Enemy Camp

by Hill, David

  We had another Japanese lesson. No problems at the barrier or gate this time. A ring of prisoners inside the military compound was just breaking up; looked like they’d been wrestling again. The same older guard, the friendly one, led us towards the hut.

  ‘Your boss might be late. Think he’s got a few things on his mind.’

  But Ito arrived only five minutes after, and if he was busy or worried about anything he didn’t show it. We went straight into the lesson.

  He told us about Boys’ Day. It happens near the start of May. Families who have boys fly a big flag shaped like a fish, which is supposed to bring long life. Inside their houses, they have displays of dolls in warrior costumes.

  There’s also a Girls’ Day in March, but we weren’t very interested in that. The Boys’ Day sounded good; we had words about clothes and being brave to learn and repeat. I thought Ito might say something about his son, but he didn’t.

  ‘One question only today,’ our sensei said at the end. ‘I am busy.’ A hand was already up. ‘Yes, Crarry?’

  Clarry stood. Like I say, his questions often make me feel nervous. Sure enough, this time he asked: ‘Sensei, what will you do when you get home? To Japan, I mean.’

  Ito stared straight past him for a second. Then he said: ‘I am dead.’

  We three gaped. I heard the guard shift in his seat.

  ‘For us, to be a prisoner is to be a dead person,’ Ito went on. ‘In Japan, there have been funerals for us. We are not live person any more.’ He gave the tiniest of shrugs. ‘We do not know what we find if we return.’

  ‘That’s tough, pal.’ It was the guard speaking. ‘Don’t you think—’ But Ito was already moving towards the door.

  We didn’t say much about it as we rode home. ‘It’s n-not fair,’ Barry said once. No, it isn’t, I thought. Just like a lot of other things about the war.

  School baths after lunch. The primer teacher and Mr White were there, chatting away to each other. Barry asked, ‘Sir? D-Do you know who’ll be our teacher this year?’

  Mr White smiled. ‘I can’t say for sure, boys, but I hope you won’t be too disconcerted.’

  It didn’t sound a good word. Barry asked us afterwards, ‘Do you think he m-means’ (deep breath) ‘Miss Mutter?’

  Aw, no, I thought. Please, no! And yet … yet she’s been really good to Barry.

  I mucked about in the water with Terry and Anzac. Moana’s Yank boyfriend has left for overseas. She’s really upset.

  Finally, I saw Susan and Margaret arriving. Yeah, I’d been looking for them. So what? Somehow we ended up talking again, while Anzac and Terry grinned stupid grins at us, and Clarry did more showing off. He pushed another kid in while they were play-fighting, and stood there, looking so pleased with himself while he wobbled around.

  Susan asked about our lessons. ‘When she lived in Japan, Mum went to talks on flower-arranging, given by an army general! She loved living there, but you can’t say that now.’

  Since it’s the last weekend of the holidays (doom!), we went to the pictures. It was The Maltese Falcon, about this detective searching for an ancient gold statue. Pretty good.

  The blackout isn’t officially over, but the doors of the town hall were wide open, spilling light into the street, and no warden came along, yelling ‘Put that light out!’ Nobody worries about Jap invasions now.

  SUNDAY, 31 JANUARY Dad was at camp all day. Mum covered some of my exercise books with old wallpaper. I’m using the remaining bits of last year’s books, of course. I wonder if we’ll ever be able to have new exercise books every year?

  Went over to the Morrises’ in the afternoon. Clarry’s all fizzing about school tomorrow. Barry and I are just praying our teacher won’t be Miss Mutter.

  The holidays are over. Hard to believe. Now there’s a new school year ahead. I wonder what’s going to happen in it?

  February 1943

  MONDAY, 1 FEBRUARY The first day of school. Clarry had this huge grin, nearly dividing his face in half. ‘You blokes excited about going back?’ he asked. Barry and I just stared at him.

  Barry towed his brother. We passed other kids, all looking gloomy. Clarry yelled to the ones he knew. ‘Hey, I’m coming to school! Great, eh?’ They stared at him, too.

  When we were nearly at the gates, he said: ‘Stop here. I’m going to walk the last bit.’ He was already swinging himself out of the trolley, a smile splitting his face again. Mrs Morris had made him wear his leg braces, and he robot-walked in through the gates, an old Railways satchel on his back, chatting to everyone he met.

