I am not going to dwell on the war so there are significant time jumps in this chapter.
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"I have to admit, father," Lucien wrote, "it does not look good. Japan has invaded so much of China, and are looking to the Dutch East Indies. I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that Li is with you for I feel she will be safer there. I know Australia has sent troops to fight and many you know, and some I remember will be joining that fight. Mei Lin now knows there is no chance I can get her out to you. I hope we can come through this safely but I have arranged with my solicitor that you become Li's legal guardian and should anything happen to you Mrs Beazley will take on that role. I hope she doesn't mind, but from your letters she is more of a mother to her than her own ever was. I'm sorry to say that to you, but I want there to be honesty between us, I love Li, with all my heart and miss her daily. I will write when I can so do not worry about the lack of letters.
Give Li my love, tell Mrs Beazley I am more than grateful to her, and my deepest respect and love to you, father,
Your son (and proud to be so)
Lucien."
Thomas wiped his eyes and reread the letter before taking a deep breath and wandering through to Jean, in the kitchen.
She knew he had spoken of her in his letters to Lucien, but not that he had sent so much information that the younger Dr Blake would deem her a suitable guardian for his daughter should it become necessary. She was embarrassed and proud in equal measure.
"Do you mind, Jean?" Thomas took a sip of tea that she seemed to be able to magic up in an instant, "that he should ask this of you, even though I have already done this?"
"I don't mind," she mused, "but I am surprised he would ask a stranger to do this. I love Li, you know I do, and regard her as my second daughter, it's hard not to. I suppose it reassures me that he loves her enough to ensure she has a home if anything should happen; not that it will; a home where she is loved and will be raised to the best of our ability."
"Good. Thank you, on both his and Li's behalf," he said, "she thinks of you as her mother, anyway, never asks for her own. I am glad that she still asks for 'papa' when she is upset ..."
"I noticed, and it's good she remembers him," Jean nodded, "we must keep him in her memory, until he comes home."
"You seem so sure," he looked at her, trying to see into her mind.
"I am," she stated definitely.
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Thomas continued his role as police surgeon and was saddened to have a case of murder. The victim was a young Italian, brought to the country when he was just a baby. It didn't matter that his accent was Australian, or that he farmed the land or that he had legally anglicised his name, married a local girl, all that mattered was the country of his birth was allied to Germany. Ashby and his men scoured the town for suspects. Anyone who voiced their dislike or outright hatred of Italians, Germans or Japanese was taken in for questioning with regard to the case. A group of three or four lads, coming up to twenty one, the age of conscription, had rounded on the victim and taken him to a dark alley one night and beaten the life out of him. Faced with Doug Ashby and Bill Hobart they folded and cried like children.
"All their fault," one sobbed, "now we have to go and fight some bloody war we want no part of."
"Nobody wants war, son," Ashby leant forward across the desk, "not even that lad who leaves a wife and a little 'un. You brought the war to us, here in Ballarat, and you wouldn't have been asked to serve outside our territories anyway. So, instead of fighting in the army, or fighting to keep your families safe you will likely be given the death penalty."
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Jean shook her head when Thomas told her the outcome of the case.
"They may have survived any fighting they would be sent to do," she sighed, "now, what a waste of lives."
"True," Thomas shrugged, "now that young lass has to bring up the child alone ..."
"I went to see her," Jean admitted, "to see if there was anything I could do. Her parents were there, they are moving away, too many sad memories they said."
"Shame."
"I heard from Matthew today," she changed the subject, "he's joining up."
"I would have thought he wouldn't have to, being a police officer," Thomas fingered the peelings on the paper, "I thought they were exempt."
"He's persuaded the top brass to hold his position, his rank," she peeled another potato, "for when he comes back."
"Well, I wish him all the luck in the world," he sighed, "he's a good man."
"He is."
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While Thomas worried about Lucien and Jean worried about him and Lucien and Matthew, the girls continued to grow and thrive. Mary was doing pretty well at school; she had a particular aptitude for English; her writing was often singled out for praise above the others in her class. She had made some friends who would ask her over for tea or to play after school. Jean would allow her to go to only those whose mothers did not pass untoward remarks about her lack of a father or the heritage of her sister. Mary always introduced Li as her sister, Jean didn't correct her, they were as much like sisters as any girls that were born of the same parents. Sometimes Li was invited as well and although she was quite shy Jean would take her along and occasionally leave her while she went to run an errand.
