Томас Кенэлли - The Widow and Her Hero

They entered an office, where the saluting mania continued. The three officers who had stood up to meet them were, as I imagine it, like publishers greeting their best-selling authors. One was Major Doxey, the chief of IRD, and another Major Enright, Director of Plans/Army, and the third a strange, merry-looking fellow wearing a sort of Highland cap with ribbons and tartan pants. This was Captain Foxhill, an officer at IRD who had escaped with Doucette from Sumatra, and who would prove a good friend. After meeting the genial Foxhill later at a Melbourne party, I wondered how he managed to walk around the streets of Melbourne in those pants without attracting cat-calls from Australia’s common soldiery. The answer was that he did, and that he didn’t care. Whereas the other two were professional soldiers of administrative talent and stultified instincts – my opinion, of course, based not only on Leo’s but on ultimate social contact.

These three officers made a huge fuss of the two visitors and the whole Cornflakes operation. Major Doxey said what they had done was top hole, it was the ploy IRD had been waiting for, not that it had been totally lacking in earlier success, but this had been on a scale which none could ignore. SOE in India and Britain were beside themselves with delight.

Foxhill told them he was probably the humblest officer who would congratulate them. Because there would be a party at Government House that afternoon – the governor-general Lord Gowrie was visiting Melbourne, had come down from Canberra by plane and was installed there, the regular governor of the state being away on some civic duties in the bush. General Blamey would be there, and although no public announcement or fuss would be made, both gentlemen wanted to meet Doucette and Leo.

Foxhill asked about the mention in Doucette’s report that native junks seemed to come and go in the Singapore roads without much molestation.

Doucette confirmed it, saying that next time a party should simply take a ride by sub, pirate a junk and use it to launch folboats from. After the operation, the folboats could return to the junk which, having finally met with the submarine one night, could be sunk with explosives. Everyone already took it for granted there would be a next time, and Doxey said it was the right moment to bring in Colonel Creed. He picked up a chunky black phone in front of him and spoke into it.

Doucette’s success, Leo noticed, had not made him kinder to Creed. When Creed entered there was handshaking all-around, and Creed congratulated them, but Doucette seemed a little upset that Creed even knew what had happened. The American laid on the praise, which, as Leo told me, was not a bad experience.

Creed took a seat at the table. Why am I here? he asked. Well, for one thing I’m here to tell you we have unimpeachable and independent information that the enemy was genuinely shaken by your activities.

He said that his boss General Willoughby was very impressed, and not just General Willoughby, head of intelligence, but the boss, MacArthur himself. He said that it might at last be possible for the Americans to help out in some way in some future, larger scale operation. The idea of cooperation pleased him. Everyone loves a winner, said Creed, and this will convince my people you are winners.

I can see in my mind’s eye the way Doucette lifted his head then, the little half-inch toss of the head, a sparse gesture full of infinite contempt which I would sometimes see at parties, particularly if Doxey were about.

We know from the record of this meeting, as conveyed to me by the indefatigable Tom Lydon, who tracked down the minutes in the archives, that Doucette said the offer was most kind but that anyone could see from the success of Cornflakes that there was a strong source of brave, competent and adaptive young men amongst the Australians.

Doxey, Enright and Foxhill seemed alarmed at this rebuff. The lean Colonel Creed remarked that Major Doucette saw him as a crass opportunist, but he hoped to prove otherwise.

And in that spirit, said Creed, in that spirit… And he exposed a great and dazzling plan to Doucette and Leo. Sounding all lazy and languid and like a cowboy. What if a permanent raiding party were put ashore at Great Natuna Island, east of Malaya, south of Indochina, north of Borneo? With junks built in Melbourne but convincingly Oriental. From the Great Natuna a raiding force could operate throughout the South China Sea. If Free French commandos were involved, there could be attacks even on Saigon.

Doucette nodded and frowned. He looked towards Doxey and Foxhill. They both gave confirmatory nods. Doxey said General Durban from SOE London had been out to see General MacArthur, and had got a pledge of cooperation. Creed looked gratified. He seemed to be convinced that Doucette would soon be looking at him with new eyes. Basically, old sport, he said, you’ll be raider-in-chief in the South China Seas. We’ll have you raiding airfields and shipping. Everything you tell me you like!

Even Doucette was impressed and excited, though warily so. He was still distracted, trying to reconcile his mistrust of Creed with the golden idea that had been held out to him. The idea that he could be a pirate chieftain!

When Doxey told Doucette then that first the British wanted to see him in London at SOE headquarters, they had a few things they wanted him to look at, Doucette said, That’s good. I can go and visit Mother.

They put Doucette and Leo up at the Windsor, the flashest of old gold-rush hotels. A pressed uniform with captain’s pips on the shoulder sat on Leo’s bed, so he went to Doucette’s room to report a mistake had been made. It appears not, said Doucette. Doucette had just discovered he was a lieutenant-colonel as well, and Rufus Mortmain was lieutenant commander. Doxey said Mountbatten’s headquarters in India were so impressed that they intended to recommend decorations as well. Doucette said, Makes my rant to the men look pretty silly.

At the time, Leo wrote to me a letter which was an account of that heady afternoon.

I have to say , Leo would write, I feel a bit of the vanity of it all. There’s something intoxicating about getting an extra pip on your shoulder. Stupid, I know. Gives you ideas of military self-importance. I wish you were here, to see how seriously we’re being taken.

In the dusk that afternoon, they were driven by a staff car up the long botanic-gardens-like grounds of Government House to the front door, where a fellow in a frockcoat opened the car door for them, and another with an umbrella led them into the portico and told them he hoped they had not got too wet, sir. They were taken into a great hall lined with portraits of former governors, whose names adorned rivers and mountain ranges in the great State of Victoria and the immensity of the Commonwealth of Australia.

Inside a ballroom, a waiter asked Leo would he like sherry. He didn’t like it, but equally, he didn’t fancy his chances of getting a beer. He saw Foxhill across the room in his tartan pants and started to cross to him, but was all at once taken by the elbow by a young English captain in dress uniform who steered Leo directly to the centre of the room, into the open veldt of the place, away from paintings and ferns and other items of protection. Here in the middle of the floor, where the more important dancing couples would have danced had this been a wedding or a state ball, Doucette was speaking like an equal with three men, two of whom Leo knew from newspaper pictures. One, dressed in a morning suit, was the governor-general, Lord Gowrie, a lean man, popular for having toured the troops in Northern Australia and New Guinea. The other was a very portly fellow, famous General Blamey, former Commissioner of Victoria Police, pudgy and yet somehow commanding, and swaying a little, toe to heel, with a glass of Scotch in his hand.