A Multitude of Sins

by Margaret Pemberton

  The remainder of the journey was conducted at a snail’s pace, and it was nearly eight o’clock by the time they crawled into Kowloon’s crowded outskirts.

  ‘I’m going to dump this and put you in the first taxi I see,’ he began to say, and then was deafened by the screaming approach of planes, wave after wave of them, hurtling down from the north towards Kai Tak.

  There was no time for them to take shelter. Split seconds later bombs rained down on the airfield, and then a plane wheeled away from the others, swooping low over Kowloon. Raefe jammed on the brakes, shouting to the Chinese to run for cover. As he grabbed Melissa’s hand, dragging her from the jeep, there was a terrific whistling sound and then the crash of an exploding bomb blasted their eardrums. There were other planes screaming overhead now, and a stick of bombs falling directly in their path. There was a culvert at the side of the road, and Raefe threw Melissa down beside it, rolling on top of her as the bombs cracked the street wide open. He was deafened by the crash of impact, by screams; blinded by dust and thick black acrid smoke.

  An eternity later he raised his head, looking back across the road. The jeep was a flaming mass of twisted metal. Chinese were running in all directions, some with their clothes on fire, some with blood running down their faces.

  Melissa was sobbing hysterically beneath him, her hands pressed desperately over her ears. Another plane dive-bombed, and he ducked his head, tightening his hold of her; and then, as the explosion thundered in his ears, he was wrenched away from her, lifted bodily into the air and slammed down twenty yards away in the middle of the blazing road.

  He choked for breath, heat searing the back of his throat, dust filling his mouth. As he stumbled to his knees amid billowing smoke, he half-fell against a soft moist object He looked down at it, swaying dizzily. It was an arm, bloodily severed from the shoulder. He clapped his right arm to his left, reassuring himself that they were both still intact, and then he saw the bleeding body to his right. It was a Chinese, still alive, screaming frenziedly, his arm and shoulder socket a hideous black hole.

  He staggered to his feet, running back between burning cars to the culvert and to Melissa. She was lying face down, part of her skirt and her blouse ripped from her body, blood pouring from a gash in her head. He felt her pulse and then ripped another length of material from her torn skirt, making a pad with his handkerchief and bandaging it clumsily in place. He had to get her to a hospital, and the hospitals would be crammed with the Chinese victims of the attack. Scooping her up in his arms, he ran with her across the road and into a maze of side-streets. The Kowloon hospital would be the nearest. It was crazy, to wait for an ambulance, even though he could hear their sirens screeching towards him. Glass littered the streets, doors hung crazily askew, sobbing terrified Chinese ran in all directions. He could taste blood in his mouth and wondered where it was coming from, and then he weaved round the last corner and into the forecourt of the hospital, and a white-coated figure was running towards him.

  ‘What the hell happened?’

  ‘Bombs! A whole stick of them! There must be thirty dead!’

  Melissa was swiftly taken from him and placed on a trolley. ‘Who is she?’ the doctor asked as a nursing attendant began to propel the trolley at high speed towards an examination room.

  ‘My wife. My ex-wife.’

  The sound of sirens pierced the air as the first of the ambulances returned with their bloody cargo.

  ‘It doesn’t look good,’ the doctor said a few seconds later as he examined Melissa. ‘Nurse, have this patient prepared for theatre at once.’

  It was only then that Raefe realized that the nurse at the doctor’s side was Helena.

  ‘Yes, doctor.’ Helena was already doing as he instructed.

  As Helena started to peel away what was left of her clothes, Melissa groaned, her eyes flickering open. ‘Raefe?’ she whispered with difficulty. ‘Raefe?’

  He took her hand, bending over her, saying gently: ‘I’m here, Mel. I’m with you.’

  For one brief moment her fingers pressed feebly against his and a smile touched the corners of her mouth. ‘Good…,’ she exhaled. ‘Good, I’m so glad.…’ And then her eyes closed and she was still.

  ‘Doctor Meredith!’ Helena called urgently. The doctor was instantly back at her side. He felt for Melissa’s pulse, lifted the eyelid of one eye and then did all he could to resuscitate her. His efforts were in vain. ‘It’s no good,’ he said at last. ‘She’s dead.’

