by Hazel Gaynor
I was almost done packing when Minnie peered around the doorframe. “Are you done? They’re asking everyone to assemble outside.”
I pulled down the lid of the trunk and sank onto the bed. “Yes, I’m done.”
She let out a long sigh as she sat beside me. “I know it’s silly to feel sentimental about a building, but I’ve been here so long and I’m ever so fond of the old place. It’s my home, Els. It’s where I belong.”
I’d often wondered what—or who—had brought Minnie to China, but I’d never directly asked. You could see the past in people though, and I’d caught occasional glimpses of hers, especially at the end of the day, when we’d sat on the bed together, backs against the wall, our shoes kicked off as we talked about our favorite books, or a special piece of music. A wistful sigh, a particular song, a name mentioned in passing—the telltale signs of everyone’s past were there if you looked closely enough. Most of the time, we chose not to look. It was easier, somehow, to keep things hidden away.
I tucked my arm into the crook of hers. “It isn’t the bricks and mortar that make a home, Minnie. It’s the people. Your home will be wherever you are. Wherever we are.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose, waving my remark away. “Don’t be kind, Els. You’ll only make it worse.”
I smiled, and leaned into her. “I’m not sure things can get any worse than they already are.”
But we both knew they could. The longer the war went on, the worse things would get. It was only a matter of time.
Chapter 14
Nancy
We clattered noisily along the corridor, bumping awkwardly down the steps with our heavy cases, pillows and favorite teddies and dolls stuffed under our arms. I’d tied brown string around my tea caddy so it was easier to carry, but I still struggled to manage everything.
“Why don’t you put that in your case,” Sprout suggested. “It’d be one less thing to carry.”
I told her I would rather hold on to it.
“What do you keep in there anyway?” Mouse asked.
“Special things.”
“Like a treasure chest?”
“A bit. Yes.”
“I wouldn’t have anything to put in a treasure chest,” she said. “I don’t have anything special.”
“Of course you do, silly! You’ve all your Brownie badges for a start. They’re special, aren’t they.”
“I suppose so. Yes.”
I promised to help Mouse start a treasure chest as soon as we were settled into our dorm at the new school.
“I wonder if it will be the same,” I said. “Eight beds, and bamboo blinds at the windows. Perhaps it will be even bigger. I hope we still get to share, anyway.”
At the bottom of the stairs, while we waited for everyone to catch up, Sprout grabbed both our hands. “Quick. Come with me.”
“What are you doing?” I whispered as she pulled us along the corridor. “We’ll get into trouble.”
“We’re saying goodbye,” she said over her shoulder. “If we’re quick they won’t even miss us.”
She took us to our classroom first.
As she pushed the door open, the three of us stepped tentatively inside. We stood quietly together, lost in our memories. I stared at the proud dragon of the school crest, and the school motto above the blackboard: IN DEO FIDIMUS and NIHIL ABSQUE LABORE. Trust in God. Nothing without Labor.
“Eyes on the horizon, that’s the ticket,” I whispered.
Sprout looked at me. “What did you say?”
I smiled. “Nothing. Just remembering something somebody once said to me.”
It was sad to see the blackboard wiped clean of Miss Kent’s writing, her chair pushed behind the desk, all our work taken down from the walls. I wondered if she’d kept the heart-shaped pebble I’d once left on her desk.
“It’s like we’ve already left,” I said.
“It’s like we were never here,” Sprout replied, smothering a cough behind her hand.
“But part of us will always be here,” Mouse added. “Even if we’re not.”
We both looked at her. As ever, she’d said the last and most important thing.
“We’d best get back,” I said, “before they send out a search party.”
I closed the classroom door behind us, and locked the memories away in my mind.
Deflated, we trudged back along the corridor, past the trophy cabinets full of silver cups and house shields, and for one last time we stepped into the assembly hall where we’d first heard the news that we were at war with Japan. So much had happened since, it was hard to believe it wasn’t even a year ago.
From the hall, we were led out to the courtyard, where we stood among the groups of teachers and children, our possessions strewn around us, our embroidered armbands placed over our coat sleeves. I reached up onto my tiptoes to search for Edward, but I couldn’t see him, or Larry, anywhere.
“He’ll be here somewhere,” Sprout said, guessing that I was looking for him. “They won’t leave anyone behind.”
“It would be just like Edward to be left behind on purpose.” I sighed. “I hope he isn’t planning to do anything silly.”
We’d been instructed to wear several layers of clothing so that there was less for us to carry. I was bundled up so tight I could hardly bend my arms properly, but I was at least warm, and there was a lot to be said for that. Along with some of the other girls, I wore a borrowed coat, mine having mysteriously gone missing during our first winter under Japanese guard. We were all neatly turned out in our uniforms, hands scrubbed clean, hair thoroughly combed, faces gleaming.
“You’d think we were part of a festival parade,” Sprout said, looking around. “Not a group of enemy prisoners.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being smart,” I replied. “I’d rather be neat and tidy than scruffy and dirty. You know what Miss Kent says. ‘A tidy girl makes for a tidy mind.’”
