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The Enemy
For nights I could not sleep. Eleven o’clock, twelve, one,and two, with cigarettes to mark the hours, then an hour’ssleep, and awake at four or five. I begged bromides from Dr.Yamamoto, but they did me no good.
Four days later Suga called me again. He said the militarypolice had abandoned their pursuit of the case; that he be-lieved my husband’s life was assured. That he had done thisfor us.
I had no words. I sat and looked. I tried to think and speak.I was too exhausted with anxiety to say or do anything. I feltto myself. There must be a sign I can give to show what I feel.There must be a S57mbol, a word, a gesture, that means whatthis means to me: Life out of Death.
But I knew there wasn’t. I knew that I was just one othercreature on the surface of the world that was totally inade-quate to what life asked of it. One other creature who lived,loved, and hoped, without quite knowing the why or thehow. Without ever being able to express the terrible beautyand agony, the terrible joy and sorrow, of this being. I wantedto praise God and to praise Suga, and to reach out with myheart and grasp Harry. But I couldn’t do any of it.
“Thank you,” I said.
Then Easter Sunday came, and a message from ColonelSuga that Harry had been released and was to meet me. Wemet. Harry looked very ill, showed physical signs of abuse,was nervous, unstrung, and distraught, but — we met.
Whether Colonel Suga told me the truth, that he had savedHarry, I cannot prove, but I believe that he did. Other peoplehave disagreed, have said it was a put-up job to show hispower, or that he was an opportunist — that Harry was luckyand Suga took the credit. I believe that Suga wished to savehim, and did so.
I still do not know my husband’s full story of what oc-curred, for he promised secrecy. I still do not know what
dangers he ran, or why. But I know that he lives, while thereare wooden crosses in Kuching for the officer and soldiers whowere accused in that case; that the other civilians were only-released from the cells by death, and by peace.
Harry was still in the guardhouse in March 1944, when the&st and only Red Cross parcels to be received in Kuchingthroughout the war arrived.
A small amount of clothing, a few underthings, a few yardsof dress material, ten pairs of women’s shoes, four pairs ofchildren’s shoes, some hairpins, face cream, and tooth powder,came for our women’s camp of two hundred and eighty.
Food packages arrived also, approjdmately one package forevery six prisoners in Kuching.
The clothing and comforts were addressed to “AmericanInternees,” the food packages to “Prisoners of War, and In-valids.” It was stressed by the Japanese that the shipment camefrom the American Red Cross, which surprised me, as Ithought the Red Cross international.
As the packages were addressed to “American Internees,”they were turned over to the four Americans, Betty and Mar-jorie from Manila, Mary Dixon, a missionary, and myself, fordistribution.
The four of us were called to the Japanese offices, and eachone was given a pair of men’s army shoes, and a food packagefor herself, as the perquisites of Americans. As we returneddown the road to camp with our arms full, the soldiers andthe priests along the route, who knew by rumor what hadbeen happening to us, whistled “Yankee Doodle” as we wentproudly by.
Mary said that it was good to be an American today! Mar-jorie said it was good any day! Betty said, “Gosh, I’ll surebe glad to get some shoes on again,” and “Gosh, do you seethat chocolate and powdered milk in the food box?”
George dashed out to meet me, and was frantic with excite-
ment at the sight of the new shiny tins in the food package.He and I opened the box together, and all the childrencrowded around and everybody looked at and felt the fins,and admired and Ooooh-ed, and I wondered anxiously whatto do about it.
In that box, in shiny new tins with bright American labels,were the following foodstuffs: one pound tin of Klim, one tinsoluble coffee reinforced with dextrose and maltose, one pack-age Kraft cheese, two tin openers, three tins corned beef, twotins Spam, one tin salmon, one tin sardines, four tins butter-spread, I box prunes, i tin meat paste, one tin grape jelly, twopackages chocolate ration, a package of lump sugar, and sixpackages of Chesterfield cigarettes. All the tins were rein-forced with extra food elements and packed for Army use. Ihad never thought to see such things until after the war.
After looking at the contents I removed the cigarettes andthen turned the food over to Lilah, who was the children’sbarrack master, for use of all the children. I suggested thatshe might keep the food and distribute it on George’s birth-day. I had arbitrarily changed the date of his birthday celebra-tion to April ro, in the hope that Harry would be out of thecells by then.
