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Chapter 2
version #1

(Follows Chapter 1 version 2)

Home at last
Mrs Welsh closed the door behind her. She leant against it for a moment, savouring the silence and the deepening winter sunshine streaming in through the french doors. She went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, then turned it off and went into the bathroom. The odour of the stink bombs still clung to her. Whiffs of it were caught in her hair and in her clothing, and she undressed, dropping her dress on the floor.

She got into the shower and let the warm water run all over her. She just stood there as the room became misty with steam. The shower water hid the tears that began to run down her cheeks, but not the pain that she felt in her heart. "Why did they do that? Why today?" She had no answers, only the knowledge that the day, Awakening Day, her day, had been ruined. Yes, she had received the award. After all of these years, all of her devotion to the cause, her unswerving loyalty to the Emperor and the new order he brought to their land, she had been recognised, accepted, a grand dame. But who would remember it? Her day had been destroyed. It would go down in folklore if not history as a day of rebellion and disrespect, of bared flesh in the very face of the greatest man of his times. Tawdry rocketry, indecent exposure, childish stench, vanishing culprits. Her memories of her satisfaction in such an honour being bestowed, her pride in seeing her son at the side of the Emperor's man - all stolen from her by the coarse and loutish acts of those who didn't deserve the benefits of the Imperial peace. She began to sob, and had to sit down on the squat stool in the shower. She would neither forgive nor forget, she decided.

"I'm sure I saw Della in the crowd today". The thought had come to her several times, but she continued to dismiss it. After all, why would she? The last she had heard of Della she was picking fruit or something out west, wasting her talents and her education, trying to fight her destiny. The shower water began to cool, and Mrs Welsh at last emerged, dried herself and put on warm pyjamas and a kimono, and then put the kettle on again.

She opened the velvet-lined teak case with its Imperial mon on the lid and took out the medal. Its red silken ribbon, embroidered with alternating white chrysanthemums and yellow wattle blossoms, tumbled onto the table. She stroked the milled edge of the medal, admiring the embossed portrait of the Emperor on the obverse, with its trilingual inscriptions running around the edge: 'Hirohito Nipponensis Imperator Dainanensis Rex' read the Latin version. She turned it over, seeing the entwined wattle and chrysanthemum stems illuminating a central plate inscribed with the words "Adela Welsh, Honourable Subject of the Emperor, accepted in to the Order of the Double Blossoms, 31st May 2622 Showa 39'. She rubbed the gold surfaces with her sleeves, burnishing the already brilliant surfaces. Then she tenderly placed it back in its case, leaving the lid open, and put it next to the smiling photograph of Tom. As she lit a jasmine incense stick she heard the kettle begin to whistle.

Peachy sunset at Thomas Welsh's apartment
"Welsh San. Thomas Welsh, are you there?"
His voice called softly through the door ajar, and drifted through the little apartment. Hearing no answer, he stepped inside, and could then hear the sound of water falling and splashing on to ceramic tiles.
"Ah, he's in the shower" thought Peter Sabu. He sat down on the sofa to wait.

The apartment was about mid-way up the Governor's Tower, on one of several floors set aside for the vice-regal household staff. The tower itself was located on the highest point of the Ku-ring-gai ridge, and the views were expansive. Thomas' apartment, situated on the prestigious south eastern side of the tower, looked out across the harbour and the city towards the Pacific Ocean and the south coast. In the daylight an urban mosaic and a vast expanse of moody blueness; at night a fairyland of silver and golden lights and the floodlit arch of the great bridge. Just now, as evening was falling, the city and the sea were bathed in a pale pink light with mauve and golden tints in the shadows and clouds. The lights were coming on, but the living swell of the sea could still be seen. The dusk light filled the apartment and painted its spartan interior peach. Spartan, but not bare. As with all things Thomas Welsh did the interior displayed all the elements that marked him as a man of a certain style. Black and white formed the main decorative motif, the furnishings low and plain, the fittings clean-lined and scandinavian. An ikebana of fifteen pale aspidistra leaves in the Ikenobo style placed slightly off-centre on the low sideboard counterfoiled the antique scene of red herons leaping into flight on a black-edged gilded Japanese screen set against the opposite wall.