  We had an assembly outside. The headmaster began reading class lists out; we crossed our fingers and held our breath.

  You wouldn’t believe it — I’ve got Mr White again! I’m with Barry, and Anzac and Terry, and just about all the kids from last year’s Standard Five. Susan and Margaret are in the class, too. That’s OK.

  Barry and I stood grinning at each other. Then we heard Clarry’s name being read out. He’s in Standard Four, and he’s got Miss Mutter! He didn’t seem to mind, though.

  There’s a new woman teacher, Mrs Sutcliffe. She said hello. We all turned to face the Union Jack on the flagpole, and sang ‘God Save the King’. Then we marched into our classrooms, while band music played over the loudspeakers. Ahead of us, Clarry swung along with his class. I think his grin must be glued on. I thought of Ito’s son. I imagined the American planes that are dropping tons of bombs on Japanese factories and ports, and I wondered whether schools ever got hit by mistake.

  When our class was sitting down (I’m even at the same desk as last year), Mr White smiled, and asked, ‘Haven’t I seen some of you people before?’

  We laughed, and he said how pleased he was to have us again, and now we were Standard Six, we were the seniors, and had to set a good example. ‘This time next year, you could be commencing secondary school. I hope you will seize the chance to go. When this war is over, we’ll need young people who are educated and dauntless.’ He looked at me as he said the last word, and I knew he’d be waiting to see whether I looked it up.

  Terry and Margaret are the first week’s class monitors. They gave out ink wells, and filled them from the big bottle. Susan has new exercise books covered in wallpaper with yellow flowers on it. I guess that’s alright for a girl.

  Cricket at lunchtime, with a tennis ball and an old bat. Clarry hobbled after the ball, and whacked at it like a maniac when it was his turn to bat. ‘Why’s your brother grinning all the time?’ Anzac asked Barry.

  As we rode home that afternoon, I glanced at the trolley trundling along behind Barry, and said, ‘Take it easy.’ Clarry was asleep.

  I finished Huckleberry Finn. Jim the Negro is kidnapped and sold by two crooks, who treat him like an animal. I can’t imagine New Zealanders behaving like that towards other races.

  Dauntless means being brave and keeping on.

  TUESDAY, 2 FEBRUARY Mr White was in Room Six writing on the blackboard. ‘Morning, lads,’ he went. ‘How are you today?’ Barry said, ‘G-Good, thanks, sir.’ I started to say the same, then I went, ‘I’m dauntless, thanks, sir’, and our teacher gave me a huge smile.

  We had a library lesson. I’ve taken out Treasure Island, which is about a boy in England two hundred years ago, and a gang of pirates. Susan said it looked scary. She’s got one called Anne of Green Gables. I told her it looked a real girl’s book, and she pretended to punch me.

  After school, Miss Mutter was coming back from showing the new teacher, Mrs Sutcliffe, road-crossing duty. (Cars stop straightaway when they see Miss Mutter.) Barry and Clarry were arguing, and almost bumped into her. Barry went ‘S-Sorry, M-M—’

  She just looked up at him (either she’s shrunk over the holidays, or we’ve grown) and said, ‘Remember.’

  Barry stopped, took a deep breath, and slowly said, ‘Sorry, Miss Mutter.’

  She nodded. ‘Well done.’ Then she looked at Clarry, and added: ‘Both of you.’

  Dad was in the garden
, pulling out bean stakes with his good arm. ‘Hello, son. Good day at school?’

  ‘OK,’ I told him. ‘Dad, when is Ito going to give us some more lessons?’

  My father pulled up another stake. ‘He’s got a fair bit to handle just now. There’s a bunch of Yanks coming to get some info from the prisoners to help their own blokes in the Pacific. A lot of the Nips are pretty wild about that.’

  ‘What happened to that Jap who hurt himself on the barbed wire?’ I asked. ‘Have they put on that Noh play yet?’

  Dad frowned. ‘Leave it alone, Ewen! I get enough of the Japs out there, without you nagging me as soon as I’m home.’

  We said nothing for a bit. Then Dad went: ‘Didn’t mean to do my bun, son.’ He hesitated. ‘There are these rumours going around, how some of the military lot are planning to overpower the guards, set fire to their huts, try a break-out, maybe. It’s just talk, probably, but people are on edge.’

  He handed me a bundle of bean stakes. ‘This is just between you and me, right? I want you to know, in case your lessons have to stop. Ito’s a sensible bloke, but if it comes to a show-down, he could go either way.’

