The Leonard Girls, page 1
Dedication
This is for everyone who served in the American war in
Vietnam, in any capacity.
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Part Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Part Three
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Part Four
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Author Notes
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books by Deborah Challinor
Copyright
Prologue
March 1969, Auckland, New Zealand
Joanne Leonard stared at her big sister. Had she heard right? – because Smith and Caughey’s cosmetics department was actually quite noisy. But she thought she probably had, and now she felt sick. And really angry.
‘Did you just say you’re going to Vietnam?’ she exclaimed.
Rowena Leonard nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Rowie! That’s . . . God, haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying for the last twelve months?’
‘Yes, I have. But Jo, you’re a university student. You’re always going on about the war and politics and all that. I’m an army nurse. It’s my job to look after soldiers.’
‘But Vietnam’s wrong! It’s immoral! It’s evil!’
Rowie shrugged. ‘Well, you say it is. I only know our boys are over there and they deserve to have Kiwi nurses looking after them. And Jo, you knew I’d applied to serve in Vietnam. That’s the whole reason I joined the Royal New Zealand Nursing Corps. You knew that.’
Jo looked away. Rowie was right – she had known that.
Before Rowie had so casually mentioned her horrible news, they’d been enjoying looking for a birthday present for their mother, but now the fun had gone out of it. Jo caught her reflection in a mirror behind shelves of fancy perfume bottles and boxes. Her face was flushed but she wasn’t surprised: she was furious at Rowie, of course, for volunteering for Vietnam, but there was another nasty little sensation there as well. It wasn’t anxiety, though she was worried for Rowie. It was something else she couldn’t quite identify, and wasn’t sure she wanted to, either.
‘Mum and Dad won’t be very happy,’ she said.
‘No, Mum probably won’t be,’ Rowie agreed. ‘She’ll worry. They both will, but I think Dad’ll be quite proud.’
‘They’ll both worry themselves sick,’ Jo said.
Rowie laughed. ‘You can poke as much as you like but you won’t burst my bubble. Or make me change my mind.’
‘I wasn’t trying to,’ Jo lied.
‘I’m going and that’s that, so why don’t we just have a nice time shopping for Mum?’
‘I don’t really feel like it now.’
‘Oh, stop sulking.’ Rowie squirted perfume on her wrist, sniffed and wafted her hand under Jo’s nose. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s a bit Eau de Fly Spray.’
‘Really?’ Rowie had another sniff. ‘Maybe.’ She tried another sample. ‘What about this one?’
Jo gave Rowie’s other wrist a half-hearted snort. ‘She’s got lots of scent. Dad always buys her scent.’
‘Well, you think of something, then.’
‘She broke the lid off her powder compact the other day.’
‘The Elizabeth Arden one with the diamantes?’
Jo nodded. ‘She was really cross. Well, a compact’s useless if you can’t close it, isn’t it? But I can’t afford to go halves on a new one, especially a fancy one.’
It was all right for Rowie, in full-time employment in the army, but she was only on a student allowance supplemented very occasionally by what she earnt singing in a folk trio.
‘Well, why don’t you buy the birthday card and some flowers and I’ll buy the compact?’ Rowie said. ‘I know you don’t have much money. I don’t mind.’
Typical Rowie, Jo thought – generous and kind. So decent sometimes, in fact, it was annoying. How could she be shitty at her now? Rowie was stubborn, too, so Jo knew she was never going to change her mind about going to Vietnam. But that was no reason to stop trying.
Part One
Chapter One
April 1969, Malacca, Malaysia
Sam Apanui sat back in the Non-Commissioned Officers’ Club at Terendak Garrison and lit a cigarette. It had been a long, hot, hard day, and it was still hot, but he’d had a shower and a feed, and he’d just opened his third Tiger beer, so everything was all right. Well, most things were.
He eyed his cousin and best mate, Eddie Irwin, and said, ‘Bloody GI Joe was on with his John Wayne bullshit again today.’
