Dr. Sternfeld returned to the men’s camp to look for qui-nine. Many individuals had private supplies of drags, andsome were generous in sharing, others sold and traded them athigh prices, which became higher as our needs increased. In away this was right: he who had drags had life; he who beggedfor them sought to save his own fife, at the cost of the holder.
But we were fortunate, and quinine was quickly donatedin the men’s camp for our use. The doctor returned and gaveus both injections.
George was still unconscious, wrapped in wet towels. WhileI was holding him, and shaking with fever and weakness, Ibecame unconscious. I remember thinking as I started to passout, “Perhaps God will save him now. I can’t.”
Throughout the night various women took turns spongingus, a difficult job without lights, running water, towels, beds,or changes of clothing. Everybody donated nightgowns, wrap-pings, draperies. The next morning our temperatures weredown and George was conscious. In camp there were alwaysa few who gave of their strength and spirit, as well as their
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possessions. To four women, Tess Houston, who nursed us,and Betty Weber, Violet, and Penelope, who helped, Georgeand I owe our lives.
Malaria is misleading to strangers, but reliable to those whoknow it. When the bugs are hatching in your blood and thefever is rising you are so ill you don’t care; when the bugsare dying the fever drops for twenty-four hours, or what-ever life cycle your bug has, and you feel almost well. Butafter a series of rebirths on the bugs’ part you become veryweak.
At nine o’clock the ration launch came from the mainlandwith a Japanese officer to inspect camp, and Dr. Stemfeldrisked a beating to ask him to take us to the Sandakan hospi-tal. The officer was amiable, but afraid to take the responsibil-ity of removing us. He promised to return the next day for us,if permitted by the military police.
Next day the officer returned with permission to take us tothe hospital. George and I were placed on the stretcher to-gether, covered with sheets, and carried to the launch in therain. The cabin was small and the stretcher was not, so wewere left outside on the deck. The Japanese officer stood byus trying to shield us with his army cape. At intervals heraised the comer of the dripping sheet, and asked, “Are motherand child safe.?”
Two hours later we were deposited in the second-classAsiatic ward of the Sandakan Civil Hospital. This was the hos-pital where I had produced George, in the elegance and luxuryof a European birth — not in the second-class ward!
We were unveiled by an old friend of mine, Eurasian NurseMary, who deluged our dampness with tears. Mary was theadopted daughter of a Filipino ex-Forestry man who hadbeen a clerk in my husband’s department for twenty years.Hysteria, of mirth or grief, was her chosen state, and sheplayed on her state of unstrung nerves as a pianist plays on herkeyboard. In Mary’s mind it was bad luck for us to be ill,
underfed and unclothed, helpless in the hands of the enemy —but it was high tragedy for us to be in the second-class Asiaticward of the Civil Hospital! That we, who had been accus-tomed to better than money could buy, to that which onlypull, position, and purity of race entitle you in the Orient,should be reduced to second-class Asiatic category was over-whelming, for no one is so snobbish about Asiatics as aEurasian.
Mary wept for us, but I did not. I rolled ofiF the stretcherand into a hospital bed and dry blankets, and thanked God forbeing there. My ambition was to get as much quinine insideme, and as much hidden about me, as might be necessary forthe duration of the war.
Here in the hospital we remained for six weeks. Hospitalfare was badly served but nourishing, and we had plenty ofeggs and milk. Every Asiatic who came to visit friends in thesecond-class ward secretly left gifts on George’s bed, of eggs,bananas, biscuits, sweets, papayas, or money. We ate every-thing that came to hand; I have never eaten so much in my life.I ate for the years to come, with a lean future in view, and Ibelieve those weeks of good food helped to carry me throughthe years to follow.
The hospital was in nominal charge of Dr. Taylor, an Aus-tralian by birth, the British Principal Medical Officer beforethe Japanese came, and of Dr. Wands, a Scotsman, both ofwhom were working under the Japanese military regime.They had been taken from internment by the order of theJapanese, with the concurrence of the deposed British CivilGovernment. In working under the Japanese they were fol-lowing the principle that the doctor’s fcst duty is to the sickof a country, regardless of the race or politics of its admin-istrators.
