by Di Morrissey
Bette smiled. ‘There wasn’t anything to bring you. But you know, I missed you and Lumpy so much I made up drawings of you both.’
‘Where are they?’ he asked eagerly.
Bette tapped her head. ‘Up here, where no one can take them away. When we leave here and go home I’ll put them on paper for you. And I’ll make Lumpy the most beautiful bright blue colour you’ve ever seen.’
Philip looked at his faded, ragged soft toy which had been stitched up, yet again, and nodded. ‘All right. Lumpy got sick. But he’s better now.’
Bette ruffled his hair. ‘I’m pleased.’ But as they walked into their hut to wait for Marjorie and Evelyn, Bette was more worried than ever by Philip’s appearance. Not only was he thinner, but he also had a pale yellow tinge to his skin and eyes which meant that he was suffering from jaundice. Somehow she had to get better food for him and quinine. How she dreaded going back to work for the imperious mean Hannah.
It was when she discovered the theft of some of her hoarded rice, that Bette had another idea.
‘It’s rats, I know it,’ she said sadly to Marjorie. ‘Little sods got into the container by eating through it. I knew I should have tried to get a tin to store the rice in.’
‘They must be hungry too,’ said Marjorie.
‘Mmmm. I think I might have an idea,’ said Bette. ‘I’ll have to use the last of the rice for a trap.’
‘You can’t outsmart a rat,’ said Evelyn.
But Bette became fixated by the idea of trapping the rodents that scurried around the camp. She scratched a design in the dust and then had Marjorie and Philip hunt for the materials to make it. About a week or so later, she had a box roughly made from wood with wire mesh, some netting, a bit of a bicycle spring, and a kind of tin slide for a trap door. She oiled the slide with grease from the kitchen and set the bait.
‘He’ll get down and get trapped and the little door thing should close. A simple mouse trap device,’ she explained proudly.
The others looked doubtful, but agreed to set the trap and see if anything happened.
Philip could barely sleep for the excitement. ‘Will we hear him go into the trap? And then what are we going to do with him?’ he asked.
‘We’ll see,’ said Bette. She wasn’t about to tell Philip that anything caught in the trap would be eaten. She shut her eyes. God, had it really come to this? Looking forward to eating a rat?
Philip was up early the next morning. He raced to check the trap and came back disappointed.
‘Never mind, maybe tomorrow,’ said Bette. ‘Now off you go with Marjorie. She’s going to take you weaving.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked dubiously.
‘You’ll see. Maybe you can help her,’ smiled Bette.
Marjorie and some of the older children were very keen to make surprise presents for their mothers for Christmas. Marjorie had spent hours unravelling old jute and hessian bags, stripping and joining lengths of fabric from worn-out clothes, strips of dried bamboo and any other material that could be wound around a carved shuttle and a loom made from a precious piece of cardboard with notches along each end. Weaving had been a keen hobby for Gloria, the former matron, so she had shown Marjorie how to do string threads then weave over and under them to produce an interestingly textured woven surface. The woven cloth was to be sewn up at one end to form a kind of handbag, with the straps to be made from braided strips. It was a long and laborious task, but one done with enthusiasm.
The next morning Evelyn, who’d woken very early, shook Bette.
‘I think there’s something in your trap. It’s moving and banging about, I don’t dare look. There’s nobody up there yet. What will I do?’
Bette slid from bed, leaving Philip still sleeping. ‘Don’t make any noise.’ She quickly checked the trap and found it certainly contained something.
‘Come on,’ she whispered to Evelyn. ‘Let’s take this to the kitchen and hope that there’s no one about.’
The two of them walked calmly to the cook house, and Bette took down one of the kitchen knives.
‘Are you going to kill it with that?’
‘I’m not going to use my bare hands.’
Gingerly she started to open the trap, but she quickly stepped back in alarm. ‘God!’
‘What’s in there?’ asked Evelyn.