At seeing the food change hands so rapidly, just when hethought it was going to be his, George wept. Not fromavarice, but because he wanted to open it immediately andeat it now.
Forty-six similar food boxes also arrived in camp for com-munity distribution.
Now the Americans had the appalling problem of trying todivide ten pairs of shoes amongst two hundred and eightypeople, and to distribute one portion of food for every sixpeople. Everybody needed clothes and shoes, but some werein greater need than others. The only thing to do was to askeveryone to submit her requirements, and try to distributethe articles according to greatest need. When a number ex-
perienced the same degree of necessity, they had to draw lotsfor the article.
There were ten pairs of adult shoes, and the majority ofpeople were barefoot. Each person tried on the shoes, andthen competed for the size that fitted her. There was moresorrow than rejoicing at the results.
I was better outfitted than most, and did not want anythingfor myself, but I did covet a pair of shoes for George, who hadnone. There were thirty-four children, six of them had shoes.Four pairs of Red Cross shoes had come. The children fittedthese on, and were proud to have them for even a moment.Then each registered the size he was competing for. We hadeight children on each of two pairs of shoes, and six on eachof the other two pairs, and they drew lots. George didn’twin.
The forty-six food boxes were turned over to the com-munity kitchens, their contents to be distributed to every-body equally bit by bit at mealtimes. A small amount wasto be put away for emergency.
Each meal now there was something exciting. One wonder-ful day the coffee drinkers were served coffee at lo a.]vi. An-other day we had chocolate pudding, made from rice, cocoa,and sugar. The tinned meats, fish, sausage, and such werecombined with rice to make cakes, in order to make them gofurther.
The powdered milk was divided equally per capita, eachperson receiving about 3% ounces of the powder. I thoughtit should aU be given to the children, but we did not agree onthis. It was thrilling to see powdered or any kind of milkagain. Tinned butter was divided, ^ ounce per person, aboutthe amount an individual at home eats per meal. When onehas had nothing but rice and vegetable soup for two years,and tea to drink, even a taste of any luxury is exciting.
The pleasure the children had with even their small por-tions of food was iimneasurable. George would follow me
The Enemy 209
home from the kitchen when I brought the dinner tray, leap-ing like a retriever pup to see what was on the tray, andshouting, “Sausage roll! Ciulren!” or, “Fish, Qulren!” Andone thrilling day he shouted, “Prunes! Chilrens!” and eachperson was served with seven stewed prunes for dinner!
A few days later “the Americans” were called to the officeagain and presented with loo cigarettes, unpackaged and un-labeled, and four packages of pipe tobacco, and one pipe. We
learned later that the goods had been held up by censorshipand finally removed from its packages and delivered to usunlabeled, because of something which was printed on thelabel. I suppose it was some wartime advertising slogan whichproved offensive to Japanese sensibilities.
Most of my cigarettes, and the pipe and tobacco, I savedto send to Harry for his birthday, or whenever he got outof the cells. It was amusing to s
ee how anxious the Sisters wereto receive the tobacco, and pipe, and cigarettes, as they wishedto turn these over to the Brothers and Fathers in the priests’camp.
On April 5 George was four years old. It was his secondbirthday in prison camp. Harry was in the guardhouse.George had no present from him.
At midday, Lilah and I got out the box of Red Cross food.We opened everything and divided each item into thirty-four sections. It required mathematical precision, but we did
it. Every child then brought a bowl or plate to us, andwatched with shining eyes.
We filled each plate with little mounds of salmon, sardine,butter. Spam, ham, jelly, meat, prunes, chocolate, cheese, andwe had made a milk pudding with milk and rice, which weadded. Then we called for cups, and distributed coffee withsugar. And aff mothers were rewarded for being mothers,with cigarettes.
Each child took his plate, said “Thank you” politely, said“Happy Birthday” to George, and scurried home. Each facewas pale with excitement. This was not fun or pleasure.This was tense, terrible, earnest participation in Paradise.
I had wondered beforehand if I was wrong in not savingthe foodstuff for George, to feed to him over a period oftime. But when I saw those faces I knew I was right.
