He shook his head, the thermometer preventing him from speaking.
‘You’re in Bangkok, in a private nursing home. They didn’t want you at the public hospital. The last thing they need there is more dengue fever. So your kind friend, Mr Ainsley, bought you to us. He will be in to visit you shortly, I’m sure. He’s checked on you every day so far.’
The thermometer was removed from his mouth. Harry licked his lips and tried to swallow, but his throat was very dry.
‘May I have a glass of water?’ he croaked.
‘Of course. First, let’s sit you up.’ The woman took Harry by the armpits and raised him into a sitting position. He tried to help, but could feel the exertion making the sweat pour from his brow.
‘There’s a good chap.’
The woman, whom Harry now realised was a nurse, held a glass of water with a straw in it under his mouth. ‘Drink it slowly. Your stomach’s had nothing in it for the past few days. We had to feed you intravenously for a while. That fever of yours just wouldn’t abate.’ The nurse was glancing at her thermometer. ‘The good news is, it has now. Thought we might lose you for a while, but you’re obviously made of stronger stuff, eh?’
As Harry struggled to get the muscles in his throat to swallow, he thought he had never felt less strong.
‘You should be proud of yourself, young man,’ the nurse smiled. ‘You’ve made it through. Not only the war, but that hell-hole of a camp in Singapore we’re hearing so much about. Get yourself better and you’ll be on your way home to Blighty. How about that?’
Harry sank back on to his pillows, feeling faint and dizzy. It was all too much to take in, in one go. Now he thought about it, he did remember being told the Nips had surrendered and the camp was to be liberated. But after years of hearing rumours, to be frank, he and the other fellows hardly dared believe it.
‘We won? It’s true? It’s all over?’ The short, staccato sentences were all he could put together.
‘Yes, Captain Crawford. It’s all over. You are a free man. Now, I suggest a rest for an hour, then I’ll bring you some chicken broth for lunch.’
Chicken broth … in Changi, chicken had been the meat everyone yearned for – if a fellow managed to get hold of a live chicken to lay eggs for him, it lasted no more than twenty-four hours before it was part of someone’s stew. Harry sighed. After years dreaming of such a dish, he felt sad to have so little appetite.
‘Thank you,’ he answered huskily, his voice still not his own.
The nurse walked towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in a while.’
Harry watched her leave, then lay there pondering the extraordinary fact that, if he had the legs for it, he could climb out of bed and follow her through the door, walk down the corridor and out of the hospital. He could stand outside for as long as he wished and nobody would point a gun at him. Then he could walk down the street, whistling if he fancied it, and no one would take the slightest bit of notice of him. It was a thought that beggared belief.
Five minutes later, there was a knock on his door. A familiar bald pate and thick, pebble glasses appeared round it.
‘Harry, old boy, how utterly marvellous to see you conscious! We were all getting frightfully concerned that you might fall at the final fence, so to speak, and that really would have been the most terrible shame.’
‘Bad luck, Sebastian,’ Harry croaked, ‘as you can see, I’m still alive and kicking.’
‘And it’s wonderful to see that you are. Changi seemed to be a bad show all round, from what I saw that day on my mission of mercy.’
‘How did you know I was there?’ Harry asked.
‘Your mother wrote, telling me you’d been imprisoned there. And when I heard Changi was being liberated, I thought the least I could do was come and welcome you out and perhaps offer some help, as a relative local. Of course, I wasn’t expecting to find you in such a state. Had to bribe some Malayan to drive you to the Thai border, where my car and driver were waiting.’
‘It was awfully good of you to come,’ acknowledged Harry.
‘Think nothing of it. It’s what old chums are for, isn’t it?’ Sebastian said, reddening. ‘Besides, it gave me my only proper glimpse of what had been going on. Had some rather hairy moments on the way down. Singapore was in chaos. Did think about stopping off there, as you were so ill, but the hospitals were overflowing. I had to pray you would make it up to Bangkok, where I knew I could find you some proper medical help.’
‘Thank you,’ Harry rasped, panting.