These were men of determination and spirit, but it was im-possible for them to accomplish anything tmder the Japanese.
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They received blame for all that went wrong, yet were with-out authority to right it. Under the slogan of Asia for theAsiatics, doctoring and nursing became a farce, for theAsiatics.
The only cases treated promptly were venereal diseasesamong Japanese officers and soldiers. These cases, oft re-peated, took priority over aU else. During my hospitalization Ilearned the medical histories of aU the Japanese dignitaries ofSandakan. Unfortunately I was not in a position to blackmailthem.
Working under the Japanese offered one inducement to ourmedical men. They had access to the hospital drug and pow-dered milk supply, the only supply on the East Coast. Someof these supplies the doctors were trying to smuggle to us onBerhala, and to the Australian POWs at their camp in Sanda-kan. By the time I returned to Berhala Island a small amountof milk and drugs was being smuggled in regularly. This con-tinued until we were sent away from Berhala.
During this period in hospital I talked a great deal withDr. Laband, a refugee German Jew, dentist by profession,who had been employed by our government when the Japa-nese came in, and was now trying to work under them in thehospital. He did his best to discourage me from false opti-mism, teUing me that peace could not come in less than a yearat least. A year was to me an unendurable length of time. He,with his past experience of war, had learned that it is falseto believe that because conditions are unendurable one cannotendure them.
Dr. Laband was an angel to George and me, bringing extrafood, extra clothes, getting me a thermos, doing anything hecould think of to do. I was nervous for his sake, as he hadsomething stiU to lose. I had not. But he would not be warned.He said, “If they imprison me, I do not mind. Until then I willhelp you all.”
And he did so fearlessly for months, until finally with the
other doctors he was accused of conspiracy, and sentencedto jail.
I talked also with Dr. Stookes, who was being interned andextemed every few weeks, at the will of the Japanese. Justnow he was in Sandakan, free — to do what the Japs told himto do. His plane was an inducement to them to keep him out-side prison camp. I don’t think anybody but Dr. Stookeshad ever had the temerity to fly it. For years he had been fly-ing to inaccessible Borneo places, landing on all the rivers inaU kinds of weather, without weather reports or landing aids,in order to care for the sick.
Since the European war commenced he had been unable toget any new parts or servicing for the plane, and now whenI heard it in the sky it made such a noise I expected to see ashower of nuts and bolts shooting down.
He told me his sister, Dr. Alison Stookes, was still workingunder the Japanese at Lahad Datu. He looked well, thin andbrown and wiry and ageless as ever. I always wondered if hewas as nonchalant as he let on. Harry had described him tome before we were married, and I came to Sandakan. Harryhad said, “You’ll tike him. He tries to be tough, but he isn’t.”
The Sandakan lottery was the day’s excitement in the hos-pital. Numbers were drawn in Sandakan at 3 p.m., and at 3.05the hospital corridors rang wtith the shouts of nurses, eitherrejoicing or bewailing. AU day they looked for signs to guidethem in their choice.
While in child labor, Mrs. G. Takino was called upon todraw a number to decide what number the nurses should play.She did so, and drew Number Three. When the baby wasslow in arriving, the nurses decided that the drawing hadbeen too preliminary for luck, so just as the ba
by’s head wasappearing, the cards were again thrust under Mrs. Takino’snose. This time she drew Number Twenty-eight. The nursesaU placed on it, and lost. Number Three came up.
I thought the nurses would strangle Mrs. Takino and the
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baby. Instead they neither lost faith nor held malice. “Well,”they said, “the cards knew all right, but we didn’t trust them,and they got mad.”
These nurses nursed for money, fun, friendship, or spite,but they did nothing for duty’s sake. Fortunately they hap-pened to feel kindly towards George and me. I accepted whathelp they offered, but never asked for anything. I knew I wasthere on sufferance. I often felt guilty in overlooking theirneglect of others without censure or attempt to change, but Iknew that I was helpless.
The nurses were very good to George. As he recuperatedthey played with him, took him for walks, brought sweets andbiscuits, and sometimes even bathed him. But throughout aUof our illness, although I myself was ill, I emptied his pot,nursed him, washed his clothes, fed him, and put him to bed.