They had known each other for nearly a year now. Thomas had joined the Governor's household staff in June and Peter Sabu had joined the Official Secretariat a month later. They had met a few days after, and liked each other straight away. The Governor encouraged his staff to socialize as well as work with each other. He encouraged a strong esprit de corps among them, and fostered a sense of community, an identity that excluded others and focused upon serving the Emperor's man. They all worked together, lived together. When they left the Tower it was never alone, although they rarely needed to leave on anything other than official business. The Tower contained all they needed - their workplace, home, shops, library, temple, cinema, gym, rooftop gardens.

Thomas and Peter Sabu had discovered they shared some interests. They both liked reading, both liked Kurasawa films, broth frequented the gym, especially the swimming pool and the aikido dojo. Both had achieved their black belts and were fairly evenly matched on the dojo. They often fought each other to a draw, neither being able to best the other. Their friendship had deepened over the months, and recently had developed a certain edge, a tension, a desire to be together every time they were apart.

Peter Sabu was wrapped in the stillness of the moment, and moved to sit, lotus-style, on the tatami floor. He heard the shower stop falling, and felt the hair in his arms stand up. Thomas came into the room wrapped in a deep green kimono. His bare feet were almost silent on the matting.
"Ah, Peter Sabu, you are here now" he said softly "don't move, just stay as you are".
Thomas stood still and watched as the peach sky gradually turned crimson then almost-black, and Peter Sabu's distinctive silhouette gradually softened against the starry skyline.

Della's moment in Parramatta
Della left Parramatta Station and followed the instructions to the safe house that East had made them all repeat but not write down. She wound her way along the lanes and passages of the Old Town, coming at last to a tiny terrace house in a run-down quarter near Queen's Wharf. The salty, slightly rotten smells of the river were rising in the cool evening air. A thin tabby cat was curled up in a cardboard box on the little verandah. Six mewling kittens tumbled around her, suckling at her swollen teats or pushing their siblings away to make more room. Della knocked at the door. Her knocking echoed down a hallway sounding hollow and empty. The thin tabby cat looked at her imploringly, beseeching Della to take the kittens away and release her from the confines of the box and motherhood. Della smiled at her: she had always liked cats "I'm a cat person, not a dog person" she reaffirmed to herself.

The lock rattled and the door opened. A small woman, Javanese perhaps, beckoned Della into the gloomy hall. She furtively looked up the street before closing the door and locking it. "This way" she said, leading Della along the passage into a kitchen at the back of the house. The room was cold, with only a table and two chairs. East sat at the table, and pointed at the empty chair, motioning for Della to sit down.
"Oh my god, of wow, did you..."
East held a finger two his lips "sshhh" he said "we've no time to linger here."
Della was struck dumb. Where was the excitement, the retelling of the stories? Where were the others? She wanted to ask, questions, questions, but East was already speaking.
"We are all in great danger. We cannot stay here."
As he spoke he slid a small travelling bag across the table to her.
"Here, take this, you must go back to the Station within fifteen minutes. Go to the Western Line platform. There is a ticket inside. Take the first country train that arrives. We will meet again soon, and talk then, but for now you must go."
"Dewi" he called, and the short woman immediately came into the room "show her out."
He turned back to Della "stay strong, and remember that the arrow has to fly straight to be true. Go now, hurry" he commanded. Della felt numb as she jumped up and followed the short woman to the back door. They stepped out into a darkened yard, with the evening light only just illuminating the shapes and outlines of several sheds.
"Go down there" the short woman pointed to a gap between two sheds "and follow the lane to the next street, turn left and follow it back to the Station. Hurry." She pushed Della in the back, then abruptly stepped back into the kitchen and shut the door.

Della stood for a moment, stunned. "Go now" his command echoed in her head, and she quickly plunged through the gap, then along the lane and into the street, and within what seemed like only a few seconds she found herself back at the Station. Just as rapidly a country train arrived at the Western Line platform. She boarded a half-full, half-empty carriage and sat down in a seat by herself. It was only then that she opened the bag and looked at the ticket. 'Nippon Dai Nan Government Railways NDNGR - One Way - Overnight - Sidoni to Dubbo - 31 May 2622' it read. The door to the carriage flew open and wind gusted inside. "Ticket. Ticket please" called the conductor. She held her ticket up for his inspection and hole punching. It was going to be a long trip on a hard seat, and she was beginning to feel hungry. She reached into the bag and took out a small bento box.

