Delia came to relieve her several times but Abby wouldn’t leave Kurt, knowing he wanted her there, and Delia was beside herself as it was, worried to death that Hans would fall victim to the disease next. All the nurses knew that patients who were fit and healthy before they caught diphtheria could still lose the fight against the toxins that did such vicious harm to the body, and the POWs were anything but that. And they feared for the smallest and most cherished group of prisoners, the children. Surprisingly, the children in the camp were very resilient on the whole, partly because they were encased in a protective and altruistic network by male and female POWs alike. It was an unspoken rule that children ate first, even if it meant the adults going without, and it mattered not a jot if the POWs were related to the little ones.
Kurt died early in the morning three days after Abby had brought him to the hospital. Abby forever remembered it as one of the worst experiences of her life. After it was over, she stroked his brow, whispering, ‘You’re home now, and if there is any justice heaven will be full of those mountains and fjords, and you’re in the midst of them right now, my brave boy. You’re out of here, just like you said you would be . . .’
Within the week all the members of Kurt’s hut, including Delia’s Hans, were fighting the disease, but with their weak immune systems and skeletal bodies it wasn’t much of a fight. Delia was frantic; she had lost John and now it seemed she was going to lose Hans too. The doctor conducted several traumatic tracheotomies without anaesthetic and without the guards’ knowledge, bringing the required instruments into the hospital hidden in his socks. It was a grim time. A number of the POWs died. Four lived, one of whom was Hans, but they were terribly frail and each day the nurses feared they would develop complications that would finish them off. But it seemed as though the quick response of isolating Kurt and then his close friends had paid off, because there were no new cases for five days. And then on the evening of the fifth day a distraught mother brought her young child to the hospital. She was a Norwegian woman who had been married to a British businessman, and they had had a sumptuous house on the island before the invasion. Her husband had been killed when a shell had wrecked their home but she and her little girl had escaped unhurt.
Abby was on duty when Janna and her child came in, and on questioning the woman she discovered Kurt and some of the other Norwegian POWs had looked out for them, slipping them extra rations whenever they could, whittling little wooden dolls for the child and playing with her on occasion. And now she was sick and it bore all the signs of diphtheria. Little Kristine was running a fever and floppy in her mother’s arms, and the five-year-old’s neck was swollen. The child, quite naturally, played with other children in the camp, and owing to the highly infectious character of the disease would almost certainly have passed it on to other little ones.
After getting Kristine settled in bed with her mother sitting beside her, Abby stood for some minutes wondering what to do. They needed the antitoxin medication more than ever. Matron Fraser had gone to see the major every day but he wouldn’t budge, added to which the matron was currently ill herself and confined to bed. But they needed to get the medication into Kristine now, tonight, if the child was going to have any chance at all, along with any of her friends or their families who were beginning to show symptoms. It would be against camp procedure for a lowly nurse to ask to see the major, and she would be risking punishment, but that couldn’t be helped.
Her mind made up, Abby went and found Delia who was sitting by Hans’s bed holding his hand, and whispered what she was going to do. Then, her heart in her mouth, she left the hospital.
Five minutes later she was standing in front of Major Fushida. Abby knew this officer was not as bad as some of the other camp commandants. They had heard vile and gruesome stories from some of the POWs who had been transferred here of what they’d endured elsewhere, but nevertheless Major Fushida was every inch a Japanese officer with a mindset as different from the Europeans as chalk from cheese. But the Japanese did like children. This had become apparent early on in the camp’s life, and many POWs suspected it was because the camp contained little ones that they were, on the whole, treated less harshly. As Abby looked into the flat hard face in front of her she sincerely hoped that was true.
She had bowed nearly to the floor when she had first entered the room, hoping to get off on the right foot, and now she began with a lie as she said, ‘The matron sends her apologies for not coming herself but she is ill and confined to bed, Major Fushida. Do I have your permission to proceed further?’
It was overtly servile and ingratiating, but if it saved children’s lives, it was worth it.
Major Fushida looked at the woman in front of him intently. He had noticed her before on more than one occasion when he had inspected the camp hospital, not just because she was beautiful but because of the silvery scars on one side of her face. Lifting his hand to his own face, he said, ‘How did it happen?’
Taken aback, Abby found herself flushing. ‘I was nursing the troops at Dunkirk when I was injured myself,’ she said shortly, before quickly adding, ‘sir.’
The major nodded slowly. ‘And this did not prevent you coming to Hong Kong?’
‘Of course not. I’m a Queen Alexandra nurse, Major Fushida, I go where I am needed.’
Again the major nodded. ‘Like your famous Florence Nightingale, the Lady with the Lamp. You see, I know of your country’s history even though you know little of mine. The Japanese are an educated and cultured people.’
Abby didn’t think it wise to point out that Florence Nightingale was not a QA, but then there was no doubt that this formidable woman’s intellect, energy and vision had given existence to the QAIMNS at the beginning of the century, so she supposed the major was right in a way. She couldn’t think of an answer to give and so she bowed deeply again.
‘I attended one of your universities in my youth. Does that surprise you?’
