Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms

by Anita Heiss

  The sun is rising too fast and neither has slept. Mary wants it to be dark for longer, because the moment the sun is completely up, the end will arrive. Her heart is already heavy with sadness. They hear movement in the kitchen – Banjo has lit the fire to make a cuppa.

  Banjo coughs loudly to let them know he is nearby, though he knows there will be nothing sexual going on, his Mary is a good girl. A good Catholic girl, like her mother at the same age. Banjo doesn’t want his little girl to grow up. He doesn’t want her to be in love with anyone, let alone a former Japanese POW who is going back to his own country today and who will tear his daughter’s heart apart. No one knows how difficult today is going to be for Banjo when his baby girl gets her heart broken for the first time.

  Mary and Hiroshi sit to attention as they hear Banjo approaching, letting go of the embrace they had found themselves in. Thankfully the morning glory vines had provided protection from the rest of the community while they enjoyed their final moments together.

  ‘Cuppa?’ Banjo holds two tin mugs of black tea.

  Hiroshi stands, bows his head and says, ‘Arigat-o, thank you,’ and takes both mugs, handing one to his love.

  ‘What time is it, Dad?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Six thirty.’

  ‘There’s scones in the kitchen from Mrs Smith too, if you’re hungry,’ Banjo adds. Mary cannot believe how supportive and wonderful everyone is being.

  Banjo brings out his banjo and starts singing ‘Waltzing Matilda’ and Hiroshi joins in softly, singing off-key but remembering the words from Mrs Smith’s poetry book. Joan and the kids have appeared with the sound of the music so early in the morning and when Banjo is finished, Hiroshi gestures for the instrument, getting used to more strings, and tries to play a traditional Japanese tune. Everyone listens to every chord.

  ‘It is a thank-you song,’ he says over the music, looking at Mary, who cannot see anything for the tears flooding her eyes and cheeks. Her mother and father stand on either side, arms around their daughter, ready to catch her wounded heart at any minute.

  The music stops when Jim arrives with another soldier from the POW camp. They will be Hiroshi’s escorts out of Cowra and out of Mary’s life.

  At that moment, Mary hates Jim for being the one to do the job. She starts screaming. ‘NO! He can’t go anywhere. He’s staying here with us, with me. Hiroshi, tell them. Tell them you want to stay.’

  Hiroshi is standing beside her, not wanting to say or do the wrong thing. He loves Mary, he wants to be with her, but he must go home. He must see his family, they’re the reason he stayed strong all those months. They’re the reason he escaped the camp. He has tears in his eyes too. He can’t bear to see Mary so distressed.

  ‘I must go home, Mary, but –’ He looks at Joan and then at Banjo. ‘Can I take Mary with me? I want to marry her.’

  ‘Yes, I will! I’ll go with you.’ Mary cannot believe he has said that straight out to her parents.

  ‘Mary!’ Joan and Banjo say.

  Joan embraces her daughter. ‘Darling, you can’t go with Hiroshi.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I can, I love him too. I can go!’ She pushes her mother away.

  The military men have moved in and are standing next to Hiroshi. ‘You can’t go, miss. All the Japanese will be going back together on boats.’

  ‘I don’t care, we love each other, and,’ Mary clings to Hiroshi, ‘we’re going to get married.’

  Banjo stands behind his daughter and puts his hands on her shoulders. ‘Smith will never let you marry Hiroshi, Mary, never.’

  Mary spins to face her father, crying so hard she struggles to get her words out. ‘He can’t stop me. I love Hiroshi, I know about his life and family and culture, and no one can stop me from being with the man I love.’ She has made so much noise her sisters and brother are standing in the doorway crying too, not understanding what’s going on.

  ‘We have to go, sir.’

  The soldiers usher Hiroshi towards the door and Mary becomes hysterical, clinging to him. ‘No, no, no,’ is all she can say. Her parents have to pry her from him. There is no goodbye, no further declarations, and no promises for the future. Mary doesn’t know why Hiroshi isn’t fighting to stay.