A sensual combination
Thomas Welsh and Peter Sabu sat together on the tatami floor, lotus positioned, surrounded by cushions, facing each other. The soft light of the lamps fell across them, subtly illuminating their features and subduing their flaws.

Thomas reached out and ran his fingers over Peter Sabu's cheek and lips. Peter Sabu closed his eyes. Thomas' hand slowly moved around his ear to the nape of his neck, then down below the looseness of his kimono and along the back of his shoulder. As he did he could feel the goose bumps rise on the smooth skin. Peter Sabu's hand began to stroke the skin around the side of Thomas' neck before sliding along his shoulder, pushing the kimono open until it suddenly fell down to his waist. At almost the same moment Peter Sabu's kimono slid open. They both pulled away from each other, eyes open wide, and looked at each other exposed from the waist up. Chests were smooth shaven and almost perfectly formed. Muscles were taut beneath their silken skin, nipples dark and hard. The honey colour of Thomas' skin was accentuated by a white scar line along one of his lower ribs. Each looked at the other with only desire.

No resistance, only desire. Just Thomas and Peter Sabu, two bodies into one, beyond time and place.

The front line passes Tom by
The ward was being turned upside down. The noise was deafening. The smoke was thick and orange hued from reflecting flames. Tom and some of the other patients had pushed their beds together and then climbed under them. It was their only shelter, and if they were to die, then they would die like rabbits caught against a fence. There would be no heroes here, only frightened, bewildered men, defenceless against the onslaught. They huddled together, Tom silent but now mobile, the others with a variety of partly healed limbs and wounds. One man was crying. No-one told him to stop.

Japanese forces had broken through the Hawkesbury Line a few days before. They had swept down through the orchards of the Hills districts, capturing the high ground and then moved into the wealthy North Shore suburbs. There was said to have been some terrible fighting, hand to hand around Hornsby Junction, and a small garrison still held the now besieged Barrenjoey Lighthouse. The harbour and the river then formed a new, if temporary frontline. There had been rumours that the Harbour Bridge was to be blown up to prevent them crossing it, but this had not yet happened. Instead, the two armies faced each other across a no-man's land of bridge decking. The action then moved to the west, where the invaders had swung around in a wide arc centred on Parramatta and began to move towards the southern suburbs. The fighting had been increasingly desperate as the Imperial Army inexorably moved towards the city centre.

Now they had reached the hospital and university grounds at the city gates. Just before getting into their bed shelter the men had seen the last Australian soldiers falling back past the hospital towards the airport. Now they could feel it, the sense that they were between two fronts, two worlds, one advancing, the other retreating, an interregnum of suppressed terror and fear of the unknown.

The ward doors flew open as they were kicked in. The Royal Prince Alfred Hospital emblem in the frosted glass of the door smashed and fell to the floor. The men could see the boots and lower legs of several Japanese soldiers as they ran through the ward. Two of them began looking under the beds, turning over furniture. The men grasped each other tightly, sweating, breathing heavily. The bed shelter split apart. The men stared at the bayoneted gun barrels. The noise of invasion vanished, replaced by the stillness of the last moment. The two soldiers glared at them "Aussie boys, put hands on heads, lay on floor, face down". The men obeyed like robots, the pain of their injuries replaced by a consciousness of near death. The soldiers bent over and patted them down. They found no weapons. "Stay here. Others will come to you". The soldiers then ran to the doors at the other end of the ward and joined their comrades coming from other wards. As quickly as they had come they were gone, and the sounds of battle returned to the ward.
"Mates, we're still here" sobbed one of the men "still alive, the Nips've spared us"
Another of the men farted loudly and longly. They all began to giggle. But none of them moved for some time. The interregnum had passed, the new order had arrived, and they were still alive. Tom began to wonder what had happened to Adela.

Pillow talk
Thomas and Peter Sabu lay back on the cushions with their kimonos spread loosely over them like sheets. The smells of sex and marijuana hung in their air. Thomas slowly stroked Peter Sabu's bare back as they talked in low, confiding tones.