‘Not at all, Major Fushida,’ Abby lied. But it did explain his command of the English language.
‘It was a pleasant time, but one which convinced me that the Western nations have no sense of honour or pride.’
He stared at her, obviously expecting a reply, and this time Abby neither spoke nor bowed.
‘You disagree with me?’
‘I do not presume to venture an opinion, Major Fushida.’
The officer settled back in his chair. ‘This is a good reply. An intelligent reply. The “Onna Daigaku: The Whole Duty of Women” is a guide for all Japanese men – have you heard of this?’
‘No, I have not.’
‘It is as I say, you know little of my country or our ancient traditions. You English are an arrogant people, believing only that the Japanese nation is inferior. Oh, yes, I know this personally myself from the time I spent in your country. But we have shown you otherwise and this is a good thing.’ He paused. ‘The guide teaches why all Japanese men are superior to women. Women have five fundamental character flaws that beset their minds – those of indocility, discontent, slander, jealousy and silliness. Without doubt, the guide teaches, these faults exist in seven or eight out of every ten women, and it is from these that stems the inferiority of the female sex.’
Again Abby wondered what on earth he expected her reply to be. She had no wish to be handed over to the dreaded Kempeitai who every POW knew were the equivalent of the German Gestapo, but did he really think she could agree with him? Carefully she said, ‘And what of men, Major Fushida? Does the guide list their character flaws?’
The bullet eyes looked hard at her. The major was clearly trying to work out if she was being insolent. Then he seemed to make up his mind to take her words at face value. ‘Men have no character flaws. Their destiny, without exception, is that of being loyal subjects of the Emperor. Emperor Hirohito is a direct descendant of the sun goddess Amaterasu who created the Japanese islands in all their beauty and magnificence. There is no greater honour than dying for the Emperor. It is the ultimate
glory and highest expression of worship. Male children from the age of six are taught the ways of a warrior, and experience the greatest joy and satisfaction in following the commands of their Emperor. In Japanese society, male and female children grow up knowing their rightful place.’
Seizing the opportunity Abby bowed again in acknowledgement of the major, before straightening and saying, ‘It is about children, the children under your care and command in the camp, that I wish to speak to you, Major Fushida.’
‘Then speak.’
‘As you know we have had a diphtheria outbreak which we hoped had been contained. Unfortunately in the last hour a child has been brought in suffering the first stages of the disease.’
‘You are saying you failed in your duty?’
Warning herself not to let the slightest inflection of her anger colour her voice, Abby said calmly, ‘Diphtheria is a communicable bacterial disease, Major Fushida, and most commonly spread when someone ingests or inhales the cough or sneeze droplets from an infected person. Symptoms can occur as late as ten days following infection so there was always a high chance the outbreak could not be controlled as we would have liked.’
The flat face was impassive. ‘You give me excuses.’
‘I give you the facts, sir.’
He had leaned back in his chair as he sat surveying her; now he straightened, his eyes narrowing. ‘My Japanese nurses would not try and justify their shortcomings.’
‘Forgive me, Major Fushida, but your Japanese nurses would not need to – they would have antitoxin to administer to their patients.’
‘Ah . . .’ He slapped his small hands on the desk in front of him. ‘Now we have it. You have come with yet another request for what I have already denied.’
‘You denied it for men and women, Major Fushida. I am asking that this outbreak be treated and stopped for the sake of the children in the camp. The little girl I spoke about has friends that she has played with and almost certainly will be infected. We can get a list of those concerned and anyone who has had close contact with them and again, try and contain the disease, but without the antitoxin the children will die. It is as simple as that. And if the disease begins to spread, who knows where it will end? I am asking for the children, Major, little ones who have been caught up in a conflict not of their making.’
‘The children of enemies of our glorious Emperor.’
‘But still children.’ She was getting nowhere; she could see in his face he was about to tell her to get out. Throwing caution to the wind, she spoke from the heart. ‘Have you got children, Major Fushida? Little ones that thrilled your heart when they were born and for whom you would sacrifice your life if it was necessary? If the position was reversed and it was your children being held captive in a POW camp, wouldn’t you want them to be treated with tenderness and compassion? Wouldn’t you expect it as their right? Please, I’m begging you. You have the ability to stop this outbreak before it becomes an epidemic simply by releasing the medication we need.’
She stopped as he jumped to his feet, one hand on the pistol in his belt. For what seemed an endless time they stared at each other. Expecting each moment to be her last, or for him to bark orders to the guard stationed at the door behind her to take her away and see to it she was transported to the Kempeitai, she felt her knees nearly give way when instead he removed his hand from the gun and sat down once more. A long silence followed. The last days had taken every ounce of her strength and now she felt herself swaying with a mixture of exhaustion and despair.
Why had she even tried to appeal to his better side? she asked herself wearily. He didn’t have one. None of them did. They were without normal feelings and emotions. But the children, little Kristine and the others. What were they going to do? She couldn’t bear seeing children die the way Kurt had.
She was so lost in misery she visibly jumped when Major Fushida stood up again, walking round his desk. ‘Follow me.’ He spoke an order to the guard in his native tongue and the man sprang to open the door for his commanding officer, standing aside for the major and Abby to leave the room whereupon he shut the door and followed behind them.