  But there is no choice – he is lucky to be alive, to have survived the war, the escape and hiding at Erambie. He is grateful to be there, to have met Mary and to love her. But he has no say in the ending to their love story. He belonged to the Japanese Army and now the Australian Army. He will not put up a fight because he cannot win.

  ‘Please,’ he says softly and looks at Joan and Banjo. He extends a hand and Banjo shakes it, putting his free hand on Hiroshi’s shoulder. ‘Arigat-o,’ Hiroshi says and nods. He looks at Mary and cautiously moves closer to her, looking at Joan for permission. He receives a gentle nod and hugs Mary carefully. ‘Watashi wa, anata wo aishiteimasu, Mary,’ he whispers in her ear.

  ‘Don’t go, don’t go, please don’t go,’ she sobs.

  As he is escorted out of their hut, she collapses to the ground.

  Mary feels her life has been sucked out of her. There is no spirit left and no energy to even walk around. She has made herself sick with heartache; she hasn’t eaten for days, has been bedridden with anxiety and sadness. She cries continuously and Banjo and Joan are at a loss as to what to do. Mrs Smith shows the girl some compassion, making her a cup of tea before she does her daily chores when she returns to work after three days away.

  Every shelf Mary dusts, every sheet she washes, everywhere she looks, she sees Hiroshi’s face: his smile, the look of hope in his eyes the day she told him the war was over. The day she told him she loved him. ‘Watashi wa, anata wo aishiteimasu,’ she says to herself over and over.

  In March 1946, Hiroshi is with all the other Japanese POWs from Cowra and Hay when he boards the Daikai Maru from Balmain back to Japan. He recognises some of the men. They share cigarettes and small talk, but they don’t talk about the camp. He doesn’t talk about Erambie, or about Mary. He suffers the effects of seasickness although he had not expected or thought about it until he boarded the boat. Many of the other soldiers are returning home with the ashes and belongings of dead soldiers and he is sharing a space with a number of men who have boxes covered in white cloth. Some of the boxes, Hiroshi knows, contain the hair and fingernails of soldiers who had died on the front. He wonders if any of the boxes belong to his friend Masao. He’s heard that Masao was one of the two men shot by Alf Burke, who found a group of escapees when he was out hunting. Hiroshi’s heart cries out for his friend.

  Everyone is subdued and although rumour has it that the Chinese POWs from Cowra are fearful of being attacked on the boats by the Japanese, there is no real trouble at all. Hiroshi, like every other soldier, is filled with dread about what he will see when he gets home, and how his family will react. He walks miles and miles around the ship every day, making use of legs that had nowhere to walk when he was at Erambie. He recites poetry in his head for Mary and plans what he will say to his parents. Of a night, in the dark, when he is most alone and vulnerable, he cries. He is more afraid of facing his family than he was of facing the war.

  When they arrive in Uraga Bay near Tokyo a month later, they are fumigated with the pesticide DDT. This is not the homecoming Hiroshi had hoped for – he is being made to feel like he is a virus about to cause damage to the country he went to war to protect.

  It’s cherry blossom season, but there are none in sight. The landscape is bare, trees are damaged; many look like they will never recover. It is clear to Hiroshi that fire bombings have destroyed much of the country, but in the distance, the mountains show some signs of colour. He wonders what he will find when he finally gets back to Shikoku.

  His distress increases when he finds a plaque with his name on it at the Yasukuni Shrine – he has already been enshrined. His family doesn’t know that he is alive. The letter never arrived. Or perhaps it was never sent by the Red Cross. He will shock his family when he walks into their home
.

  On the trip from Tokyo Hiroshi is sick with nausea. He prays his family will forgive him, that the shame will be forgotten when they see him. He prays that his father’s face will not be riddled with disappointment but gratitude that his son has returned.

  As he approaches his home, he is sweating more than when he ran into the dark of night during the escape. His legs feel like jelly and he wants to throw up. It is early morning, just as it was when he was found at Erambie, and he knows his family will all be present, probably having tea. He knocks hard on the front door and hears shuffling feet approach. The door opens and there stands his mother, as beautiful as he remembers.

