Three Came Home

by Agnes Newton Keith

  A number of civilian prisoners worked as gardeners in theplot of land which adjoined our camp, a job which waspopular with the men who had wives in camp. The menwould shout messages back and forth to each other at thetops of their voices, for their wives to hear. If a husband hadanything he was anxious to give to his wife he would bury it

  in a hole or hide it in a tree, making some signal to his wifeof its whereabouts. That night, after the men had left thegarden, and the guards there had gone and the dark hadcome, the woman would crawl through the barbed wire andunearth the hidden article.

  Three women worked together on this, one going throughthe wire, one standing close to the wire to warn her if aguard approached, and the third stationed further away in aposition to see an approaching guard at some distance. Thebest time was five in the morning. Then the guards werealways dopey, and they liked to sit at the kitchen fire whichwas just being built by the Bubor Queen, as we called thewoman who cooked the breakfast bubory or rice gruel.

  My first step in getting a rain cape was to sell a pair ofslacks, which I found were not practical in camp life be-cause of all the mud. Shorts were easier to wash, and took lesssoap.

  I sold my slacks for the price the soldiers were asking fortheir capes, ten dollars. That afternoon I tied the ten-dollarbill to a stone, and as my husband was not then in Kuching,I threw it into the garden near Don Tuxford, whom I knewto be softhearted. I then discussed loudly with Julie, hisdaughter, inside our camp, my need to have a rain cape im-mediately, and the fact that I was prepared to come out intothe garden any night and look for one.

  Don picked up the stone, and called out to a friend near bythat he reckoned those soldiers had more capes than theyneeded anyway! And that he’d sure like to see one hangingover that dead tree branch near our fence tomorrow night!

  The next afternoon I saw that Don had something overhis arm. As many of the men wore capes also, this did notarouse suspicion from the guard — although how the Jap-anese thought we acquired soldiers’ clothes without cominginto contact with the soldiers, I do not know.

  That evening before dark Julie and I went out and lookedthrough the barbed wire, and there sure enough was the

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  soldier’s cape hanging over the dead tree branch. When darkcame we returned to get it. It was so close to our line that wedidn’t have to go through the wire ourselves, we just fished itin with a pole. I never felt better dressed in my fife than whenI put that cape on.

  In Kuching we had a canteen service which sometimesoffered fruit, biscuits, peanuts, and tobacco. With this foodinnovation, money again redoubled in value. The canteenfunctioned weeldy, or monthly, or yearly — according towhim rather than need. A Chinese contractor sold the stuffto the Japanese who sold us what they didn’t want themselves.

  By the time we needed food most, the canteen had ceased tooffer it, but it never failed to supply tobacco. They called ittobacco; I called it banana and papaya leaves. Sometimes wehad to roll the dried leaves and cut them ourselves, sometimesthey would be cut like plug, but always we rolled our owncigarettes.

  Wrappings for cigarettes were a problem. Paper was in-valuable: first because the Japs confiscated all they found;second because we needed it for writing, for children’s books,for toilet paper, and for cigarette wrappings. Even old news-papers (two- and three-year-old ones were sent in by theJapanese for t.p.) became rare, then newspaper-rolled cig-arettes became classics. I found that the cigarette tasted ac-cording to the paper it was wrapped in, rather than thetobacco. Often we rolled the tobacco in its own leaf. The lessfood we had, the more dependent we became upon smoking.

  One day “The Mothers” received secretly, smuggled in tothem by a Roman Catholic priest, a gift of fifty dollars. Thegift came from the Austrahan soldiers in the camp down theroad, and was a gift from them for the use of the children.

  We were overwhelmed. The soldiers were worse-treatedthan we, they had less, they were thinner, worse clad, andsick. Beside them, our children seemed husky.

  We talked of sending back the money. But we couldn’t

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  do this: to take from the men the gift of giving was to takefrom them what strength they had. Anyway, we craved thatmoney for our children.