There were a number of Japanese soldiers who were hos-pitalized in other parts of the hospital. They wandered aboutthe hospital grounds in kimonos, and breeches and stockingfeet. As soon as George was out of bed they made friendswith him. They would sit on the grass outside the ward andplay with him for hours, or imtil some officer appeared inthe distance, when they would vanish hastily. They broughthim sweets and bananas, games, and postal cards of Japanesefilm actors, and sent cigarettes to me. Most of them thoughtthey spoke English, and wrote long dedications on the postalcards to “Mister Groge.” They asked me why George ^dn’twear shoes. I said he didn’t have any. They said they wouldbuy him some, and tried to do so. There were none to be hadin Sandakan. They were more upset about this than I was.
When I told them George and I were going back to prisoncamp on Berhala Island in a day or so, they told me they weresorry we were imprisoned there and said that Mister Grogewas a very good friend, that they would never forget him.Every soldier we met in hospital was kind to him.
Mrs. Cohen, an old friend of mine, a Palestine Jewess whokept a cloth shop in the bazaar in Sandakan, was a patient inthe hospital when George and I were. She was gorgeons inbeing and soul, with an Oriental splendor of face, hair, andhands. Her eyes were melting, her features fine, her expres-sions dramatic, her tears quick, and her emotions real. Sheloved bright colors, especially the varying reds of hibiscusblooms, and she wore gowns in these shades cut Mother Hub-bard style, fitted to her bosoms and flowing from thence down-ward. From her handsome head flowed chins and bosoms,from bosoms flowed draperies, from draperies flowed barefeet, and when she moved she flowed along the floor.
Her heart, like her body, was large and soft and lovable.No one ever asked her for anything and was refused: time,sympathy, money, or help. They aU came to her for help,Eurasians, Chinese, Malays, housekeepers, kept women, nurses,coolies, myself. Her pocketbook was under her pUlow and shehad constant recourse to it. The first thing she did when shefound me in the hospital was to press ten dollars into my hand.
She was a force in Sandakan Asiatic life; she was the core ofEurasian society, business, and commerce. No wedding orfuneral or birth was complete without her.
Daily her Arab boys came from the shop to bring her de-licious Kosher cooking which she shared with all of us. Sheand George sat cross-legged on the floor together eating, sherolling the rice into balls, native-style, and popping these intohis mouth with her fingers. George would eat until he wasin pain; then she rubbed his stomach, massaged him, sang tohim until he went to sleep. When he awakened they beganeating again.
If he was naughty and I scolded him, I was the one sherebuked. She then would engulf him in the folds of her bosom,kiss him, tell him stories, and mesmerize him into passivity.
She was having injections in the hospital for skin trouble,and was expecting to remain a week longer. One afternoon
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Mr. Cohen arrived, begging her to come back to the shop, tosave him from the Japanese soldiers. He was older than Mrs.Cohen, a small man badly crippled from diabetes and systemicpoisoning, and Mrs. Cohen stood hke a mountain between himand the world.
Mr. Cohen said the Japanese soldiers were demanding goodsat half price in the store, and when he refused to sell theystole the stuff and beat him up. Mrs. Cohen had her ownsystem in dealing with the soldiers. She combined collabo-ration, coercion, bribery, and betrayal. She hid all the bet-ter store goods, sold inconsequential gifts to them for whatthey would pay, donated worthless souvenirs, gave themcoffee, and let them confide in her. Meanwhile, she gainedfriends amongst them to help her smuggle to the Europeanprisoners.
She didn’t want to leave the hospital and go back to theshop, principally I believe because she hated to leave George.But Mr. Cohen was as helpless as George, so she folded upher Mother Hubbard dresses, her several chins and bosoms,and went back to the shop. She left, throwing kisses to George,calling advice to the nurses, waving at me, and weeping. Withher departure all ribald gaiety was gone. After she left Ifound under my pillow fifty dollars, to be delivered by meto her friends on Berhala.
She came several times after that to visit us, against the or-ders and warnings of Japanese military police, bringing sweets,biscuits, and clothes for George. I told her I was frightenedfor her. She said, “You are my friends. I am sad to see youneed things, I must help you. I am not worried for myself; Iam not afraid of these Japanese. But the old man is sick andhe cannot take care of Hmself. Also he must have brownwheat for his diabetes, and Kosher food. If I get put in jailhe will die.”
