Prussian Blue

Will picks up his Lee Enfield, attaches the long cold hard steel blade below the muzzle, then pats me on the shoulder. "Keep your head down, Flash, and we'll put some runs on the board."

Exactly like on the cricket pitch, Will instructing me, the shittiest tail-end batsman ever to swing the willow, to keep my head down and defend my wicket so we can put a few more runs on the board. "Fuckin' oath we will."

He smiles. "Good lad."

Francis and Mick O'Riordan appear out of the dark, the twins looking more identical than ever, I can't tell who's who despite knowing them all my life, stocky men with grins and rifles slung on shoulders. I nod to them, smiling nervously rather than with joy, and there's the brass hat, yelling more orders, and we're stepping up to the firing step where ladders await in the pre-dawn darkness, artillery rounds whistling overhead, exploding with deafening cracks, seemingly not too far in front, dirt and shrapnel flinging into the air, a walking barrage, and Will and I make eye contact again.

"Long way from our green valley," I say.

"We'll get back there, cobber, then we'll throw a huge party where everyone's invited."

"Even Ava?"

"Mate, forget Ava, she's not interested."

Mick laughs and says, "If only you hadn't asked Ethel Wilson to dance..."

"...then you might've had a chance with Ava when ya get back," Francis adds.

"What about Martha," Mick says, cheekily, "She's the dead spit of Ava, probably even better looking?"

"Or Gisela," Francis says, winking, "She's the dead spit of Will."

"A bloody force of nature, she is, no man will ever tame little Gisa," Mick grins.

"Pipe down, you bastards," Will says, "Gisela might not be marriage material for weaklings like you blokes but she's the best little brother I never had."

"Alfie here should take note of how she bowls a cricket ball," Francis laughs. "She could teach him a thing or two."

"She should also give 'im pointers on how ta bat," Mick says, still grinning. "Remember how pleased she was to clean bowl ya, cobber?"

Will gives me a smile. "I reckon Gisa watches the Flash keenly, she's the one taking notes."

The conversation's absurd, confusing me, and a series of the most mighty thumping explosions I've ever felt or heard blasts our world, the ground rising and falling, men losing balance, and I'm near shitting meself, and someone's in hysterics, reckoning the Huns are blowing mines under our trenches, but an officer's calmer voice is saying it's our mines blowing deep under the German trench system along the ridge to our front, and a whistle's blowing and there's shouting, orders, organised chaos, and we climb the ladders, going over the top, my heart thumping, head down but eyes forward scanning across no man's land, seeing nothing but explosions, deafening, too close for comfort, dirt and steel flying in the air, shattering barbed wire and men, and there's a long line of men either side of me disappearing into the dark, an officer yelling orders to spread out, and I can see Francis and Mick, rifles in hand, bayonets fixed, steaming forward but moving further and further to my left.

The twins turn as if knowing I'm watching, both waving across the battlefield in the same manner they might if they'd seen me walking on opposite sides of a street, and they vanish in a flash of flame, and I feel hot steel rip my flesh of my arm and side, Will's on my right yelling to keep moving forward up the burning ridge, but we're in a house now, not a battlefield, and I look ahead to see Martha and Gisela standing in a doorway, their identical blue dresses much darker than their striking blue eyes, staring at me, but the house is vibrating with the sound of a hundred Vickers machine guns, maybe it's The Pig, the snoring German we later crept up on in the trenches, and it's bizarre and absurd and the world is coming down around me...

~0~

The house is still standing, but the snorting noise is horrendous. My heart beats like a locomotive, as does the pounding in my head, and my face is itchy and puffy. When I sit in my stretcher something brushes over me and I take a moment to get my bearings, where I discover it's the mosquito net which has trapped more mossies than it's kept out, the little bastards buzzing annoyingly. But not as annoying as the horrendous snorting coming from Mick who's a few feet away, snoring like The Pig.

Laying back down, I close my eyes again, my heart settling, listening to the birds chirping away in the yard, starting their day in the pre-dawn like soldiers do before going over the top, and there's some critter scratching away under the floorboards, then movement in the house, heavy boots.

Someone walks onto the veranda and stands at the end of my stretcher. It's Dad, like he used to do back when I was a boy, sometimes saying good morning before heading to work. He whispers, "Morning, Son, I thought Mick should stay out here rather than in the lock up, but I think you best get him off to his parent's dairy before Matthew arrives for work."