‘Stand back.’ Bette turned the whole contraption upside down. There was a very wild and furious rat in the bottom part of the cage where the trap door had locked it in, and in the space between it and the opening of the trap, lay a coiled snake. ‘Wow, a bonus. The snake must’ve been after the rat.’
‘How are you going to get them out?’ asked Evelyn nervously. ‘They both look pretty wild.’
‘They certainly do. Can you see if there are any embers in the fire from last night?’
‘Yes, we can get it started again, but you’re not going to roast them alive? What about the trap? We’ll never be able to make another,’ said Evelyn.
‘Smoke. Find something green or wet. We’ll smoke ’em out.’
Evelyn dunked a pile of the green bamboo that was kept to sweep the floor into some water and then onto the fire. As the smoke billowed out, Bette put the trap and its occupants close to it until the animals were stunned by the acrid smoke. Quickly Bette and Evelyn pulled them from the cage and Bette killed them with the knife and swiftly proceeded to butcher the meat. Evelyn watched, with a hand over her mouth.
‘Let’s not tell the kids. Have you any ideas on how to cook them?’
Evelyn and Bette smiled to each other as Marjorie and Philip licked their fingers after they sucked on the tiny bones that had been chopped up and roasted and added to their rice. Bette had described the treat as baby chicken. Evelyn cleaned up and collected all the bones that could be used as bait in the trap when it was set once again. Both women realised that this was only a small taste of meat, but it was better than nothing and would help the children survive a bit longer.
No one trusted the soldiers. The women knew that the Japanese did not want to be there, guarding a lot of women, when they would prefer to be fighting for their Emperor. To relieve their resentment, the men seemed to take great delight in tormenting their captives and making life for the women as difficult as possible.
Philip had caught malaria once before, but Bette became alarmed when another attack seemed to be very serious. Clearly his resistance was weakened by his terrible diet and he became very feverish and too weak to get up. There was no point in taking him to the clinic. There wasn’t any medicine there and Bette could look after him just as well in the hut. But she had no money for quinine either. Then she thought about the English-speaking guard, Corporal Hashimoto, and she remembered his kindness to her when she had been released from solitary confinement. So, with nothing to lose, she found him in the yard by himself, and bowing very low and humbly, she asked if she might speak to him.
‘It’s my little boy. He’s very sick. Malaria. I need medicine. Quinine. Can you help me?’
Corporal Hashimoto just looked at her and shrugged his shoulders and then walked away. How Bette hated the Japanese. It was bad enough that they should make war on women, but to callously let little children die was beyond comprehension.
‘I just don’t understand them,’ she said to Evelyn. ‘You often see the guards looking at pictures of their families, but they don’t want to acknowledge that we love our children as well.’
Later that day, as Bette walked back from the cook-house, with a bowl of rice which she knew Philip wouldn’t eat, Corporal Hashimoto called to her.
‘Hateful man,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘What does he want now?’
Corporal Hashimoto didn’t say anything to Bette as she bowed before him, but he dropped a paper packet on the ground in front of her.
‘You pick up. You not leave rubbish in camp. You will be punished,’ he shouted at her.
Bette was about to protest that the packet wasn’t hers when she suddenly realise
d what was going on. She picked up the paper and apologised to Corporal Hashimoto for dirtying the camp. Then she fled back to her hut. She opened the packet carefully, and inside lay a few quinine tablets and two boiled lollies.
Within a week, Philip was on the mend but Bette wondered for how much longer they could survive like this.
The camp had become their world. June, their leader, had rosters and committees and support groups and life was organised and running as smoothly as possible, and despite the occasional emotional flare-ups, petty squabbles and complaints, the women took pride in surviving each day. Many of them were proud to be British but Evelyn told Bette that what kept some of them going was the Australian irreverent attitude and sense of humour.
‘It’s an Aussie thing, I’ve heard,’ agreed Babs. ‘You never give up. You’ve really kept a lot of us going, Bette. Sure, we have Gloria and June, who are great leaders, but it’s your spunk that fires us up.’
