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cringed. She hated the names people were calling the Italian prisoners but it was even worse when it came from her own mother.
    â€˜I can hear a truck,’ said Charlie, wiping his hands on his trousers, which were held with braces over his white cotton shirt. He headed outside with the rest of the family hot on his heels. Morning tea was forgotten.
    Outside a Chevy truck pulled up. An officer in uniform got out the front and two men in maroon-coloured clothes stood up on the back tray of the truck.
    â€˜Mr Fuller, Captain Jack Tweedie,’ said the man in uniform, holding out his hand to her father. As they talked and shook hands, Maggie studied the men on the back. Besides their dyed purple clothes, she found them no different from other men: they still had two legs, arms and eyes. Both men looked lean, clean-shaven and tall, and one of them seemed no older than Charlie.
    They climbed down and Maggie stared at the ground, unsure of how to behave in front of prisoners. She felt her mother’s hands on her arms, pulling her back, and Maggie wondered whether her mother was trying to protect her or shield herself.
    â€˜These are your men,’ said the officer. He pointed to the older of the two, the one with thick dark eyebrows. ‘This is Giulio Mosca, he’s twenty-seven and is quite skilled in building things.’ Then the officer pointed to the younger man. He had black hair and deep brown eyes, and – Maggie had to admit – he was very handsome. Instantly she straightened her dress and wished she’d checked her hair.
    â€˜And this is Rocco Valducci. He’s twenty, a quiet bloke but a good worker.’ The officer stood straight in his dark-green uniform with big front pockets. It reminded Maggie of seeing her brothers before they left. That would be the last mental picture of them she’d ever have, eternally in uniform.
    â€˜Giulio, Rocco, this is your new boss, Mr Fuller, and his wife, Mrs Fuller,’ said Captain Tweedie.
    Maggie’s father held out his hand and both men shook it firmly.
    â€˜Mistair,’ said the oldest one with a nod.
    â€˜This is my son, Charlie,’ said John. Charlie also shook hands with the Italians. ‘And my daughter, Margaret.’
    Maggie gave them a smile and felt a blush rising under her skin. Having the eyes of the Italian men on her was both scary and exciting. They were so nice to look at, with their strong bodies and dark eyes.
    â€˜You lads speak much English?’ John asked.
    â€˜A little, Mr Boss,’ said Rocco pointing to himself.
    â€˜Good. Charlie, show them where they’ll stay while I talk to the captain.’
    â€˜Yes, Father.’ Charlie gestured for the men to follow him, and Maggie tagged along, pulling out of her mother’s grasp, knowing Phyllis wouldn’t want to cause a scene in front of the captain.
    Charlie led them past the bough shed to the tin hut they had recently built for their new workers. It was a little A-frame shed with a wooden door and floor. Maggie and Charlie both wished it could be their room, a way to get out of the cottage and have some privacy.
    â€˜You’ll both be in here,’ Charlie said slowly and opened the door. Inside there were two steel-frame beds and a small table with a bowl for washing up and shaving. ‘I hope it will do?’
    They both nodded. ‘It fin,’ said Rocco.
    Maggie stifled a giggle but repeated it for him. ‘It is fine?’ she said slowly.
    â€˜It is fine,’ Rocco said more clearly.
    She nodded her approval and they walked back to the truck. The officer was on the back of the truck and handed over some more lurid burgundy clothes to Giulio and Rocco.
    â€˜I’ll be back with the canteen truck to resupply them with clothes and boots,’ he said, jumping down. ‘Until then, good luck.’ Mr Tweedie shook John’s hand again and got into the truck. ‘Don’t let them near the