I never saw her again. Sometime later she was accused ofconspiracy in connection with the escape of some Australian
POWs. She was imprisoned for a long time, but finally re-leased. Later she was taken back into custody, and she wasexecuted by the Japanese shortly before the Armistice came.Her husband fortunately died some time before.
One afternoon when I had been in hospital two weeks.Major Takakua, our Sandakan Japanese Commandant, arrived.He was very angry and very drunk. He swaggered throughour ward, where there were five Berhala prisoners besidemyself and George. Shouting at them that they should be outworking, instead of lying in bed, he ordered them to leavethe hospital immediately for Berhala. Then turning to me andGeorge he said, “What disease?”
“Malaria,” I said weakly, closing my eyes and expecting tofeel a crack on the knuckles or the head.
“Baby what disease?”
“Malaria, also.”
“You stay,” he said. I never discovered why.
An hour later the others left under guard. One was an oldman of seventy-five years, bedridden for a dozen reasons;one was the American dentist. Dr. Laidlaw, who had brokenhis foot and was scarcely able to drag his leg in the cast. Onewoman had stomach ulcers and gallstones. The other womanwas Mrs. Li, wife of the Assistant in the Chinese Consulate,with her ten-day-old baby. Mrs. Li had milk fever and a tem-perature of 103 degrees at the time she was ordered to leave,carrying her baby and her luggage. These people had to walkdown a steep hill for a mile to the wharf, and carry their be-longings with them.
I learned later that Takakua had contracted a bad case ofvenereal disease, and had come to the hospital for treatmentthat day.
Nurse Mary and every Asiatic whom I saw, one day in thehospital, told me sadly of the Day of Humiliation for Ae pris-
oners on Berhala. It seemed that all Berhala prisoners, bothmen and women, who were judged physically fit to leavecamp were brought to Sandakan by lavmches. The men wereset to work on the roads, mending and grading, and clearingweeds, and other public work jobs. When they finished theirwork they were stood in the public square as Exhibit A inthe collapse of the British Empire.
The women were taken to the back quarters of the formerSandakan Hotel, where in the old days we had held ourdances, and which was now the Japanese soldiers’ barracks.Here they were told to wash and mend for the
soldiers. The
Japanese soldiers came to them, stripped off their uniformsbefore them, and threw them down, and told them to mendand wash them. The soldiers sat down naked or with loin-cloths only, and waited while the women did as they wereordered. Many of the soldiers remained naked in the kitchenwith the women throughout the day.
One woman said to me later, “I don’t mind seeing mennaked, but it throws me off to have them sitting about thekitchen.”
The day was given much publicity among the local in-habitants by the Japanese. “Come and see your British Ad-ministrators now! Here are your masters!”
But the natives sjrmpathized with the old masters; a lot ofsmuggling took place that day.
Nurse Mary in the hospital gave me her eyewitness accoxmt:“It was terrible! I weep for them! Xhey were beaten, tortured,kicked. I saw Mr. Keith. He lay swooning and moaning on thesquare, he lay wounded and bruised. Oh, these Japanese! Ifeel very sad for you!”
I said, “Are you sure it was Mr. Keith swooning andmoaning?”
“Oh, yes, madam. He said, ‘Tell my wife I will endure tothe end!’ ”
“I don’t believe a word you say, Mary.” But I did.
I learned later that Harry was ill on the Day of Humiliation,and never left Berhala Island.
At the end of the day the prisoners were returned toBerhala. They were glad to get there. It was a hard day tolaugh off.
While in hospital we were warned by our doctor to haveno contact with outside persons, as we were under the samerules of imprisonment as when on the island, and under mili-tary supervision. Knowing that the doctor would suffer if wewere caught breaking the rules, I attempted to obey him.
But Ah Yin, our old amah, learned immediately that wewere in hospital, and smuggled money, food, and posses-sions to us, and George’s enamel pot which she knew I hadforgotten. After three days the military police learned of thisand warned her, on pain of death, to stay away. I was fright-ened for her and begged her to stop, but Ah Yin was indefati-gable and things kept creeping in.
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