Defend or Die

by Gillian Chan

  Sergeant Oldham was even worse off than me. He was like a dried-out husk of a man at the end. Never big, he had wasted away to almost nothing. I nursed him through pneumonia that last winter, returning the care he’d given me, but each day I was terrified that I’d wake up and he wouldn’t. If we hadn’t been liberated by the Americans in September 1945, he wouldn’t have made it.

  I write to him. He’s still in hospital in Montreal. I write to his daughter as well, and she tells me what he won’t — that his doctors think he’ll never be able to work again, not like he did before the war.

  I did my best to be polite and keep things together for Ma’s sake, but I couldn’t stand the constant visiting and every so often I had to escape, so I would head out to the garden. I didn’t care that it was cold. I had warm clothes and it was quiet.

  It was there on the second night back that she found me.

  I was behind the shed, hoping that no one would notice that I had slipped out and would come looking for me to haul me back in, so I didn’t see her come out. Didn’t hear her either, but I smelled her — just a whiff of the lavender soap she always used, the same one I got in my Red Cross parcel that helped me dream of her even in the darkest times — and then I heard her voice, soft and tentative.

  “Jack? Are you out here? Tom said you were.”

  Alice.

  I couldn’t breathe. All the times I’d thought about her and now I couldn’t breathe or speak.

  “Jack?” She was getting closer.

  I stepped out of the shadows from behind the shed, clearly visible in the moonlight.

  She ran towards me and threw herself into my arms. I was rocked back on my heels but I held onto her as hard as I could. She was wearing the same emerald green coat that she had worn when I last caught a glimpse of her on the platform at Union Station in Toronto, almost five years ago.

  “Oh, Jack.” She was crying and laughing at the same time.

  I was crying too, but I didn’t want her to know. I pressed my face into her hair and listened as the words came tumbling out.

  “I’ve waited, Jack, like I promised. Tom came and told me when they got news that you had been taken prisoner.”

  I felt bad then, thinking about all the times I’d bad-mouthed my brother. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as I used to think he was.

  “What about your parents, and your brother?” Stupid, I thought then, stupid. That’s what I was, talking about things that didn’t matter, when I could be telling Alice how the thought of her had kept me going, even though I had no real hope that she was still waiting for me.

  “I told them, when you shipped out, that when you got back they’d have to get used to the idea that I was your girl.”

  “Alice.” That was all I could say, because I couldn’t hide my tears any more. She sat me down on the shed’s steps, her arms around me, until I could speak again. She talked about the plans she had for us, refusing to listen when I told her how I’d changed, that things weren’t going to be easy.

  Even with Alice, I couldn’t tell her about the worst of it, but I told her some. About how much I had hated Sergeant Oldham at the beginning and how he had ended up saving my life and looking out for me. I even told her about Killer and Yank, so different from each other. I made her smile when I told her how Paddy, Ike and I saved food from our Red Cross parcels and made a corned beef hash for ourselves. She laughed when I told her some of Ike’s jokes. I told her about the promises Ike and I had made to each other and then I couldn’t say any more. I had no more words.

  We were sitting in silence with our arms around each other’s shoulders when Ma stuck her head out of the back door and yelled for me to come inside because Sergeant Donaghue was leaving.

  * * *

  Caplans’ Deli was just how I had imagined it would be: large and bustling, the smells of pickles and herring flavouring the air. My heart stopped when I first went in because I thought it was Ike behind the counter, wrapped in a white apron, small and scrawny and with the same rubbery, grinning face.

  “Can I help you?” he said and the voice was different — younger, and not rasping like Ike’s had been.

  I took off my hat and twisted its brim in my hand. “I’m Jack Finnigan. I was with your brother in the Royal Rifles.”

  His mouth fell open and then he started yelling, “Ma, Pa, come quick!”

  Everything became a confused mass of people and yelling, but in a few moments the last customers had been nudged out of the shop, the sign on the door had been turned to Closed and I had been ushered upstairs, seated in an armchair, and a cup of tea had been thrust into my hand.

