adela" he tried said, but again nothing happened. "Tom, oh no, what has happened to you?" Mrs Welsh looked at the shattered bathroom window, and the blade-shaped hole in the glass. She saw her husband lying in the bath, saw the brilliant red of the clothing and the towels, saw the glassy knife jutting out of him. She was sure he had been all right when she left after the 'all clear'. She thought his silence meant he had fallen asleep. Had the window been broken then? She couldn't remember. "Don't move" she said, and lurched back into the passage way. She snatched at the telephone receiver, and could hear the line clicking and crackling. Suddenly a voice responded: "emergency calls only" said a rather exasperated operator "emergency calls only", she repeated. "An ambulance, I need an ambulance, I think my husband is bleeding to death." Mrs Welsh's voice remained calm, although a sweat had broken out on her forehead and her hands were beginning to itch. "Where are you madam, I'll get one there as quick as I can." "Bridge Apartments, Kirribilli Avenue in North Sydney, flat two on the second floor." "Thank you, I'll get one to you as quickly as I can." Della begins to sweat The Governor stood resplendent in his naval uniform, Medals sparkled in the sunshine. The plumes of his admiral's tricorne waved in the breeze. His sword gleamed as he lifted it gently from Mrs Welshes left shoulder to her right. He placed the sword on a cushion held by Thomas, who stepped back slightly, and took a large golden medal on a long silken ribbon and put it over Mrs Welsh's head to rest around her neck. The Governor then also stepped back, and Mrs Welsh rose. They bowed deeply to each other. Della's uncertainty was giving way to annoyance at the spectacle. "That's right Mother, accept their baubles, fool yourself into believing that it means something. They don't really accept you, it's all a charade." She wanted to spit her disgust on to the ground. Della looked around. She could see some of the Twenty nearby by, slowly converging on the dais. The crowd began clapping and cheering, and Della realized it was for her mother, who was now standing and acknowledging the crowd. Della pulled her hat further down over her face, hooding her eyes from the dais. The speechifying drifted in and out of Della's mind, heard but not listened too. "...Greater East Asia is now ... peace for all ... friendship between our peoples ... eight corners under one roof ... Nipponese statesmanship ... Asians like ourselves ... His Majesty's greatness ... many thanks ..." Della glanced up at the GPO clock. One minute to ten. The moment was almost at hand. Della felt her pocket, yes it was still there, hard, uncompromising, waiting. Her hands began to sweat. Any moment now. The crowd had fallen silent, anticipating the minute of silent remembrance they would observe at ten o'clock. The clock strikes ten Bong. The clock began to strike the hour, reverberating around the walled square. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Adrenalin began to pump through Della. Bong. Bong. Again she felt the hardness in her pocket. Bong. Bong. Sweat began to trickle down her neck. Bong. The minute of silence seemed to go on forever. Her armpits began to sweat. She needed to go to the toilet. Still the minute stretched on. She began to feel as though she were trapped in a sauna. At last the silence was broken by a lone bugler who began to sound the Last Post. The notes echoed around the square. Some people began to weep or sniffle. Others held hands. A moment of doubt. Is this the right time? Now? The last note faded away. A loud bang from the roof of the Oriental Bank building at the end of the square startled everyone. A brilliant red flare shot up from the roof, rocketing into the blue sky. The moment was at hand. Tom wakes up Tom lay in the hospital bed. The blinds were only partly open, and the light was subdued, almost dark. The glass wound was covered by a thick bandage. He felt weak. Very weak. "You've lost a lot of blood, lucky to still be with us", the doctor was saying. "Do you remember what happened?" Even if he did, Tom couldn't have answered. "No, that's right, you can't talk can you? Don't worry to much, that should come back soon. Ruddy Japs. There have been landings all along the coast you know. They say that Brisbane has fallen. I don't know what's going to happen. Dark days. But, don't worry old son, this is a hospital, and I'm sure we'll be all right". All is bared People in the crowd yelled and shrieked in surprise, and the officials and honourees on the dais looked skyward. As the flare reached its zenith it began to fizzle and fade. People looked back groundwards, and a deathly hush fell. Midway between the dais and the grand portrait twenty people faced each other in two rows of ten. They were holding hands, and bending over in a classical imperial bow, half with their backs to the dais, half to the so-recently injured portrait. Such an act of obeisance, although curious in its form, would usually have been accepted as something respectful if idiosyncratically local. The quietness of the throng, however, indicated otherwise. The Emperor, sore of face from the hawk crash, now looked impassively upon ten shiny bare narrow-hipped young arses, underlined by clothing slumped to ankle length. Similarly, the party upon the dais stared in a sort of horrified fascination at the other ten bare arses. Such an act of wanton disrespect could scarcely be conceived of let along experienced. The shock was palpable. Boom. A second loud bang from the roof of the bank building announced