"This has been one hell of an Awakening Day" said Peter Sabu
"It sure has" said Thomas, kissing the nape of his neck "Its one I won't forget for a long time. First my mother's award at the ceremony, then the disruption of the memorial rituals, and now you..."
"Disruption. That's a soft word for what happened today, unlike you tonight!"
Peter Sabu smirked as he rolled over to face Thomas. "Rebellion. Terrorism. Those are the words I heard the Governor using."
Well, he can use strong language at times" Thomas paused "although I've never seen him quite so angry, he was white with rage when he left Martin Place. A prince of the Imperial line, he actually shouted at me at one stage 'get those people safely home, and then prepare me for an emergency cabinet meeting first thing in the morning', then he stormed off in his car. I haven't seen him since, and he hasn't summoned me at all."
"Poor Thomas, feeling left out of things, don't worry, I'm sure that when I'm up with the dawn preparing meeting papers while you are dressing him we will learn something, perhaps we can compare notes afterwards?"
"Yes, perhaps" said Thomas as he drifted into a deep sleep wrapped in the arms and shrouded in the warmth and smells of Peter Sabu.
Peter Sabu lay awake for a while, thinking, before he finally fell asleep.

Peeling an egg
Mrs Welsh turned on the radio as she began to make breakfast. Tea, a boiled egg, then some crumpets with strawberry jam. After all these years she still preferred what was now called an English breakfast. The notes heralding the seven o'clock news faded away into the readers deep voice.

"This is the seven a.m. news bulletin.
A statement is expected this morning from the Governor of Dai Nan, Prince Takamatsu, concerning yesterday's terrorist attack on the Awakening Day ceremonies in Martin Place, Sidoni. There have also been reports of similar incidents in other cities, and government sources say that the Kempetai is now investigating all of these attacks, and at least one suspected terrorist has been detained."

Mrs Welsh's hands began to tremble. She felt once again the sense of humiliation that she had felt yesterday. Her day. Ruined. 'Show them no mercy', she thought to herself as she scooped her boiled egg out of the saucepan and put it into a white china egg cup. She looked at the pattern of geisha girls dancing around the cup rim. Beautiful, alluring. She felt the burning in her ears begin to cool, and carried the egg in its cup with some toast soldiers to the table and sat down. As she sliced the top off the egg she began to hear the mynor birds chattering noisily again, jumping from branch to branch, not chasing any of their number away this morning, but restless. Mrs Welsh delicately ate her breakfast.

Della returns to the plantation
The train began to slow down, the brakes squealing as it pulled into another little country station. Della half woke from her drowsiness as the platform lights glared in the darkness. The train came to a stop and she vaguely heard the guard's announcement: "Euchareena, train halts for five minutes only, Euchareena". She could see the railway clock through the window. It was midnight. She felt someone tap on her shoulder.
"Della, Della, wake up, you have to get off here". She looked up at the voice.
"Miko, what are you doing here?"
"No time, come on, we have to get you away from here. Quickly".
She felt the urgency in his voice, and grabbing her bag she followed Miko out of the carriage. The night air was cold, and a satiny sheen spread across the platform. It had been raining. A man and a sleeping child alighted from another carriage, while the stationmaster talked in a low voice with the train guard down at the far end of the platform.
"This way" said Miko "I've got the truck outside. Lets go". They walked out through the station gate and climbed into the old truck parked in the darkened street. It started straight away, although the sound was disguised by the noises of the train now pulling out from the station. As they headed out of the village she could contain herself no longer.
"Miko, what's going on? I thought I was going to Dubbo. It's the middle of the night."
"Don't worry, you should be OK now. We had to get you off the train, it was too public. No telling who might recognise you. You might as well try and get some sleep, we've got a long drive ahead".
"Where are we going?"
"Back to the plantation. You must lie low for a while and you should be safe back there."
"Lie low! What about the Twenty? What about East?"
"Shhh, shhh, there will be plenty of time for talking when we get home. But for now, I need to concentrate on driving, the road is rough...." As if in support of Miko the truck suddenly lurched and shook as it hit a pot hole and muddy water splashed across the windscreen. Della forced herself into the corner of the seat, bracing herself for more jolts, and peered with the headlights as they shone a feeble light into the darkness. It began to rain again. She tried to resist sleep, but was soon out to it. Miko yawned as he scratched his stubbly chin. At this rate they would get to the plantation at about dawn, depending on the rain and barring any accidents with wandering wildlife. At least the rain would wash away their tracks. He wished he had brought a thermos of coffee with him.

Mrs Welsh greets the New Order
The sounds of artillery fire, the endless chatter of machine guns, the lurid colours and acrid smells of battle had been constant for several days, all the time relentlessly pressing in upon the harbourside apartment buildings.

