26
Upper Burma, May 1942
The jungle seemed alive with voices. All around them people were walking north, children and old people and families and groups of young men and women. Kate noticed that the vast majority were Indian and wondered how many of them had ever even seen India. They too had left their homes and were walking towards an unknown future.
She and Myia had slept restlessly under a tree, listening to the sounds of crying and arguing all around them as people began to grasp that there would be no more aeroplanes. She had known from the moment the plane exploded that she would not get to India that way and felt oddly calm about it. The only thing to do was to start walking.
Fred Thompson had appeared after breakfast, as though it had been arranged, carrying an army knapsack and with a kukri hanging in its sheath at his side. With little discussion they shouldered their bags and started walking north. Fred said they should head towards Fort Hertz to begin with, but the name meant nothing to Kate; all she knew was that they were walking towards India, an incomprehensible distance away.
To begin with it felt crowded, but as the hours passed people spread out more as the slower walkers fell behind. Eventually they found a rough dirt track that wound through the trees, sometimes emerging to pass fields and, in the distance, villages.
All around, bright yellow and white orchids bloomed and broad ferns drooped onto the edge of the track. A bird called somewhere nearby, a long and piercing sound, and was answered by its mate in the distance.
‘Look,’ said Fred, pointing back the way they had come. Kate turned to see thick smoke rising a few miles away above the treeline.
‘They’ve bombed Myitkyina,’ he said, watching intently. ‘The whole town must be ablaze.’
‘Then they have won,’ said Myia. She stood staring at the smoke, her face a pale mask, twisting the silver pendant at her throat.
‘It’s not over yet,’ said Fred, but he sounded unconvinced.
As they paused to drink from a stream, Kate saw a European boy of fifteen or so scooping up water in a thermos flask, which he passed to a woman sitting nearby. She drank deeply from it. The boy, watching her anxiously, looked up and caught Kate’s eye fleetingly. He raised a hand in greeting.
‘Hello,’ said Kate. ‘Going to India?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t think my mother is strong enough,’ he said, looking worried again. ‘She’s been very ill.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ said his mother. ‘Do you think I’m going to stay here and get tortured by the Japs? Your father would have been very disappointed in me. Now, pull me up.’
She looked as though she had lost weight recently; her skin hung loose around her neck and on her arms, and the cotton dress she wore was far too big. She was around forty, Kate thought, but looked older, her grey hair in dishevelled curls. With her son’s help she heaved up off the ground, grabbing his arm for support once she was upright. Her skin looked clammy and her breathing was fast.
‘I’m Christopher Bryant,’ said the boy as an afterthought, ‘and this is my mother. We don’t know the way.’
‘I do,’ said Fred, handing his walking stick to Mrs Bryant. ‘Stick with us.’
*
That first day their group covered six miles. They were slower than before and Kate had noticed that Fred had a slight limp, which increased as the day wore on, but she knew that she and Myia were better off in a group than alone, even if they were faster walkers. Mrs Bryant trudged painfully on, leaning on her son, while the others took turns carrying her bag.
The road was only a road by Burmese standards; it looked more like a farm track to Kate’s eyes. The column of refugees was strung out over a huge distance. There were many people ahead of them and many more behind. In a fifteen-minute break they might be passed by twenty or more people, although the numbers seemed to be getting fewer as the day went on.
The straps of Kate’s leather sandals rubbed her toes and every step on the dusty road brought gravel and dirt under the soles of her feet, where it scraped uncomfortably. Her shoulders ached from the hours carrying her knapsack.
A truck appeared in a cloud of dust on the road behind them. As it approached they saw that it was driven by an elderly Kachin farmer and was stuffed to the rafters with refugees, with more perched on the roof of the cab.
At the next rest stop Christopher came over to where Kate sat beside Fred. The boy was tall but skinny as a rake. He looked anxious.
‘Can we stop for the night soon? My mother’s feet are terribly painful and her breathing’s getting all funny.’
Fred patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘All right, son, don’t fret. I’ll go ahead and scout out a decent place to camp, shall I? We’ll need to get off the road and find somewhere under the trees, near water, ideally.’
‘Yes, thanks,’ said Christopher gratefully. He sat down next to Kate and wiped the sweat from his forehead as Fred marched back onto the road and out of sight around a corner.
‘He’s a good chap,’ said Kate. ‘We’re lucky to have met him.’
‘Didn’t you know him before?’
‘No, we met a couple of days ago.’
‘It’s a strange situation,’ said Christopher rather solemnly. ‘I expect we shall all know each other well when this is over.’
Kate smiled at him. ‘I expect so. Tell me about your family. How long have you been in Burma?’
‘Oh, ages,’ he said. ‘We live in Maymyo. My father was in the police there but he was killed on duty just after the war started. Car accident.’
