They have not even yet attempted to start salvaging the wrecks, the great many wrecks, that litter the bay against which daewin nestles.
Nor, it must be said, has much been done to the shattered city.
The port is repaired, the roads are clear. The rest...........mostly burnt rubble
But not the Bush inn
It stands, inviolet, an island of completeness, in this sea of rubble.
The Bush Inn, the indestructible Bush Inn.
darwin has clung to the Bush Inn for nigh on 4 years now, as long as a man can obtain a beer in the Bush Inn, there is hope, there is life.
For many a thirsty sailor, for many a very thirsty Soldier or airman, the fact that despite all the bombings, the bombardments, this place still stands, is conclusive proof, undoubtable proof that God exists.
Long Pig, Bigglesworth are in the Bush Inn. They have ben here a long, long day.
Some time back, a lot of beers back, they made (as you do) new, life long friends with some sailors they will never remember come tomorrow morning.
But right now...........
One of the sailors, a particularily drunk one (for he has just heard of his posting to a CVE, so who are we to blame) leans towards Long pig.
'So,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,so,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,have you done the dance, my friend.......?"
Long pig blinks, attempts to assimulate the question..........."dance?"
"can't be a sailor mate, can't be one of us,, until you have.........."
'dance of the flamers mate..........."
Bigglesworths eyes, drooping at this time, widen.........'I say, old chap, please don't"
Like many things Bigglesworth has done, or said, he really should have pushed the point.
And thus the night of tragedy.
A naked Long pig. a rolled up newspaper up his butt, a match...........
All, I think would have been good, God, we know, protects drunks, especially, in this, his favourite pub.
But for the fart...............
darwin has a sea of rubble.
In the centre, the remains of the bush Inn.........burnt to the ground..............