by Jean Moran
‘My word. The walled city’s still standing,’ remarked Harry.
‘It’ll take more than a Japanese bomb to destroy that place.’
Their kitbags landed with a thud on the rough boards of the army vehicle that had come to collect them and they climbed in after them, Connor still carrying his violin.
‘’Bout bloody time,’ shouted the driver. ‘Don’t you know there’s a war on? I work for the army, not you two buggers.’
The driver was known to them and would do more or less anything they asked as long as they paid him. Cash, booze or cigarettes, he’d accept them all.
Connor and Harry grinned, said nothing but shared a packet of army-issue Woodbines between them.
‘Good while it lasted,’ said Harry, blowing a pillar of smoke into the air.
It had been Harry’s idea to buy the bar. Connor had reminded him that they were in the army. ‘As senior officer I have to pull rank, old chap. We’re opening a bar. It’s an order.’
‘Then I’ve no choice – except I want my name above the door. Connor’s Bar’s got a better ring than Harry’s Bar.’
‘But not an out-and-out Irish bar.’
‘No. A bit of a mixture. Irish and Chinese. The Chinese like a drink, a bit of music and a game of cards as much as the next man.’
Glad to have Connor as a partner, Harry hadn’t argued, though they realised they could have only a part-time interest, which was why they had employed Yang, the previous owner, to manage the place. ‘You can call us sleeping partners,’ they’d explained to Yang.
‘Yes,’ he’d said, nodding vigorously. ‘When you fight or sleep, I run bar.’
‘We’ll mostly be sleeping until the war comes to us,’ murmured Connor.
The occasional visit was about all they could manage but it was enough – for now. They’d employed a simple logic mooted by Harry and agreed by Connor.
‘It does not appear that our services are required yet by His dear old Majesty King George, so we might as well occupy ourselves making a few pounds for ourselves and having some fun. I’ve always wanted to own a pub, you know, one of those whitewashed places in the country with a thatched roof and low ceilings, the ale drawn straight from the tap.’
Connor had looked at him in amazement. ‘You frequent nightclubs. I’ve been there with you, so I have.’
‘Ah, yes, but a man can dream, old boy. A little place in the country...’
The only thing the bar in Kowloon had in common with an English pub was that it had a bar. Under Yang’s ownership it had sold plugs of opium and long black pipes. The beds had been just that: beds. It was Connor who had suggested they convert them to seating alcoves.
Yang had been desperate to sell and not just because he wasn’t making any money. His opium den had been doing well enough, but there was a price to pay, not just to a criminal gang running a protection racket out of the walled city, but to a big crime lord who controlled the opium supply in Hong Kong and increased the price whenever he felt like it.
Connor looked thoughtfully down the length of his cigarette. ‘I suppose old Yang will revert to his former trade without us around – poor bastard.’
Harry nodded. ‘Unless—’
He didn’t finish his sentence. The lorry jolted as part of another building crumpled in a yellow-ochre dust cloud.
‘Out! Out!’
It was Harry barking the order. Connor tumbled out with him, keeping low as they scurried for cover.
They found themselves enjoying the relative protection of a defensive position, connected by a narrow path to a sequence of redoubts squeezed among those buildings that were still standing. Dust stung their eyes, clogged their ears and hung like a pall over what remained of the one-storey army offices and the main gate into the cantonment.
Connor headed for where he should have been, skirting a contingent of Canadians who were busily assembling a field gun. Unfortunately their equipment had only just arrived and although the Japanese had been across the water in Canton for some time, the tempo of preparation was only now accelerating.
Despite the enemy bombers, the rattling of machine-guns, the fear swirling around him, Connor thought of the bar and smiled. How crazy they’d been, a pair of serving soldiers setting up a Chinese-style bar and making a success of it, a brief and pleasant interlude.
As a sergeant major, it was his job to assess the situation on the ground, barking orders, making sure men and machines were where they should be. Harry had reported to Headquarters, where maps would be spread, pins representing their fragile army moved around in the hope that they would prevail.