"Matthew?"

"Constable Carroll. He's, a good man and decided not to press charges against Mick despite being well within his rights."

"Your Constable struck me first..."

"It doesn't matter who struck first, Constable Carroll's a police officer. You should also know he served like you and Mick, and he doesn't drink to drown his demons. You may also like to know he's your soon-to-be brother-in-law."

I recall Priscilla running to his side the previous evening, two and two beginning to make four. "Great..."

"You'll get used to it because he's a good bloke." Dad stands for a moment longer, turns to leave but stops. "It's great to have you back, Alfie. Truly, your mother and I have prayed for this day for a long, long time. I look forward to catching up properly tonight."

"Yeah, thanks, Dad."

He walks off to the police station down the road, the twilight starting to blot the stars from the sky. My head pounds and Mick still snores, so no more rest for the wicked, yet I try. At this time of year, early December, the day quickly heats when the sun pokes its first ray over the horizon, so I'm out of bed, sitting, scratching at mosquito bites.

Mick stirs and I nudge him with my foot, him telling me to, "Fuck off."

"Gotta get up, cobber. Dad's been good to ya but wants you to piss off home before the police arrive."

"This is the police cottage, they're always here."

"Exactly. And apparently the bastard constable's marrying me sister."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, but like I told ya yesterdee, big changes around here."

"What, you knew the bastard was marrying me sister?"

Mick laughs and eventually he leaves. I head through the house and down the breezeway into the detached kitchen at the rear to find Mum stoking the fire in the iron range. She turns and smiles, rubbing her hands down the front of her apron. "Morning, you. Your face looks worse for wear."

"Bloody Reggie didn't do too good hangin' the mossie net last night, might as well have slept without it."

"No swearing in my house, please, this isn't an army barracks." But she's smiling all the same.

Reggie comes in like he's heard me talking about him, a younger version of me with brown hair unkempt like a birds nest. Without any preamble, he asks, "Did you kill any Germans?"

"Nah," I lie. "I relaxed behind the lines serving a General tea and biscuits the entire time."

Reggie gives me a strange look, not quite sure if I'm being sarcastic or not. I sit at the timber trestle table and pick up Dad's newspaper, ignoring my little brother for now. A full nine years younger than me, we've not been terribly close, though he used to follow me around like a puppy when he was much younger. He sits opposite and asks, "What'd'ya really do over there?"

"Don't bother your brother," Mum tells Reggie, "He's hardly arrived home more than a few hours ago."

I'm not sure how much I want to tell anyone, so stay silent. More movement and Ivy walks in with a cane basket, her hair auburn and curly like Mum's used to be, smiling prettily at me, but stays silent. Like Reggie, she and I aren't too close, however I helped Mum and my sister Priscilla with both our younger siblings when I was a younger lad. I decide to break the silence, telling her, "Look at you, Ivy, all grown up. I reckon you've grown a foot or two since I left."

"She's too tall for a woman," Reggie says and I kick his foot under the table.

"Don't listen to him," I say, "You look perfect."

Ivy smiles and blushes. "Thank you, Alfie."

Mum turns and smiles at me too, then takes the basket from Ivy. "Not so many today?"

"I don't think Mrs Black is laying as often as she used to. Getting a bit old, same with Bess."

Reggie looks over his shoulder and says, "Looks like we'll be having roast chicken soon."

"Don't even think about it," Ivy scolds him, more confident around her little brother than with me.

Mum laughs and picks several eggs out, cracking them into the hole cut into well buttered bread in a frypan. "Frog in a hole, Alfie, I hope it's alright."

"Thanks, Mum, you know me, I'm not fussy."

"Nope, none of you boys are, and now Reggie's eating like a grown man so there mightn't be enough eggs to go around today."

Ivy, who's setting the table now, adds, "He eats as much as a man but still doesn't even do half the work expected of a boy."

I kick Reggie under the table again. "You'll have to smarten up, mate, I was out of home and working when I was your age."

"After last night's effort with Mick O'Riordan you're the one having to smarten up. What happened, can't punch on any more like you used to?"