Eddie laughed, and when Eddie laughed, Sam always felt better. His cousin wasn’t the most handsome bloke, but he had the sort of face and personality that made you feel as though no matter what went wrong, with him you’d be OK. Always welcoming, always happy to see you. Sam’s mother, Kura, and Eddie’s mum, Wiki, were cousins and Sam and Eddie had been mates since they were little kids in Hawke’s Bay, and it had stayed that way when their families moved to Auckland in the 50s.
‘What was he saying this time?’ Eddie asked.
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘Some shit about how he’s going to take some ears.’ He made air quote marks. ‘Like the grunts do. Reckons he’s going to wear them like a necklace. A trophy, sort of thing.’
‘Ears, like proper ears off someone’s head?’
Sam nodded.
‘Sounds a bit smelly,’ Eddie said, lighting a smoke. ‘I never saw any grunts do that, did you? I think he’s been reading too many Commando comics. I reckon it’s time you had a word with the captain.’
‘He knows, and so does Lieutenant Wilton, and the sarge. I still think it’s not too late to leave GI Joe off the bus.’
Eddie stared at the burning end of his cigarette for a second. ‘Have you had a word with GI about it? You know, about why he actually goes on like that?’
‘I thought about it, but where does a man start?’ Sam said. ‘Hey, GI, why are you such a wanker?’
‘Mmm. Yeah, well, I’m glad he’s in your section and not mine,’ Eddie said.
Sam made a face and took a sip of his beer. GI Joe, whose real name was Kevin Allsop, was a worry. And an idiot. Apparently, he’d signed up with the specific aim of going to Vietnam, or ‘Up Top’, to ‘kill gooks’, and as far as Sam and Eddie were concerned he was the worst sort of tourist, not a professional soldier at all.
The two of them had joined the army five years back when they were eighteen, had been on active duty in Borneo, and had each already done a tour of duty in Vietnam with Victor 1 Company in 1967, so were ‘old hands’. Professional hands. Back home at Burnham Camp in New Zealand, they’d volunteered for a second tour with Victor 4 (though it wasn’t called that yet), even though the unofficial news coming back from Vietnam wasn’t that positive, particularly after the communists’ shockingly successful offensive the previous year during Tet, the Vietnamese New Year celebrations. Officially, though, the US and her allies were winning. Much of Victor 4 was made up of new recruits, but while some had come through the National Service Training Scheme, and others via the Regular Force Cadet School at Waiouru Military Camp, and some had just walked off the street and joined up, they’d all done the eight weeks’ basic training, followed by six months of infantry corps training based at Burnham Camp, plus a month-long training exercise in North Queensland.
The bones that held the body of the new company together – the commissioned officers, the non-commissioned officers like Sam and Eddie, the drivers, sappers, signallers, medics and the other specialists a company needed to operate – were nearly all experienced hands from previous companies who’d already served in Vietnam. And now that they’d been in Malaysia for nearly six months and got the hang of the climate and officially become Victor 4 Company, they did look pretty good, apart from the odd twit like GI Joe and an individual or two who’d already been sent home for disciplinary reasons. But that happened in most companies. And in less than two weeks Victor 4 would be on its way in the wake of the advance party to a final brief leave in Singapore and then off to war, a brand-new, untested fighting unit. But they wouldn’t be operating alone. Like the New Zealanders before them, they’d be attached to an Australian infantry regiment, so they’d be V Company 6 Royal Australian Regiment/New Zealand (Australian New Zealand Army Corps) Battalion. What a mouthful. Sam knew most New Zealand soldiers saw themselves as belonging to 1 Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment first and foremost, but if they had to include 6RAR in their contact details to make sure they got their mail, they would. No one serving in Vietnam could do without mail from home.
Still, GI Joe was a problem, and he was Sam’s problem, because he was in the section of ten men for whom Sam was responsible. Unfortunately, he couldn’t recommend he be sent home because, apart from the fact that he talked a lot of gung-ho crap and thought he was an American Green Beret, he hadn’t done anything wrong. Of course, he hadn’t seen combat yet. Things might be a bit different after his first contact. It was never like you thought it was going to be when you did your training. It could be a very rude bloody shock, that first time. Maybe Sam would have a proper talk with him bef ore they went out on their first operation. Better safe than sorry.