a second red flare rocketing upwards. Again the crowd and officials looked upwards, still in stunned silence. And again the flare reached its peak and began to splutter. Distracted eyes began to return to the square, and a muttering began. The twenty mooning arses were no longer to be seen. In their place sat two rows of ten little cigar-shaped canisters, each emitting an audible hissing sound. For the first time since ten o'clock, someone spoke" "Stink bombs. Strewth." The sickening flatulent smell began to rapidly spread through the crowd. People began coughing and cursing while covering their mouths and noses as they pushed and shoved to get away from the miasmic stench. Mrs Welsh covered her nose with a delicate linen handkerchief. Then she held her breath as she soaked it with jasmine-scented perfume from a small bottle in her handbag, dabbing her brow and face before again holding it to her face like a nosegay. Suddenly Mr Tanaka appeared on the dais. "Come this way, please, this way." He swiftly herded the official party from the dais, past the hissing stink bombs, into the air-conditioned GPO building. The crowd continued to disperse into the streets around Martin Place. The acrid smell clung to their clothes and their hair, and doggedly pursued them around every corner for several hundred metres. The official party, also affected by the clinging stink, was lead to the Postmaster-General's ante-rooms on the top floor of the building which had already been prepared for the official reception. As they peered out of the windows into the square below, they could see that the two rows of canisters, clearly visible from this height, narrowed and broadened at one end to form the shape of an arrow. The gas seeping from them had accumulated enough of a presence to lend a greenish haze to the arrow shape. "The green arrow" hissed Tanaka San beside Mrs Welsh "a shameful act that will be avenged". She nodded her head in vigorous agreement. Tom begins to get his legs back The sounds of battle could be heard throughout the ward. Bright flashes occasionally broke the pale orange glow that infused through the window. Tom sat up, leaning on his elbow trying to look outside. Movement was returning to his arms and legs now, although he still didn't have the strength to walk, or carry things about. "No use looking out there cobber" said one of the other men in the ward "the wife told me that they're stalled at the Hawkesbury, haven't got across the river, but the fighting is mighty fierce, and no-one knows what is going to happen." Tom lay back on his bed. He still couldn't speak, and the doctors had told him they didn't think he would be able to again. "They killed them all" another of the patients started yelling "bayoneted every one of them in their beds". Like all the men, Tom had heard the stories of the invasion, including the rumoured hospital massacre at Armidale. "Lies, all lies, hateful propaganda" his wife had insisted on her daily visits to the hospital "don't believe a word of it, you'll be all right". "Killed them all" the man yelled again "and that's what they'll do to us. I have to get out of here." He tried to get out of his bed, but fell heavily, knocking over a bed pan that hadn't yet been emptied. Stinking shit and yellow piss seeped across the floor. "Nurse, nurse" called one of the men, but there was no-one around to pick him up, to clean up the mess. He just lay there in the hellish atmosphere. Tom pulled the pillow over his head to hide the nightmare. "When will it end?" he began secretly sobbing to himself. Returning to the lair Della wandered through Hyde Park to Museum Station, and sauntered down the steps to the underground platform. "Stay calm, don't hurry, be invisible" she kept telling herself "be just like those around you". She overheard snatches of passing conversations: "...the smell was awful ... did you see the flares ... bare bums everywhere ... shameful ... the Emperor ... did you see the ... there'll be trouble..." A train came within minutes of getting to the platform. Della boarded and found a seat near the back of the carriage. She noticed one of the Twenty a few seats in front of her, but neither showed any recognition of the other. The stations passed by as rows of old terraces gave way to suburban blocks and onwards to the old county town of Parramatta. Della daydreamt of what was to come, of their exciting re-telling of the Action, the shadowy shuffling forward through the square, the fear-tinged thrill of baring their backsides, the setting of the stink bombs, the melting away into the crowd again. She smelt the strong coffee and the garam smoke. She felt the sticky plastic table cloth on her arms. She blushed at the thought of vomiting out the back "no, that won't happen again" she told herself. As the train pulled into Parramatta station, the image of her mother's disapproving face suddenly appeared in the window reflection before vanishing just as quickly. Della shuddered, then smiled at the thought of her discomfort. "Perhaps I should visit her soon", she thought "and brother dear". 5543 words at 17 January 2005 Text copyright Bruce Baskerville Picture sources: left'Emperor Hirohito at his coronation, 10 November 1928', in Mayer, S.L., (Ed) The Japanese War Machine, Ure Smith, Sydney 1976: 24, photo source Robert Hunt Library centre Japanese ensign, illustration by Jack Hayes, in Evans, I.O., Flags, Hamlyn, London 1970: 76 right'collared sparrowhawk' and 'fairy martin', in Pizzey, G., A Field Guide to the Birds of Australia, illustrated by Roy Doyle, Collins, Sydney 1984: plates 22 and 57.