I glare at him, somewhat shocked at his cheek, but on cue Priscilla walks in and surprisingly Constable Matthew Carroll follows in his crisp uniform and bruised face where Mick's fist landed. Two years younger than me, Priscilla and I were close back when we were expected to help out around the house without question, helping raise Ivy and Reggie. I lament we'd drifted apart once I began working on dairies and timber mills and other odd jobs around the district, but we'd exchanged several letters during the war, yet her engagement to the new Constable is a surprise.

"Alfred," she says, but not in a friendly greeting. "I think you owe Matthew an apology."

"Excuse me?" I'm not sure if I've heard correctly and even Mum clears her throat like she might cough, turning to face us.

"Don't worry about it, Prissie," Matthew says, then he holds his hand out to me. "No hard feelings, eh, Dig."

I stand and take his hand, both of us shaking with a crushing grip. "No hard feelings, eh. Looks like ya goin' ta be me brother-in-law, so I suppose we're even."

Priscilla gives me a look and both Ivy and Reggie almost contain their giggles. Almost, but not quite, also earning the withering look from their sister.

After breakfast, Mum says, "You should go clean up, Alfie. You look like you've been in the wars." I'm not sure if she's intended the irony of her comment.

Out back of the house is a hand pump for drawing water from the bore into a trough made from an old hollowed-out ironbark log, and I place a bucket under the spout and begin pumping, water pouring out. A magpie chortles in the bloodwood tree by the timber shed, bees buzzing about the tree's creamy blossoms, and there's the sound of a horse whinnying and fast approaching hoof beats, movement out of the corner of my eye at the gate about fifteen yards away.

Gisela, Will's youngest sister, sits on a fine grey mare and wearing a grubby short light-green dress, her hair in a single loose plait, light browns glowing golden where it catches the morning sun around the edges, like a halo of fire. "Morning Miss Eichstaedt, you're looking well."

Her eyes are intense and blue, more so in the sunlight than they were last night when I'd interrupted the Eichstaedt's dinner visit to my family. "Don't Miss Eichstaedt me, Alfie Graham, it's not like we're acquaintances or meeting for the first time."

She gets a smile from me even if she hadn't intended to. "Alright, Miss Gisela, do you want to come down from your high horse so we don't need to shout or are you going to sit up there all day?"

I think she's glaring at me before deftly swinging her legs over the side and dropping to the ground, patting the horse who appears to nod before lowering its head to feed on the grass. She leaves it free, not even slipping the reins over the fence-post, entering the yard, approaching me, looking up and speaking softly now. "What was it like in the war?"

I'm taken aback at her forwardness, but answer truthfully. "Terrible."

"What was Will like?"

My heart skips and for a moment I'm biting my bottom lip, looking her in the eye. "Will was a natural leader and the bravest man I've ever met."

"You're just saying that, aren't you?" An accusation of sorts, maybe she's testing me, however I'm not sure why.

I'm shaking my head. "No, I'm not just saying it. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. Your brother was truly a fine soldier."

"He wrote to me about you. Said you were a warrior and never saw another man throw a hand grenade with such accuracy and distance, like you used to with cricket balls into the stumps from the outfield."

"He shouldn't have written to you about such things."

"I'm not a little girl anymore, I can handle war things. Like the fact he said it was wonderful to have his best friend with him over there to keep him sane when times weren't so easy."

I feel the tears prickling in my eye and look down, nodding. "I was glad to serve with him. We made a pact to try and stay together and we did."

"Were you with him when he died?"

She asks it like a bolt from the blue, but come to think of it I should've known where her line of questioning was going. My heart thumps again and I'm not sure how to answer.

"Were you..." Gisela persists, but half-heartedly. She lifts her hand to her finely freckled face and wipes a tear forming in her eyes. "The Army's letter to our family said he died of wounds somewhere in Belgium...this is all they told us...Mama and Papa didn't think it appropriate to ask you about it last night given the state you were in."

She's biting her bottom lip, trying to be strong, Will's tough little sister who climbs trees higher and rides horses faster and bowls cricket balls straighter than most boys in the district, the tomboy we all tolerated because Will would joke she was the best little brother he never had.

"I was with him," I say, nodding.

"Tell me," she whispers, her eyes red now and nose sniffling. "Tell me how he died, please."

"I'm not sure if I..."