The truth was that they were undermanned and lacking in heavy armour.
His concern increasing, he looked up at the sky, hoping against hope to see their aircraft attempting to tackle the invaders. There was nothing. He concluded that none had even got off the ground.
Teams of Canadians and Indians took turns on the newly assembled field gun, sending shell after shell skywards.
Connor mopped the sweat from his brow. How swiftly things had changed.
The moment he saw Harry and other officers running out of Headquarters and waving their arms, he knew the game was up. ‘They’ve landed on the island. Head for the boats. We’re to defend Hong Kong.’
After ordering his men to positions where they could best be used, Connor had a word with the man who had become his closest friend. Concern was heavier than dirt on Harry’s face.
‘They’re streaming south, coming our way. We’re outnumbered.’
Connor sneaked a smile. ‘No chance of a drink at Connor’s Bar, then.’
Harry shook his head. ‘No. Anyway, it’s not as cosy as it was.’
Connor wondered at how they could still make jokes in such an alien world. To keep a hold on sanity, he thought. That’s what we have to do in any way we can. ‘Do we know where they’re heading?’
‘Fort Stanley way.’
‘The hospital.’
‘Is she there?’
Connor shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t say it, but he hoped she was. She’d intrigued him, and although they hadn’t ended up in bed, he was sure it would happen sometime. In the meantime he had a war to fight.
‘Are you two brothers?’ asked a Canadian officer.
Connor laughed. ‘Him an English gentleman and me an Irishman? Now that’s something of an insult.’
‘You look alike and you’re always together.’
‘That’s friendship for you.’
He saw a questioning look flash into the man’s eyes. He knew what it meant, but there was no time to deflect any accusation that might come. Nothing did. A bullet from the guns of a low-flying Zero took off the back of the Canadian’s head.
Connor blinked, and then he was off, shouting and shoving. ‘To Hong Kong. Get the bloody boats and get to Hong Kong.’
5
St Stephen’s had been a school before the war had begun in Europe, but as the possibility of more fighting swept eastwards, it had been requisitioned and turned into a military hospital.
A number of people working in private clinics and varied disciplines of medicine had volunteered to serve there if the need arose. Until Saturday evening there had been only a skeleton staff in situ, army doctors readying themselves for an influx of injured men. Following the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the dire news that the enemy army was coming their way, the need had intensified. The number of army medical staff had been swollen by civilians, doctors and nurses all keen to do what they could.
The buildings were set in a green landscape bordered with deciduous trees. Even now, with enemy planes screeching overhead and people running in all directions, the buildings and grounds still looked as though they had been transplanted from Surrey.
A contingent of Punjabi soldiers closed the gate the moment they were through and began setting up a machine-gun post. The gates, they informed their driver, would not be opened again except for emergencies.
‘I thin
k we’ll be getting quite a few of those, Sergeant,’ Rowena remarked.
It turned out she was right. The emergencies came, ambulances and other vehicles carrying injured soldiers of all nations.
Rowena asked for a duty roster. Sister Alice Huntley lingered in case there was also one for the nurses. A senior surgeon with gold braid on his epaulettes said, ‘There is one but we can’t see it lasting for long. There are too many casualties. We’ll all have to muck in until things are sorted.’
She didn’t ask in what way things might get sorted, but exchanged a look with Alice, set her jaw and said, ‘We’d better get on with it.’
Leave was more or less suspended. Nights out in Hong Kong were no longer an option. The neon lights had been turned off. A strict blackout was in force, the only light being from the few searchlights that were still in operation, their thick beams sweeping the sky.
Gradually the trickle of casualties became a flood. Kowloon was first to fall, though most of the casualties had been ferried to facilities closer to the harbour, church halls, canteens and the private clinics that had once catered for the wealthy of the island.
The sound of shells got nearer. The Zeros were strafing the hordes of refugees running for shelter.