‘Been bally awful here in Thailand too, let me tell you,’ said Sebastian. ‘The Nips took over the country. Pretty impressive show they put on too, arriving in their hordes in their civvy clothes at first, masquerading as workers for the new factories they were building here. They were all over the place, taking photographs, pretending to be tourists. Then, the day they made their move, their wives and children were put out of harm’s way on boats around the coast whilst the Nips donned their army uniforms and emerged from their houses in every city in the land. The photographs had obviously been sent back to HQ in Tokyo to strategically plan where they should place their troops to hold the country under control.’
‘My God,’ breathed Harry, ‘did they really?’
‘They did,’ Sebastian confirmed. ‘Got to hand it to them, their organisation was impeccable. And, of course, with the element of surprise, unstoppable. They wanted Thailand as their unrestricted path from Burma down to Malaya. And the Siamese, or Thais, as we must now call them, were forced to declare war on Great Britain and America.’
‘I hadn’t heard,’ replied Harry weakly.
‘Well, didn’t come to much, mind you, but we’ve had to put up with nasty little yellow people running the show around here for the past two years. I, for one, will be glad to see the back of them. They’re currently leaving Bangkok in their droves, their heads either lowered or bobbing in the Chaopraya River. At least sixty have been washed up so far,’ Sebastian chortled. ‘Good riddance to the little buggers, that’s what I say!’
Harry nodded in heartfelt agreement.
Sebastian pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. ‘I know you’ve had one hell of a time in there, old boy. As soon as you’re fit enough, we can put you on a ship home, First Class, of course,’ he grinned. ‘And you’ll stand once more on the green grass of England. Or what’s left of it, after the Krauts dropped their bombs.’
‘I’ve heard so little of what’s happened there,’ Harry managed to whisper.
‘All you need to know now is we won, that your parents and Olivia are all fit as fleas, and can’t wait to welcome you home.’
‘Good news,’ he muttered, as Sebastian strained forward to hear him. ‘I only received letters from my mother whilst I was in Changi, not my wife.’
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure Olivia was writing to you. But the censors have been very tough.’
‘Did she? Am I … ?’ Harry sighed. ‘My mother didn’t say anything about the baby. Olivia was pregnant when I left home. Have you heard?’ he wheezed.
There was an embarrassed pause as Sebastian gauged how best to tell Harry the news.
‘Sorry, old boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘Just one of those things, I believe. A miscarriage, apparently. Still, no reason why you can’t return home now and produce a brood of children. And have the pleasure of being there to watch them grow up.’
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the news to sink in. The whole idea of returning to Wharton Park was so alien to him, so far removed from where he had been, he couldn’t contemplate it.
‘Anyway, my dear chap, having come back from the dead, this is not the time to be dwelling on what might have been,’ Sebastian comforted. ‘As soon as you’re in the clear, I’m taking you out of here. I should think you’ve had enough of institutions for the rest of your life. So buck up and get better as soon as possible. Then I can start reminding you that life can be quite jolly, especially here in Bangkok.’
‘That’s the spirit, old boy,’ Sebastian said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll pop in to see you tomorrow, around eleven o’clock. And I’ll send a telegram to Wharton Park, letting them know that you’re on the mend.’
‘Thank you.’
Sebastian nodded as he strode towards the door. ‘Get better now, won’t you? Toodle pip.’
Harry returned the nod and offered Sebastian a wan smile before the door closed. He lay back, disappointed not to feel euphoric that he was free at last. He imagined he was simply tired and still recovering from his illness. And that was why his new-found freedom felt like rather a let-down.
No one in Changi had ever contemplated how it would actually feel to be free. All the talk had been of home, of family and food. The mere thought of these things had kept them all going, given them hope. Harry had witnessed a couple of chaps who had given up: they’d been found hanging by whatever the poor blighters could put together – socks, remnants of bootlaces, scraps of shirt.
For a second, Harry longed for the familiarity of Changi; for the routine, the shared suffering and objectives, and the understanding of each other’s plight.
Would the experience mark him forever? Was it possible he could ever go back to a normal life?
Harry drifted off to sleep, hoping his mood would be more positive when he woke.