Chapter 1: Sunrise
version #2

Tom, it's started
The whole building shook and shuddered as loud crashes and booms exploded around them. The terrifying sounds of high pitched whistles and the bright flashes of tracers laced the night air. The attack was truly frightening.

Boom. A large explosion near the apartment building smashed open the french doors. Shards of glass flew in all directions, scattering slivers large and small around the room. The armchairs fell on to their backs, their stubby feet pointing towards the open doors. The radiola slipped sideways, with the glow in the dial fading and brightening in a strange imitation of the warfare erupting in the harbour outside.

"Tom, Tom" Mrs Welsh called from the upturned armchair she huddled behind. "Tom, are you all right?"
"Yes, yes I am" answered his shaky voice from the kitchenette "I'm glad I hadn't turned the gas on yet."
Another loud crash shook the building, making the french doors flap helplessly as more glass fell from them.
"We should try and get down to the cellar" Mrs Welsh yelled over the din.
"It's to far, let's get into the bathroom" shouted Tom.
Mrs Welsh darted out from her cubby and into the passage with an agility that belied her years. Tom ran from the kitchen, and both fell into the bathroom. The building rattled as another explosion rent the evening. Dust fell from the bathroom ceiling but the tiny windows remained intact and there was no broken glass to cut themselves on. Mrs Welsh emptied the washing basket into the bath tub, spreading the clothing around.
"Get in" she told Tom.
They clambered in, Mrs Welsh grabbing the towels from the rack and throwing them over them like a tarpaulin as they crouched on the palliase of clothing.
"Well, its begun" crooned Mrs Welsh triumphantly "At last, the time has come."
"Yes dear, so it seems." whispered Tom.

The morning dawned cold and grey. It had rained during the night, and the parquetry floor of the lounge glistened with water and broken glass. The rug was sodden. The chaotic broken furniture and strewn books, the damp flapping curtains, the clouds of smoke drifting past - all gave the room a feeling of violation, of something unspeakable having happened.

Mrs Welsh woke to the grey light falling through the broken window and across the rumpled bedding. Sometime in the early morning after the 'all clear' sounded she had crept from the bath into the bed. Now her eyes smarted and her mouth was dry. But she was awake. "It's begun" she said aloud, and began to hum. "Tom" she called. The other side of the bed was cold and empty. "Tom." She heard a muffled groaning from the bathroom. "Tom" she called again "see if the stove is working, I need a cup of tea". She climbed out of the bed, humming the tune of God Save the King. "Hmm, we'll see who saves who now. Tom have you got the kettle on yet" she demanded as she picked up her red candlewick dressing gown from the floor and put it on. "And turn the wireless on, we need to hear the news". She opened the door into the passageway, catching sight of the lounge room battle ground. "We'll need to clean up the flat too" she thought as she went into the kitchen. "Where is Tom, he hasn't even got the kettle on yet". She picked her way across the glassy lounge room and went out on to the balcony.

The happiness of tea
The alarm woke Mrs Welsh just before dawn. She got out of bed and wrapped her morning kimono around her thin frame. As she walked into the lounge room she turned on the radio. It was a few minutes before six, and she lit a small jasmine scented incense stick, placing it in the little holder next to the photograph of Tom. She ran her finger gently across his smiling face.

"Oh Tom", she whispered, "if only you were still here, if only you could see".
Her thoughts were broken by the radio. The familiar tune of the Kimigayo filled the room as Mrs Welsh turned and bowed deeply to her portrait of the Emperor. Beams of weak winter sunshine began shining through the french doors, illuminating the curling wisps of incense. The pungent smell of jasmine was filling the room as the strains of the Kimigayo faded away. Mrs Welsh straightened up and turned towards the kitchenette. It was unusually quiet, she noticed. "Well, it is a public holiday" she said to herself. She filled the kettle and put it on the stove, lighting the gas ring beneath it. The tea canister was on the bench, and as she scooped the dark tea leaves into the pot she consciously noticed, as she often did these days, that she still preferred black Indian tea to the many green teas so fashionable now.

