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had been. Mother and I had had no time to discuss her impending nuptials, and we were both aware, as she kissed me lightly on the cheek, that this rather large and important issue had not been broached. She’d no doubt read my silence on the matter as disapproval — and she wasn’t a million miles from being right about that — but her response was a familiar demonstration that my feelings weren’t, after all, of much interest or importance to her. She sent me off with that small, reluctant kiss, and a chilly smile — a smile that had begun warmly when it was turned on Brian, but which had lost all its heat by the time it was directed at me.
    Brian and I arrived at Victoria Barracks as instructed, at eight o’clock on the dot. James Fowler and Corporal Pyers were there already, and on the floor in the office were three kit bags. Folded on a chair were two uniforms, and beside the chair were two pairs of shoes.
    ‘As soon as you change into these,’ James said, ‘you belong to us.’
    With the recent news of Mother’s arrangements still running around in my head, I couldn’t wait to shed my civilian skin and turn myself over to Army Intelligence. The uniform was scratchy and immediately uncomfortable, and after only a few paces around James Fowler’s office I knew that the shoes would be torture. Nevertheless, as I moved inside the heavy, ill-fitting material, I felt something close to elation. As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t a uniform. It was a costume.
    James Fowler looked at his watch.
    ‘I’ve got two hours to give you some idea of what’s in store for you. Obviously we don’t have time to turn you into real soldiers, but I’m afraid you can’t go where you’re going without a crash course in a few basic skills.’
    Over the next hour or so I began to wonder whether I’d made a ghastly mistake in signing up for this run, if I might use a theatrical term for what now appeared to be rather more military in nature than I’d bargained for. We were to be put on a troop train immediately and sent to somewhere called Ingleburn in New South Wales where, God help us, we were to learn how to fire a gun and, worse, how to ride a horse.
    ‘The Observer Unit is basically a cavalry unit, so being able to ride, even inexpertly, is essential. Did I mention that yesterday?’
    ‘No,’ I said calmly. ‘No, you didn’t.’
    ‘I’m sure I did.’
    ‘You didn’t actually say that we’d have to learn how to ride,’ Brian said.
    ‘Ah, well, there you are,’ he said.
    Corporal Pyers was to accompany us to Ingleburn, where he, too, would be taught to ride, and where he’d rehearse us in preparation for our performances.
    ‘Today is the sixth of October,’ James said. ‘The NAOU training course is generally eight weeks. You have eight days. In ten days, on the sixteenth, you’ll be onstage for the first time with the Third Division Concert Party, in Maryborough.’
    ‘That’s Maryborough, Queensland?’ Brian asked.
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘You’re kidding.’
    His interjection was timely because I was speechless.
    ‘I understand,’ James said, ‘that Will had a few difficulties up there recently, but I’m afraid they’re immaterial to this operation. The Third Divvy CP happened to get going in Maryborough, back in August, and they’re just about ready now to put on their first show. From our point of view, the timing is perfect. You, Will and Glen, are replacing two blokes who’ve dropped out. After Maryborough the concert party heads across to Mt Isa, and then up to Darwin. On the way, in Katherine, you’ll make contact with the Unit HQ there and get your instructions. Any questions?’
    I had too many to settle on one, so I remained silent. Brian asked, ‘Any more surprises?’
    ‘Just one,’ James Fowler said. ‘His name is Archie Warmington, and you’ll meet him in Ingleburn.’
    The closest I’d come to troop trains was seeing them in newsreels at the cinema pulling into, or out of,