The Story of Danny Dunn by Bryce Courtenay Page A

least, that’s how Danny interpreted it. ‘So long, mate. Don’t hang around too long . . . you’ll miss all the fucking fun.’
    In his mind Danny translated this to mean: Bludger! Dodging the war while your mates are doing their bit.
    Danny watched as father (somewhat unsteadily) and son departed to a chorus of good wishes from the patrons, then somewhat grim-faced he moved down towards Half Dunn’s end of the bar, collecting the empty glasses.
    â€˜You okay, son?’ Half Dunn asked as he drew near.
    â€˜Yeah,’ Danny responded, not looking at his father.
    â€˜Never mind, not long to go at uni and then it’s officers’ school. Pass before you know it,’ Half Dunn comforted him.
    Danny looked up angrily. ‘Jesus, Dad! It’s months! Then there’s another four months doing the friggin’ course . . . that’s the best part of a year! Then I’ll probably have to hang around for a posting to a unit overseas. Could be a year or more before I see any action!’ He jerked his head towards the door. ‘And in the meantime Billy’s dropping bombs on night raids over Germany!’
    At that moment Brenda entered the bar. ‘Talk about it tonight, eh?’ Half Dunn said sotto voce .
    He and Danny had grown a lot closer in the months since the declaration of war and the porridge pot incident. Half Dunn had announced that he was going to cut down on his drinking as his personal contribution to the war effort.
    â€˜Be able to buy a couple of Churchill tanks with the money you save,’ some wag had noted.
    â€˜Does that mean he halves his bullshit quotient as well?’ another joked.
    To everyone’s surprise he stuck to his guns and in three months he’d lost four stone. While fifty-six pounds missing from a three-hundred-pound bulk isn’t all that noticeable, he felt a lot better. It also meant he was sufficiently sober to listen nightly to the ABC news with Danny at nine o’clock, both of them seated at the kitchen table upstairs. It had become a ritual; they all missed the seven o’clock broadcast because they were required to help clean up after six o’clock closing. Brenda, on the other hand, evinced no interest whatsoever in the war, both as a matter of Irish principle and as a consequence of her stand on Danny joining up. She usually retired to bed to read the Women’s Weekly or to listen to a play on her bedside radio.
    Danny found that he enjoyed the company of his father and was constantly surprised at Half Dunn’s grasp of the war and the significance of news from the front. He persuaded his old man to take some exercise, and while this amounted to no more than a morning walk to the newsagent a third of a mile up Darling Street to fetch the Sydney Morning Herald , it represented a major effort on his part. Moreover, the swap from the Daily Mirror to the more serious broadsheet was yet another manifestation of Half Dunn’s more earnest demeanour. Danny, who’d always taken his cue from his mother, was discovering that there was more to his father than he’d previously imagined. Perhaps, he concluded, his father’s ability to construct constant, amusing and inventive bullshit had had the effect of actually sharpening his mind.
    The late news on the evening following Billy’s visit was particularly woeful, the ABC newsreader impassively reciting a litany of disasters in France and elsewhere. Danny, who had grown increasingly sombre as the day progressed, finally said, ‘Dad, how can I possibly sit on my arse with this going on? I feel like I’m cheating.’
    â€˜Yeah, mate, that’s perfectly understandable, but you’re not cheating. Like I said this afternoon, it’s not so long to go.’
    â€˜That’s bullshit, Dad. It could be almost a year! It’s a Five Letters call and I’m not there for my mates. I’m going to join up