The Long Journey Home

by Cecily Blench

  ‘What? Yes. Just the two of us. Why?’

  ‘Just procedure, sir. We need to know how many people were in the house.’

  ‘Just one,’ said Edwin, the words bitter on his tongue.

  ‘You weren’t here, then, sir? Were you away all night?’

  ‘Yes. I was – staying with a friend.’

  ‘All right, sir.’

  Edwin looked along the street, back towards the city, and for the first time noticed the smoke rising from numerous other sites nearby.

  ‘Lot of other bombs,’ said the officer, following his gaze. ‘They say this is the heaviest night yet.’

  In the distance he could hear the clanging of bells, as fire engines and ambulances raced all over the city. Dozens of others must have died. But what did he care for the rest of them? Almost immediately he heard Emilia’s voice rebuking him, telling him not to be so selfish.

  Since their marriage two years before they had rarely argued. Neither of them were any good at confrontation, so when a difference of opinion reared its head they simply avoided the subject. Emilia had wanted to have a baby as soon as possible but he was reluctant, although he couldn’t quite say why. ‘I need to be earning more,’ he said to begin with and, a little later, ‘They say there’s a war coming.’ Their lovemaking, which had never been frequent, became rarer and rarer.

  ‘I must get going,’ said the policeman. ‘Will you be all right, sir? Have you got somewhere you can stay?’

  ‘Oh – yes. I’ll be fine.’

  The young man noted down Edwin’s parents’ address and put his notebook away in his pocket. ‘You’ll be notified if there are any developments. Once again, sir, I’m very sorry for your loss.’ He hesitated – he looked so young – and then turned towards his car.

  ‘Thank you.’

  The car rattled off down the road and Edwin sat down on the pavement, staring at the remains of the house. He could see activity inside and occasionally saw a billow of dust or smoke rising. He could taste it.

  He found himself weeping suddenly, sobs choking out of him, making him retch into the gutter. He knew he would have to go and tell her parents. Emilia was dead, and he was to blame.

  19

  Mandalay, April 1942

  The end, when it came, was quick. Late in April, early in the morning, Kate was awakened by a bang on the door. A boy on a bicycle handed her an envelope and sped off down the street, his longyi flapping as he stood up on the pedals.

  Kate opened the envelope with a sense of resignation. The typed announcement had obviously been prepared in advance, the date scrawled in.

  GOVT EVACUATION OFFICE

  MANDALAY

  E. O. No. 1639 dated 19 April 42

  You are required to evacuate from Mandalay today. No exceptions will be made. Your assigned meeting place is Mandalay Race Course. You should be there no later than 11 a.m. and await further instructions. Bring only essential luggage and practical clothing.

  ALL GOVT EMPLOYEES AND BRITISH CIVILIANS ARE REQUIRED TO FOLLOW THIS ORDER. REPEAT NO EXCEPTIONS WILL BE MADE.

  It was much as expected. Once again Kate found herself picking through the belongings in the house. She had travelled light from Rangoon, so there was little enough that was actually hers. But the house was full of things that had once been loved dearly by the Faulkner family and it was sad to imagine the toys and shoes and books being left behind.

  After packing her own things, and as much portable food as she could find, there was a little space left in the knapsack. Kate spent a few minutes browsing the bookshelves, debating what she would most appreciate. In the end she chose the Thomas Hardy omnibus edition that she had been meaning to start and a little book of translated Burmese poetry.

  She wondered if Edwin had received the same summons. She knew he would not be sad to see the back of his faded lodgings but being sent away would surely be just as much of a blow to him as it was to her.

  The yellow silk dress still lay crumpled on the floor where she had flung it. Feeling guilty, she picked it up and stuffed it into the side pocket of the knapsack. With a last look around, she closed the door.

  As she passed the humble houses of her neighbours she glanced through open doors and saw people going about their lives: cooking, doing laundry, playing with children, singing, making tea, sitting and staring contentedly into space.