  ‘You are not a ghost,’ his mother shrieks, looking her son up and down. She touches his legs to double-check he is real. When she realises the truth – that he is alive – she falls to her knees and howls. His father runs down the hallway, picks his wife up and with a single tear falling down his cheek, hugs his son for the first time since he was a child.

  Epilogue

  13 November 1964

  JAPANESE AMBASSADOR FOR CEMETERY CEREMONY

  Fifty Japanese consular officials and businessmen are to visit Cowra on Sunday, 22 November, for an inauguration ceremony at the new Japanese war cemetery.

  Mary reads the first sentence of the article and immediately thinks of Hiroshi. She wonders what he looks like after all this time. She doesn’t dare imagine what it might be like to see him again, that is not possible.

  She is sitting on her back porch at her home in Lachlan Street, Cowra. There’s a cup of tea cooling beside her and her new baby granddaughter is in her arms. Life in town is different to the one she knew growing up at Erambie, but when she married a white man, she had to leave.

  Mary reads the newspaper every chance she gets, and the stories often carry her back to the bunker and her time with the man she will always love. When Hiroshi left, Mary pined for him for more than a year and then, finally, when she accepted he would never come back, she agreed to marry Raymond, the grocer’s son who used to deliver food to the Smiths’. Mrs Smith told her it would be smart to marry a white man and move into town, and in her own way, Mary loved Raymond and he treated her well. She fell pregnant immediately with their first daughter, Amy, who has just had her own first child, Janie.

  For some time now, Cowra has been buzzing with the news that the RSL has decided to build a cemetery for the Japanese soldiers and interns. Locals are surprised that Australians are being so chivalrous and generous towards a group of people once considered the most hated in the world. But the RSL men were tending the graves of the Australian soldiers and thought it only appropriate and respectful to look after the graves of the Japanese soldiers as well. They were men just like themselves, after all; men with families, men with hopes and dreams, and men with the courage to fight for their homeland. Men like Hiroshi. Many of the members of the RSL remember the well-kept graves of Australian soldiers in Palestine, and the comfort that brought to families, knowing that someone was caring for the grave of their son, brother, uncle, father. It makes sense to those who had fought in war to do what is right.

  When Mary reads about the families of Japanese POWs who will be attending the opening, she hopes Hiroshi will be coming. But then she hopes he doesn’t – what good can come of it?

  Raymond is reading the paper at the table and says, ‘It’s senseless to go on with the hatred of war all these years later. I’m glad Cowra is doing this.’

  It is Raymond’s belief in justice that Mary loves. He knew about Hiroshi, as did everyone in Cowra by the time the soldier left, but he didn’t care. He wanted to marry Mary and he knew that even if she carried a candle for the soldier, he had left and would not be coming back. Hiroshi was no threat. Mary knew that if she couldn’t be with Hiroshi, she had still found a good man in the one she married.

  On the morning of 22 November, Mary is awake before dawn, but she has hardly slept anyway. She is not expected at the hospital where she works as a ward assistant serving meals until the afternoon. As soon as she’d learned about the opening, she’d planned to walk to the site to look on from a distance. She knows that only Australian government officials and people in the military have been invited to the ceremony, but she can’t stay away. What if Hiroshi is there?

  When Raymond has left for the day she puts on her best frock and starts walking, nervous about what memories might come back and what she might do if she sees Hiroshi. Her heart wants to see him, but her head doesn’t.

  As she reaches the entrance of the cemetery in Doncaster Drive there are official cars, and media with big cameras, and Japanese women in beautiful dresses. She wonders if Hiroshi married a woman like that. Could any of them be Hiroshi’s wife? She stands back, scanning the crowds for his face, convinced that she could not forget it.