She had collected the girls from a tea party and was walking up towards the avenue with them when a group of older boys started a chant. It wasn't a pleasant chant, referring to Li's Chinese mother. Jean didn't want to draw the child's attention to it, she was happily skipping along with Mary - to her it was just a song - but she quickened her step. Mary knew it was unkind and started to sing Li's favourite song over the top of it, it was in French, the doctor had taught her it and Li joined it. The louder the boys sang the louder Mary and Li sang and Jean joined in until only 'Frere Jacques' could be heard. Jean glanced back as the boys tailed off and made a mental note to speak to their parents. She knew them well and knew they would not be happy with their sons insulting a small child.
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"This has always been a worry of mine," Thomas told her when she told him that evening in the studio, "that people would point the finger and be unkind."
"Truthfully, doctor," Jean sipped her sherry, "she has more western features really. Yes her hair is like her mother's but her eyes are blue like yours and her nose is not unlike Mary's."
"She still looks different, Jean."
"So does the family that run the Chinese restaurant," she huffed and shifted in the chair, "most of the townsfolk take no notice, and those boys wont again, after their parents hear."
"If you're sure," he stared into his whisky, "but if it happens again ..."
"We'll deal with it," she smiled, "though I think Mary will be the one to sort it out."
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Li started school, excited to follow Mary into the building each morning. Jean and the doctor had visited the headmistress; a young woman thrust into the position with so many men volunteering to fight; to discuss the potential for any problems with Li's heritage.
"Well, Mrs Beazley, doctor," she smiled, "Li is a delightful child, and we do have children of mixed parentage in school. Any name calling will be dealt with swiftly and sharply; we'll look after her."
And it seemed they did look after her - all through her first year she enjoyed learning new things, took to reading well and was very good at her number work. Her confidence grew and she had many friends who did not see her as any different to them. She and Mary were very close, where one went the other usually followed, they spent their term breaks in the garden when they could, helping Jean with the vegetable plot and on wet or cold days could be found helping Jean in the kitchen baking or preparing meals. Even though they were still so young Jean found them a great help and Thomas delighted in having young children in the house. There would be no shipping them off to boarding school, something he bitterly regretted doing with Lucien.
Jean and Thomas kept their worries about the war from them, there was no need for them to know too much. Mary knew there was a war going on, and that people she knew, such as Uncle Matthew, had gone away to fight and she added them to her prayers each Sunday when they went to mass. Because of this Jean would always tell both girls if she heard from him and they would add their love to letters back. Li would always ask if her papa had written and Jean and Thomas both said how busy he was, but if he did write they would tell her how much he loved her and missed her. She too, like Mary, added papa to her prayers but Jean prayed the hardest, hoping she was right and that Lucien and Matthew would come home safe.
As the war began to have an effect on those left behind Thomas had to accept things like a chicken for some treatment, if funds were low, unemployment had risen and he had to take account of those who were not able to find work. Jean formed a group of like-minded housewives and housekeepers and they banded together to grow different crops in their gardens and swap one for the other. Dress patterns were shared round, those that could sew would do so for those that couldn't, in exchange for something else, children's clothes were passed on.
Unlike many, they did not build an air raid shelter - Jean, Bill and Thomas spent a day when the girls were at school making the cellar warm and comfortable, with mattresses off the beds that weren't used, blankets and a kerosene lamp for light.
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The girls were in bed when Thomas called Jean through to the living room to listen to the radio.
"They've attacked Pearl Harbour," he gulped, "the Japs have entered the war proper."
Jean could see the fear in his eyes, "so, the Americans," she folded her arms while she thought, "they'll enter too, won't they? I mean, it is their territory."
"Highly likely," he agreed, "we need blackout curtains, or some way to keep the light from showing, at night."
"We have the heavy winter drapes," she sat down on the end of the couch nearest to him, "all we need to do is change from the summer ones and persuade the girls not to open them at night."
"Mary is old enough to understand," he hummed, "she will have to be told, and asked to help with Li, she loves to look at the stars at night."