Camps sprang up around the periphery of the hospital, though for the most part the dazed and frightened Chinese were kept out of the main grounds, which were gradually filling with brown tents housing hundreds of soldiers. Artillery was stationed closer to the boundaries, the throaty sound of firing continuing all day and most of the night, spent shells scattered everywhere.
Rest breaks for the medical staff were few and far between, mostly grabbed on the run.
After a particularly tiring week of no respite, but continuous work to staunch blood and save lives, the strain was beginning to tell.
Over a late-night whisky and soda, Rowena found herself sitting in the staff bay with Alice and a Chinese nurse. ‘You should soak some cotton wool in cold tea and put it over those bags beneath your eyes,’ she said to the Chinese nurse.
The woman blinked, smiled and promptly fell asleep.
Rowena turned to Alice. ‘Was it that boring a suggestion?’
‘No. We’ve all got the same bags. It’s like a uniform.’
‘Hope I get rid of them before I’m thirty.’
Alice sighed. ‘I’d just like to reach thirty.’
They fell silent as they considered the probability of doing so.
Rowena frowned. ‘I refuse to die before I’ve had another moment of fun. Dinner with a handsome man. Dancing at the Peninsular Hotel. Drinking with officers in crisp uniforms not stinking of death.’ She smiled. ‘Most of all, I’d also like to go to an Irish pub and sing “Star of the County Down” with Connor O’Connor one more time.’
‘That’s a long list.’
‘And so little time.’
She didn’t mention Kim. Alice didn’t approve and they had enough to think about at present.
‘That night we had in Kowloon sticks in my mind. I really enjoyed it. Was that the last time we dressed up to the nines?’
‘I think so.’ Alice sighed and scratched at her hair, which she hadn’t washed for a week. ‘I’ve got a new silk dress. A little man down some backstreet alley made it for me. I’ve only worn it once.’
Rowena thought of her favourite shoes, high-heeled with a peep toe, such a change from her loafers, which offered undoubted comfort but were far from glamorous. Was it really too much to ask to have some fun amid all this hard work and the horrors of war? ‘Damn it. Let’s get a pass, just for a few hours.’
Alice, who had been trained to look up to doctors, never failed to be surprised by Rowena’s daring. ‘Do you think we can swing it?’
‘I’m going to try. Anyway, there seems to be a lull in enemy action. I haven’t heard a plane today. There’s a place in the village nearby, a small bar run by the son of a Dutchman. It’s not much, but okay for an hour or two.’
‘If they let us.’
‘Let’s see if they will.’
*
Dr Black eyed Rowena cynically when she asked if there was any chance of leave. ‘That’s a very difficult question deserving of a carefully thought-out answer.’ His baggy face looked baggier than usual. For a moment he seemed about to refuse her request. The telephone interrupted. He picked it up and frowned at whatever the person at the other end was saying to him.
‘No. I would prefer that you didn’t do that and I will hold you responsible for the consequences.’
Whoever it was appeared to insist on whatever they were asking. Dr Black looked defeated. ‘If that’s an order, I suppose I have to put up with it. But I don’t like it. We’re a hospital not a fortress or a defensive position. And I don’t care what you say. We’re bound to draw enemy fire.’ The phone clicked as he returned it to its cradle. His frown deepened and his eyes were lacklustre.
Thinking he might have forgotten she was there, Rowena transferred her weight from one foot to the other, clearing her throat to remind him of her presence.
He looked up as though he’d just awoken, shook his head and smiled sadly.
‘You’re welcome to try to get out of this place. I wish I could. Quite frankly I feel as though I’ll never get out of here. Enjoy yourself.’
She saw the concern in his eyes. He seemed to be seeking a source of strength to see him through what he felt was coming. ‘It’ll be just the two of us. Sister Huntley and myself.’ He had not asked for any details. She’d felt obliged to give some in the vain hope that visualising young people having fun might cheer him up.
‘Two, four or sixty. It matters not.’
Later she told Alice how hopeless he had seemed. ‘The poor man’s drained. At times he wasn’t looking at me at all but far off, in another world.’