A week later, Harry was deemed well enough to leave hospital. Sebastian came to collect him in his Rolls-Royce, a car his father had shipped over to Bangkok twenty years before.
As they walked out of the hospital, Harry briefly enjoyed the feeling of leaving somewhere. It was the first time in three-and-a-half years he had consciously done so. Sebastian’s Thai chauffer opened the door for him respectfully and settled him on the back seat. Sebastian sat beside him. They drove through the bustling streets, their chauffeur tooting his horn as bicycle taxis, oxen and a couple of elephants caused jams.
For the first time since marching his battalion off the Duchess of Athol, the ship that had carried the 5th Royal Norfolks to Singapore, Harry could take in the exotic atmosphere with interest rather than fear.
‘Best way to see the city is by boat, along the narrow canals they call klongs,’ continued Sebastian. ‘The people live in houses built out on to the river on stilts. Awfully quaint. Perhaps, before you go back to Blighty, we might take a boat and I can show you. There are also some rather magnificent temples. Ah, here we are, just pull up in front, driver, Giselle’s expecting us.’ Sebastian turned to Harry. ‘Harry, my dear chap, welcome to the Oriental Hotel.’
Harry noticed little as he was ushered through the lobby and Sebastian spoke to the woman called Giselle, who obviously ran or owned the hotel. He felt exhausted and overloaded, and had found the car journey through the busy streets claustrophobic. As he was led along the corridor by a Thai porter, who had no bags to carry because Harry had no possessions, he wondered whether he would suffer from claustrophobia for the rest of his life.
Still etched on his mind was the time spent in Selarang barracks, when the Nips moved out the entire camp because the British officers had refused to sign a ‘no escape’ pact. Selarang had been built to house a thousand men, and eighteen thousand Changi prisoners had arrived there. This had engendered two days of standing in the burning sun for hours, packed so tightly in the compound one couldn’t lift a hand to scratch one’s nose. And then, at night, sleeping nose to tail on a concrete floor – sardines in a tin had known more comfort and space.
To save the men from what would quickly become an epidemic of dysentery and death by the thousands, given the appalling conditions, the ‘no escape’ pact had been signed under duress by Colonel Holmes, commander of the troops in Changi.
Harry had suffered continual nightmares ever since, and knew the experience had given him the most fearful problem with crowds.
The porter unlocked the door to his room, and Harry was pleased to see that it was deliciously cool, with shuttered windows, a mosquito net draped over the bed and basic but comfortable furniture. He tipped the porter the last few cents he had in his possession, closed the door behind him, walked to the bed and lay down on it, relieved to be in space and peace.
When Harry woke a couple of hours later he imagined it was night, but when he checked the clock by the bed he saw it was barely teatime. It was the shutters that had shrouded his room in darkness. He got up and went to open them, and gasped in delight at the view. Before him was a large green lawn dotted with easy chairs and parasols. Beyond that, a vast expanse of river, perhaps a hundred feet wide, with wooden craft bobbing along it. The beauty and openness of the vista brought tears to Harry’s eyes.
The tap above the small basin in the corner of the room managed a trickle of water for him, but it was nectar after years of bathing only when the rains fell. Harry dressed in the shirt and trousers Sebastian had kindly provided until he could acquire some clothes of his own. He struggled to do up the trousers over his ‘rice belly’, something all the fellows had – they’d joked they all looked six months pregnant. Then he set off to find his way to the terrace overlooking the river.
Once there, he planted himself in a chair under a parasol. Immediately, a young Thai boy was at his side. ‘May I serve you tea, sir?’ he asked.
Harry wanted to laugh out loud. Where he had been, the thought of being served tea would have been absurd, especially sitting in a comfortable chair shaded by a parasol.
‘Thank you. That would be just the ticket,’ he answered, and the boy walked away to arrange it.
Perhaps, Harry thought, he had to get used to the fact that anything normal would seem abnormal to him until he settled into freedom. And perhaps he also had to accept that no one, other than those who had been there with him, would ever understand what he had been through.