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They tried to make the best of Christmas that year. Jean made clothes for the girls, pretty dresses using some of the material from the summer curtains.
"And when summer comes, Jean?" Thomas asked as he watched her shake out a pretty dress for Li.
"When we can use summer curtains, doctor," she smiled, "we shall have new ones - to celebrate the end of the war."
Her continued optimism in front of him and the girls rubbed off on him. He had seen action in the Boer War and knew how it affected people, those left behind and those who returned, but her almost innocence infected him and he was able to keep a smile on his face and a cheery word for all his patients. He didn't know she cried at night, for Matthew and for Lucien, and even a few tears for Christopher. How she worried about the girls safety when they went to school, but she would not interrupt their learning, Herr Hitler and Mr Yamamoto could try their best to disrupt her well ordered life but she was not going to give in, her girls and the doctor would be well fed and dressed, loved and protected - in fact Dr Blake thought an army of 'Jeans' would be better than any battalion of politicians and soldiers.
She made sure the girls were not unduly affected, and, as well as new dresses for Christmas she made Li a new rag doll, and put together a collection of children's piano sheet music from various friends with children who had lessons and suggested to Thomas that his gift for Mary would be a weekly piano lesson. She had learnt the names of the notes but up to now had been too shy to ask him if he would teach her and Jean knew she longed to learn.
He nodded and in his study made, from a greetings card, a 'voucher' for piano lessons for the next year, and onwards should she wish to continue.
"What about Li?" he asked, "what can I give a five year old?"
"I admit she is more difficult, loves her dolls and playing dress up."
"I have it," he smiled, but the smile was tinged with sorrow, "wait here."
He headed to the studio and pulled out an ornate box, black with gold scrolled edges and a enamelled painted scene on the lid - Genevieve's jewellery box.
"Doctor!" Jean gasped.
"Don't worry," he lifted the lid and took out the top tray of rings and earrings, "Genevieve had some costume jewellery she used for her models, not worth much, just sentimental value but ... ah, here we are."
He pulled out a long chain on which was a gold locket. He had given Mary something similar one Christmas when she was going through the same phase, "I gave this to Genevieve when Lucien was just a baby, look ..." he opened it, "perhaps she should have it, she would have when I passed anyway, why not now, when her father is so far away."
Jean gazed at a picture of a baby with blond curls looking up, probably at his mother.
"It's beautiful, he was a lovely looking baby," she fingered it, "I shall give it a little polish, shall I?"
"Please," he smiled, "perhaps you will meet him one day."
"I'm sure I will."
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The girls were delighted with their Christmas presents that year, as Thomas said, "sometimes you don't have to spend a fortune to make a day special," as he sipped his whisky on Christmas night, "to absent friends," he raised his glass.
"Indeed, god bless them, each and every one," she joined in the salute with her sherry.
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Of course it was never going to go easily. When the Japanese invaded Singapore and eventually captured it, all Thomas and Jean's self resolve was tested to the limit. The first they knew of Lucien's capture was when an officer arrived at the door to tell them that, as his body had not been found and there had been various rumours of sightings, Major Lucien R Blake was presumed a captive of the invading Japanese forces.
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Singapore, February 15, 1942:
Major Blake could hardly believe what he was hearing. Singapore had fallen to the Japanese, the shelling the city had endured had levelled parts he knew and when they overran the Alexandra Hospital Mei Lin had been killed, along with staff members and patients. She had been working as a ward clerk, just to keep her occupied and stave off her boredom when she was taken with some other nurses. Lucien was devastated but still angry she wouldn't go with Li. Now, here he was, a prisoner of war, determined to stay alive for his daughter.
The camp he was assigned to was as bad as he could imagine. They practically had to build their own living accommodation, scavenge for food and water, medical supplies were negligible and contact with the outside world was almost impossible. The Japanese took their time to inform families of the prisoners that their loved ones were alive, if they bothered at all. Incoming mail, for those whose families had been informed, was scrutinised and censored until there was little to read.
