He took her arm and they walked quickly away from the crowd, into a little alleyway beside the go-down.
‘I’m so sorry I wouldn’t see you before. I was so cruel to you. I’ve been feeling terrible about it.’
‘Don’t worry. You came, and that’s all that matters,’ he said, relief suddenly flooding through him.
‘I’m so sorry about the club, Joy. I wish I had never even mentioned it. It was a terrible error of judgement. I should have known.’
‘Please, don’t mention it. I know now that you didn’t mean to upset me. Don’t waste time talking about that. Look, I have brought you something.’
She handed him a photograph of her in a studio, dressed in her best clothes, looking surprised by the flash.
‘Thank you. I shall treasure this,’ he said.
‘I have written on the back,’ she said, and he turned it over and read the words: ‘To my dear Thomas. Good luck. Joy de Souza. Penang, November 1941.’
‘What about you and your family?’ he asked. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘My father has some relatives in Singapore. If there is an invasion, we can go there.’
‘Well, you should be safe there at least,’ he said. ‘It is supposed to be a fortress, after all.’
‘Yes. I’m sure we will be safe. Please don’t worry about me.’
‘I’ll be back, Joy,’ he whispered, moving closer to her. ‘Whatever happens, I’ll come back and find you.’
A whistle blew down on the waterfront.
‘I have to go now,’ he said, and took her in his arms. He felt her firm slender body close to his. She was looking up at him, tears in her eyes. He bent to kiss her, but she drew away.
‘There are people watching,’ she said, colouring.
‘To hell with them,’ and he kissed her, but he felt her resisting. It was stiff and awkward, and lacked the passion and spontaneity their kisses usually had. She drew away.
‘I’ll think of you, Tom. I’ll pray for you,’ she said, the tears spilling down her cheeks. He suppressed a sob.
‘I’ll think of you all the time, Joy,’ he said, knowing that he had to go, but unable to tear himself away from her.
‘Go! You have to go now.’ Her voice caught in her throat ‘Look, they are lining up.’
He brushed her cheek again, then turned and strode away. As he reached the others and fell into line, he turned and looked back. She was still standing there, watching, looking vulnerable amid the towering buildings and machinery of the quayside.
As the ferry cast off and gradually drew away from the docks, Tom stood at the rail. He could see Joy still standing there. He watched the white figure recede slowly and eventually merge into the buildings behind her. Even then he kept staring at the spot where she stood until it faded completely from sight.
When the ferry reached Butterworth, the men were crowded on to army trucks and driven through the town and out into the countryside. They did not have to go far before they reached a small airfield with a few wooden huts at one end overlooking the Straits.
From there they could still make out the buildings on the waterfront at Georgetown. They were informed that this was where they were going to stay and that they should pitch their tents on the perimeter of the base.
‘This is the Butterworth Airbase,’ boomed the Bull. ‘We’re going to be here for a few days, training and preparing defences.’
There were some antiquated looking aircraft parked at the end of the grass runway.
‘Do you think those old rust buckets will actually fly?’ Tom asked Henry.
Henry looked at the aircraft and shook his head slowly.
‘My God … Is that the best that the great British Empire can muster?’
Ron, one of the Volunteer planters, overheard him and said, ‘Don’t worry, whatever we’ve got will be more than a match for the Japs. They’re hopeless airmen, all of them short-sighted. Have you seen the little pebble glasses they all wear? They’d never beat our chaps in a dog-fight.’
‘You’re sure about that, are you, Ron?’ piped up Barry Cliff, the journalist who had predicted their fates long ago at the Penang Club. ‘I sincerely hope you don’t have to eat your words one day.’
Soon they settled into a strict routine, closely resembling the week-long exercise in the jungle a few weeks before. Tom had difficulty believing that this time it was for real. They pitched their tents on some waste-ground behind the wooden buildings on the first evening. The next morning they were awoken at dawn. After a rudimentary breakfast they spent the day doing physical-training exercises, rifle practice and learning how to use the anti-aircraft guns that had been installed in shallow ditches around the perimeter of the airfield. After a few days the routine became boring. They spent a great deal of time playing cards and watching the old Buffalo aircraft take off for reconnaissance flights over Thailand. They began to wonder why they had been mobilised at all.
But after a couple of weeks, everything changed. One day they were awoken before dawn by the drone of aircraft overhead. From the sound of the engines Tom could make out that these were not British Buffaloes. Everyone scrambled out of their tents, dressed hurriedly and ran to their positions beside the anti-aircraft guns. Three of the aircraft on the airfield were taxiing to take off. Tom watched as they lumbered along the bumpy runway and lurched unsteadily into the sky in pursuit of the enemy.
The Bull was apoplectic, running about, shouting meaningless orders in all directions. Before the Volunteers could get to their guns, the enemy aircraft were swarming overhead. There were dozens of them. They swooped in low, engines screaming, strafing the buildings, dropping bombs on the airfield, which exploded with