‘Sir, your tea, with milk and sugar.’ The boy placed the tray on the small table next to him.
Harry restrained himself from diving for the sugar bowl and tipping the lot into his mouth. It was the first time he had seen sugar in three-and-a-half years.
Sebastian joined him half an hour later, as the sun began to set over the river. He ordered a gin and tonic for himself and one for Harry, although, after taking a whiff of it, Harry abstained. Alcohol was something else he hadn’t tasted since he left England. And, in his current state, it would knock him out completely.
‘By the way, before I forget, I believe this is yours.’ Sebastian placed a small leather-bound diary on the table. ‘When they removed what was left of your clothes at the hospital in Bangkok, the nurse found it in your long johns.’ Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘She handed it to me for safe-keeping.’
It was the diary Harry had kept assiduously from the moment his ship had left the English coast. If the Nips had found it in Changi, he could have been shot. So he had secreted it on his person by sewing a makeshift pocket inside his underwear. Writing down his thoughts and feelings every night had been one of the ways he’d managed to survive.
‘Thank you, Sebastian, I’m grateful, although I doubt I’ll be turning the pages for a trip down memory lane in the near future.’
‘No. So, dear boy, there’s a boat sailing in three weeks’ time that will take you rather comfortably to Felixstowe and home. You’d better send a telegram to your family letting them know you’ll be on it. I’m sure they would all love to be there to greet you when it docks,’ smiled Sebastian.
‘That sounds ripping, and thank you for organising it, but would you mind if we talked of future plans another time? It’s my first proper night of freedom and I simply want to enjoy the moment.’
‘Of course, of course, old chap! No rush and all that. I just rather thought you’d like to be on your way as soon as you can,’ explained Sebastian.
‘We’ll talk of it tomorrow,’ Harry answered. ‘Now, tell me all about this beautiful city.’
‘Rather surprised you’re not more interested in what’s been
going on in Blighty,’ commented Sebastian over dinner later on, as he tucked in to a large Australian steak. Harry looked down at his similar steak, watched the blood trickle out of it, and knew he couldn’t stomach it. Embarrassed, he changed his order to a bowl of soupy rice.
‘I am interested, Sebastian, of course,’ said Harry. ‘But I feel I’ve only been out, so to speak, for the past few hours. And talk of the war is a little beyond me tonight.’
Sebastian looked at him through his thick lenses and nodded sympathetically. ‘Early days, old chap, early days. Tomorrow I have my tailor coming to visit you, to kit you out with an entire set of civvies. They’re a dab hand with the old needle and thread out here. Anything you want, dear boy, he’ll make it for you.’
‘That’s awfully kind of you. Although I’m hardly aware of what’s in vogue at present.’
‘Wouldn’t think it’s altered that much. Doubt the chaps back home are wearing skirts, as they do out here,’ chuckled Sebastian.
‘I suppose, until I’m demobbed, I should technically be wearing my uniform,’ Harry said flatly. ‘But all I had left of it in Changi was a pair of shorts patched with tent canvas and one sock.’
‘Well, need I say you don’t have to worry about that. The authorities have enough to do getting the thousands of POWs back home. And if I were you, I’d view this as a bit of a holiday. Sounds as though you deserve it, dear boy. And when you’re up to it, I can show you a few sights, eh what? The girls here are … how shall I put it? A little more relaxed than the fillies at home.’ Sebastian’s eyebrows appeared over the top of his glasses. ‘You must still be exhausted from your ordeal. Was it … bloody?’
‘Beyond imagining,’ Harry replied bluntly. ‘And I was one of the lucky ones. I was an officer and was treated a little better than the men. Plus, I could play the piano, which the Nips rather admired. They used to have me go to their quarters and play for them.’ Harry sighed. ‘If anything, the piano saved my life.’
Sebastian’s face lit up. ‘Of course! I’d forgotten your talent in the midst of everything else that’s been going on. I must have a word with Giselle. She’s rather intent on setting up a little bar here for all the ex-pats, and she’s looking for band members. Perhaps, in the next few days, she could get a crowd together and you could play for us all.’
Hothouse Flower Page 27