Bette pointed at Philip. ‘It’s the little bloke. I love him so much and I just can’t ever let him think we’re not going home. When someone has such utter belief and faith in you, what else can you do?’ she shrugged.
‘He’s a lucky little boy. I hope your sister knows that,’ said Evelyn.
Bette sighed. ‘I don’t know where she is, I pray she got back to Australia, but I have no idea what’s happened to Roland, Philip’s father, or the rest of the family. And poor Margaret probably has no idea where her son is. She must be frantic with worry. Those pathetic postcards the Japs made us fill in probably never made it home. But then, I’m not alone in this.’
Marjorie heard their conversation and came and sat next to her mother taking her hand. ‘Do you think we’ll ever get out of here? Will the war ever end and then what will happen to us? Can we go home then?’
The two women were silent. Evelyn was thinking of her husband. When it was all over, as surely it must end, what would they all be going home to?
‘Of course we’ll get out of here,’ said Bette. ‘I have no idea if things will have changed, but if we can adapt to this, we can adapt to anything.’
‘If only we could hear some news. Know what was going on outside,’ said Evelyn. ‘Has anyone heard anything from the men’s camp recently?’
‘I hope their radio hasn’t been found,’ said Bette. ‘And, you know, I think the Jap soldiers here are just as much in the dark as we are. This place is such a backwater in the big scheme of things. They’ve probably forgotten about us all.’
‘The soldiers have been as much prisoners here as we have, just better conditions,’ said Evelyn. ‘I wonder if they think it’s all been worth it.’
‘I wish I knew about my father and how he is,’ said Marjorie sadly.
‘It’s only been a couple of months since your mother had a message from him, so I’m sure that he’s still fine. Do you know the best thing you can do to help your father?’ asked Bette, taking Marjorie’s hand. ‘It’s to be strong, keep your spirits up, get through this and look forward to the rest of your life. You’re growing up. He’ll be so proud of you.’
‘Bette’s right,’ said Evelyn smoothing her daughter’s hair.
At that moment both women looked at Marjorie and saw, for the first time, that little Marjorie was hovering on the cusp of womanhood. She was now nearly fifteen, tall and pretty despite her thinness. She’d also been forced to grow up more swiftly than she might have done. Her protected and carefree childhood had been swept away. Evelyn and Bette looked at each other, both realising the dangers that Marjorie could face as she matured in the POW camp. Bette knew that one of the Japanese soldiers, who’d arrived a few months before, was predatory and arrogant. He’d spoken to another soldier in front of Bette, leaving her in no doubt that his comments about her had been lewd. Evelyn had the same thought. There’d been wild rumours from the time the Japanese had landed in Borneo of what they would do with women prisoners and there had been talk about brothels.
Evelyn fingered Marjorie’s hair, which was twisted on top of her head for coolness. It made her look sophisticated. Evelyn unpinned her daughter’s hair. ‘Why don’t you let me plait your hair? Easier to keep clean and it’s out of your way.’
‘Good idea,’ said Bette knowing that plaits would keep Marjorie looking more like a child. ‘Damned lice and bugs have been such a problem.’ There was one woman in the camp who had previously been a hairdresser, and she had used her skills to barter for goods. Bette had sometimes traded precious food for a haircut and her long wavy hair had been cropped to a short curly bob, which was easier to keep clean, especially as soap was now a very rare commodity.
Lately Marjorie had been spending more time with the adult women rather than the other children because she found them more interesting. Bette and Evelyn now decided that Marjorie should spend more time back with the children.
‘Just a precaution,’ said Evelyn.
‘Why don’t we all take turns to sit with the children and show them something we can do or tell them stories about our families, our growing up, that sort of thing? I bet we all have something to learn from each other.’
These sessions between the children and the women became one of the most popular events, for the children as well as the women. They all learned something happy about each other’s previous life. Sometimes there was laughter, and occasionally tears, but for the children it was a reminder of a life they’d forgotten and what they had to look forward to one day, when they were free.
