by C S Gibbs
“I passed through it, last year, on the way down to Christchurch,” replied Ben, “But you really need to brace yourself for somewhere like London, if you get sent there – it makes Auckland look like a village!”
Ben loved the fact that New Zealand's largest urban areas were so uncrowded and unencumbered by tall, claustrophobic brickwork – any city that felt like a village was fine by him.
“My family are looking forward to meeting you. You'll really enjoy Matariki – it's something we always try to get together for. There will be plenty there from the Iwi. You don't do this sort of thing, do you?” asked Te Kawau.
“What, you mean gathering the family together? Well, just at Christmas, or if there's a wedding or funeral, I suppose. Mind you, my family is so small that we could gather in a telephone box.”
“You don't have anything like the Iwi, do you?”
Te Kawau had mentioned this a couple of times and it all sounded rather exotic to Ben – just like the tribes of Africa or the American Indians. Te Kawau continued.
“The Iwi, it's more than a family, it's more than just a tribe – it's the community, the people, their mana, land and way of life, all kind of rolled in to one. You just have your families, don't you? Hey, how many in your family, Ben?”
“Just my mum and me, really.”
At this, Te Kawau looked puzzled.
“So you've got no brothers or sisters, then?”
“Nope.”
“Well blow me down! I've got four brothers and two sisters – I've lost count of the cousins, uncles and aunties! Hey – I bet in your house you never had to wait as long as I did to use the dunny!”
Ben laughed, “Yeah, I guess so. Hey, this Matariki thing, just run it by me again what it's all about, please.”
“Well,” Te Kawau sat forward, eagerly, “What you call the Plaeadies star cluster, we call Matariki. When those stars rise and the new moon comes, then that's the start of our new year. It's going to happen, tomorrow, and we're going to have to get up early! We've still got about five hours before we get to Auckland, so I recommend that we both try and get some rest.”
With that, both men sank even further in to their cossack blue great-coats and tried to doze away, as their train rolled steadily onward.
***
The crowd gathered at the top of One Tree Hill. Even in the first light of dawn, the panoramic view was breathtaking. To the east lay the bulk of the ever growing city of Auckland, with its packed harbour, to the north side of which lay the naval base of Devonport and the stubby peak of Mount Victoria, on which sat the big gun. Idle since before the Great War, the gun was built to fend off the empirical attentions of the last Tsar. Fired just once, the gun was silenced by the locals who complained about the noise.
Buildings of late Victorian and more recent design cluttered the central district, but beyond that lay greenery, peppered with single storey housing which boasted front and back gardens more generous than Ben had ever seen in his home town.
By the time the landscape reached Cornwall Park and the slopes of One Tree Hill, it was hard to imagine that one was located in a city.
To the west, the intermittence continued, as small settlements lay scattered among the greenery all the way to the Manukau Harbour in the southwest and the Bombay Hills on the southern horizon.
“Here we go, Ben,” whispered Te Kawau, “Just go with the feel of the thing and I'm sure you'll make sense of it.”
Te Kawau's grandfather, Te Kani, positioned himself with his back to the now rising sun. The fifty or so present stood in an arched group around him and listened intently.
Te Kani was an elderly man whose face was worn with lines of experience. He made a warm speech, of which Ben understood not one word, but true to Te Kawau's prediction, the sentiment went beyond language and he felt welcome.
To his untrained and unaccustomed ear, the Maori words had a musical feel to them, almost like a long forgotten nursery rhyme. To his left, an elderly Maori lady listened intently, eyes closed, with blissful dedication, to the words which she knew from childhood, singing the words, breathing them in and out, welcoming back each sacred phrase like a long-lost friend.
“Teno koto, teno koto, teno koto,” recited Te Kani as he appeared to reach the end of his speech, before pausing and glancing at Ben, “And welcome,” he smiled.
The speech ended and another man took centre stage. He was a little younger, but also had an air of worldliness and confidence about him. This man began to recite a chant which was rhythmically driving and melodic, broken in to percussive phrases of language which, though the words clearly differed in each phrase, were marked by a modal refrain of five ascending notes.
Again, the gentle lady to Ben's left sang along in a half-whispered and reverential unison. As he looked about him, Ben saw that many of the people in the largely elderly group were doing likewise.
This was a different form of togetherness and community. It was not rooted in industry, religion, nor in social standing. It was no society of enthusiasts – be that a dance troupe or train spotters – this concept of Iwi was something that he had not seen before.
What, Ben wondered, were the Iwi of the British people? His community was one of industry, as were many back home: miners, ship builders, car makers, steel workers. Without the demands of the economy, the mines, factories and the shipyards would die, as would the communities they supported. Here, though, was a community and togetherness which was centred upon the people and the land. People and land, thought Ben, would still be around long after the coal was gone, so how much longer could the place he once called home sustain itself?
Chapter Thirty - Agony in Paradise
The saying goes that sometimes it is better to travel than it is to arrive and no soldier in the Japanese Imperial Army was more aware of that than young Lieutenant Katsuhiro Kimura.