We repeated the words together, and smiled at each other, but my smile hid an awful lot of sadness and worry.
The teachers walked along our lines, taking a register for each year group, closely watched all the time by the guards. Connie had told Sprout that Commander Hayashi was staying at the school, but Home Run and Charlie Chaplin and some of the other soldiers would accompany us to the new school. I don’t know how Connie knew these things. Perhaps it was because she was older than us.
Sleepy and sluggish after a restless night, we fussed and fidgeted while we waited for the instruction to move off. I heard the occasional meow from Tinkerbell, who was hidden in a small bag looped across Miss Butterworth’s body, concealed beneath her overcoat.
“She won’t suffocate, will she, Miss?” I asked. We were all ever so worried about the tiny little thing.
“She’ll be fine, Nancy,” Miss Butterworth assured. “Nice and warm. I made lots of holes in the bag so she’ll have plenty of air.”
She smiled her prim little smile, which always made me feel safe and sure, although I couldn’t help noticing how Miss Butterworth flinched when the guards walked past with their huge dogs. Their paws alone could flatten Tinkerbell with one step.
Our mattresses and bedrolls and larger trunks had been brought down from the dorms, and were now piled high onto handcarts and rickshaws. Other carts were loaded with pots and pans, washboards and hot irons and other domestic equipment, as well as more suitcases stuffed full of books and school supplies.
I remarked on how little room they’d left for us on the rickshaws, but my assumption that we would be transported to the new school was quickly proven wrong.
“Now, children. We will be walking for quite a while,” Miss Kent announced.
“Walking, Miss?” Winnie Morris blurted it out, but we were all thinking the same thing.
“Yes, Winnie. Walking. If we keep up a good pace, we should be there in just over an hour. Perhaps two, allowing for the luggage.”
We were all surprised to learn that we would
walk to the new school. Winnie was downright disgusted.
“So now we’re really being treated like enemy prisoners. This certainly wasn’t what my mother had in mind when she sent me to the best school this side of the Suez,” she grumbled.
I wished she hadn’t mentioned mothers. I tightened my grip on the string of my tea caddy as a cold breeze tugged at our hats.
Miss Kent ignored Winnie, although she didn’t look very pleased. “You must stay in your pairs, and leave a gap between yourself and the pair in front. We don’t want anyone treading on our heels. And remember to smile and sing along the way.”
“Sing, Miss?” Now it was Sprout’s turn to speak up.
“Yes, Dorothy. Sing! No Girl Guide worth her salt sets out on an expedition without a rousing song to keep her company. We’ll march out of those gates with our heads held high and a song on our lips, because a Guide smiles and sings under all difficulties, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, Miss. She does.”
“Jolly good. Then that’s exactly what we’ll do. Besides, singing will keep us warm.”
A whistle was blown to signal the off, and our group of over one hundred children, a dozen teachers, several missionaries, and three school nurses, set off at a brisk march. I tried not to be sad or scared, and to remember what Miss Kent had said about always looking forward, never back, but no matter how much I forced myself to smile, my voice pitched and wobbled like a ship in a storm as we sang our way through the school gates.
“Off on an adventure we go,” Miss Kent called over her shoulder. “Just like Livingstone, and Lewis and Clark, and Gertrude Bell.”
“It doesn’t feel much like an adventure,” Sprout grumbled beside me. “It feels more like a punishment.”
Beyond the school gates, the roadside was lined with people. It was such a long time since we’d seen anyone apart from each other and our Japanese guards, that I couldn’t help but stare. The women and girls were clothed in tattered dresses and trousers, the men in faded blue cotton jackets and trousers, patched-up straw sandals, and bamboo hats. Their faces were gaunt from lack of food, and their clothes hung off their shrunken bodies, yet they smiled and waved their encouragement and clasped their hands together, as if in prayer. I suppose we must have been a curious spectacle, a group of schoolchildren and their teachers, marching away from the school, as if we were part of a parade and not under enemy guard at all.
I searched the crowd for Shu Lan, or Wei Huan, or any of the servants I might recognize, but I found only the faces of kind strangers. Something about them being there to wave us off made me feel a little better about where we were going.
As we marched away from Chefoo School, I took one last look at our beloved bay to the right, the junks and sampans dotted about on the water with their sails spread wide. I looked to the horizon, and then to the long road ahead, leading us toward a new school, and away from everything we knew. A cool breeze danced and swirled among us, tugging at our hats and blowing out our coats in time to our song.
We walked for a long time before we stopped for a rest. A line of first-year boys stopped in front of our group, and while Miss Kent and Master Harris had a long conversation about something or other, we sat on the small cases we each carried, glad to be off our feet for a while. I thought an insect had landed in my hair and brushed it away, only to feel something else land in my hair straight after. I turned around to see Larry Crofton picking up small stones from the road and flicking them at me. I scowled and turned away, but he did it again.
“Stop it,” I said. I stood up and folded my arms crossly.
He smiled. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll tell.”
He didn’t seem particularly concerned. “I thought you might like some help carrying that case. It’s almost as big as you.”
I was tired, but I didn’t want to appear weak. “I can manage perfectly well. What about your own case anyway?” I asked. “Who’ll carry that?”