  He couldn’t waste time in further commiserations; his casualty ward resembled a battlefield. The curtain whisked behind him, and it was left to Helena to say: ‘I’m sorry, Raefe.’

  He stood looking down at the face of the girl he had married only brief years before. There had been a time, when he had been standing trial for Jacko Latimer’s murder, when he had thought her death would be a matter of supreme indifference to him. It was no longer. Over the last two years they had slowly and painfully forged a new relationship. A relationship based on acceptance of the past and one far finer than anything that had gone previously.

  ‘Thank you, Helena,’ he said thickly. He couldn’t stay. His duty was at Fortress headquarters. ‘Make sure her body is treated with respect.’ he said, and before she could suggest that she tended the deep gash over his left eye he had spun on his heel, striding between the wounded and the dying that were being brought in off the streets, breaking into a run as he reached the door.

  Julienne had reported early to her nursing station and had tan told that she was not needed as yet. Volunteers were, however, needed at the Peninsula Hotel, and she was asked if she would report for duty there and help the Red Cross nurses turn it into a temporary hospital. She had happily agreed and driven to the Peninsula in her little Morris, enjoying the novelty of being up and about so early in the day. It was still not eight o’clock. She giggled to herself, wondering what Ronnie would say when she told him. It was a standing joke between them that in all the years they had been married she had never been up and dressed before ten o’clock.

  The Peninsula Hotel was a hive of activity when she arrived. Bellboys were busily rolling up the luxurious carpets, guests were cheerfully helping to stack chairs and tables at the far end of the ballroom, and blackout material was being hastily cut to fit the windows.

  ‘Morning, Mrs Ledsham,’ a bellboy said, pausing in his work to give her an admiring grin as she walked exuberantly into the lobby, her shoe heels high, her skirt tight and with provocative side-splits similar to those the Wanchai bar-girls wore in their cheong-sams.

  ‘Bonjour,’ Julienne returned, her smile wide. ‘Where can I find the Red Cross sister in charge?’

  The sister in charge regarded her with despair. ‘We are no longer playing at war, Mrs Ledsham,’ she said coldly. ‘We are at war. Kindly remove your make-up and nail varnish and then assist the other nurses in preparing cots for the wounded.’

  Julienne was about to make a most unsuitable reply when her future nursing career was saved by a tall good-looking Dutchman who was standing at one of the far windows.

  ‘My God,’ he called out to them, ‘come over here and look at this!’

  They did so and stared in disbelief at the planes bearing down towards Kai Tak Airport.

  ‘They must be ours,’ Julienne uttered, aghast. ‘They can’t possibly be Japanese.’ And then, a moment later, the bombs began to fall.

  Within a few hours of leaving the lush splendour of the Peninsula’s ballroom, Alastair found himself in the far north of the New Territories. His orders were straight forward. He and his men were to maintain observation on the frontier and report any Japanese troop movements. They were also to ensure that all bridges were successfully demolished and then they were to withdraw in an orderly manner to the Gin Drinkers’Line, further to the south, where a stand would be taken. All through Sunday, the Japanese were well within their sights, massing on the far side of the border, but making no move to attack.

  ‘They will, th
ough,’ Alastair said grimly to his captain. ‘Just give them enough time and they will.’

  At ten minutes to five on Monday morning he received a terse message over the field-telephone, telling him that Britain and Japan were officially at war. By seven-thirty the Japanese were pouring over the border and Alastair was leading his men into the first bloody engagement of the war.

  Elizabeth drove straight to the Jockey Club. The streets that had been so quiet the previous day were now choked with cars and trucks as people hurried to their posts. She drove with one hand nearly permanently on the car horn, refusing to be intimidated by daredevil rickshaw-boys or the crowded one-decker buses that kept hurtling past her.

  ‘It looks as if this is really it,’ Miriam Gresby said nervously to her when she arrived.

  Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. She had never known Miriam to be anything but aggressively bombastic. To her horror she realized that the older woman was frightened. ‘Come on, Miriam, it will soon be over’she said with an optimism she was far from feeling. ‘Let’s get to work.’