Mrs Welsh walked around opening the curtains in the flat. Low grey clouds drifted across the grey sky, and little white caps on the harbour reflected the cool breeze blowing in through the heads. "Just like it was back then, on this very day" she thought. Looking through the french doors she could vaguely see the holes and chips in the timber frame, long-ago filled with putty and covered in a thick coat of glossy dark paint.

In the distance the little tea house in Bradfield Park was being opened up to its patrons. "A busy day today" she thought, as she watched a woman folding back the wooden shutters, and smoke started to curl up from the chimney and into the shadows of the great bridge above it. The whistle of the kettle interrupted her reverie, and Mrs Welsh went back into the kitchenette and poured the boiling water into the tea pot. She covered the pot with one of the little red and white knitted cosies produced in large quantities by her Women's Guild branch. She took the pot and set it on the table, then placed a little cup and saucer of fine china beside the pot. It's satsuma pattern of pale pink cherry blossoms had always pleased her, and she kept it for special occasions. She sat down at the table, staring for a few moments at the mynors flitting in the bare branches of the plane tree outside the window, their dark little bodies silhouetted against the ashen sky. Mrs Welsh arranged the tea pot, cup and saucer around her, so as to be in just the right place. Then she picked up the sealed envelope leaning against the vase on the table. She caressed the envelope, feeling the indentations made by the pen on its surface, and the perforated edges of the stamp. Then she leant it against the vase again, and picked up the tea pot and slowly poured the dark, steaming tea into the little satsuma cup.

She picked up the envelope again and read the carefully inscribed envelope: Mrs Adela Welsh, Bridge Apartments, Karafuto Avenue, North Sydney. She turned it over and longingly read the sender's address: Welsh (T) San, Governor's Tower, Sidoni Nihon Machi. The mynor birds in the tree began squabbling, jumping from branch to branch until one of them suddenly whirled away into the sky, and the others began a jubilant chattering. Mrs Welsh picked up her ebony handled letter opener and prised the flap open. She drew out the folded sheets, and opened the pale pieces of rice paper. Mrs Welsh took a sip of hot tea, and finally began to read.

A son cherished

Tue., 29^th May 2622
My darling okaa-san,
Just a quick note to wish you all the best for this coming Awakening Day. I know how much you regard this day and all that it stands for and means to us all. It would be great if dad could still be with us, and we could all be together - especially as this year will be the 20th anniversary. But, as you know, I have to be here and support our Governor in his official duties. If you watch out for me at the ceremony at the Shrine you may catch sight of me assisting the Prince. I will be lighting incense at our little shrine here to father, and also for everyone who suffered and paid the highest price for our nation's awakening. And, of course, you are always in my thoughts, and I pray everyday for your good health, prosperity and comfort,
Your loving son
Thomas
P.S. have you heard anything from Della?

Mrs Welsh shuddered at the mention of Della's name. That girl. So ungrateful. So rebellious, So blind to what had been achieved, so completely self-centred. She took in a deep breath and then slowly exhaled, feeling her exasperation gradually dissipate with her breath.

She looked out of the window again. The errant mynor had returned, and was again causing a disturbance in the flock. The angry chattering of the birds could be heard above the music of the radio, and again they began to attack the outcast, until it abruptly flew away.

Mrs Welsh looked back at the letter. "My darling okaa-san" she read again and smiled. She held the letter to her heart for a moment, then taking another sip of tea from the pink satsuma cup she read the letter again, and then again, each time stopping at the farewell and returning to the salutation without reading the 'P.S.' The clock chimed for 6.30, and Mrs Welsh sipped the last of the tea in her cup, stood up and took the tea things to the kitchen. She emptied the tea pot down the sink, rinsed it and the cup and saucer and left them in the dish rack to dry.

By 7.30 Mrs Welsh had showered and dressed, and was waiting at the little bus stop outside Bridge Apartments. Within minutes a city bound bus came around the corner and Mrs Welsh boarded. She didn't have to pay a fare, just show her pass stamped with its large Imperial mon. The driver cast his eyes down in deference, and she took her seat by the window just behind the driver. It was her favourite seat.