His basic training had gone so well. He had lapped up all that his instructors had to teach him with ravenous zeal, whilst tackling every task, be it physical, mental or practical, with the vigour of a young man eager to prove himself and make sure that his superiors knew that he was officer material of the highest order.
So, it was no surprise to anyone, least of all Katsuhiro himself, when he was duly sent for officer training. This was the fulfilment of his destiny – one that was intertwined with that of Japan itself. As he had been told so many times at school, at his basic training and then at the academy, Asia was for the Asians and it was Japan's sacred duty to rid the continent of the western invaders.
After putting himself through the mill of exams, physical training, tactical and strategic manuals, assault courses, hand to hand combat, rifle practise, the use of explosives, morse code signalling and more, all driven by the obsessive, Bushido code of the officer corps, he was finally ready. He was now an instrument of the Imperial Army's will and nothing else mattered to him. To die for the Emperor was an honour he would cherish.
And yet, this mind set had proved to be his undoing, for it was duly noted that young Kimura was destined for a commission, but also that his single-mindedness was his achilles heel. Perhaps he showed a lack of awareness and consideration for his fellow cadets and that did not make for an ideal leader of men. Not to worry though, it was said behind closed doors – young Kimura just needs a little longer in the army and he will begin to understand the true meaning of teamwork. He will, in due course, learn to gain the trust of others and then his selfless attitude will serve as an example to the lower ranks. Indeed, with the Americans rapidly island-hopping toward the homeland and the British driving ever southward through Burma, perhaps the time would soon come for young men such as Kimura to step forward?
Unaware of his future being decided for him, the anticipation of that first posting overseas had lingered on like a perfect honeymoon for Katsuhiro. On embarking from Tokyo harbour, the sense of expectation amongst him and his men was palpab
le. Their destination was kept secret for security purposes, but that mattered not one jot, for soon, the enemy would be engaged.
It was a delight to be asked by his captain to organize morning exercises and daily sporting competitions. To be chosen from among all of the other young junior officers was a sign of recognition, perhaps? His prowess on the sports field had been noted and he would grasp this opportunity to maintain morale and raise fitness so that the troops would be battle ready on arrival.
So well went the journey, that the harbour at Singapore appeared quite suddenly, as did embarkation on a troop train heading north in to Malaya. Even the drudgery of the two day long journey could do nothing to take the wind from Katsuhiro's sails, for now they were moving through Japan's new empire, which had been ruled by the British for over a century, but snatched back from them in just a matter of weeks by his fellow dynamic liberators.
We have driven them all the way back to India, he though to himself as he stared out at the unceasing wall of rubber trees that lined the railway sidings, and then mused upon how he would play his part in driving the British back ever farther. A couple more days of travelling through Thailand would get them to Burma, where the real fireworks would begin.
But there were to be no fireworks. No charge for Katsuhiro to lead or immediate sacrifice to be made. The high command was well aware of the need to keep some powder dry for the coming struggles and Katsuhiro was one such grain of powder.
After journeying half way through Thailand, the train gave way to trucks, which in turn gave way to a troop ship, which finally weighed anchor on the island of Phuket.
“This must be a mistake, Sir,” exalted Katsuhiro to his captain. “Are we just here to sharpen up before moving on?”
“No, Kimura. Our orders are that was are to be stationed here until further notice.”
“Well, how long is that likely to be, Sir?”
“As long as it takes, Kimura. I suggest that you focus on organizing a more extensive roster for the morning exercises and sporting leagues. We could be here for a while.”
With that, the captain left his frustrated young lieutenant with nowhere to direct his anguish at being denied his rightful place. How could the war simply wait for him?
The following weeks became months, the morning exercises and athletics league became dreary routines. Rifle drill, grenade practise, yet more morse code . . . it all became a numb haze. This drudgery was actually more painful, more soul-destroying than any of the agonies he endured during officer training: the physical and emotional pains inflicted by the perverse and sadistic instructors was all done for a reason – to ready him for battle – and it was for that reason that he had endured. But where was that battle, now? What was he to do with all of this preparedness? He was ready to explode like one of his grenades.
His captain had made matters worse by insisting that he maintain a garden. Such things were intended to give the junior officers a focus away from the aggressive, physical side of their soldiering duties.
At first Katsuhiro struggled to find a purpose in this, but his superiors had given him an order and he was to carry it out. Obedience was vital.
He tried to use the gardening as a form of meditation, as previous emperors and warriors had done, so that he could somehow foster a sense of calmness which would stand him in good stead on the battlefield. This would give him an edge over any British officer who, he thought, could surely never cope under fire in the same way as him.
He would master his rage, he decided, and tame it, then store it – ready to be unleashed on the enemy when called upon and then directed by him, through his men, with unfailing results.
***
Katsuhiro had endured many months of Shinto-fuelled gardening and his bottled rage was now maturing in to an impressive vintage, when he was given an unexpected outlet for his desire take on the enemy.
“Kimura! How would you like to do some reconnaissance work out in the bay to the south?” asked his commanding officer.
Katshuhiro gave a startled look up from tending his lotus flowers and seemed barely able to accept the fact that he was being asked to contemplate something more challenging than agriculture.
“Reconnaissance, sir?”