  A lorry was already discharging equipment, and they set to, ferrying camp beds into the Jockey Club, putting them into position, helping with the setting-up of the operating-theatre on the first floor. Within an hour their patients had begun to arrive. Most of them were very old and sick, refugees who had been sleeping rough on the streets of Kowloon for weeks, some of them for months.

  ‘Oh God, who would have thought one bombing raid could cause so many injuries?’ a tired-looking blonde said to Elizabeth at lunch-time as they snatched a sandwich and a cup of coffee. ‘If this is only the beginning, how are we going to cope with what comes later?’

  The morning raid was followed by others. A military post, established in the nearby members’ enclosure, let off deafening rounds of anti-aircraft fire as the planes swooped low overhead and, though no bombs were dropped in their vicinity, the noise and the sight of the smoke still billowing over Kowloon rendered most of their patients half-senseless with terror.

  It was ten o’clock at night before she was told to go home and get some rest. She walked wearily out to her car, her legs and her back aching, her head splitting. For the moment the skies were silent. Perhaps, she thought as she turned the key in the ignition, the rumours about the Japanese not being able to see in the dark were true. She fervently hoped so. She needed a decent night’s sleep if she was to face another equally arduous day in a few hour’s time.

  Mei Lin ran to greet her, sobbing with relief. ‘Oh, missy, I think something terrible happen to you! All day I’ve been here alone and there has been such noise and such smoke!’

  ‘It’s over for the moment, Mei Lin,’ Elizabeth said wearily. ‘Pour me a gin and tonic, will you?’ She eyed the chairs and the sofa longingly but did not sit down. She had an urgent telephone call to make before she allowed her-self such luxury.

  She dialled Helena’s Kowloon number, praying that the line was still in working order and that Helena was back from the Kowloon Hospital.

  When Helena’s calm deep-toned voice answered the insistent ringing, she leaned against the wall in relief. ‘Helena? It’s Elizabeth. You can’t continue to stay over in Kowloon with the children; it’s far too dangerous. Drive over here and stay with me, please.’

  ‘No’Helena’s voice was as tired as her own. ‘It’s impossible, Elizabeth. The situation in the hospital is beyond belief.’ She paused for a moment and then said: ‘There’s something I have to tell you.…’

  ‘Then, you must send the children over here! I’m going to telephone Li Pi in a minute. I want him to come here, too. He could bring the children with him.…’

  ‘Melissa is dead. Raefe brought her into the hospital at ten past eight this morning.’

  Elizabeth slid slowly down the wall until she was sitting on her heels. ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘They were caught in the raid this morning. She was alive when he brought her in, but she died within minutes.’

  Elizabeth was silent. It was a strange experience, feeling grief for a woman she had never met; a woman who had once been the centre of Raefe’s life. Whatever she said would sound trite, and so – as there were no words to describe her feelings – she said nothing.

  ‘I’m grateful for your offer to take the children,’ Helena said tactfully, when they had both been respectfully silent for a moment, ‘but they are just as safe here as they would be in Victoria. The bombing is going to be pretty indiscriminate.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking only of the bombs,’ Elizabeth said soberly, wrenching her thoughts away from Melissa. ‘I was thinking of the Japanese advance.’

  ‘They won’t advance very far. The Royal Scots will be sending them back across the border with their tails between their legs. They’re certainly not going to advance south as far as Kowloon.’

  ‘All right,’ Elizabeth said reluctantly. ‘But, if things change for the worse, promise me you’ll send the children to me.’

  ‘I promise,’ Helena said affectionately. ‘Goodnight, Elizabeth. I must get some sleep. I’m back on duty in five hours and I’ve never been so tired in all my life.’

  Elizabeth grinned. ‘Me, too,’ she said wearily. ‘Goodnight, Helena. God bless.’

  Mei Lin brought her an ice-cold gin and tonic, and she sipped it gratefully as she dialled Li Pi’s number. He was as adamant as Helena that Kowloon was in no worse danger than Victoria. ‘I will come to you if necessary,’ he promised at last, ‘but not before.’