  I started Treasure Island. The BBC News says that the Nazi armies who tried to capture the city of Stalingrad have just surrendered to the Russians. I won’t be surprised if the war ends this year.

  WEDNESDAY, 3 FEBRUARY Clarry talked about how strict Miss Mutter is. ‘If anyone isn’t holding their pencil properly, she smacks their knuckles with her ruler.’ He laughed. ‘It’s great! I wouldn’t miss it for worlds!’

  We had reading time. I’m up to the part in Treasure Island where some of the crew mutiny. ‘How’s your boy’s book?’ Susan asked when we filed outside at lunchtime. ‘Good,’ I told her. ‘How’s your girl’s book?’ She said it was lovely (girl’s word), but it might have a sad ending, so she’s going to bring an extra hankie. That’s girl’s stuff, too, but she’s right about how you can get caught up in a book.

  Dad got home just before tea. The camp has been calmer for the past couple of days. And Ito has ordered us to come for a lesson on Saturday. Our first one since he said that weird business about ‘I am dead’.

  THURSDAY, 4 FEBRUARY Nothing.

  FRIDAY, 5 FEBRUARY We arrived at school. Barry and I headed towards Room Six, and as we passed the headmaster’s office the new teacher, Mrs Sutcliffe, came out. She was crying.

  By morning playtime, we’d found out what had happened. Mrs Sutcliffe’s husband is a conchie — a CO, a conscientious objector who refuses to fight in any war. He’s in a prison camp near Taupo, and Mrs Sutcliffe has to earn enough to look after her two small kids. She got the job at our school, and rented a house over in Bethune Street. The man who owns the house heard about her husband, and he’s told them all to get out.

  Some Room Six kids reckoned it served her right. Anzac said that conchies are just scared of fighting. Terry said they were lucky: in some other countries they’d be shot. More and more kids joined in, and things got pretty loud. Barry was going ‘It’s not her f-fault’, but other people agreed with Terry and Anzac.

  Then a voice went ‘That’s horrible!’ so fiercely that we all turned to look. Susan Proctor was standing there, with Margaret beside her. I’d never seen Susan look that angry before. Her face was pale; her hands were squeezed into fists by her side.

  ‘Her husband has stood up for what he believes in, and she’s standing up for him! She’s trying to look after her family, and some of you want her thrown out on the street, like that horrible landlord. You sound like — like Nazis!’

  I thought some of the kids would have a go at her for saying that, but nobody spoke. Last term, I’d have called her stupid, but this term … Well, I just thought, Heck! She stood glaring at Anzac and Terry like she wanted to throw them somewhere, then she turned and marched off.

  At lunchtime, there was Mrs Sutcliffe walking out of the school grounds, with Miss Mutter beside her. So kids were saying Mrs Sutcliffe isn’t allowed to be a teacher any more, and Miss Mutter was making sure she left.

  That was wrong, too. Mrs Sutcliffe and her kids are going to live at Miss Mutter’s house! Margaret was walking back from lunch and saw them all there. Clarry told us that Miss Mutter was even crabbier than usual that afternoon.

  There’s other news going around, too. Some New Zealand troops are coming home from overseas. It’s not in the paper or on the radio. Nobody wants the Nazis or Nips to find out, but lots of people know. Like I said, it won’t be long before the war is over.

  The Morrises all came over after tea. You can tell how pleased Mrs Morris is that Clarry is well; she keeps breaking out in huge smiles when she looks at him.

  The grown-ups played cards while we kids mucked about in my room. Mum had given us some bread and jam. ‘I know you boys have hollow legs.’ After a while, Clarry reckoned I should go and see if there was any more. He’s got hollow legs and arms!

  I was halfway down the hall when I heard Dad. ‘Two of the Japs asked to see Colonel Wallace. A sergeant and a corporal. They reckon their lives are in danger.’

  I stood still. Mr Morris said something, then Dad spoke again.

  ‘Some of them want to commit suicide. They reckon it’s the only honourable thing to do. These two have been trying to talk them out of it, and now they’re getting death threats from their own side.’

  A pause, and the shuffling of cards. ‘I don’t know,’ Dad went next. ‘We get things calmed down, but you sometimes feel they’re looking for any reason to blow their tops in a big way. It’s like a bomb waiting for someone to light the fuse.’