He spent his days treating cases of typhoid fever, dysentery, beatings and other injuries. He challenged the guards, demanding drugs, bandages and dressings, extra food for the sick and was rewarded with beatings, the 'box' - being confined to a tin box in the middle of the quad, in the searing heat without food or water for anything from five to forty days depending on his 'crime'. The worst was forty days for stealing a can of fruit, pineapple, after which he suffered from claustrophobia and bouts of melancholy. But in spite of this he would not give in. He wrote, when he could, hoping his words got through, to his father and daughter. Days turned into weeks, into months, until he wasn't sure how long he had been held prisoner. It was just a long, desperate time. He, as a senior officer, wrote countless letters to relatives, informing them of the sad demise of their husband/father/brother.
Derek Alderton was also interred in the same camp. He paraded about like he was somebody special, but he had been promoted to Major after Lucien which made him junior to the man he had cuckolded. He blamed Lucien for Mei Lin's death, they even fought about it. Their captors saw him for what he was and deferred to Lucien in matters of discipline of the Australian and British internees, though in reality they only paid lip service to him, everything was for show, and Lucien knew it.
Derek was injured, badly, in a disturbance one day. There had been an attempt at an escape, unsuccessful of course, but he had been caught and bayonetted. Lucien had had to stitch him back together though Derek asked him not to bother.
"We'll never get out of this hell hole," he grimaced and winced with pain, "you may as well save yourself the trouble."
Lucien ignored him and carried on stitching, leaving a scar that would always remind him of their time and 'friendship'.
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Sometimes Lucien's letters did get through, rare occasions but almost occasions to celebrate - at least they knew he was alive. Thomas kept every one of the short notes, reading them over and over again, telling Li her father was a brave man and doing his best for other brave soldiers who were not able to get home, either.
There was one letter he kept from Jean, at least the details. Christopher had turned to Lucien for treatment on a festering wound. Private Beazley was a sulky and difficult patient. He complained about the poultices Lucien prescribed, moaned about the pain until Major Blake gave him a piece of his mind, pointing out he had much worse injuries to tend to in his makeshift hospital and if he didn't shut up he was minded to remove the leg, altogether. In truth he did think it may come to that, the wound was not getting any better and he couldn't understand why. He asked another private, a medical orderly, to watch him, and he was disturbed at what was told to him. Christopher was deliberately rubbing dirt into the wound, that way he could enjoy the little comfort the hospital offered.
"Right," Lucien gritted his teeth, "leave this to me." He stormed out, to confront him.
"I don't have the supplies to waste on someone like you," he hauled him to his feet, "if I find out that you are purposefully infecting this wound again I shall have to amputate. The infection alone could kill you, so stop being so bloody stupid."
Christopher gaped, then sulked, all the while wondering how he could make his life more comfortable in the camp.
He watched a group of men, constantly in a huddle, behind the latrines - the most unsavoury part of the camp. They would stop talking when he appeared, rub out what they had drawn in the dust, he was sure they were planning something, an escape? Even after the last one had failed soldiers still felt it their duty to escape.
Christopher thought he was strong enough, smart enough to form his own plan and started to plot a route out of the camp, at night. Sure he had worked it out, and with his leg healed enough for him to stand a long walk he put his plan into action.
There was a little dip under part of the fence, and beyond it cover was provided by vegetation. He had spent time sitting in this spot, manipulating the fence so it was easy to lift enough for him to crawl out. It was a moonless night when he tried the escape but it was too much in the open. He hadn't banked on the patrol and as his foot was just about to disappear under the fence he found himself being dragged back into the camp, shouts went up and he was surrounded by rifles pointing directly at his head. The noise woke everybody else and they peered out from their huts. Major Blake, as Senior Allied Officer, went to see what was going on. He was furious with Private Beazley but went to the Commandant's office with him.
Christopher was placed in the 'box'.
He screamed, kicked the sides, for hours each day, then would collapse, exhausted until he found the strength from somewhere to start again. Lucien passed the box on numerous occasions and told him to shut up, he was making it worse for himself and for his fellow captives. The Japanese regarded him as a coward and typical of his race. Beatings increased, patrols became more frequent, interrogations almost hourly, Lucien worked flat out to keep the men alive. In the end the Japanese could stand it no longer, dragged him out and shot him, in front of the rest of them.