  So we wrote and smuggled to them a letter, without saluta-tion, without signatures, in case it should fall into Nipponesehands:

  On behalf of the children behind the barbed wire, we, theirmothers, thank you with all of our hearts for your generous giftto them.

  We are thinking with gratitude of the extra food which thisgift win buy for them: a gratitude which is especially deep be-cause we know that you must do without food yourselves fortheir sakes.

  Words are too weak for times like these. But when we sayThank you, we mean, God bless you, and keep you.

  FROM THE MOTHERS OF THE CHH-DREN BEHIND THE BARBED WIRE

  Shortly after this, those soldiers were sent away fromKuching on a forced march, from which they never returned.

  In packing for internment I had determined not to becaught without cosmetics. But when first I experiencedthe brutahty of imprisonment on Berhala, I stopped usingmake-up completely. I was too tired to put it on! And whatwas the use? Why look like a woman, and live like a dog? Igave away three boxes of face powder, two lipsticks, severalcakes of rouge, two jars of cold cream, and a very nice handmirror.

  I soon found I had been wrong. It was more necessary thanever in our circumstances to make an effort to look attractive,for the sake of our own morale. By then it was too late, andI could only hoard what little I had left. In time, face powdersold for ten dollars a teaspoonful — if you could get it; lip-stick became priceless, cold cream could be had only by atrade for some necessary article.

  When the Japanese had dumped my clothing in the com-

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  pound at Berhala, I had been dismayed. They were notdresses I could use in prison camp, and I had not yet dis-covered the possibilities of trading and selling. If I needed athing myself, no price would get it from me, and if I didn’tneed it, I gave it away. Most of these clothes I left behindme in the prison yard.

  But when my trunlc was dumped, empty, the next day inthe prison compound, my cautious, determined Harry packedthose things into the trunk for me, although I had left Berhala.When the men were moved to Kuching he himself carriedthe trunk onto the boat, and after he arrived at Kuching hefinally obtained permission from the Japanese to send it tome in camp.

  On the contents of this trunk and a little jewelry Georgeand I sold and traded our way through captivity, living onthe proceeds of my weakness for nice clothes.

  In time all material possessions came to mean three thingsto me: (i) food and drugs for George, (2) food and tobaccoand one presentable dress for me, (3) tobacco for Harry.In the women’s camp we could always get tobacco of somesort, but the men couldn’t. At intervals we were permittedto send it to them through the oflSce, and sometimes whenmeeting our husbands we could smuggle the tobacco to themby wadding it up iu a handkerchief. The men would notaccept food from us.

  Those clothes were worth nothing to me in camp, becauseI had George’s health to compare them to; but fortunatelythey were worth something to others. Women without chil-dren could at least eat their own rations, and did not feel thepress of necessity as grimly as did we mothers. For a fewpeople in camp beautiful clothes, just for beauty’s sake, stillhad a value, and to possess them they would sacrifice anecessity.

  Values were established by needs. I traded a very exoticrose-taffeta negligee for some soda-bicarbonate tablets. I

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  traded one dinner dress, long, full, heavy black crepe, priceU. S. ninety-eight dollars, for six aspirin tablets, when Georgehad a toothache. I would have traded it for one aspirin, ifnecessary. I traded a black velvet dinner dress for a whitecotton sheet, because the sheet was a commodity which Icould trade with the Chinese outside ca
mp, for food.

  During the first six months in Kuching I accumulated afurniture suite. When we arrived it was January and the rainyseason, and water stood on the ground under the low-standingbarrack in which we were housed, and there were inch-widecracks in the floor on which we, without beds or mattresses,slept. George and I shivered through each night with chillsand fever.

  After a week of this I got up one morning, desperate anddetermined. I went to the bath shed, removed a wooden doorfrom its hinges, and a wooden shutter, and took them homeand placed them on our floor, raising them slightly with oldchunks of rotten wood which I found. Xhe door was forme and the shutter for George to sleep on. Xhese formed anextra layer of wood between us and the ground, and cut oflFsome of the chill and the wind. Xhat night we slept.