  Sitting on the sofa opposite me were Ike’s father — a rounder version of Ike — his mother and his brother, all staring at me. His mother was silently crying, the tears falling unchecked down her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away.

  The pressure of their gazes made my mouth dry and I struggled to find a way to start what I had come to say.

  “You knew our boy.” Ike’s father broke the silence first. “Ike wrote us about you, back when you were in basic training together …” He tried to laugh, but it was forced. “He told us you were a big guy, but not that you were a giant.”

  His words, his attempt to put me at my ease, made me relax a little. I took a deep breath and began to tell them all I could about Ike and how he had been my best friend, the best buddy I could have had, and how we had looked out for each other.

  “I hated that we were separated,” I said, “when I was sent to the mines in Japan and he was kept in Hong Kong. I wish I could tell you what happened after that, but I can’t.” The words were catching in my throat again and I could feel the pressure of tears behind my eyes.

  “I know you did.” Ike’s mother reached across and patted my hand.

  His father spoke then. “The other one came. The Irisher.”

  “Paddy?” I couldn’t help blurting it out. I’d heard that Paddy was alive, but didn’t know where he was or what sort of shape he was in.

  “Yes, Paddy.” Ike’s father looked down at his hands. “He told us what happened. How when Ike got sick for the last time, the doctors did what they could, but the Japanese would not let them send him to the hospital, not until it was too late.”

  I bowed my head. It wasn’t until I got to Manila in the Philippines that anyone had been able to answer me about Ike and Paddy. The Canadian liaison officer had lists. He told me they weren’t a hundred percent accurate, but there was no doubt that Rifleman Caplan was dead. They had several witnesses, including a Rifleman Houlihan who had confirmed that. Rifleman Caplan had died in Bowen Road Hospital a day after being taken there from Sham Shui Po.

  It had taken all my self-control not to punch that officer, all clean in his uniform, with his shiny, pink, well-fed face. I had wanted to grab his lapels and shake him, telling him that this was Ike. Ike who came from Toronto, who always had a joke, who fought like a bulldog alongside me, who had kept me going, and who had dreams of becoming a comedian.

  “He said you would come.” Ike’s mother’s face was wet with tears. “Ike told him that you and he had promised each other that if anything happened to either of you, that you would come and see the family.”

  For the first time, Ike’s brother spoke. “Shall I get it, Ma?” He was already half off the sofa in his eagerness.

  I wondered what he could be talking about.

  “Yes,” she said. “Go get it for Mr. Finnigan. It belongs to him, after all. That’s what their friend said when he came.”

  My puzzlement lifted. I knew what Paddy had left for me.

  It took a minute, but Ike’s brother came back with a manila envelope in his hands, holding it before him like it was something precious.

  I took it from him, noting that Paddy had written an address in Beamsville on the top right-hand corner of the envelope.

  The envelope had been sealed and I was glad for that. I wouldn’t have wanted Ike’s family to have read its contents. My hand
s shook as I opened it. As I pulled out the pages they curled, trying to take the shape they’d had when hidden inside my bedpost or later in the canister. The paper was dirty, sweat stained and already yellowing, the writing fading, but I knew I had my diary back.

  “Your friend said that Ike kept it safe until the very end, determined that he would return it to you.” Mr. Caplan smiled. “Ike was a little bulldog when he set his mind to something. When he was going to the hospital he gave it to Paddy, and Paddy left it here with us because he knew you would come.”

  I swallowed hard, not ready to speak, trying to gather my thoughts as I held the account of what had happened once again.

  “Ike was the best,” I managed to say.

  “I know,” was all that Mr. Caplan said. He patted my shoulder. “Come. I will see you downstairs.”

  Ike’s brother made as if to come with us, but his mother motioned him back.

  As he opened the door of the shop, Mr. Caplan held on to my arm, keeping me there a few minutes longer. His face was grim. “I took your friend for a drink, perhaps one too many, and he told me what you boys went through.” He looked me in the face, his shrewd eyes assessing me. “It is perhaps too soon for you to talk about it yet, but your writing records it, does it not?”