‘Uh-oh, what have you done now?’ Eddie said.
Sam followed his cousin’s gaze. Sergeant Dean Price was making a beeline through the clubroom towards them. ‘Boys,’ he said. ‘Sam, the captain wants to see you.’
Eddie said, ‘Ha, you are in the shit!’
Righting himself after Eddie’s teasing shove, Sam asked, ‘What for?’
‘Dunno. He just said to come and get you.’
But Sam saw that Dean couldn’t meet his gaze and knew it couldn’t be good news. He followed Dean out of the clubroom and through the garrison compound to Captain Gardner’s office, saying nothing because he knew by now that when Dean Price wanted to keep his mouth closed, he did. The night air was heavy and humid and reeking of the heady scents of kenanga and jasmine, and it had rained that afternoon as usual, which hadn’t helped. Sam could feel sweat trickling down his back and sides. It would be worse Up Top.
‘Hot, eh?’ Dean said.
‘Yep.’
The sergeant knocked on Captain Gardner’s door.
‘Come in!’
Sam entered. Captain Robert Gardner was a solid man with a ruddy face, blond hair, and a tidy moustache. Sam liked him. He was straightforward and fair. He was in his civvies, in his office, at night, so Sam knew it must be really bad news.
‘Evening, Sam. Have a seat. This arrived not long ago. I’m sorry.’ He passed a telegram across his desk.
Sam read the message.
26 April 1969
Dear Sam: Dad had very bad accident yesterday.
Not expected to survive. Can you please come home.
Patricia xx
Sam briefly closed his eyes. The telegram was from his eldest sister. She wouldn’t ask him to go home if she didn’t think he needed to be there. His father. His father was dying. Stupidly, he said, ‘But we’re going to Vietnam soon.’
Captain Gardner waved his hand. ‘Compassionate leave. We’ll give you a driver and you can go down to Singapore tonight and get a transport back to New Zealand from Changi. It can’t be helped, Sam. You can catch up with us. You might be back in time anyway. It’s still a couple of weeks away.’
Sam nodded. ‘I . . . Shit.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. ‘Yeah. What happened, I wonder?’
‘Go and pack your bag,’ the captain said. ‘Then see if you can get your sister on the phone. Tell her you’re coming. I’ll get your travel arrangements sorted out at this end.’
‘Thanks.’
On the way back to the barracks, Sergeant Price said, ‘Sorry about your father, Sam. I hope he’ll be OK.’
‘Thanks. Me too.’
‘What work is he in?’
‘He’s on the railways.’
Sam saw the sarge flinch very slightly as he imagined the sort of accident Joshua Apanui might have had.
‘You’ve got a big family?’ he asked.
‘Six brothers and sisters, seven if you count my brother Johnny. He died a while ago. And there’s Eddie’s four brothers and sisters – they might as well be mine.’
‘You two are pretty close, eh?’
‘Like this,’ Sam said, crossing his fingers.
‘You go and sort your kit out,’ the sarge said, ‘and I’ll get Eddie to come and give you a hand.’
‘Thanks.’ They both knew he didn’t need help packing his bag, but he would need his best mate while he waited for his ride to be organised.
‘Good luck.’ Sergeant Price shook his hand. ‘See you when you get back.’
Eddie appeared just as Sam finished changing into battle dress and beret.
‘Shit, mate, sorry about Uncle Joshua. Do you know what happened?’
‘No. Pat just said in the telegram he’s had a bad accident and isn’t expected to survive.’
‘Shit,’ Eddie said again. ‘He’s a tough old bugger, though, your old man. He’ll be OK. You’ll probably get home and he’ll be right as rain.’
‘Hope so. I’m going to try and ring Pat in a minute.’
‘You got plenty of money?’
‘Enough, probably.’