Lucien wrote to his parents telling them he had been executed for an attempt at escape. He was very sorry, he told them, life in the camp was not pleasant and he didn't blame the boy for wanting to find a way out. He wrote to his father, wondering if Mrs Beazley was related to Christopher as she had the same name and they came from the same town. If so, would he pass on his condolences.
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Thomas couldn't bring himself to tell her her ex-husband had died a coward, so just gently informed her that he had been executed by the Japanese for attempting to escape. It was the one letter he destroyed, the one he couldn't bear her to find if she had to clear out after his death.
He wrote to Lucien and told him that Christopher had been married to Jean, but it was a shotgun wedding and Jean had survived quite well without him, thank you very much. He didn't want his son to think he had taken a woman of dubious character in, especially as Lucien had named Jean as a possible guardian to his beloved daughter. He also told him that, if he and Jean should ever meet, he was never to tell her the truth about Christopher.
Jean had thanked Thomas for his kindness in telling her about Christopher's death, saying he always was careless.
"I did love him, once," she sniffed, the tears had come and gone, "but we were too young and he was not aware of how he hurt people with his need to be the one at the top of the pile. I hope he is at peace, for now I do believe he was not a happy person."
"You are too generous, Jean," Thomas squeezed her arm, "but maybe you are right, he wanted more than he could find. Though I do believe that he would have found what he needed in you."
It was months before Lucien received the letter, and it saddened him that a woman who his father held in such high regard had been forced to marry a man who had obviously taken a young and innocent girl and stripped that innocence away from her. From all his letters all Lucien had ever gleaned was that Jean was ... well ... practically perfect.
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1945:
Jean looked at her daughter, now almost as tall as she and brushed away a tear. Where had the past twelve years gone?
Mary twirled round, holding out the skirt of the dress Jean had made for her, to celebrate the end of the war. Japan had finally surrendered and though they had celebrated when Germany surrendered now that Japan had given up the fight Ballarat had decided that a proper celebration was due. A bonfire and fireworks had been arranged, there would be food, provided by the restaurants, the Colonist's Club and the good people of the town, who had raided their cupboards, baked cakes and biscuits and bread, roasted meats ... the girls were very excited, they would be allowed to stay up long past their normal bedtimes. Li burst in, swinging the skirt of her new dress and laughing. She too was growing up bright and lively, intelligent; both girls were good scholars; and beautiful. Mary favoured her mother in looks, deep blue - green eyes, chestnut curls and a ready smile. Li had a likeness to her mother, with her straight black hair and almond eyes, but those eyes were blue, like her father's; according to her grandpapa; and her face was more western than Oriental. Thus far they had grown up loved, kept safe, surrounded only by those that would see them learn that there was good in the world in spite of what they heard.
There was a knock on the door and Mary dashed up the hall to answer it. Jean laughed, perhaps one day she would be more ladylike, but for now ...
The door was flung open;
Mary stood open mouthed, she knew she recognised the man standing before her but hadn't seen him for so long.
"Miss Mary Beazley," he smiled, "my how you've grown."
"Uncle Matthew?" she whispered.
"I am," he nodded.
"Uncle Matthew!" she flung herself at him, "it's Uncle Matthew!" she dragged him in and down the hall, "look everybody, Uncle Matthew's back!"
Jean looked round the kitchen doorway and smiled, indeed it was 'Uncle Matthew'. She stepped forward her arms outstretched, "Matthew, how wonderful to see you," she tiptoed up and kissed his cheek, she had always been fond of him, as a friend, "how are you? Why didn't you say you were coming home?"
"Hello Jean," he kissed her cheek, "you look well."
"All things considered," she stood back and looked at him, a little thinner than she remembered him, "we do pretty well. Are you here for the bonfire?"
"Yes, and I'm staying," he nodded, "got a place in the force here, Senior Sergeant Matthew Lawson at your service, ma'am," he grinned and mock saluted her.
Li stood back, she didn't remember Matthew and was still reticent around strangers.
"This is Li, Matthew," Jean stepped aside and took her hand, "Li, I know you don't remember Uncle Matthew, but this is he."
"Miss Blake," Matthew removed his hat, "how nice to meet you." His voice was soft as he held out his hand for her to shake. He could see quite a bit of his old friend in her.
"Hello Uncle Matthew," she whispered, shyly.