A daughter scorned
They met for the first time that morning. It was a furtive meeting - drawn curtains, a gloomy room, thick with cheap garam smoke and the aroma of strong Java coffee.
"Perhaps it was like this for Dad once", she thought, "organising a strike, taking on the bosses on the Sydney waterfront in the 1920s - but of course, they broke his spirit when they expelled him, accused him of being a class traitor, a running dog ... of course, they airbrush that part of his life away now, as though it had never existed." But it had. She knew that. They hunted old communists down for sport in New Siberia, but here they simply denied that there had ever been such a thing - unless it was convenient to destroy someone's reputation. She winced at the thought.

"Della, hello, are you still with us?"
His deep voice sliced through her day dreaming, demanding her attention. Now.
"We have an action to carry out, and we must all focus. The arrow has to fly direct to be true".
The others all nodded their heads in sage agreement. Della nodded to.
"Sorry. its been a long trip to get here. I think I need some more coffee".
Someone slid the coffee pot towards her, and she felt her forearm stick to the plastic table cloth as she moved her cup towards it.
"Oh yes, it's true", she thought, "I am here".

The tall man with the brown hair and beard stood up.
"For those who haven't met me before I am called East. We've been over this plan before - or at least, you have all been over your parts of the plan. None of you knows the whole plan, for obvious reasons. But you do all know what today's action is part of. We are going to disrupt the Awakening Day rituals, we are going to rescue the idea of awakening and make it ours".
"yea"
"right on"
"Twenty of these actions are going to take place today. There will be twenty people involved in each action. And being on the twentieth anniversary we will make this day our day - the Triple Twentieth".
"Wow"
"Yes, yes"
"twenty, twenty, twenty"
Della's head began to swirl. The stuffy room, the cloying smell of garams, the strength of the coffee, the intensity of the moment, and all on an empty stomach.
"Is there anything to eat?" she asked.
"Eat! today we are going to eat freedom - we are going to taste it and smell it and feel it and hear it - we are going to be it - that is what we have to eat".

The others looked at her. Della didn't feel well. The thought of seeing her mother again flooded her mind, and she suddenly ran from the room into the cool morning air of the tiny back yard and vomited. A yellow-eyed dog lying in the yard watched her, and sidled over to sniff at the mess.

A mother's pride
The bus from the north shore pulled into the bus stand at the bottom of Martin Place. Mrs Welsh alighted along with a number of other well dressed women and men. Some of them bowed softly to each other in that Australian adaptation of the bow that visitors from the Homeland sometimes found irreverent, but which had become the local way.
"Ah, Welsh San" a quiet voice said at her side "I am so happy to see you here today".
"Tanaka San, I too am pleased to see you on this auspicious day" replied Mrs Welsh as she bowed deeply in the Imperial manner to the bemedalled and uniformed man now beside her.
"Come with me, we have a place of honour set aside for you". Mrs Welsh followed him across the rapidly filling square and up onto the little dais next to the Shrine to the Brave, until they stopped at a seat towards the end of the front row. Mr Tanaka indicated with his gloved hand the seat she was to take, and Mrs Welsh sat down, smoothing her dress across her knees and adjusting her hat.

Several other people already sat in the end seats and the back row. They all sat quietly, not speaking, just watching the crowd that was filling the square. Mrs Welsh looked around. The red and white bunting blew gently in the breeze, and the GPO looked positively imperial in great swags of the Hinomaru and naval ensigns all emphasizing the huge portrait of the Emperor that now occupied the middle of the building's facade. An officer of the Imperial navy was escorted to the seat on one side of her, followed soon after on the other side by the wife of a local politician and her husband.
"Konichiwa, Welsh San" she said quietly.
"Konichiwa, Kelly San" she replied.

Several sparrowhawks began flying around above the crowd, screeching to each other above the noise. The military band that had been tuning its instruments suddenly snapped to attention. Three limousines drew up to the edge of the square, and the crowd began to fall silent as the band began its fanfare of arrival. Within a minute a small party of dignitaries had gathered. They walked along the red carpet towards the dais until they were directly in front of the Emperor's portrait. There they stopped and faced the great icon. The assembled guests on the dais rose and also faced the portrait, as did all the people in the square. As one the whole mass of standing bodies bowed deeply to the portrait, then straightened up again. Within another minute the dignitaries had ascended the dais and taken their seats. Mrs Welsh could almost feel the presence of her son who now sat behind one of the dignitaries, and only a few seats away from her. He didn't know that she was going to be here, and she thrilled to her little secret. "So tall and handsome" she thought" with all the best qualities of east and west and none of the bad, so unlike Della". She smiled inwardly, but had little time to think further when the precentor rose and moved towards the bank of microphones at the front of the dais.