Eddie stuffed some cash into his top pocket. ‘Here’s a bit more, just in case.’
‘Thanks. I’ll pay you back.’
‘Don’t be dumb. Um, you going home in your greens?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘It’s just that Dean said you should probably wear your civvies when you get back to New Zealand.’
They looked at each other. Sam said, ‘I’m not ashamed of my job.’
Eddie shrugged. ‘OK.’
The phones were busy and people were waiting to use them, so Sam and Eddie went outside. A jeep pulled up and the driver hopped out. ‘Corporal Apanui?’
‘That’s me.’
Sam gave Eddie a quick hug.
‘Say hi to your old man for me,’ Eddie said. ‘Tell him to hurry up and get better, eh?’
‘I will. See you soon.’
*
The dark drive down to Singapore in the humid, insect-infested night took about four hours. They arrived at RAF Changi, the British military air base, just before one in the morning and Sam said thanks and goodbye to his driver, then tracked down someone who could put him in touch with his flight home. He discovered he was going by an RNZAF Hercules – a cargo plane – via Darwin, Australia, to Whenuapai, Auckland, departing Changi in five hours’ time. He’d flown by Herc often and knew the trip wouldn’t exactly be the height of comfort: noisy as hell, fold-down webbing seats, army sandwiches dispensed from a cardboard box, and a bucket to pee in at the back of the plane. But it was free. He had a feed of potato chips, chocolate and Coke from a dispensing machine, tried to kip on a couple of chairs and failed, and made two attempts to ring his family, then on the third try finally got someone – Mary, another of his sisters – at four in the morning Singapore time, which was nine am in New Zealand.
‘It’s me, Sam. I’ve been ringing and ringing. Where is everyone?’
‘Up at the hospital. Where are you?’
‘Singapore. I’m on my way home. How’s Dad? What happened?’
Mary burst into tears. ‘He was at work at the yards and a train hit him. It’s so awful, Sam. The doctors say they don’t know if he’ll pull through.’
‘But what’s happened to him?’
‘He’s lost both legs and they might have to take his arm as well.’
Sam’s heart dropped into his boots. ‘His legs? Both of them?’
‘It was a train, Sam. Mum’s in a terrible state.’
Leaning against the side of the telephone cubicle, Sam felt sick with distress for his parents. And himself. First Johnny dying, and now this. ‘Christ. Well, I should be home by tomorrow night. I’m not sure when. I’ll come straight to the hospital. Which one is he in?’
‘Auckland, not Middlemore.’
‘OK. Tell Dad I love him.’
Mary said, ‘He’s not really conscious.’
‘Tell him anyway. And Mum.’
‘OK. See you when you get here.’
‘Yep. Bye.’
Sam hung up and swore bitterly. He couldn’t imagine his quiet, strong, physical, capable father without legs, stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.
Maybe it would be best if he did die.
*
April 1969, Auckland, New Zealand
Sam arrived at Whenuapai Air Base feeling tired and ratty and with his ears ringing from the noise of the plane, and got a taxi into the city to Auckland Hospital. Inside he asked where his father was and made his way up to the appropriate floor. Ana Leonard and Allie Manaia, colleagues of his mother and Auntie Wiki, were sitting on chairs in the corridor, looking pale and weary.
Ana jumped up when she saw him. ‘Sam!’ She gave him a hug. ‘I’d say it’s lovely to see you, but it isn’t, not under these circumstances. I’m so sorry.’
‘Hi, Auntie. How is he?’ Sam asked. ‘How’s Mum? Hi, Auntie,’ he said to Allie. They weren’t his aunties, but he knew them so well the term of endearment was appropriate. And he was actually related to Ana Leonard, in a complicated and somewhat distant way, because Ana, Wiki, and his father were all descended from the same ancestors – Tamar Deane and Kepa Te Roroa.
‘Hello, Sam,’ Allie said. ‘I’m so sorry about your dad.’
Ana pointed across the corridor. ‘Go in and see for yourself. Everyone’s in there.’