Thomas, having heard the commotion came to find out who had come to visit, he thought he had heard the name 'Matthew', but his hearing was not as good as it had been.
"Well, well, well," he smiled, advancing with his hand extended, "Matthew Lawson, good to see you, boy."
"Doctor," Matthew smiled warmly, to hide the surprise at Thomas' obvious aging. He now used a cane and his step wasn't as sprightly as he remembered. Jean had said, in her letters, that his hearing was less acute, and his years had begun to show, 'but he is in relatively good spirits,' she had written, 'especially when we hear from his son.'
They shook hands and Thomas took him into the study. He wanted to tell him what Lucien had said about Christopher's death and conduct in the camp.
"I need you to know, in case Jean finds out and needs support," he sighed, "you knew Christopher, knew what he could be like. Lucien only knew him as a private in the army and his patient in the camp. I have asked him never to tell Jean the truth, she was hurt badly by him and I don't want her to find out that as well as being a bully he was also a coward."
"I understand, Doc," Matthew nodded, "she won't hear from me, nor will his parents, who I believe still live nearby."
"They do, but we don't see much of them, though Jean does exchange Christmas cards with them," Thomas hummed, "Mary receives birthday cards ..." he pursed his lips when he thought of Mary's reaction when they didn't send Li one, on her second birthday. She couldn't understand why they wouldn't, Li was her sister...
It had taken quite a bit of explaining by both Jean and Thomas to finally have her understand that Li was not related to them in any way. She still thought it was mean, but, ever since then she had made sure she gave Li the best card she could make. Thomas found it rather ironic that Mary, who was not related to his late wife, was the better artist of the two. Li was more of a mathematician and scientist, like her father.
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The celebration bonfire was every bit as wonderful as Mary and Li had imagined. They saw so many of their friends, danced and sang with everyone, Jean said later it was probably heard in Melbourne. Thomas sat out the dancing but delighted in watching his granddaughters, for he regarded both as such, and Jean be whirled about by both Matthew and Bill, her head thrown back in laughter.
Someone had provided champagne, probably the club, Jean thought as she allowed her girls to try a sip from her glass. Cec Drury, more a friend of the doctor's than hers, was manning a bar, of sorts, at a trestle table.
Michael Tyneman was keeping an eye on the proceedings, watching his son pay attention to most of the women, while Susan, his daughter in law, kept a close eye on their son, Edward. Edward was eleven, pompous, like his father, a little bully at school, particularly to the girls. Mrs Beazley had gone to see Mr Tyneman, senior, when Mary told her that Edward was being exceedingly unpleasant to Li. Li had seemed to close down, at one time, been reluctant to go to school by herself, and Mary finally got it out of her. Edward called her names, told her her father had left her, not wanted her because he had sent her away. Michael had assured her he would deal with it and had told Patrick, his son, that if he heard anything more about Edward bullying other children the boy would be sent to the toughest boarding school he could find.
"You spoil him, Patrick," he had grunted, "he needs to know there are rules, in life, Dr Blake is a good man, his son is in a POW camp, that little girl needs kind words not to be faced by a jumped up little brat like Edward ... sort him out, or I will!"
Patrick had sulked, but went to tell Edward to lay off Li.
"She's not worth it, Edward," he huffed, "half chink, only Lucien Blake could produce a half breed."
So Edward heeded his father's words, probably for the one and only time in his life.
But tonight Edward was terrorising another poor child whose father was stooping down towards the boy and glaring. Jean didn't want to know what he was saying but from Edward's expression in wasn't pleasant.
She looked over and saw Mary dancing with another boy, from school. Young Danny Parks - she liked him, he was a relation of sorts. He was her cousin; the son of her mother's much younger sister; which made him Mary's second cousin, a tall, skinny boy with ambitions to join the police force one day. Li had gone to sit with her grandfather, the hour was late and she was beginning to feel tired.
"Perhaps, Li," Thomas patted her hand, "we should call it a night."
"Oh no, Grandpapa," she took his hand and leant on his shoulder, "it's lovely just to watch, don't you think?" She sighed, "I wish papa was here."
"So do I darling child," he put his arm round her, "and when he does come home, we shall have a party all of our own."
"A quiet dinner at home," she whispered, "just us."