The Green Arrow
The Sidoni Twenty, as East had told them they were now known, climbed the steps from Town Hall Station without acknowledging each other in any way. They had said they understood Della's fear, they assured her that they had all been through this themselves. "Don't worry" they said "it's just first-time nerves, you'll get used to it". She had eaten a bowl of rice, which had calmed her stomach.

Now there was no more time for thinking. It was time for action. "The Green Arrow is about action, not debating", East had reminded her "If you want debating, go back to your university and debate away your life with your Nippon professors. The arrow has to fly direct to be true, and today is the day for direct action".

They had all cheered him, and themselves, before setting out for Martin Place. Della tried to focus only on her allotted task. Her hands sweated, and she felt certain that she looked all too obviously like one of the 'wreckers' that the government (and her mother) never stopped railing against. But no one stopped her, and within minutes she was walking along George Street like any other loyal subject out to celebrate Awakening Day.

A sparrowhawk sees the Emperor
"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to this auspicious day in our city where all is at one with the Emperor". As the precentor spoke into the microphones the grey clouds began to part. Patches of blue sky appeared and the light in the square began to brighten.

"Oh, auspicious sign of the gods" gasped the precentor. A sun beam had broken through the clouds, directly illuminating the Emperor's portrait. The dignitaries on the dais, including Mrs Welsh, rose as one and bowed deeply to the portrait. The crowd in the square also bowed. A sense of reverence rose from the assembly in its ordered obeissance.

The shrill call of a young hawk broke the quietness. People in the square looked up as the hawk swooped on a little fairy martin. The martin evaded and twisted, while the hawk tracked it through the air. The martin flew straight at the portrait, then at the last moment shot upwards, skimming the painted surface. The hawk, suddenly aware, screeched before crashing into the very face of the Emperor. Stunned, it fell down the facade of the building, landing on the carpeted steps with a feathered thud. The crowd, equally stunned, stood in a kind of horrified silence, unsure of how to react.

"Banzai" cried the precentor "Hail the Emperor who has faced every enemy many times without blinking, who remains the calmness at the centre of every storm. Banzai"
"Banzai", roared the crowd "Banzai, Banzai".
"This is a great omen" continued the precentor as he warmed to his interpretation "sent by the gods to show us, to re-awaken us. Today we celebrate twenty years of the Awakening. Every day we see the strength of the Emperor, every day we feel his power, the power to awaken the spirit throughout Dai Toa."
The crowd, reassured by his interpretation of the omen, began to relax. At a signal from the precentor the band burst forth with the Kimigayo. The crows again bowed to the now triumphant portrait. Around the square the Sidoni Twenty, aping those around them, began to slowly move closer to the Shrine to the Brave and the dais. Della could see her mother, resuming her seat along with the others. "So ancient, so regal" she thought "so not my mother". She tasted the bile in the back of her throat. Then she also noticed her brother. "Thomas, why, why can't you see what's happening, why are you up there with her, with all of them?" Della felt her face flush as she continued to slowly inch closer to their target.

Tom looses his voice
Tom Welsh lay in the bath. He felt stunned. He knew something had happened to him. The clothing and the towels were soaked by bloody dust. His head ached and ached. He felt cold but also numb. He could hear his wife calling him, hear her moving around the flat, crunching glass underfoot. "Tom, Tom" she called. He tried to answer but nothing happened. He heard the door open. He heard his wife come into the bathroom. "Adela" he tried said, but again nothing happened.
"Tom, oh no, what has happened to you?"
Mrs Welsh looked at the shattered bathroom window, and the blade-shaped hole in the glass. She saw her husband lying in the bath, saw the brilliant red of the clothing and the towels, saw the glassy knife jutting out of him. She was sure he had been all right when she left after the 'all clear'. She thought his silence meant he had fallen asleep. Had the window been broken then? She couldn't remember.
"Don't move" she said, and lurched back into the passage way. She snatched at the telephone receiver, and could hear the line clicking and crackling. Suddenly a voice responded: "emergency calls only" said a rather exasperated operator "emergency calls only", she repeated.
"An ambulance, I need an ambulance, I think my husband is bleeding to death." Mrs Welsh's voice remained calm, although a sweat had broken out on her forehead and her hands were beginning to itch.
"Where are you madam, I'll get one there as quick as I can."
"Bridge Apartments, Kirribilli Avenue in North Sydney, flat two on the second floor."
"Thank you, I'll get one to you as quickly as I can."