  She wondered if they were scared. They had to know that war was coming nearer and that there was no escape for them. Perhaps they felt that exchanging the British for the Japanese would make no difference to their lives.

  But not everyone was as calm. The streets were busy and the flow seemed to be going in a northerly direction. Clearly people were leaving at a greater rate than before. Each day, going around the refugee camps, she had found that many huts had new occupants and knew that the previous inhabitants must have struck out for somewhere else, further from harm.

  She wondered whether to call in at Edwin’s hotel, but it was out of her way and she guessed that he would have left already. She emerged onto North Moat Road and joined a noisy flow of people, many on foot, others on bicycles and horse carts. Occasionally a motor vehicle, tooting madly, would approach and the crowd would part to let it through before closing in again around it. A tumult of voices swirled all around her and she felt faint in the sticky heat of the morning.

  ‘Are you well, miss?’ asked a young man, looking kindly at her as he held his children’s hands to pull them through the throng. He wore a ragged longyi but his little girls were neatly dressed, their dark heads crowned with flowers.

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s just so busy, and so warm.’ They walked together for a moment and then a current in the crowd pulled her away; she looked over her shoulder to see him smile and bow his head.

  ‘Good luck!’ he called.

  She could see Mandalay Hill in the distance, its lone golden stupa twinkling in the sunlight. The racecourse, which lay at the foot of the hill, was heaving with people and vehicles, and the once green turf had been churned to dust.

  Kate wandered uncertainly through the crowd. She could see familiar faces here and there, but most of them were strangers. There were groups of army wives and their children, government staff, and a few civilians. She was much too warm, and stopped to wipe her brow, trying to see over the heads of the crowd.

  ‘Kate!’ called a voice, and she looked around to see Edwin, his hair plastered to his forehead, carrying his suitcase.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, relieved to see him. ‘What’s going to happen now? I suppose we need to find transport.’

  ‘I was just talking to Evans, over there, the ginger fellow. There aren’t any planes going from Mandalay. He says the government has put on vehicles to go north.’

  Kate looked around at the masses of people. Only a few of them worked for the government. What would happen to everyone else? What about the thousands camped outside the city?

  ‘They’re sending the women and children first, then the men will go another day. Apparently there was a mix-up with the announcements.’

  Kate looked at him in surprise. ‘You mean we won’t be able to go together?’

  ‘I suppose not. You’ll be all right, though.’

  ‘Of course I’ll be all right,’ she said irritably. ‘I was thinking of you. What if you get left behind?’

  ‘I’m sure I won’t. I’ll just get a truck or something in a day or two – as soon as I can.’

  ‘Where to, though?’

  ‘I suppose we’ll head for wherever flights are still leaving from.’

  Kate sighed and looked around. The hot sun made her head ache and the thought of getting into another bumping, baking truck for a journey to who-knows-where filled her with gloom.

  ‘I just wish I knew where any of us were headed.’

  ‘Oh, Kate! There you are!’ Myia appeared at Kate’s side, looking anxious. ‘I was hoping to find you.’

  Kate thought how young Myia looked, altho
ugh she too was approaching thirty. As usual her black hair was swept up in a gleaming knot and she wore a crisp white blouse tucked into her cotton longyi. She carried a canvas bag over her shoulder.

  ‘Did you get a letter, too?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Myia. ‘I was not expecting it. Do you know where we are going?’

  ‘No idea. I wish I did.’

  ‘Perhaps I should stay,’ said Myia, twisting the pendant that hung around her neck. ‘This is my home. How will I get back?’

  ‘It’s not safe,’ said Kate gently. ‘The Japanese will know that you work for the government. You can’t stay here.’

  ‘There’s a truck over there with space for two,’ said Edwin, reappearing. He gestured to where four army trucks were lined up next to each other. Several young soldiers, sweating and stressed, were helping European women and children climb into the back, calling out instructions and lifting toddlers and babies up into waiting arms. Kate hesitated.