From slits in her shuttered windows Mrs Welsh had seen the soldiers falling back, forlorn, bedraggled as they struggled across the bridge, abandoning the North Shore. The harbour was criss-crossed by boats of all sizes and shapes, dodging exploding shells and strafing from planes as people sought what they imagined was the refuge of the south side. The Botanic Gardens were ablaze, as though a bush fire had started in the city centre. The tram sheds on the point were a gaunt ruin, and the naval base on Garden Island was lost in a smokey blanket.

In the last half hour, however, an erie quietness had fallen across the harbour. The bridge was empty, no columns of retreating soldiers, no flurries of boats on the water, no planes swooping down from above. It was like a break in a storm, calm but full of menace. Mrs Welsh looked through the shutter slits of her side windows. She could see part of the street below. Nothing seemed to be moving or making a sound. Then she noticed a white sheet hanging from a window in the flats across the street. As she looked, a window on the second floor of the same building opened slightly and another sheet unfurled and settled against the wall.

'At last' she sighed. Her hands began to tremble. The leaflets that the area had been bombed with several times in the last few days had told residents: don't panic, liberation is at hand, when Imperial soldiers appear in your street stay inside, away from windows and doors, reassure the soldiers by hanging a white sheet or clothing from a window ...

Mrs Welsh had her white cloth ready and waiting. A large damask tablecloth that she had starched and ironed lay precisely folded in the centre of the dining table. She had painted the cloth in her best caligraphy with the four Japanese kana meaning Welcome.

She lifted the window sash and pushed the shutters slightly apart. Then she picked up the cloth and partly unfolded it on the window sill, attaching one end by eye holes she had already put in the cloth to two little hooks on the inner edge of the sill. She had unscrewed the cuphooks from the kitchen dresser the day after the first pamphlet drop. Her days trapped in the flat during the bombardement had been put to good use. She carefully pushed the rest of the cloth through the shutters. She could hear it tumble down, slapping against the facade, and saw the inside edge snap taught. Then she pulled the shutters closed again, and began to peer through the slits.

Almost immediately she saw a Japanese soldier come running along the footpath, dashing from cover to cover. Then she saw another on the opposite footpath. And then two more. One of them stopped and looked up at the apartment blocks partly clothed in white sails. Mrs Welsh's cloth glimmered in the pale grey light. "Banzai" he yelled, pointing at her cloth, "Banzai". The other soldiers stopped and looked up. One smiled, then they all crouched again, and resumed their scouting up the street, disappearing from her view.

Mrs Welsh slumped in her chair. Her heart was racing. She felt light headed. 'They saw it', she thought, 'they actually saw it. Oh dear, I need a cup of tea'. But she stayed in the chair, thinking. 'Probably best to just wait. They will come to me.' Then she heard the cloth flapping outside. 'Breeze must be coming in, perhaps it will blow some of the smoke away'. She got up and looked through the front balcony shutters, across to the rooftops on the south side supine beneath the ashen sky. "Don't worry Tom" she said to the view, "it won't be long now".

The Prince makes a decision
The cabinet room was in the upper levels of the Governor's Tower. It's glass roof was at the bottom of an atrium that opened up to the sky through the highest three floors of the building. Thomas leant over the balcony of the top floor, watching the events unfolding around the cabinet table. Although he couldn't hear anything, he knew what was happening. The Prince had spoken at length to his mirror while Thomas had helped him dress that morning. He had been on the phone most of the night talking to Tokyo. By the time he was dressing his face was pale and his voice hoarse.

"I have spoken with His Imperial Majesty's closest aides. I have spoken with his prime minister. I have spoken with other ministers in the capital." He paused "And I have spoken with the Kempetai Commander in Chief." He paused again, practising his wait while he let this news sink in.
"I have made clear to the Imperial authorities that there is a mood in this Shu, a mood that we need to be sensitive too, to listen too. But, at the same time, this grose and disgusting insult to the Son of Heaven can not go unpunished."
He paused again, staring intently into the mirror, imagining the silence of the cabinet members, feeling the fear begin to cloud the room.
Thomas began attaching the Governor's medals to his chest, feeling his heart beating beneath his fingers, his breath hot and agitated upon his hands as the decorations gradually covered his uniform. Prince Takamatsu was wearing his full Imperial Navy uniform to the cabinet meeting. The members would be awed.