  Mum’s voice, too low for me to catch what she was saying. Then my father’s voice once more.

  ‘I hope so, Molly. I really do. But I reckon it’s not over yet.’

  SATURDAY, 6 FEBRUARY We pedalled out to the camp after breakfast. There were quite a few guards around; a couple stood watching a group of prisoners beginning a wrestling match. Another, rifle and bayonet over his shoulder, wandered past two others squatting beside a box, playing that Go game. I thought of what Dad had said last night, but things looked pretty ordinary.

  A fat young guard with glasses took us to the hut. Prisoners glanced at us as we passed; some half-smiled. Yeah, it was all OK.

  OK except for the guard. ‘What d’you want to talk to these little yellow sods for?’ he demanded.

  We stared, then Barry said, ‘Lieutenant Ito is teaching us Japanese. He’s g-good.’

  The guard sneered. ‘Yeah? Well my brother’s a prisoner of theirs somewhere in Burma, and God knows how they’re treating him. I’d like to teach your Ito and his pals a few things. Evil little Nips!’

  He left us in the room. Ito and his guard arrived almost straightaway. He looked tired, but calm as always. People used to say that all Japs are ugly little runts, with buck teeth and bad eyesight, but he’s fit and sort of good-looking in his own way.

  We stood and bowed. He went straight into the lesson, testing us on words, making us repeat them and re-repeat them. Suddenly, we’re back in two schools!

  He told us about the Japanese Emperor: how he is sacred, how most people never see him, but they have to bow every time his name is mentioned. It’s Hirohito, and our teacher dipped his head when he spoke it.

  ‘You will tell me of your school,’ he said next.

  Straightaway, Clarry was on his feet, going ‘Sensei, I’m at school this year! I’m in Standard Four. Miss Mutter is my teacher. She’s good!’

  Barry and I couldn’t help grinning. Ito’s expression didn’t change. He gazed at Clarry, then he went: ‘You are stronger. Stay strong.’ His eyes moved to Barry and me. ‘All of you. A man must be strong.’

  We told him about our lessons. He listened silently, not moving. When he said ‘You have questions for me?’ Clarry was up again. ‘Sensei, when the war is over, will you come back to New Zealand sometime?’

  Once again, Barry and I held our breath, but Ito simply said: ‘I cannot know.’

>   Then I stood. ‘Sensei, will you tell us what is strong? What should we do?’

  Our teacher nodded. ‘For me, it is being loyal to my Emperor. Making my duty to him and my country. For you … you will find your way. You will know when it comes.’

  He was silent again, for so long that I started to sit back down again. Then he spoke. ‘Never fear death. Remember: never fear death.’

  I remembered what he’d said last time, about ‘I am dead’. Was this the same?

  ‘The Noh play is soon,’ he told us. ‘You will come.’ He nodded to the guard, and they left.

  We talked about the Noh play as we biked home. We turned down Miss Mutter’s street. ‘I’ve got a speech lesson t-tomorrow,’ Barry said. Three schools for my best friend.

  Three kids appeared ahead. No: two kids and Miss Mutter, who is not much bigger. The kids were sweeping her front path while she watched, arms folded. ‘Hello, Miss Mutter!’ Clarry called out before Barry and I could shut him up. She gave us a cool nod, while we biked on — quickly.

  I read more Treasure Island after tea. And I thought about Ito’s words: ‘Never fear death.’ Soldiers in the war, prisoners in camp, kids with polio: I wonder which of them he was thinking about.

  SUNDAY, 7 FEBRUARY I told Dad about Miss Mutter taking in Mrs Sutcliffe and her kids. He nodded. ‘She could have had grandkids of her own by now if her bloke hadn’t been killed in the first war. There’ll be more like her after this one is over, I’m afraid.’ I thought of Anzac’s sister Moana and her Yank.

  ‘There was this guard yesterday.’ I described the fat young guard and told Dad how he’d called the Japs all sorts of names.

  My father nodded again. ‘How was Ito?’

  So I told him about the Japs’ loyalty to their Emperor and country. ‘He told us “Never fear death”.’

  Dad looked up. ‘He mention anything else?’

  I shook my head. ‘Just how Clarry was getting stronger, and all of us had to be strong, too.’

  ‘Clarry’s a fighter. The Japs admire that.’ My father gazed across the garden. ‘Ah well, every day we get through is a bonus.’