  ‘You’d better go,’ said Edwin. ‘Take the chance while it’s there.’ He took her elbow for a moment. ‘Kate . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Just that – well, thank you. Your kindness has meant everything to me and—’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Edwin,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you again soon. Just be careful, all right?’ Instantly she regretted not saying more, for it was true; she could not remember a friendship quite like this one. There was so much that they still had to talk about.

  There was a shout and they hurried over to the trucks. The driver of one, an Indian soldier, emerged to confirm that he had space for two. ‘But you must get in straight away, please.’

  ‘Where are you taking them?’ asked Edwin.

  ‘I’ve orders to head for Katha,’ said the driver, getting back into the front of the truck. ‘Once there, I’ll await instructions.’

  ‘There’s nothing at Katha,’ said Edwin, but the driver was already closing his door. Edwin helped Myia into the truck, and then looked at Kate. ‘Listen, whatever happens keep heading north. There’s an airfield at Myitkyina – if you can get there then you’ll be safe. I’ll try to find you there. Or in India.’

  Kate clambered up and squashed down beside Myia in the back of the truck, which was already occupied by four women and their numerous young children.

  The metal of the truck burned against her skin and she felt light-headed. She looked at Edwin and thought that she ought to say something, find the words for a fitting goodbye, but she was neither his wife nor his lover, and all she could do was to raise a hand as a friend and wave to him, standing there in his wrinkled suit, an anxious smile on his face, as the truck pulled jerkily away and out through the gates, heading north.

  PART II

  Burma and India, 1942

  20

  Mandalay Region, April 1942

  For Edwin, the last days in Mandalay were a blur of heat and anxiety. After watching Kate’s truck disappear, he went back to work and waited for the command to leave. He considered paying for a place in a vehicle, but some vague sense of duty kept him at his post.

  Civilisation in Mandalay had all but broken down. Every day the city was strafed by Japanese planes and fires raged all around, the air filled with a noxious blend of smoke and dust. Leaflets were dropped by the enemy, urging the populace to abandon the city. Chinese and British casualties were arriving in trains and on the back of trucks, but few medical staff remained to treat them. Those doctors who stayed were overworked and one by one they vanished, either to move their surgeries further north, away from the Japanese advance, or to save themselves.

  A week or so after Kate had left, Edwin was woken by the tooting of a horn outside his lodgings. Stumbling out onto the dusty street he saw his colleague Patrick rearranging luggage strapped to the back of an ancient two-seater motor car.

  ‘Morning, Edwin. Time to leave!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A message came round. Didn’t you get it? They’re abandoning the city. I thought you might like a lift.’

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ said Edwin and hurried back inside. For a few seconds he leaned against a wall in the dark hallway and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, before gathering a few possessions.

  Soon they were on their way, crawling through the suburbs of Mandalay in a stream of cars, cyclists, and pedestrians. It seemed that all the world was on the move.

  ‘Where did you get this car?’ said Edwin. ‘It’s seen better days.’

  ‘I looted it,’ said Patrick, watching the traffic with a frown. ‘Well, found it. In a garage near my digs. Took ages to start, but she’s going all right now. The owners are long gone.’

  Slowly they moved south, winding through the tightly packed streets. Occasionally they passed a bomb site, flattened buildings and black ash showing where the Japanese had dropped their incendiary bombs.

  ‘God, what a mess,’ said Patrick, shaking his head. ‘These poor people. They don’t deserve any of this.’

  Soon Edwin saw that they were passing Amarapura. Only ten days ago he and Kate had been out on the water in the early morning, and he wondered, with a pang, when he would see her again. The strange intensity of their friendship had crept up on him and, as the sun rose over Amarapura, he had felt closer to her than ever before. The peace of that morning was gone, but the pagoda itself still stood out, white and brilliant. It had outlived the kings of old and now the British imperialists. He wondered if it would outlast the Japanese, too.