  Inside the cemetery, Hiroshi stands, blinded by tears, overwhelmed by returning to the town that saved his life while others lost theirs. He reflects on the night of the escape, remembering the sounds, the lights, and the smell of burning wood as if it was only yesterday. Hiroshi is filled with the same regret he felt while hidden at Erambie. Hiroshi finds Masao’s plaque and wonders if anything has been learned from the tragedy of war. He looks at other headstones and wonders why the men all behaved so recklessly when he knows so few wanted to go ahead with the breakout. Why did they cause so much trouble for the Australian guards who had treated them so well? Why, after arriving in Australia frail, injured and starving, had they all recovered their good health only to end up dead?

  His heart aches with the memories, but he is there with a purpose: he has returned to Australia to pay his respects to his fallen countrymen. To Masao. To show there is no personal hatred for the country or its people; Cowra kept him alive and gave him hope for a better world.

  He is also hoping to see Mary.

  Under the clear blue sky and summer sun, Hiroshi looks out across the cemetery and notices a woman in a pale blue dress. She has dark skin and a thin frame; she has lips that he once kissed. He is frozen to the spot and overcome with the same emotion he felt when he first told Mary he loved her. ‘She is here,’ he says under his breath. The flame in his heart that he carried on the long boat ride home and for almost twenty years still burns as strong as it did the day he first knew he loved her. And now she is here, in front of him, looking for him. Now they can hold each other without fear of reprimand or judgement and, he hopes, without a government policy that says she can’t marry him. ‘She is here,’ he says again.

  While the ceremony is solemn and official, Hiroshi is full of happiness, as if he has just started breathing for the first time. He is focused only on Mary as he starts to move through the crowd. He hasn’t taken his eyes off her for a second, hoping she will look in his direction and see him too. His heart is racing, his palms are sweaty and his mouth is dry. ‘She is here,’ he repeats, and he feels like the luck he experienced two decades ago is here again just for him and the woman he has never stopped loving.

  Then Hiroshi watches Mary turn away without having yet spotted him. He can’t see who she is talking to but by the time he gets to the gate, a man has his arm around her waist. Hiroshi stops still.

  ‘I thought I’d find you here,’ he hears the man say to Mary thoughtfully. ‘It’s time to come home.’

  Acknowledgements

  As history cannot be owned by one person, I thank all those who were part of pulling together the many stories of Cowra that became Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms.

  First, my mum Elsie told me her own stories about growing up at Erambie. It was a wonderful writing journey to be on with her, listening, learning and retelling.

  To those in Cowra who offered their knowledge, wisdom and time in helping me research and then in reading drafts, this book is for you. Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms could not have been written without the support of local Koori historian Dr Lawrence Bamblett; Lawrance Ryan and Graham Apthorpe from the Cowra Breakout Association; Marc McLeish and Aunty
Norma Wallace (Newton) – who were all part of making as complete a story as possible, even though this is of course a novel.

  To my tiddas Beatrice Murray and Jacki Beale, thank you for pounding the pavement with me on early mornings while I was in Cowra researching. I appreciated you trudging up Billy Goat Hill and back again and offering words of support all the while.

  To Ann Weldon (Coe) for reading pages, and Aunty Hazel Williams for sharing the story about Claude Williams and the ‘scary horse’. Thank you.

  I’d also like to acknowledge the friendly staff at Cowra Library, and the volunteers from the Cowra Family History Group for helping load and reload the microfiche machine!

  For information and insight into the Japanese stories around the Cowra Breakout, I thank Professor Mami Yamada for her time, knowledge and feedback on material. Thanks also go to Kylie Wallbridge for researching with me in Tokyo in 2015.

  Heartfelt thanks to Dr Donna Weeks from Musashino University (Tokyo) for providing brilliant translations of Basho’s haiku for the novel.

  Much of the first draft was written while under the care and loving hospitality of my tidda Julie Wark in Barcelona, who also read drafts with a careful eye. I must also acknowledge Carles and the staff at Brunel’s Café too, for filling me with appropriate fuel while writing in their space.

  I did much of the editing of Barbed Wire and Cherry Blossoms at the State Library of Queensland and I thank all the staff at the Queensland Writers Centre for their support and literary collegiality. To my de-stressing swimming tidda Ellen van Neerven for listening to me whinge while I splashed – thank you.