  I nodded dumbly. I could see where Ike got his smarts from.

  “Keep it safe,” Mr. Caplan admonished me. “Keep it safe so that one day, when you are ready, you can tell what happened there.” He paused and I saw a sheen of tears in his eyes. “Promise me!” His voice was urgent.

  “I do,” I said.

  “Promise me this too. That you will not be broken by this, no matter how much it hurts. That you will live as good a life as you can. I would have asked this of my son and I am asking it of you!”

  I nodded, and that was enough.

  Historical Note

  Britain declared war on Germany on September 1, 1939. Canada, part of the British Commonwealth, followed suit on Sunday, September 10. By 1941, however, Canada had been at war for nearly two years, yet her troops had not seen action. After the disastrous evacuation of troops from Dunkirk in 1940, Germany was firmly entrenched in much of Europe and the Luftwaffe was now sending planes to attack the British Isles. To make matters worse, Japan, an ally of Germany, had already been making expansionist moves in the Far East — invading mainland China in 1937 — and was now poised to be a threat to the British colonies of Singapore and Hong Kong.

  Singapore and Hong Kong were garrisoned by British troops as well as Commonwealth forces from India, and in the case of Singapore, from Australia as well. Although both garrisons could draw upon local volunteers, they were woefully undermanned to face a concerted attack by the Japanese. It is estimated that Hong Kong had fifteen thousand defenders to face about sixty thousand Japanese troops. The British government had to make a difficult decision: whether to reinforce the garrisons of these colonies or not. Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Britain, famously said of Hong Kong that there was not the slightest chance of the colony being held if attacked. In reality, all that could be hoped for was that reinforcements might deter the Japanese from attacking, or if an attack was made, that a stiff resistance would slow the Japanese advance down.

  The British government approached Canada in September of 1941, asking for troops to reinforce Hong Kong. Canada agreed to send two regiments, the Winnipeg Grenadiers and the Royal Rifles of Canada, who would form C Force under the leadership of Brigadier Lawson, a First World War veteran. Both regiments were made up of a mixture of long-time reservists and newer recruits. They had both been on garrison duty.

  The Royal Rifles were still undermanned when they started on their journey in October 1941 to join the Grenadiers in Winnipeg before travelling to Vancouver to take ship to Hong Kong. As a result of this, they picked up ninety extra men in Toronto, some of whom had not completed all their training. The character Jack Finnigan is just such a man.

  Only the commanding officers knew of their eventual destination. Once the troop trains arrived in Vancouver, the men were speculating as to where they were going, with the most common belief being that they were being sent to India, since they had been issued with tropical uniforms. C Force boarded two ships, the Awatea, a converted liner, and HMCS Prince Robert, setting sail on October 27. Unfortunately, due to administrative delays, the transport and some weaponry that should have accompanied them did not arrive in time.

  Conditions for the enlisted men on the ships were cramped and there was some disquiet about the food they were served. Some limited training was done and as the weather grew warmer the men changed into tropical uniforms. The ships stopped at both Hawaii, where fresh meat was taken on board, and at Manila, although the soldiers were not allowed to disembark. After leaving Hawaii, the troops were told that they were heading for Hong Kong.

  The colony of Hong Kong consisted of Hong Kong Island, with its capital, Victoria, and Kowloon and the New Territories on the mainland. C Force arrived in Kowloon on November 16. After being officially welcomed and inspected by the dignitaries of the colony, they paraded through the streets with Sergeant Gander, the Newfoundland dog who was the mascot of the Royal Rifles, at their head. The tall, healthy looking Canadian soldiers gave heart to the colonists, who were becoming increasingly nervous as the Japanese army advanced inexorably towards the border of the colony on the mainland beyond Kowloon. It was a generally accepted view that the Japanese soldiers were poor physical specimens, small and scrawny, with poor eyesight, who would be no match for the newly arrived troops.