  Occasionally by the roadside they saw British sentries, armed with guns, but they didn’t seem to be stopping anyone and waved the cars and walkers through. Finally they reached the great Ava Bridge, which crossed the Irrawaddy south of Mandalay. A group of soldiers guarded the toll gates, but they stood open and Patrick drove slowly through.

  ‘They’re blowing up the bridge tonight,’ said Patrick, gesturing at the metal struts on either side of them.

  Edwin peered down at the river and saw it stretching away on either side, gleaming like copper. ‘This really is a retreat, isn’t it? What about those who don’t get across in time?’

  ‘Too bad, I suppose,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s the only bridge across this part of the Irrawaddy. After tomorrow it’ll be boats only. Or swimming, although I wouldn’t want to try that.’

  Just before they left the bridge Edwin looked back for the last time. Smoke rose high above the ruins of Mandalay and sorrow gripped him. Some of it was for Burma, but it was so tied up with Emilia and London and Kate and her father that he couldn’t be sure who, or what, he was grieving for.

  *

  They drove for several hours under a blazing sun, passing streams of people walking and others piled into rickshaws and on bicycles. After examining his maps, Patrick turned off the main road onto a little-used lane, just after a crumbling pagoda.

  ‘If I’ve got it right this will save us some time,’ he said. ‘We just need to keep going west. We’re bound to hit an airfield eventually. And of course India’s over there somewhere if we drive for long enough.’

  ‘How did you get those maps?’ asked Edwin, glancing at the rolls in the back. ‘We were told to destroy everything.’

  ‘I liberated them,’ said Patrick. ‘It seemed a shame to burn them when they might be useful. There are three or four airfields marked. We’ll just have to hope they’re not already in enemy hands.’

  A little later the car started to make alarming noises, juddering and clanking, while steam rose from the engine. The sound made Edwin think of Kate and the woman they had tried to save. He would never forget the cries of pain and fear, the misery in her husband’s eyes.

  ‘Know anything about cars?’ asked Patrick as they rolled to a stop on a dusty verge.

  ‘Not really,’ said Edwin apologetically. He had seen the Rolls Royce again a few days before, a burned-out shell on the road near Fort Dufferin. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ said Patrick.

  Together they opened the bonnet
and peered down at the unfamiliar arrangement within. It was red-hot to the touch and steam still hissed.

  ‘Could we be out of petrol?’ asked Edwin.

  Patrick frowned. ‘We shouldn’t be, I filled it up with all that I could find. It should take us much further than this.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s a leak,’ said Edwin and squatted down to peer under the car. ‘I may be wrong,’ came his muffled voice, ‘but I’d say that’s a leak. Quite a bad one.’

  Patrick knelt down and looked to where Edwin was pointing. In the dust was a dark puddle, formed by a rapid dripping of liquid from the car’s undercarriage.

  ‘Oh, Christ.’

  Edwin sniffed. ‘It’s oil.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to fix it with,’ said Patrick, sitting back on his haunches.

  In the end there was nothing to do but go on, leaving a trail of drips on the dusty road. The noise of the engine grew worse all the time and the light faded as they drove west, talking of what they would do when they found an airfield and got away to India.

  ‘I expect I shall join up,’ said Patrick, frowning at the sky, where an aeroplane flew in the distance, heading north. ‘I’d like to be involved when they run the Japs out of Burma.’

  ‘Do you have family at home?’

  ‘Just my parents,’ said Patrick. ‘The minute I get to Calcutta I’ll write and tell them I’m safe.’

  Edwin wondered what he ought to do. He had no picture of the future or what he should do with it. In the short term, his concern was with finding Kate and making sure she was all right. He imagined exploring the new city with her. But what then? What would he do with the rest of his life? Try as he might, he could not see what he would be doing in five years, or ten, or twenty. The future was blank.

  The engine began to smoke and the car got slower and slower. At last Patrick heaved a deep sigh and stopped the car on a narrow road between two fields of sugar cane. Smoke poured out from under the bonnet. They salvaged what they could of their possessions and pushed the car as far off the road as possible.