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Two
days
before
that
Christmas
of
1917
Paddy
brought
home
his
weekly
newspaper
and
a
new
stack
of
books
from
the
library
.
However
,
the
paper
for
once
took
precedence
over
the
books
.
Its
editors
had
conceived
a
novel
idea
based
on
the
fancy
American
magazines
which
very
occasionally
found
their
way
to
New
Zealand
;
the
entire
middle
section
was
a
feature
on
the
war
.
There
were
blurred
photographs
of
the
Anzacs
storming
the
pitiless
cliffs
at
Gallipoli
,
long
articles
extolling
the
bravery
of
the
Antipodean
soldier
,
features
on
all
the
Australian
and
New
Zealand
winners
of
the
Victoria
Cross
since
its
inception
,
and
a
magnificent
full-page
etching
of
an
Australian
light
horse
cavalry-man
mounted
on
his
charger
,
saber
at
the
ready
and
long
silky
feathers
pluming
from
under
the
turned-up
side
of
his
slouch
hat
.
At
first
opportunity
Frank
seized
the
paper
and
read
the
feature
hungrily
,
drinking
in
its
jingoistic
prose
,
his
eyes
glowing
eerily
.
"
Daddy
,
I
want
to
go
!
"
he
said
as
he
laid
the
paper
down
reverently
on
the
table
.
Fee
's
head
jerked
around
as
she
slopped
stew
all
over
the
top
of
the
stove
,
and
Paddy
stiffened
in
his
Windsor
chair
,
his
book
forgotten
.
"
You
're
too
young
,
Frank
,
"
he
said
.
"
No
,
I
'm
not
!
I
'm
seventeen
,
Daddy
,
I
'm
a
man
!
Why
should
the
Huns
and
Turks
slaughter
our
men
like
pigs
while
I
'm
sitting
here
safe
and
sound
?
It
's
more
than
time
a
Cleary
did
his
bit
.
"
"
You
're
under
age
,
Frank
,
they
wo
n't
take
you
.
"
"
They
will
if
you
do
n't
object
,
"
Frank
countered
quickly
,
his
dark
eyes
fixed
on
Paddy
's
face
.
"
But
I
do
object
.
You
're
the
only
one
working
at
the
moment
and
we
need
the
money
you
bring
in
,
you
know
that
.
"
"
But
I
'll
be
paid
in
the
army
!
"