Della begins to sweat
The Governor stood resplendent in his naval uniform, Medals sparkled in the sunshine. The plumes of his admiral's tricorne waved in the breeze. His sword gleamed as he lifted it gently from Mrs Welshes left shoulder to her right. He placed the sword on a cushion held by Thomas, who stepped back slightly, and took a large golden medal on a long silken ribbon and put it over Mrs Welsh's head to rest around her neck. The Governor then also stepped back, and Mrs Welsh rose. They bowed deeply to each other.

Della's uncertainty was giving way to annoyance at the spectacle. "That's right Mother, accept their baubles, fool yourself into believing that it means something. They don't really accept you, it's all a charade." She wanted to spit her disgust on to the ground.

Della looked around. She could see some of the Twenty nearby by, slowly converging on the dais. The crowd began clapping and cheering, and Della realized it was for her mother, who was now standing and acknowledging the crowd. Della pulled her hat further down over her face, hooding her eyes from the dais. The speechifying drifted in and out of Della's mind, heard but not listened too.

"...Greater East Asia is now ... peace for all ... friendship between our peoples ... eight corners under one roof ... Nipponese statesmanship ... Asians like ourselves ... His Majesty's greatness ... many thanks ..."

Della glanced up at the GPO clock. One minute to ten. The moment was almost at hand. Della felt her pocket, yes it was still there, hard, uncompromising, waiting. Her hands began to sweat. Any moment now. The crowd had fallen silent, anticipating the minute of silent remembrance they would observe at ten o'clock.

The clock strikes ten
Bong. The clock began to strike the hour, reverberating around the walled square. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Adrenalin began to pump through Della. Bong. Bong. Again she felt the hardness in her pocket. Bong. Bong. Sweat began to trickle down her neck. Bong. The minute of silence seemed to go on forever. Her armpits began to sweat. She needed to go to the toilet. Still the minute stretched on. She began to feel as though she were trapped in a sauna. At last the silence was broken by a lone bugler who began to sound the Last Post. The notes echoed around the square. Some people began to weep or sniffle. Others held hands. A moment of doubt. Is this the right time? Now? The last note faded away.

A loud bang from the roof of the Oriental Bank building at the end of the square startled everyone. A brilliant red flare shot up from the roof, rocketing into the blue sky. The moment was at hand.

Tom wakes up
Tom lay in the hospital bed. The blinds were only partly open, and the light was subdued, almost dark. The glass wound was covered by a thick bandage. He felt weak. Very weak.
"You've lost a lot of blood, lucky to still be with us", the doctor was saying.
"Do you remember what happened?" Even if he did, Tom couldn't have answered.
"No, that's right, you can't talk can you? Don't worry to much, that should come back soon. Ruddy Japs. There have been landings all along the coast you know. They say that Brisbane has fallen. I don't know what's going to happen. Dark days. But, don't worry old son, this is a hospital, and I'm sure we'll be all right".

All is bared
People in the crowd yelled and shrieked in surprise, and the officials and honourees on the dais looked skyward. As the flare reached its zenith it began to fizzle and fade. People looked back groundwards, and a deathly hush fell. Midway between the dais and the grand portrait twenty people faced each other in two rows of ten. They were holding hands, and bending over in a classical imperial bow, half with their backs to the dais, half to the so-recently injured portrait. Such an act of obeisance, although curious in its form, would usually have been accepted as something respectful if idiosyncratically local. The quietness of the throng, however, indicated otherwise. The Emperor, sore of face from the hawk crash, now looked impassively upon ten shiny bare narrow-hipped young arses, underlined by clothing slumped to ankle length. Similarly, the party upon the dais stared in a sort of horrified fascination at the other ten bare arses. Such an act of wanton disrespect could scarcely be conceived of let along experienced. The shock was palpable.

Boom. A second loud bang from the roof of the bank building announced a second red flare rocketing upwards. Again the crowd and officials looked upwards, still in stunned silence. And again the flare reached its peak and began to splutter. Distracted eyes began to return to the square, and a muttering began. The twenty mooning arses were no longer to be seen. In their place sat two rows of ten little cigar-shaped canisters, each emitting an audible hissing sound. For the first time since ten o'clock, someone spoke" "Stink bombs. Strewth." The sickening flatulent smell began to rapidly spread through the crowd. People began coughing and cursing while covering their mouths and noses as they pushed and shoved to get away from the miasmic stench.