  Xhe idea achieved such popularity that soon there wereno doors and shutters left hanging. As there were not enoughto go around, those who didn’t get them protested our lackof community spirit, and a few, still wedded to modesty,complained.

  Xhen I wanted legs for our beds, so I removed planks fromthe latrines. I wanted nails, so I removed as many as I couldfrom the barrack supports, and stole some from the Indone-sians who worked in camp. Literally the nails of our beds werenumbered. In this manner I made two beds, two tables, twostools, and a number of shelves.

  Sometimes the Nipponese officers inspected our quarters,found that beams were collapsing for lack of nails, and sup-

  ports had disappeared. They questioned, but nobody couldanswer: they threatened, but nobody understood. Theylooked at our growing ftunaiture, and their dwindling housing,and asked Who did it?” Nobody answered.

  One day I was lying on my bed looking up at nothing,when my eyes suddenly registered the four-ply partitions inthe roof of the barrack above me. I called Mary’s attention tothem. Mary Bewsher, my neighbor, was a young Australianmissionary who was full of bright ideas. We agreed that thefo^-ply was necessary for table tops and unnecessary for par-titions. We and all our neighbors got busy.

  That very afternoon the Japanese sergeant major decidedto inspect camp. He had very bright black eyes, which heused to good purpose; they ht on the absence of four-plypartitions and the presence of table tops. We watched him,and we saw that very glance. He pinched his lips togetherand said nothing; he was that rare article, the ImpassiveOriental.

  That night we received notice that the canteen would bediscontinued as punishment. It was some weeks before itappeared again.

  The table tops were not worth the loss of food, but becausewe got by with so much so often, we were always ready totake a chance. And so many punishments descended on us forthin^ we did not do, or did from ignorance, that living a law-abiding life was no promise of security.

  Mary was a great person, I’m not sure how great a mis-sionary. Before food got too short she had a lovely figurewhich she told me that she had acquired on the Japanesedieting system, as she had been too plump before. By 1943the result was perfection, made doubly so by shapely legs,which no one could ignore.

  The glance of her deep blue eyes was almost uncomfortablydirect, her nose was surprised and inquisitive, and her hairwas silky mouse-beige cut into an Eton crop which became

  her extremely, but was disastrous to others in camp who triedto copy it. Mary Bewsher was an Australian who was proud ofso being, and Australia might well be proud of her,

  Mary had two adopted children in camp, Danis and Dandi,as black as little Sambos. These children were true nativesof Borneo, from the Bisaiya tribe, from the interior of Borneo.Mary and her husband, who was also a missionary, hadadopted the twins at birth in order to save them from death,as the Bisaiyas consider the arrival of twins an ill omen, anddo away with such infants immediately. As the mother ofthe twins had died with their birth, they were considereddoubly bad luck, and only the fact that Mary and her hus-band took them away from the Bisaiyas immediately hadsaved their lives.

  The twins were one month older than George, and hadbeen imprisoned with their adopted mother since they weretwo years old. At time of internment they could not speak aword in any language, but communicated their desires bysounds and actions which Mary understood. In camp underthe Sister’s schooling they were slowly learning to speakEnglish — at least we thought it was English.

  They were quick in their reactions, but slow in getting outthe responses. Their physical agility was in excess of that ofthe other children, and also their maturity of body.

  They were naturally intelligent, but slow in their mentalprocesses. Our children showed that they came of raceswhich had for generations worked with their minds; thetwins showed that they did not. The intelligence was there,but not the habit of mind.

  Mary planned to take them to Australia when peace shouldcome, and she hoped to educate them as medical missionaries,with the idea that they would go back and help their ownpeople. I often visioned Danis and Dandi, with their nakedbrown bodies covered with Australian schoolboy clothes,with their books on their arms, with bright eyes shining,

  white teeth flashing, defying learning together in some Aus-tralian school. I wondered if they would be as recalcitrantas most offspring are in foUowii^ their parents’ ambitionsfor them.