Abby had no idea where the major was leading her as they crossed the compound, wondering if she was going to disappear, like the poor young VAD who had lost her mind. It was only as they approached a building some distance away that hope flared.
The guard outside the medical store bowed and then stood aside as the major barked some words in Japanese. The major unlocked the door with a key from the bunch he had brought with him and flung it open, marching inside. Abby followed hesitantly, not knowing if she should or not.
‘It is fortunate for the children of the camp that you are one of the two out of every ten women that the Onna Daigaku speaks of,’ Major Fushida said drily, handing Abby a box containing a supply of the precious antitoxin.
Trying to hide her amazement, Abby bowed and took the box in her arms, stuttering her thanks. For a moment, just a moment, she thought she saw a gleam of amusement in the oriental eyes, and then the major brushed past her.
Once outside, he locked the door again and strode off into the night, the guard at his heels, and Abby followed slowly, unable to believe he had given her what she had asked for. For a moment she paused, staring up at the immense beauty of the tropical sky as she murmured, ‘Thank you, thank you, God.’ Blackout conditions prevented the usual light pollution and the stars were radiant in their clearly marked constellations. Best of all, there was no barbed wire or bamboo fencing in the sky, just a God-given magnificence that took her breath away.
She knew this moment couldn’t last. By the time she got back to the hospital and the enormity of the task in front of them overwhelmed her she would be in the thick of it once more, but just for a second or two she felt as free as a bird flying in the heavens and it was food to her soul.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was a full ten months since the diphtheria outbreak, which had been mostly contained thanks to the antitoxin. However, since that time conditions in the camp had got radically worse. Abby wouldn’t have imagined the Japanese could cut the food rations further, but cut them they had, along with the water allowance. Besides the constant thirst and dehydration, the feeling that they could never get themselves clean was a trial to most of the women and deeply demoralizing.
Malnutrition was a killer, along with beriberi, dysentery, malaria and other tropical diseases and more and more prisoners were dying every day. Poor sewerage was another cause of disease, and many of the POWs had open sores on their ankles and legs from infected cuts, and the bacteria they housed caused great skin ulcers. Abby and her colleagues did their best to relieve their patients’ suffering, washing out the ulcers with the precious supply of water and limited disinfectant the Japanese gave them, and then bandaging the raw flesh with strips of linen taken from bed sheets, but they knew they were fighting a losing battle. Without the proper medicines to treat the sick, survival rates were very low. And the nurses themselves were often ill now and very weak from continuing with their work despite their physical fraility.
Since before Christmas, the Japanese had suddenly clamped down to prevent any communication at all with the world beyond the camp. None of the POWs’ Chinese friends from the mainland were allowed to bring food parcels, newspapers or approach the camp, and the penalty for disobedience was the dreaded Kempeitai. Abby and the others hoped this was due to the fact that the Allies were winning the war and the Japanese were getting worried, but that in itself was a scary prospect. No one knew how their captors would react if Japan was forced to surrender, but with the Japanese obsession for ‘face’ they feared the worst.
Certainly the guards’ callous indifference to the POWs’ pain and misery was relentless, and all the men and women in the camp viewed their captors as inhuman, although the Japanese were slightly more lenient to the children. Even with the little ones, however, the necessary medicines were not forthcoming and many times Abby reflected on the
miracle that had occurred when Major Fushida had released the diphtheria antitoxin. Matron Fraser still continued without success to ask him for a portion of the medical supplies that were stored for Japanese use, and now, with the POWs having become walking skeletons, beriberi was the worst killer.
There were two types of the disease, dry and wet. With the dry, Abby’s patients just shrivelled up and wasted away, but it was the wet kind that was more deadly. The male POWs succumbed to the wet type more than the women because they needed more protein, and sometimes Abby had seen a man admitted to the hospital one day looking as normal as anyone could look given the conditions, and then the next day the same individual could be bloated like a puffer fish, his face, hands and legs several times their normal size. Such patients died quickly with heart failure.
But maybe they were the lucky ones, Abby reflected, as she walked into the camp hospital for her shift, making for the bed where Hilda was lying. Contrary to what they had hoped, their fellow nurse had never really recovered from the severe bout of diarrhoea that had had her bedridden the year before. It had weakened her severely, and Hilda had been battling beriberi for some time. Her legs had become so swollen from oedema that she could no longer walk. Like most of the nursing staff, Hilda hadn’t submitted gracefully to becoming a patient, even though she had had no choice in the matter. Every few hours, Abby or one of the other nurses had to turn their friend over by gripping her by her hip bone. Hilda was so thin and malnourished that there was no flesh beneath her skin and bed sores were a real problem. It was fairly easy to turn her – she was so emaciated and underweight that it was only her legs that were heavy, and her hip bones were like handles sticking up underneath the thin layer of skin covering them. Every time Abby handled Hilda she inwardly raged against the cruelty of their captors. By rights Hilda was a big buxom lass like Kitty, and instead she was a caricature of a woman.
Snowflakes in the Wind Page 31