"Tell me, please, Alfie," she pleads, stepping forward, grabbing my hands.

Taken by surprise I step back. "Shouldn't I speak with your parents?"

"I'm not a little girl anymore, you don't have to protect me..."

"Is there a problem here?" The man's voice is behind us and I turn to see Matthew Carroll coming from the kitchen, Priscilla close behind.

"Nope," I say, noting confusion on my sister's face, clearly over thinking the situation.

Gisela lets my hands go and tells old mate to, "Mind your own business, Constable."

"You're on our property, Gisela," Priscilla is saying.

Matthew places his hand on her shoulder. "Just checking to make sure, we didn't know who'd galloped up on a horse."

With a blank face, I ask my future brother-in-law, "Don't you have a job to go to right now?"

Priscilla's glaring. "Alfred, what's got into you?"

"I dunno, walking home last night mindin' me business and someone punched me in the stomach in the dark."

"You were being a..."

But again Matthew settles my sister and she doesn't continue. He looks to me and says, "Look, Alfie...you don't mind me calling you Alfie, do you?" I nod and he approaches, holding out his hand to me, which I take for the second time today. "We started off on the wrong foot, mate. Michael O'Riordan's a drunk trouble maker and I had no idea who his companion was..."

"Mick O'Riordan's me mate," I say, taking my hand from his. "Not sure if you know it, but he and his twin brother Francis were at Messines. Bloody Jerry shell landed on right on Francis and I shit you not there wasn't even a drop of blood to bury afterwards, they couldn't even find his bloody meat ticket to identify him, like he vanished. Mick wasn't far from his side and copped a ton of shrapnel, like you may have even noticed, and I know all of this because I was bloody well there and copped some of the blast, and same with Gisela's brother Will. It was no walk in the park, mate, I can tell you that for free."

Matthew holds his hands up. "Before you go on, I was at Gallipoli with the Fifth Light Horse, so I know what it's like. I'm not here to fight you or your mate, I'm here to keep the peace and uphold the law, like your Dad does."

"Matthew was Arthur Coleman's mate," Priscilla adds, "He was with him when he died, if it means anything to you."

Taken aback, the surprise I feel must be written on my face, because Matthew gives me a nod. "Arty and I were cobbers and he talked about this valley of yours all the bloody time. Never shut up about the place, truth be told, and we used to razz him about it. Didn't believe him when he said his cricket team beat a proper Brisbane team, but now I know it's all true. He mentioned you more than a few times, said keeping wicket when you were bowling kept him on his toes and he was glad he never faced you as a batsman in a real game. He reckoned facing you would be about as tough as cricket gets and said they called you Flash, but he'd always smile when he said it. He mentioned the O'Riordans were fine openers and Gisela here's brother Will was a wise and gutsy vice-captain for a young fella, and he mentioned a whole bunch of other blokes, and he spoke about you all so fondly and so often I felt I knew you all before I even came here. All of you mattered so much to him and I took it as my duty to see his wife, you know, tell her how he...you know, how he...died. She's devastated of course, you should go see her sometime, I think she'd like to see another of the boys from around here has returned because she cared about all the boys who followed Arty's lead."

Taking a deep breath hurts my lungs but I suppress the building cough and sit on the side of the log trough, feeling the trickle of sweat at my temples. I'd barely thought of Enid Coleman, or her two young children, but again my mind naturally turns to finding Mary and Jack as my priority.

And I'm conscious of Gisela, who I look to now, seeing pain written on her face. With a nod I tell her, "I'll pop around this afternoon and have a chat with your parents and you. Martha too if she's about."

Gisela nods, wiping another tear from her eye.

~0~

The sign on the façade of the brick building reads Ludwig Eichstaedt & Son - Saddlery and Tack. I must have stood in the street for a considerable time because the door opens and old Ludwig himself approaches, running his hand through his hair which is looking greyer than ever, moustache too, gaunt face heavily lined, the smell of leather following him through the door.

He wears a stained apron and his hands are similarly stained after a lifetime of working leather, descending from generations of families who'd supplied the Prussian cavalry with both son's and saddles, becoming a young cavalryman himself for many years before emigrating to Australia with his young bride, Frieda.

Now he stands at my side in the heat of the afternoon, his accent thick after all these years. "I cannot bear to change it."