  The Canadian troops were billeted at Sham Shui Po, a military base in Kowloon. For many of them it seemed as if they were living a dream — just a small amount of money bought them a servant who tended to their every need, from shaving them in the morning while they lay in bed drinking their tea, to maintaining their kit for inspection. There were drills and training as the soldiers learned about the colony they were there to defend, but many of the veterans remember this time with fondness as they explored an exotic culture with plenty of money in their pockets.

  The Royal Rifles were primarily based on Hong Kong Island and would travel across the harbour on the Star Ferries to familiarize themselves with the locations they would be expected to defend. The Winnipeg Grenadiers were also destined for deployment on Hong Kong Island. Both regiments were hampered by the loss of their transport and equipment, and were forced to make do with what they could scrounge from the British garrison already in Hong Kong.

  This seemingly idyllic time came to a horrific end on Sunday, December 7, 1941, when intelligence reports said that Japanese soldiers were massing at the border. Church parade that morning was interrupted as all units were ordered to war stations. The attack on Hong Kong began in earnest the following morning when Japanese bombers attacked and destroyed the few Royal Air Force (RAF) planes at Kai Tak Airport in Kowloon.

  From this day until Christmas Day, 1941, the Canadian troops were involved in a furious battle. For the first few days, it was the Grenadiers who initially saw action, tasked with covering the evacuation of troops to the island. They were among the last to leave before the Japanese took Kowloon.

  By December 13 Hong Kong Island was besieged. General Maltby, the British commanding officer, reorganized his troops into two brigades — West and East Brigade — to best defend the island. West Brigade, including the Winnipeg Grenadiers, was under the command of Brigadier Lawson. They were based in the Wong Nei Chung Gap, a rugged area in the centre of the island, and were to defend the island’s western half.

  East Brigade was under the command of British officer Brigadier Wallis. It was in this brigade that the Royal Rifles were placed, with headquarters initially at the Tai Tam crossroads.

  The Japanese brought up heavy artillery to the waterfront in Kowloon and bombarded the island. Each day saw several air raids as the Japanese attempted to destroy refineries, disrupt roads, damage water supplies and target the defensive locations that had been set
up. It became apparent that they were somehow getting information from Japanese sympathizers, known as fifth columnists, on the island — information about the best places to attack, since the Japanese were able to operate with some accuracy.

  Most troops remained at their posts with no rest, waiting for the invasion that everyone knew was coming. On the night of December 18, Japanese soldiers crossed the harbour in rubber dinghies and launched an attack, targeting first the Rajputs, an Indian regiment who were in pillboxes on the shoreline. As the Japanese pressed forward, they came into contact with soldiers from both the Hong Kong Volunteer Defence Corps (the HKVDC) and the Royal Rifles. It was during this action that Gander was killed while saving some soldiers who were pinned down by enemy fire. He picked up a grenade that had been thrown at them and ran away with it, back towards the Japanese troops who had thrown it.

  The Japanese troops fought fiercely and soon the Grenadiers were also under attack in the Wong Nei Chung Gap. The great fear was that the Japanese would gain control of the centre of the island, separating the two brigades. Over the next few days, the attacks were relentless. In the battle for the Gap, Brigadier Lawson was killed and Company Sergeant Major Osborn of the Winnipeg Grenadiers earned a Victoria Cross, throwing himself on a grenade in order to save his men.

  The Royal Rifles remained in the thick of the fighting, sent out twice to retake hills in order to remain in contact with West Brigade. After these efforts failed, they were involved in many battles and skirmishes in the hills to slow down the Japanese advance on the Stanley Peninsula. They were gradually beaten back to Stanley Mound and Stanley Fort. It was here that the defenders of Hong Kong made their last stand on the afternoon of Christmas Day as D Company of the Royal Rifles began an almost suicidal charge through a cemetery to drive Japanese soldiers out of staff bungalows belonging to St. Stephen’s School. They did not know that the governor of Hong Kong had officially surrendered the island at 3:15 p.m. Word of this surrender did not reach them until the early evening.