George’s melting gratification in having something to give,his pride in being a benefactor, made him swell all day longbefore my eyes, until by nighttime he was twice-normal. HowI loved him then!
In Alay 1944 Shihping Cho was informed by the Japanese of-fice, thfough our camp master, that her husband, Henry Cho,was one of seven men taken into custody on an unstatedcharge, and held for questioning in the guardhouse. BettyWeber was told that her husband, Harry Weber, was anotherof the men. Dr. Alison Stookes’s brother, Val Stookes, wasanother, and Babs Hill’s husband, Stanley, a third. The womenwere brave, but remembering what I had felt when Harry wasin the cells, I knew what they were hiding.
Shihping tried to laugh and talk naturally with Edith andEddie. She was very good at it, and everything went well,until suddenly her voice would become shriU, and she wouldscream at them to be quiet — and then look over at me and sayapologetically, “I feel a little nervous!” I wanted to help her,but there was nothing to do.
Babs Hill was young, and seemed unfitted to have hang-ing over her the responsibility of Susan, who was iU, andof her husband’s unknown fate. I remembered those two sowell from Sandakan days, when they were madly in love,always together playing tennis, holding hands down the road,holdiig hands in the movies, always smiling and teasing.
Betty showed her worries by snapping everybody’s headoff, until no one dared to go near her. She worked harder than
212 Three Came Home
ever at community cooking, did three people’s jobs, and gaveher own food away recklessly.
Alison Stookes was depressed, but tried hard to fight itoff. She was assisting with the camp medical work now and.that helped her. Her brother was her idol.
Other men bemg questioned at the same time were LeGros Clarke, the former Government Under Secretary ofSarawak, a man by the name of Crawford, and a Britishsoldier, name unknown to us. Young Abbott of the SandakanQvil Service was in separate custody.
After they had been two weeks in the guardhouse, we heardthat the men had been moved to the Kuching jail, where theywere questioned by the military police. After four weeksthere, Cho, Hill, and Clarke were released and brought backto the Kuching prison camp. The rejoicing in our camp bythe wives of Cho and Hill was dampened by the fact thatWeber and Stookes had not been released.
The Sunday after her husband’s release Shihping receiveda verbal message from him; “I have answered all questionswith a clean conscience. My character remains unsullied. Ihave emerged with all honor.” It was so typical of the Consulthat Cho and I laughed gently together.
Shortly after this Cho and Hill and Clarke were returnedto the cells, for further questioning. Then after some weeksWeber and Stookes were brought back from the Kuchingjail, and they with HiU and Cho were told that they wereto be sent to an unknown destination. They were permittedan interview with their wives in the oflice, under guard.
Betty told me that when she met her husband that day shefound his hair had turned white during the weeks of imprison-ment. He asked for permission from the Japanese to make hiswill and have it witnessed before being taken away. He wasiU then with beriberi.
Shihping said that her husband was quite cheerful. He saidthe Japanese could prove nothing against him, and that he
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believed the tide of war had turned in our favor. We feltmore hope for his survival, because he was an Asiatic, andmight be better able to deal with Asiatics.
I couldn’t bear even to look at Babs Hill, or to ask herabout Stanley.
Dr. Stookes was not optimistic, his sister said. I was afraidthat he knew what was coming. He has had a great deal ofillegal contact in the past with the British soldiers, whose campadjoias the men’s camp. He has tried to help them with medi-cal advice and care, and with smuggled food and drugs, andthe Japanese may have knowledge of this. Stookes has been areckless smuggler all during camp life, frequendy ranning theblockade on Berhala Island. Ever since his days as an aviatorin the First World War he has lived life at a reckless pace.He is brave himself, and expects others to be; he gives of him-self without counting the cost, and accepts in the same degreefrom others. He wiU not learn caution now, I am sure, norretreat from his gamble with fate.
Celia Taylor has just said good-bye to her husband afterseeing him again after months of torture and questioning. TheJapanese still accuse him of having helped Australian prisonersof war to escape from the POW camp in Sandakan; the samecharge brought against Harry. Dr. Taylor is ill with beri-beri. She doesn’t know where he is going or what his sentenceis. Gerald Mavor is with him. The last time I saw Dr. Taylorwas in the hospital in Sandakan when I had malaria and hegave me a tin of milk to hide in my luggage for George.