Time was measured in meals. The women thought only of food. They talked constantly about it, describing their favourite meals, exchanging recipes and dreaming about what they would eat when they got out of the camp. And now the rations were becoming even more meagre.
‘This is disgusting. How’re we supposed to live on this?’ asked Norma as they faced another watered-down rice soup, helped along with a few dried beans.
‘It’s not right we have to trade all we have for basic food to keep us alive,’ said Babs.
‘If we could just grow some of our own food, it would make such a difference,’ said Evelyn.
‘We’ve asked and asked if we could use the old rice field beside the main gate to grow some food, but Sakura says that he hasn’t got enough soldiers to watch us,’ said Bette.
‘As if we could run away in the state we’re in. I think that man has been completely unreasonable. I’d love to keep a few chickens. I had them at home and they wouldn’t be too hard to manage,’ said Norma.
Norma’s description of the chickens she had kept was interrupted by June, who had some very interesting news.
‘I have just left Sakura’s office. He’s been transferred. Actually given a promotion and he’s left to go on active service.’
‘I hope he gets killed,’ said Babs. ‘He was such a mean old git. Look what he did to Bette.’
Bette was thoughtful. ‘Maybe we could ask the new commander if we could have a garden. He might be more approachable. When does he get here, June?’
‘Don’t ask me, but I imagine in a couple of days. And you’re right, he might be more reasonable.’
‘They don’t know the word,’ sniffed Norma.
‘Well, I think that we should ask,’ said Evelyn. ‘Any extra food would be so welcome. Nearly everyone is out of money, even Hannah. People are getting sick so easily now, because we’re starving.’
They walked over to the fence and peered at the rutted earth that had once been a rice field.
‘There doesn’t seem to be any water. We’d have to bring in our own or dig a well,’ said Babs.
‘At least the soil looks all right,’ said Norma. ‘Where would we get seeds?’
‘That’d be worth bargaining for,’ said Bette. ‘Maybe we could at least get some root vegetables and let them sprout or save the seeds and plant them. Sweet potatoes, tapioca, yams, some greens.’
‘Who’s going to organise it and work in it?’ said Norma looking at Bette.
‘Everyone who’s well enough,’ s
aid Bette.
Some of the women protested because they thought they no longer had the strength for any more physical effort, but Gloria stepped in.
‘I agree with Bette. A garden is a fine idea. We can’t just sit here and starve to death. Every bit of vegetable is helping to keep us alive because it puts some variety into our very limited diet. I suggest that we ask June to ask the new Japanese commander when he arrives, as if we’ve just thought of the idea, and not let on that Sakura would never let us have one. Then we can set up a committee to plan a garden.’
There was a long discussion the following morning about turning the field into a garden bed.
‘We could do all the work and the Nips could end up taking it all,’ was one complaint.
‘Well, at least let’s ask,’ said Bette.
When the new commander, Captain Toyama, arrived, June and Bette asked permission to speak to him. Bette took along the half cup of rice that was now each woman’s daily ration, and a miserable meal it looked. She bowed low and humbly and carefully explained that this amount of food was not adequate to live on and outlined their plan to grow some more if they could have permission to tend the disused field beside the main gate.
‘You run away, soldiers will shoot.’
‘I understand,’ said Bette. ‘But where are we going to run? There is nowhere to go.’
‘You grow only for you. Women work in field every day. You work like coolies.’ He looked rather pleased as he imparted this news. Perhaps he thought that if the women were more occupied, they would create fewer problems, or perhaps he thought that white women working in the fields was the correct place for them to be.
Bette and June bowed as they expressed their thanks. Captain Toyama turned his back. They were dismissed.
The women were given heavy mattocks and a few old spades with splintered wood handles and they gradually created more tools from flattened tins and heavy sticks. Once they’d prepared the garden beds, fertilised with waste from their latrines, water supply became the next problem to solve. They dug trenches alongside the beds in order to catch the rain and started digging a small pond in the hope it would also hold water.