  She had been forced to put the telephone receiver down with both her objectives unrealized.

  ‘Will you be out all day again tomorrow, missy?’ Mei Lin asked her, her slant eyes wide and frightened.

  Elizabeth sank down into one of her chairs. ‘Yes,’ she said, wondering how she would find the strength to get undressed and go to bed. ‘If there are air raids tomorrow, Mei Lin, you must go down to the shelters. You will be safe there.’

  Mei Lin gave a little sob. The thought of the dark, crowded shelters terrified her almost as much as the thought of the Japanese did. ‘Yes, missy,’ she said obediently, but she had no intention of doing as Elizabeth suggested. She would hide in the apartment, under the table as she had done all day. The apartment was in an elegant European area. The Japanese would surely not bomb European houses. Such an outrage was inconceivable. If she was going to be safe anywhere, she would be safe beneath Missy Harland’s table.

  ‘I run you a bath, missy,’ she said, eager to please, feeling suddenly braver. ‘Japanese soon run away from British soldiers. Everything soon all right again.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Everything was not soon all right again. For the next two days the bombing and shelling of Kowloon and Victoria continued. The casualties at the Jockey Club increased from a steady flow to a barely containable torrent. The supplies that had seemed so adequate when they were being offloaded from the lorries now proved to be barely sufficient. Old sheets were torn into strips for bandages. Chlorine and rock salt were used to eke out the diminishing supplies of disinfectant. The fierce enthusiasm which most volunteers had exhibited on the first day began to be replaced by ever-increasing anxiety.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ Miriam Gresby said petulantly. ‘What are our troops doing? Why aren’t the planes being shot down?’

  ‘Because land-based anti-aircraft guns aren’t very effective,’ Elizabeth said with as much patience as she could muster, ‘and we haven’t planes of our own in which to do battle with them. What planes we had were all destroyed in the first raid on Kai Tak.’

  ‘Nevertheless, something should be done,’ Miriam said querulously. ‘It’s been three days now, and my nerves are in shreds.’

  Very little outside news filtered through to Adam and his fellow-Volunteers manning a pillbox on the south side of the island, overlooking Aberdeen harbour. On Wednesday morning a motorcycle messenger gave them the news that there had been fierce fighting in the New Territories since first l
ight on Monday, and that the Japanese had broken through the Gin Drinkers’Line and were now fighting their way towards Kowloon.

  ‘Jesus,’ one of Adam’s companions said, stunned, ‘I thought the Gin Drinkers’Line was supposed to be as far south as the Japs would get.’

  Adam had thought so, too, and now he watched the sea-approaches to Aberdeen harbour with even greater vigilance. If any Japanese sailed into the sights of his gun, they would have a very nasty surprise indeed.

  ‘Do you think they’ll try to make a surprise landing?’ a former clerk in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank asked him nervously.

  ‘I wish they would,’ Adam said grimly, impatient for action. ‘I just wish to God that they would!’

  Up on the heights of Sai Wan Hill, looking out towards Kowloon and the mainland, Ronnie had been under intermittent air attack for two days.

  ‘The bastards really mean business, don’t they?’ he said to Leigh Stafford, who was his platoon commander.

  ‘They do, and the military made a gross error in under-estimating them,’ Leigh Stafford said bitterly. ‘All that cock about the Japanese air force being of a low standard and their bombing poor! Their bombing was accurate enough at Kai Tak. Every bloody plane we had was destroyed before it could take off! They’ve got us by the short and curlies, old boy. These next few days are going to be critical. If they once chase us off the mainland, we’ll be under siege and they’ll be able to lobby us with mortar fire from Kowloon all day and all night.’

  By dusk on Tuesday, Alastair and his men had made a bloody but planned retreat to the Gin Drinkers’Line. Here, in the underground tunnels and pillboxes and observation posts of the Shingmun Redoubt, they were to make their stand against the Japanese and prevent any further advance to Kowloon.

  ‘It isn’t exactly the Ritz, is it?’ he heard one of his men say as they hurled themselves down into the dank claustrophobic depths of tunnels that had been dug and cemented years before, as a precaution against an attack that no one had believed would come.