"I think he'd like that, sweetheart," he kissed her head.
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The relieving forces could hardly believe the sight that met them at the gates of the prison camp. Men, little more than skeletons, were sitting in groups the life practically burned out of them. Their skin was dry, paper thin, burnt from days out in the sun, building roads and railways, living off half a bowl of rice a day and rancid water. Alcohol brewed from the remains of vegetables sneaked away from their captors or grown in a small plot in the corner of the yard, had been their relief from the rigours of the toil and the misery of captivity. There was only a fraction of the numbers left from those that had been taken originally; some had perished at the hands of the captors and some to illness and the deprivations of their lives.
Lucien stood as upright as he could, thin, the remains of his uniform hung off his frame, but he swore that he would march out of the camp or die in the trying.
"Sir, Captain Armstrong, at your service," the officer greeted him with a sharp salute, as he tried to hide his horror at the sight.
"Blake, Major, Doctor Lucien R Blake," Lucien returned his salute, "good to see you, son," he dropped his hand and extended it for a warm shake.
"We are arranging transport to medical facilities, sir," Armstrong set a pace he thought acceptable for a man who had suffered such deprivations as he could see, "food, drink, baths ..."
"I think the baths will be the most welcome, many of the men are infested with lice, it's not easy to control in these conditions."
"Of course, sir, and the debrief ..." Armstrong thought men like Major Blake should be allowed sometime to gather their thoughts before being debriefed, but brass thought otherwise.
"Hmm..." Lucien hummed and shrugged his shoulders. "I think the men would like to let their families know they have survived."
"Of course," Armstrong agreed, "we shall take names and send the telegrams."
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Two months later, in Ballarat:
Jean wanted so desperately to read the telegram that sat on the table but for once she knew she shouldn't. It was addressed to Li and she knew deep in her heart it was from her father, that he had survived, a telegram to the contrary would have been sent to Thomas - at least she hoped it would.
Li and Mary came in from school.
They had met up in town to buy their grandfather a book for his birthday, he had developed a fondness for Raymond Chandler's writings and they had found a copy of "Farewell, My Lovely" in the local bookshop which they knew he hadn't managed to obtain. So popular, it was never in the library and copies had sold out when they were originally stocked.
They were talking about what Mary would put on the card she would design, she always made them and she and Li would sign it. Thomas had kept every one of the cards from the girls over the years, from the ones Jean had helped them sign when they were only just able to hold a pencil to the ones that Mary now designed, they were among his most treasured possessions.
"Hello, mum," Mary grinned, waving the small package, "gran'pa holding surgery?" Mary had taken to calling him 'gran'pa' eventually, as she told him once, "Li calls my mother, mama, so - do you mind?"
"Absolutely not, dear child," he had kissed her forehead, "I am honoured," he winked.
"Out at the hospital," Jean smiled, "drink?"
"Tea, please," Mary nodded glancing at the telegram.
"Me too, please," Li flopped onto a chair. "Who's the telegram for?"
Jean smiled a little, "you, Li," she passed it across, "it's for you."
Li turned it over in her hand, then slowly opened it. She was old enough at nine years, to know they could hold good as well as bad news. Her hand went to her mouth and her eyes widened. Jean thought it was the worst and quickly prepared for an onslaught of tears.
"Oh," Li whispered, "it's papa ... he's coming home," she paused, "he's coming home! HE'S COMING HOME!" She jumped up and threw herself at Jean, "Papa's coming home!"
Mary and Jean wrapped their arms round her and they danced a clumsy dance round the kitchen laughing and squealing with pure joy. Which was how Thomas found them, when he returned from the hospital.
He was as delighted as they were and hugged Li, then Jean then Mary.
"Does it say when?" he asked when they finally stopped whirling around.
"No," Li admitted and pouted, "but it will be soon, won't it?" her eyes widened and she stared at her gran'papa.
"I'm sure he will let us know," Jean stroked her head.
"Knowing Lucien," Thomas remarked ruefully, "he will probably just turn up as if he has been out for a walk."
"Bit of a long walk, father," a voice drifted from the kitchen door, "are we celebrating something?"
"Lucien!"
"Papa!?" she launched herself at him.
