But it had not got support from others in IRD, who secretly believed the entire party were dead or captured by Christmas. It was all distressingly vague, and the bereaved hate vagueness, especially if they don't know whether they're really the bereaved or not. Dotty and I spent a miserable Christmas together in the flat. My parents had invited me home, the Foxhills had invited us to their table. But we wanted to get it done with in our own company. I relieved my depression by writing the poem To the Beloved Missing in Action, but I didn't show it to Dotty, not then. The New Year was a relief. Whether the war ended or not, it would be the year in which something more definite would emerge. The Germans surrendered as expected, but no surrender was predicted for the Japanese. Dotty went out with Colonel Creed now and then, and I'd learn there was an affair. In a way, I envied her the option. Dotty and I were both working the morning the fiery end to Japan's war came. Dotty called me and asked me to a party at Colonel Creed's office, where – I discovered when I arrived – the gin and Scotch flowed copiously, and everyone kissed and did the hokey-pokey, the latest brainless dance craze.