Mama Baldwin, a Scottish woman of seventy years, andthe mother of nine children, is no longer in doubt. She hasjust been informed by the Japanese that Baldwin, who waschief engineer of the Baynain, died of dysentery while a pris-oner in Tarakan, Dutch Borneo.
But Mama has the heart of a lion. Never does she fail tosing, on Christmas Eve, St. Andrew’s Eve, New Year’s Eve,or any evening when she thinks we need it. To listen to Mama
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Three Came Home
Baldwin sing “Auld Lang Syne,” in a prison camp at the ageof seventy, with knowledge of her sons in German prisoncamps and fighting, with her husband dead in a prison camp,with hardships and illness and suffering to bear herself, is tohear fate defied by a brave woman. We who say we can’tbear it, have something to learn.
About now the Japanese imported Miss Asaka, a female in-terpreter, to deal with us ladies — feeling that they neededstronger meat than litde Wilfred. Asaka was the kind of Ori-ental female that you never read about, with all the gendesensitivity of a keg of nails, a heart of stone, the tendernessof asphalt, the voice of a streetcar going down a long tuimel,a chest like a barrel, and legs like concrete columns — but shecould speak English.
She was said to be a widow, her husband dead in China,his ashes by her bed. The Nips, who had an extraordinarysense of propriety at times, commanded one of us to liveoutside the camp with Asaka, to chaperone her. Most of uspreferred captivity, but several for their own reasons tried.One smuggled and got caught, one argued and got slapped,one played with soldiers and was sent to the guardhouse, onewept all day alone, one slept all night not alone, one was tooclever and spied. In the end the Nips gave up. Asaka livedalone.
Most of the time she wore military uniform; later, whenbombing started, she wore a siren suit with a long zipperopening, known to everyone as her Yankee pants, one Yankand they’re off.
With the arrival of Asaka camp searches became morethorough and systematic, less inspirational. But with all hercast-iron exterior she was more scared of the Nipponese offi-cers than we were. I didn’t like her, but I
was sorry for her;life couldn’t have been worth much to her between the Nipsand us.
Towards the end of the war when fighting was heavy over
Borneo and we all expected to be blown to bits betweenfriends and foes, she said to me: ‘^ou needn’t hope for theAllies to come to Kuching and rescue you! If they do come,the Japanese will cut you to pieces first. We Japan^e go crazywhen we fight!”
About this time, also, Sister Leontine, one of the Dutch Sis-ters, celebrated her golden anniversary, of fifty years weddedto Christ-
A symbolic wedding was held, with Sister Leontine dressedas a bride in an old evening gown borrowed from one of thesecular women, with a veil and train, with litde Dutch Ther^dressed as flower girl, with songs and prayers, and afterwardall the camp was invited to come and congratulate SisterLeontine.
The Sisters had been saving their rations for days, theyhad smuggled madly beforehand, a feast was achieved for theorder, and a special tidbit of food was given to every child incamp. Sister Leontine looked happy, but dazed. All this forher? It was the biggest celebration that had ever occurred incamp. Sister Leontine could scarcely take it aE in; the Motherhad to help her to keep her wits about her on the receivingline, when everybody shook her hand.
The next day Sister Leontine was not well. Then for daysshe could not see people. Then she made queer noises and didodd things in chapel. Soon we understood. Sister Leontine’sGolden Anniversary had marked her last clear thought.
For a while she Hved in the barrack, then she went to oneof the hospital beds in camp. Then she went to live in thechapel, curtained off from the rest of the room. On moonlightnights her calls and cries were very mad.
She could not sleep, we could not sleep. Two Sisters livedwith her, night and day. The nights became wild with herscreams. The guards never went near her.
We told the Japanese that we could not stand this.
The Dutch Fathers were sent into camp, and built a small
palm-leaf house in the middle of the vegetable patch at thefoot of the camp ground. Here two Sisters went to live withLeontine. All day, Sister Leontine sat in front of the housewith her head bowed on her knees; all night she sang andcried.
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