  In keeping my record of imprisonment in Kuching Ialways tried to write my notes secretly, sometimes after darkat night, by starlight, moonlight, or no Hght at all, just bysense of feel. I did not write daily, but every few weeks,looking back and trying to judge what was important. Con-versations of interest I tried to record as soon as possible, forI wanted facts, not conclusions. Everything was written inthe smallest possible form, because of lack of paper, andlimited hiding space.

  There were many things I did not dare to put on paper,even for myself. Diaries had been discovered in the men’scamp and the authors — and others involved — spent months inthe cells, or were executed, on the guilt proved therein. If mynotes had been uncovered, the Japanese could have shot meand others on the strength of them. And even if they did not, Ifeared the words of people in camp as much as Japanesebullets. What a fool the was to keep such notes!

  Often Japanese searching was desultory, and superficial,and the searchers did not keep their minds on what they wereafter, if they knew. But with me they knew; they were con-stantly looking for my papers, written-on or otherwise, docu-mentary or personal. Often the person who searched couldnot read English, and read my papers upside down. Bit bybit I fed them various documents to placate them, lettingthem xmcover something with every search. Often they werestupid, but I could not rely on this.

  The most incriminating evidence I kept in empty tinswhich I wrapped in scraps of soldier’s waterproofing, andburied under my barrack. I tried never to reopen an articleafter I had once concealed notes in it. Frequently I shifted

  the hiding place of the article, however. Sometimes I got upin the middle of the night on a hunch, dug new holes to burymy tins, and moved them in the dark. I felt that if I was out-witted I could not help it, but I had a horror of being caughtthrough carelessness.

  As well as filling George’s toys with notes, I rolled theminside a half-roll of toilet paper, and I stuffed them into amedicine bottle covered with labels, and I sewed them be-tween the layers of his grass sleeping mat. George had a false-bottomed stool, made by Harry for the purpose, which Ifilled with notes, and then nailed up. These were obviousplaces for hiding if suspicion of “conspiracy” ever fell onme, and if the Japanese decided to do a thorough job ofsearching. In fact they did go through and feel this stuff,but they never ripped it open.

  Any camp upset always brought officers inside camp fora search. During searches George sat outside the barrack onhis little false-bottomed stool with my secrets in it. I neverceased to be afraid, while searches were going on, or to thinkwith envy of the joy of a clear conscience.

  One time they proclaimed that all pictures, photographs,snapshots, illustrations must be stamped with a Japanesecensorship stamp, within five days, or they would be con-fiscated. Some women had books full of snapshots in' camp,represen
ting every stage in their own and their families’progress. Some had their barrack wall lined with photos offamilies at home. For the next five days our camp master andvolunteer assistants spent their fives carrying armloads ofpictures up the hill to the Japanese offices for stamping.

  There in the Japanese office they sat, officers, sentries,underlings, office boys, having the time of their fives lookinginto our past, studying snapshots of English country fife,dogs, horses, infants, grandmothers, Henley, Ascot, gradua-tions, weddings, groom and bride, Poppa and Momma andbaby. Great hissing and sucking of teeth, great ttmuutt-ing.

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  great laughter, much fun. And every single snapshot had tobe stamped on the back with a stamp one inch by two incheslong, and many were stamped on the front.

  Then when they felt really familiar with Western life athome, they said. Never mmd! Take it aE away! W^e’re tiredof it. . . . So then everybody got back the wrong snapshots.

  I had only one picture, a photograph of Harry. This wasthoroughly stamped, at my written request, on the back. Ikept it straight through prison.

  Throughout prison life I constantly marveled at two things:(dr) the fury of the Japanese in dealing with us, and {b) theirrestraint. One never knew which it would be.

  A chair, a table, a bed, a shelf, an egg, an aspirin tablet,things like this were luxury. We might be shot, kicked, slapped— or rewarded, in acquiring them. The element of gamblemade Hfe difficult, but at the same time it was the breath oflife. Many a night I have lain awake promising myself neverto smuggle again, sick with anxiety because of the apprehen-sion of a Nip guard through whom I was smuggling, whohad identifiable goods of mine. But always, I did it again.