‘Are we still going out?’
‘You bet we are, but first we’re putting up the Christmas decorations.’
*
Alice had strung bits of cotton wool on cotton thread and was hanging them in front of the windows. Rowena had decorated a potted palm with bits of silver paper and stars.
‘What you doing, girls?’
The patients were intrigued. Descriptions of the decorations were relayed to those who could not see, lying in bed with bandages around their eyes.
‘Spangles, stars and snow.’
‘Can’t wait to see it.’
‘Looks lovely,’ said those who could see but couldn’t move.
‘So glad you appreciate our efforts. Fingers crossed regarding mistletoe.’
‘Mistletoe be blowed. I don’t need any of that stuff to give a nurse a kiss. You too, Doc, if you play your cards right.’
Despite the fear that flashed from patient to patient, nurse to doctor each time a bomb exploded or a plane flew overhead, there was laughter.
Rowena helped Alice down from the wooden steps she’d been balanced on and saw the pensive look on her face. She knew immediately that Alice was having second thoughts.
‘Do you really think we should be going there? To those bars? I mean, is it likely they might think we’re on the game, like the bloke in the bar in Kowloon did?’
‘He didn’t think that. I’ve been out with him since, remember? He was fun. Really fun.’
She purposely sounded exuberant though she was reining in her own misgivings. Maintaining a normal life was central to their wellbeing and that was what she told Alice. ‘You have to remain in control of your life and carry on as normal. Alice, the first casualties are in. We both know there’s more to come. This could very well be our last chance to grab a moment to ourselves.’
‘I know you’re right, but... you’re more daring than I am. Sometimes I think I should never have left Brisbane.’
‘Don’t worry. It’ll turn out to be an experience you’ll remember for the rest of your life.’
‘However long it is,’ Alice retorted grimly.
Rowena paused in brushing her hair and forced a
smile. ‘You’re right to be scared. We all are. I certainly am. We’re making a memory. Enjoy it. It’ll be something to tell your grandchildren about in the far distant future.’
‘I hope I get to have grandchildren.’
‘I’ve every intention of doing so. I intend having a lot more sex before I die. No Imperial Japanese Army is going to make it otherwise.’
Alice looked both amused and appalled. ‘Would you really? Not just anybody, surely.’
Rowena eyed her reflection. ‘No. Not anybody.’
‘I quite fancy one of those Canadians, especially the one who told me he used to be a lumberjack.’ She giggled. ‘Looked it too, judging by the size of his biceps. Imagine having them around you. Gives me the shivers.’
Rowena smiled. ‘I’ve got my own imaginings, thank you.’
‘But not the man on the flying carpet. The Oriental.’ Alice was wearing a disapproving look.
‘I wish you’d stop calling him that.’
‘What should I call him?’
‘The man who bought us drinks, which enabled us to stay.’
‘Okay. Him. So what’s the attraction?’
‘He intrigued me.’
‘Does that mean you’d have dinner with him? When all this is over, of course.’
‘Why not?’ She frowned. ‘He knew where I lived. Drove me straight to the door – and he wouldn’t be pinned down when I asked him where he was from. Did you notice that?’
‘Perhaps he was ashamed of his background. I mean, he could be anything.’
‘Profession, yes. But why be evasive about his origins?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Beats me.’ She looked at Rowena enquiringly. ‘What you said about having more sex before you die. What would you do if he was the last man left alive? Would you really... you know... sleep with him?’
‘Sleeping? I truly think that the most preposterous word to describe a night of passion.’
‘Never mind the word, would you let him?’
‘I don’t know him. Perhaps.’
‘Oh, Rowena. You can’t mean you’d do that just so you get grandchildren.’
Rowena burst out laughing. ‘For goodness’ sake, Alice. I’m a doctor. You’re a nurse. We know how to deal with… consequences. Besides, I don’t think it’s going to come to that. Anyway, there’s a whole battalion of Canadians out there to choose from.’