"I have made a decision Thomas San, a decision. I have my own line to consider. I will not be undermined by a rabble. A lesson has to be taught." He turned back to the mirror. "A lesson" he repeated as he stabbed at his reflection with his white gloved finger. As Thomas began tidying up the dressing room he could hear the lesson and its teaching being outlined to the mirrored audience.

As he gazed down at the cabinet roof and watched the silent drama unfolding Thomas saw the shadows of the Prince's pigeon flock returning. He had released the flock from their roof-top coop after he finished attending to the Governor, as he did every morning for their regular exercise. He had watched the flock swooping and swirling over the cityscape, moving westwards towards the mountains before he had turned to watch the cabinet scene below.

As the returning pigeons settled into their cage he counted them: one, two, three, four, five, six - yes, six, that was all. Seven had gone out. The missing pigeon would be noticed eventually when the crisis had passed. Still, everyone knew that the local hawks had a taste for pigeon on the wing. Others had been lost before. He put some seed into their feeder and closed the door before turning back to watch the cabinet scene. He had not spoken with Peter Sabu since leaving his apartment, but now could see him sitting at the official's bench in the cabinet room recording the meeting details. Perhaps he might take him up on the offer to compare notes after all.

Home for breakfast
Miko gently shook Della's shoulder.
"Wake up sleepyhead, we're home."
She groaned and stretched, willing the camped soreness out of her back and joints as she yawned and opened her eyes in the early morning light. The night rain had washed the usually dusty air clean, and the plantation buildings clustered around the main house almost sparkled in the freshness.
They climbed down from the truck cabin and began walking towards the kitchen. As the smells of frying sausages and bacon and brewing coffee wafted up the path the flyscreen door flew open and a middle-aged woman came running up the path.
"Della, of Della, I'm so glad you're back" she cried as they embraced in a warm hug.
"Hello Aunty, so am I - I'm a bit hungry, and I need a shower and a good sleep in my own bed, but otherwise I'm all OK and in one piece."
"Oh darling, I'm so happy to see you back safe and sound. Come inside and have some breakfast. You to Miko. Everything all right then?"
"Yes Aunty" he answered "I don't think anyone noticed anything unusual. Have you heard anything yet?"
"Come inside and eat. I have a few things to tell you, but I think we have more to hear yet."
Miko and Della followed her into the bright, warm kitchen. The large table was set for ten people, and the radio announcer was slowly reciting last night's rainfall figures from across the Shu.
"Sit down, anywhere you like, the others will be in soon" said Aunty as she began to fill two cups with coffee for them.
"Whew, I'm bushed" said Miko "that was a long drive on some rough roads. Next time we need to give more thought to the get away."
"Next time..." began Della before Aunty interrupted her.
"Not yet dear, let's wait for the others. Here, drink your coffee, there's plenty more."
"Della!" cried another voice as people began coming into the kitchen "welcome back"
Before she could answer, the room was crowded and filled with talking and chairs scraping across the stony flagged floor as the table filled up. Within a minute they were all seated with Aunty at the head of the table.

"Quiet everyone, calm down. We have much to do and talk about, but first, the custom."
As she was saying this she reached up and turned around the notice board hanging on the kitchen wall, revealing the portrait of a young Eurasian man, good looking, dressed in a plain dark blue suit with a high mandarin collar, standing beneath an ancient gum tree against the backdrop of a wide sunlit plain. They all looked at the portrait and spoke the same words in unison:
"To Prince Harry Nobuhito, the truest heir, the straightest arrow, our dedication is to you."
Then they all bowed their heads in silence for a few moments until they heard the portrait turning and again becoming a notice board.
"Now" said Aunty "let us eat and talk."

5523 words at 17 January 2005
Text copyright Bruce Baskerville
Picture sources:
leftA baler shell from the Great Barrier Reef filled with rhododendron flowers and accentuated by aspidistra leaves pierced by their own stems (made by Ayako Yamanaka, Flower Master of the Sogetsu school, on a goodwill vist to Australia sponsored by the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in which she lectured to capacity audiences in six Australian cities), in Sparnon, N.J., 'Ikebana schools and styles', Your Garden, Melbourne, February 1963: 19
centre detail from cover design of John Vader's Battle of Sydney, New English Library, London 1972
right illustration to entry for 'Pigeon' in The Modern Encyclopedia, The Amalgamated Press Ltd., London c1932