"Hello, Li," the owner of the voice spoke softly, "you are so beautiful."
He pulled out a chair and sat down, indicating she sit on his knee.
"I'm a bit big, papa," she smiled, but did as he asked.
"Never, darling girl," he kissed her cheek and she snuggled into his shoulder.
There was a moment of stunned silence then he looked around, "Mrs Beazley, I presume," he offered his hand across the table.
"Major," she shook it gently, he looked more fragile than she expected, but he had been through a lot, "so nice to meet you, at last." She turned to Mary, "this is my daughter, Mary."
"Lovely to meet you, Miss Beazley," he shook her hand, "I believe you and Li are sisters."
"I, er ..." Mary blushed.
"Not in the biological sense," he smiled, Jean noticed his blue eyes, just like Li's, lit up when he smiled, "but you have been just that to her, and I thank you for it."
"Lucien," Thomas managed to choke out, "my boy..."
Lucien turned to him; in truth he had been unsure how he would feel, seeing his father again. Though they had corresponded over the years since he had joined the army he was still harbouring a little of the resentment he felt for being parcelled off to boarding school so long ago, but now ... there was a warmth and a sadness in the older man's eyes that he hadn't expected. The atmosphere in the kitchen told him it was a happy house and that Li was loved.
Jean watched them touch hands and knew, in her heart, that though there be bumps along the way they would be fine, together. She cleared her throat, "tea, Dr Blake," she returned to formality.
"Tea would be lovely, Jean," Thomas turned and smiled, blinking away tears, "and there's no need to call me doctor, Thomas will do, it always has."
"And," Lucien smiled, tiredly "with two Dr Blake's in the house ... I'm Lucien."
"In that case ... Jean," she smiled, a touch shyly. She was not sure about being over familiar, Li had had a nanny, when she was a baby, there had been servants, she thought.
"Good," he settled in the chair and watched her make the tea. He had seen a photograph, once, when he father had sent it to show Li who she might be staying with. She didn't seem to have changed. Slim, upright, chestnut curls and blue green eyes; it was nice to put colour to the black and white image; and as she moved about the room, a swing to her hips ... he had been without female company for a long time and had been too drained after his release to think about such things, but now, he would have to be careful, she was really quite lovely.
Jean, in her turn, watched him. He was thin, but that wasn't surprising, she suspected that if he filled out a bit he would be a very handsome man, with his blue eyes; she kept thinking about those eyes; a beard, that needed tidying up, but she thought it suited him, he was tanned and the sun had bleached his hair, which she thought would be blond, with perhaps a hint of red - she had never thought much about the looks of some men she had met in the course of her life, although Christopher had been handsome, darkly so. This man stirred something in her that she had long thought dead. 'Pull yourself together, woman,' she inwardly chided herself, 'he is your employer's son and newly released from the most dreadful place. The last thing he needs is a desperate woman throwing herself at him.'
She did not sit with them to have tea instead she excused herself to put fresh linen on Lucien's bed. "I didn't make it up again, after the Stanton boys slept there," she smiled.
"Would you like some help, mum?" Mary didn't think she should be there, in the kitchen, while Thomas' family got reacquainted.
"Thank you, love," she nodded, "would you go and get the sheets while I open the window."
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Li slipped off her father's lap so he could drink his tea, but sat in the chair next to him and held his hand. She watched him intensely, this was the photograph brought to life, that looked over her each night as she lay in her bed.
"I'm glad you're safe, son," Thomas whispered, "so very glad."
"Thank you, father," Lucien hummed, "Li, sweetheart, I don't suppose there's a biscuit about, only ..."
Li jumped up and fetched the tin, "mama made these," she took the lid off, "gran'papa hasn't eaten all of them, yet."
Lucien noticed she said 'mama', he wasn't surprised, his father had written as much in his letters, and indeed Jean had brought her up. He reached in and took a piece of shortbread, "thank you, love," he nibbled the sweet and buttery confection, "delicious," he smiled.
"Thank you," Jean appeared in the kitchen, "your room is ready, did you bring any luggage with you? Can I see to anything for you?"
"There is a suitcase in the hall," he pushed the chair back, "and a trunk in on its way."
"Sit," she touched his shoulder gently, but all the same he winced, "I'll take it through."