“I’ve two arms, haven’t I?”
He smiled again, and I wanted to laugh because his ears moved up when he smiled.
I scowled at him instead. “You can carry this case if you’re so keen to help.” I told Sprout to quickly stand up, and passed her case to Larry. Sprout’s cough was at her again, and she’d been struggling for the last while.
Larry took the case, pushed a strand of sandy-colored hair from his eyes, and turned to face the front.
As we set off again, I picked up a small stone and threw it. With a perfect aim, it landed in the middle of Larry’s neck. He didn’t turn around, but I could tell he was smiling because the tips of his ears moved up.
“He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he,” Sprout whispered as she walked beside me.
I adjusted my grip on the handle of my case and winced as it banged off my shins.
“He’s a boy, Sprout,” I replied. “Handsome or not, they’re all horrid.”
Chapter 15
Elspeth
Despite the autumnal chill, I soon began to perspire beneath my many layers. My suitcase, although smaller than the trunk I’d hefted onto one of the rickshaws, was still cumbersome and heavy, and banged painfully against my shins with every step. I tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the words of the children’s song.
“God is our refuge, our refuge and our strength. In trouble, in trouble, a very present help . . .”
As their earnest little voices infused the air with bravery and hope, I thought about what we might be leading them toward. My courage faltered with every step.
From Charlie’s radio, and the occasional letters from home that had made their way to us, we’d heard intermittent reports of British nationals, servicemen, and other Western civilians being taken to large internment camps in Hong Kong, and on the islands of Java and Sumatra. Although we couldn’t be certain, rumors suggested that these camps were under the control of the Imperial Japanese Army. If true, accounts of conditions there were horrifying. Reports of torture, slave labor, rape, and a high death toll from infectious disease were almost impossible to comprehend. It was simply too terrifying to think that we might be taking the children toward something similar.
“Is there nothing at all we can do?” I’d asked at our final staff meeting the previous evening, exasperated by how easily everyone had accepted the instruction to leave. “No compromise to be reached? Nothing HQ can do to stop it?”
Mr. Collins had answered me, his face full of empathy for my frustration. “I’m afraid this isn’t up for negotiation, Elspeth. We’ve been given our orders to leave, and that’s what we will do. We may not know what lies ahead, but I do know that faith, routine, and discipline are our best allies now. Of course, there will be challenges ahead, but the matter of how we approach those challenges is entirely in our own hands. Whatever weapons our enemy has, never forget that we possess the most powerful weapon of all: the ability to educate. With that knowledge alone, we should all walk through the school gates tomorrow with our heads held high.”
As I walked on, I wondered, truly, if our abilities as teachers would be enough to cope with whatever awaited us at Temple Hill.
As we passed the crowds who lined the road, eager to gawp at our ragtag group, one of the women lunged forward, grabbed my arm, and pulled me roughly out of the line. I recognized her as one of the school cooks.
“Please let go,” I gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
The girls behind me bunched up like a concertina as I tried to pull away, but she gripped hard.
“Send doctor, Miss. Please! My son. Very sick.” She pressed a piece of paper into my hand. The despair in her eyes was unbearable.
I glanced at the paper, but I couldn’t understand the writing. I didn’t have time to process her rambling distress, or to cry out a warning to her as a guard raised his bamboo stick and cast a heavy blow to the back of her legs. I could only stare in horror as she fell to the ground like a pile of washday rags. The crowd around her peeled away. Not one person went to help her.
I was too shocked to move until the same bamboo stick prodded me in the back and propelled me forward.
“You! March on!” the guard shouted. “Go!”
The piece of paper fell to the ground as I walked on, horrified by what I’d witnessed, but urged on by some greater instinct for my own safety. Behind me, I heard Minnie encouraging the girls to keep singing, as if nothing had happened at all.
“God is our refuge, our refuge and our strength. In trouble, in trouble, a very present help . . .”
It didn’t take long for the first of the stragglers to fall behind. Time and again we had to stop and wait for those at the rear to catch up. The younger children were soon exhausted, and those for whom physical exercise had always been a chore, struggled to keep up the pace. Several children who weren’t in the best of health pressed on valiantly, despite their sniffles and coughs. Those who weren’t concentrating trod on the heels of those in front. Unwieldy cases banged against legs. Hats and gloves were continually dropped and retrieved, and cross words were exchanged.
Winnie Morris refused to carry on after we’d taken a short rest.
“Come along, Winnie. On we go,” I said, as brightly as I could.
She stuck out her bottom lip, folded her arms, and kicked petulantly at the ground with the toe of her shoe. “I’m too tired.”
I glanced at Minnie, who thankfully stepped in, aware that I was losing my patience.
“Come along now, Winnie,” she chirped. “We’re all tired, but we’re almost there, and we can’t very well leave you behind, can we?”
At that precise moment, I would have happily left Winnie behind, and anyone else who volunteered, for that matter.
Winnie huffed out a breath as she stood up. “My father won’t be pleased to hear about this. I was sent here to prepare for my Oxfords, not to go marching about from one school to another.”