“Yes. Go and seek out the best locations for machine gun and mortar posts, in case of a marine assault. The English have made some amphibious landings in Burma, so we need to be ready for such things. Take Nakamura and Yamazaki with you, as the three of you would be in charge of such posts in a combat situation.
“You can use a staff car. Be ready to leave in half an hour. Oh, and Kimura, once you have done your survey, you and the others ought to use this time to relax a little. It is very peaceful out there, so take in the beauty of it all while you can.”
Katsuhiro bowed and raced off to prepare himself.
***
It was with a sense of excitement that the three green lieutenants drove through the centre of Patong, barely able to believe their good luck at being given such an undertaking, for this was a rare luxury, as it was no secret that fuel was scarce and in much greater demand on Japan's many front lines.
As they passed the shanty huts and ramshackle market stalls, the men talked of how shambolic much of Asia appeared to them.
“Of course,” started Nakamura, “If those English, Americans and the like were as good as they claimed, bringing their so-called order to the world, then why is everywhere such a mess? If this is how they rule, then it's a good thing that we are driving them out!”
“Agreed,” nodded Yamazaki, the only one of the three who could drive, “They're just a bunch of white gorillas, those westerners – nowhere near as cultivated as us. Once we've got established in these places, we can start to clear up their mess and do things properly, don't you think?”
Nakamura turned from his position in the passenger seat and glared with his round face at Katsuhiro, who had been barely able to get a word in.
“My brother was out in Jakarta and he told me that the Dutch were no better, there.”
“I thought,” pondered Katsuhiro, “That the Europeans had been kept out of Thailand?”
“Well, doesn't that show you just how much they need us, here? Look around you?” laughed Yamazaki, his eyes furtively glancing from the road to his companions and back again, “Once this war is over, we can clean everything up, get it all running our way, then all Asians can show those white monkeys who the real masters are!”
The drive out of Patong had taken them along the straight sea road, then meandering uphill, snaking through the wooded surroundings until the road peaked and then descended, the track becoming ever more uneven until they arrived at the enclave.
The three men stepped from their vehicle and walked on for a few minutes until they emerged into open space and surveyed their surroundings.
They stood on the arced beach in the centre of a small bay of about half a mile in diameter, whilst stretching before them was the larger bay of Patong, with the settlement to the east and the rising, forested hills to the north. To their west, the bay was completed by a rising curve of rock, which pointed it's crooked finger out towards the Indian Ocean.
“Well, if this isn't paradise, then I don't know what is,” said Yamazaki breaking the silence.
“It will do just fine for me,” said Nakamura “And I don't intend to waste a moment. Let's have that swim!”
“But, what about surveying the area? We need to get a report back to the captain,” urged Katsuhiro, but his words were largely unheeded by the others.
“Oh, there is plenty of time for that,” laughed Nakamura, dismissively, “It's nearly midday and it's the best time for a swim.”
The men began to remove their beleaguered fatigues, all except for one. Katsuhiro stood, sheepishly, unwilling to join in with the activity.
“Aren't you coming in, Katsuhiro?” asked Nakamura
“Well . .
. I don't think so . . . I think I should stay here and keep watch. It's better that way. We'll be safer if there is any trouble.”
“Trouble?” laughed Yamazaki “We're in the back end of Thailand! Who's going to spring a surprise attack on us, here? The locals are terrified of us and the British are not even in Malaya. Relax and enjoy this afternoon. We won't get this time off again, soon.”
“I still think I'd rather keep watch, if you don't mind.”
“Well,” shrugged Nakamura “Please yourself. I don't intend to miss out on the fun – come on, let's go!”
With that, the two young men raced their underfed, naked frames to the water's edge. The tide was in and the waters were calm as they galloped and dived in to the warm, deep blue bay.
“You're right, Yamazaki,” called Nakamura as he trod water, “This really is a paradise. I think I'll bring my wife here after the war and we'll make ourselves a baby on the beach!”
“Really?” laughed Yamazaki, “Whereabouts, exactly?”
“Oh, right about where Katsuhiro is standing! Hey, Kimura! Don't mess up my special spot. My wife and I have got some work to do, there!”
Standing like a badly planted shrub on the beach, Katsuhiro reacted to Nakamura's taunting as if he had actually stepped on the procreating couple and moved a couple of paces to his left.
“And don't stand there, either!” joined in Yamazaki “Because I'm going to be right there with my wife!”
The two men hooted with laughter, but Katsuhiro could only amble away in disgust. They left him to his reverie and set off for the rocks that lay some one hundred yards out to sea.
Katsuhiro felt like such a square peg. He actually liked being with those two – they seemed to tolerate his company and made him feel accepted, but he could not cope with their banter, or match them in verbal jousting. Running around naked on a beach and splashing around in the sunshine was all very well for some, he thought, but it was not proper soldiering, not what he had trained for, yet here he was, still waiting for his war to begin. He strolled around the beach, looking at the highest spots on the rocky surroundings and pondered on the best places for machine gun nests – which ones, he thought, would give the best range of fire in the event of a marine assault?
His strategies were cut short by Nakamura's cutting tones.