Mrs Welsh covered her nose with a delicate linen handkerchief. Then she held her breath as she soaked it with jasmine-scented perfume from a small bottle in her handbag, dabbing her brow and face before again holding it to her face like a nosegay. Suddenly Mr Tanaka appeared on the dais. "Come this way, please, this way." He swiftly herded the official party from the dais, past the hissing stink bombs, into the air-conditioned GPO building.

The crowd continued to disperse into the streets around Martin Place. The acrid smell clung to their clothes and their hair, and doggedly pursued them around every corner for several hundred metres. The official party, also affected by the clinging stink, was lead to the Postmaster-General's ante-rooms on the top floor of the building which had already been prepared for the official reception. As they peered out of the windows into the square below, they could see that the two rows of canisters, clearly visible from this height, narrowed and broadened at one end to form the shape of an arrow. The gas seeping from them had accumulated enough of a presence to lend a greenish haze to the arrow shape. "The green arrow" hissed Tanaka San beside Mrs Welsh "a shameful act that will be avenged". She nodded her head in vigorous agreement.

Tom begins to get his legs back
The sounds of battle could be heard throughout the ward. Bright flashes occasionally broke the pale orange glow that infused through the window. Tom sat up, leaning on his elbow trying to look outside. Movement was returning to his arms and legs now, although he still didn't have the strength to walk, or carry things about.

"No use looking out there cobber" said one of the other men in the ward "the wife told me that they're stalled at the Hawkesbury, haven't got across the river, but the fighting is mighty fierce, and no-one knows what is going to happen."
Tom lay back on his bed. He still couldn't speak, and the doctors had told him they didn't think he would be able to again.

"They killed them all" another of the patients started yelling "bayoneted every one of them in their beds". Like all the men, Tom had heard the stories of the invasion, including the rumoured hospital massacre at Armidale. "Lies, all lies, hateful propaganda" his wife had insisted on her daily visits to the hospital "don't believe a word of it, you'll be all right".

"Killed them all" the man yelled again "and that's what they'll do to us. I have to get out of here." He tried to get out of his bed, but fell heavily, knocking over a bed pan that hadn't yet been emptied. Stinking shit and yellow piss seeped across the floor. "Nurse, nurse" called one of the men, but there was no-one around to pick him up, to clean up the mess. He just lay there in the hellish atmosphere. Tom pulled the pillow over his head to hide the nightmare. "When will it end?" he began secretly sobbing to himself.

Returning to the lair
Della wandered through Hyde Park to Museum Station, and sauntered down the steps to the underground platform. "Stay calm, don't hurry, be invisible" she kept telling herself "be just like those around you". She overheard snatches of passing conversations: "...the smell was awful ... did you see the flares ... bare bums everywhere ... shameful ... the Emperor ... did you see the ... there'll be trouble..."

A train came within minutes of getting to the platform. Della boarded and found a seat near the back of the carriage. She noticed one of the Twenty a few seats in front of her, but neither showed any recognition of the other. The stations passed by as rows of old terraces gave way to suburban blocks and onwards to the old county town of Parramatta. Della daydreamt of what was to come, of their exciting re-telling of the Action, the shadowy shuffling forward through the square, the fear-tinged thrill of baring their backsides, the setting of the stink bombs, the melting away into the crowd again. She smelt the strong coffee and the garam smoke. She felt the sticky plastic table cloth on her arms. She blushed at the thought of vomiting out the back "no, that won't happen again" she told herself. As the train pulled into Parramatta station, the image of her mother's disapproving face suddenly appeared in the window reflection before vanishing just as quickly. Della shuddered, then smiled at the thought of her discomfort. "Perhaps I should visit her soon", she thought "and brother dear".

5543 words at 17 January 2005
Text copyright Bruce Baskerville
Picture sources:
left'Emperor Hirohito at his coronation, 10 November 1928', in Mayer, S.L., (Ed) The Japanese War Machine, Ure Smith, Sydney 1976: 24, photo source Robert Hunt Library
centre Japanese ensign, illustration by Jack Hayes, in Evans, I.O., Flags, Hamlyn, London 1970: 76
right'collared sparrowhawk' and 'fairy martin', in Pizzey, G., A Field Guide to the Birds of Australia, illustrated by Roy Doyle, Collins, Sydney 1984: plates 22 and 57.

Chapter 1: Sunriseversion #2

Chapter 1: Sunrise
version #2