Enemy Camp by David Hill Page A

talked to Anzac. Moana’s Yank boyfriend is coming for Christmas dinner at their place. Anzac hopes he’ll bring lots of lollies, and maybe some of that Coca-Cola drink.
    It was funny to see people laughing and enjoying themselves, while just a few miles away there are all these hundreds of Nips who’d been planning to invade us, fight us, even kill us. I wondered what
they
would think if they could see Featherston’s main street this sunny afternoon.
    Dad went off to the pub to get some beer and see some friends. Mum wanted to go to the dress shop. I didn’t, but I tagged after her anyway. Mrs Connell was in quite a good mood, actually. ‘Merry Christmas, Ewen. Haven’t you grown?’ Be strange if I hadn’t, I told her — silently.
    Then something scary happened. Mum and I had just got outside when a voice said, ‘Hello, Ewen. Hello, Mrs MacKenzie.’ Oh no — Susan Proctor! And her parents.
    Mrs Proctor is tall, and speaks with a plummy voice. Mr Proctor is stocky, and sunburnt from working on the farm.
    They were really polite to Mum, and Mum was reallypolite back to them. Then Susan’s mother said, ‘Do give our regards to your husband, Mrs MacKenzie. You must be so glad to have him back.’ Mum suddenly reached out and held Mrs Proctor’s hand. ‘I feel so grateful. And so guilty sometimes.’ Next minute, the two of them were hugging each other. Mr Proctor grinned at me, and went ‘Women!’
    Oh, and when we were saying goodbye, snobby Susan said, ‘I wonder if we’ll be in the same class next year, Ewen?’, and gave me a smile. I don’t know what I said, but I know what I
wanted
to say.
    Dad got home just after we did, with six bottles of beer. ‘Two for me tonight. Two for Harry tonight. Two for us tomorrow.’
    The Morrises all came for tea, Clarry clumping along in his leg braces. We had a great time. The grown-ups yakked away about Christmases when they were young and how they used to stay up half the night.
    Then Mr Morris talked about a friend of his whose parents gave him model planes every Christmas. ‘Les always wanted to fly. Got shot down over France in 1940. Buried there.’ He stared at the table.
    ‘Are they putting on a Christmas dinner at the camp, Jack?’ Mrs Morris asked, quietly.
    Dad nodded. ‘Nothing too special. The cooks managed a few sacks of rice, and the Nips got all excited. Mind you, they’ll eat most things. Some of the militaryones were hiding in caves and places for a week before they were captured. They still can’t believe we feed them properly.’
    ‘They don’t feed our blokes, from the stories you hear,’ Mr Morris grunted. ‘If you ask me, they don’t deserve any—’
    Mum gave us three kids a look. ‘You boys can go to Ewen’s room now.’
    So we did. I told Barry and Clarry more about Castlepoint: how you could hear the waves thumping on the beach all night long; how the reef shook when the big ocean swells charged into it. Clarry wanted to know why I hadn’t brought him back a shark. Barry said something, too, while we were going back down the hall for supper.
    I ate hardly anything. I couldn’t. Mum asked, ‘You feeling alright, Ewen?’
    I just nodded. I couldn’t talk. Barry had told me: ‘Susan Proctor likes you.’
    FRIDAY, 25 DECEMBER I gave Mum and Dad the present I had made with paua shells. They were really pleased.
    They gave me some clothes for school, a cricket bat that Dad had fixed up, an orange, and a new (well, also-fixed-up) carrier for my bike.
    We had a huge Christmas meal of roast mutton, new potatoes, peas, gravy and tomatoes, and a sort of pretend Christmas pudding of bread and some golden syrup that Mum had saved up.
    I finished
The Sword in the Stone
. The fights between the knights in armour are great.
    And I spent the whole day trying to believe it. Susan Proctor likes me.
    SATURDAY, 26 DECEMBER Boxing Day usually feels boring. You get all worked up about Christmas, then suddenly it’s over. But Dad is going to the