Moments in time, moments in Townsville

THE TOKYO TRIALS
Several weeks ago, an elderly gentleman came into pharmacy in North Ward, Townsville, where I work four days a week. I had the pleasure of serving this man. He was an Australian war veteran with receding gums, giving his mouth an animalistic-type appearance whenever he spoke--a bit like the face a donkey makes when it's thirsty. Despite my fascination with the older man's elongated teeth, I did listen very intently to what he had to say. While I processed his prescription, he began to reminisce with me about his involvement in the second World War and how he had become a "POW".
He was 16 when he joined the army. He had ignored his parents' protests and lied about his age in order to enlist. The man shared with me that he'd been captured by the Japanese and he spent his 18th birthday in Singapore, on a train to Changi.
I gently probed him for more information about his experience as a prisoner of war to the Japanese.
"They were absolute animals," he informed me, shaking his head. "But, my testimony helped to sentence nine of them to be executed. And they were hanged--all nine of them were hanged for what they did."
This very interesting customer of mine then proceeded to tell me that in the latter half of the 1940s, the Australian government had flown him and several other Australian POWs to Tokyo to play a part in the famous Tokyo Trials and give their statements--statements that led to the death sentence for nine Japanese army officials. I think I must have spent about 20 minutes with this old army man...I just let him talk, enjoying his story.
As I was finishing the transaction and the man paid for his medication, I told him that I felt enriched for speaking with him today.
The man seemed to be extremely touched by this remark, and told me I was a "sweetheart", or something to that effect. He thanked me for listening, and went on his way.

An Ethnic Dance
Last week I drove past a schoolyard, as I always do, on my way home from chef class. On this day however, there was a group of male Indigenous students on the basketball court practicing a dance. They were all wearing red loin-cloths and their bare chests, arms and legs were painted in cultural fashion. I was so mesmerized by their deliberate, shuffling movements that I almost hit another car on a roundabout. I wished I had time to stop, to let their dance carry me away to a state of blissful Dreaming...