‘Your mother’s very brave,’ said Kate, looking to where Mrs Bryant sat dozing against a tree, her swollen legs stretched out before her.
‘She likes it in Burma. She didn’t want to leave but we were told we had to. They made us get a train from Maymyo to Hsipaw and then a lorry took us to Myitkyina. She’s got cancer, you know.’
Chewing his lip, Christopher sat watching the road where Fred had vanished.
‘Where are your family?’ he asked.
‘My mother is back in England, on a farm in Worcestershire, and I’ve a sister in London.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Probably for the best. All the young men have gone to war.’
‘I wish I was old enough to join the army,’ he said.
‘Don’t wish too hard,’ said Kate. ‘You and Fred are the only men we’ve got if there’s any danger.’
Christopher thought about this, obviously pleased to be counted among the men. ‘I don’t have any weapons, though. Fred’s got that Gurkha knife and a revolver – I saw him cleaning it earlier.’
Myia emerged from the trees, holding out a handful of unfamiliar shiny purple fruit, which looked to Kate a little like plums, although the taste was quite different.
‘What is it?’ said Christopher, after trying one.
‘I do not know the English name.’
‘It’s a star apple,’ said Mrs Bryant. ‘Your father bought them for me at the market once or twice.’
‘The leaves are good for stiff joints,’ said Myia. ‘I picked some of those for you. We can boil them later.’
Fred returned shortly before sunset and led them to the campsite that he had found, beside a trickling stream. While the others were laying out blankets he made a fire and Mrs Bryant stirred a pot of rice that she had seasoned with a pinch of precious salt. They had agreed to ration the food they carried, and when the rice was finished they all looked mournfully at one another. Kate thought of the sweet cakes she had bought sometimes in Rangoon and felt her mouth water.
The camp was only twenty yards from the road, and in the gathering dusk they occasionally saw flickering lights passing.
‘Silly fools,’ said Fred. ‘Daft to go wandering about in the dark. We ought to have stopped to camp even earlier.’ He lit a pipe and sat down on a log as the others were preparing to sleep.
‘This isn’t so bad,’ said Kate quietly as she lay next to Myia on
a thin blanket, feeling twigs underneath her spine and looking up at the stars. ‘Reminds me of camping trips with my father when I was little. A long time ago.’
‘It’s all right for now,’ whispered Myia, rolling over to look at her. ‘But I’m worried about when the monsoon comes. It’s not due for a few weeks but the monks said it would come early this year.’
‘I hope they’re wrong,’ said Kate.
In the early hours she woke and found herself unable to get back to sleep. She got up and paced in a slow, wide circle around the campsite, every nerve alert to strange noises and rustling in the undergrowth. Once she heard a shout in the distance and twice a vehicle crunched its way along the road nearby.
She threw more wood on the fire and lay down again, tense and still. She slept a little more, but it was fitful, and when the sun rose a few hours later she felt unrested.
27
Worcestershire, September 1933
‘What did the doctor say?’ asked Kate’s mother as she drew the curtains in her husband’s room.
‘Oh, the usual,’ he said, sighing.
‘No improvement?’
‘Not that he mentioned.’ She reached for the cup on his bedside table, and he took her hand. ‘The outlook isn’t bright, my love. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Kate, passing on the landing, saw her mother lean to kiss his head. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, folding down the collar of his nightshirt. ‘Perhaps we might get another opinion?’
‘Thwaites knows what he’s talking about. And besides, it’s an unnecessary expense.’
‘We can find the money.’
He shook his head. ‘No need. I’ll keep taking the stuff he gives me and we’ll keep plodding on.’
‘We always do.’
He smiled up at her wearily. ‘Have those logs been brought up from the wood, yet? I heard the trees coming down yesterday.’
‘Kate brought them up with the donkey this morning. She and I are going to put them in the woodshed later.’
‘She’s a good girl.’
Kate tiptoed quickly down the stairs and went to look for her thick gloves.
*
‘How do you manage to be so brave?’ said Kate, feeling the heavy axe between her hands and lining up the next log.
‘About what?’
‘Everything.’
Her mother thought about it. ‘It doesn’t feel like bravery to me,’ she said at last. ‘This is just – life. Often difficult but with moments of joy. Those moments are what keeps me going, I suppose.’
‘But you’ve drawn the short straw,’ said Kate. ‘It’s been hard, hasn’t it?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘Do you know, I often feel as though I’d got the long straw. I feel lucky.’
‘How can you?’
‘I married your father in 1909,’ said her mother, throwing split logs into the corner of the woodshed. ‘Most of my friends married around the same time. Several of them had their first children in 1910, the year I had Laura. And then the war came. How many of their husbands do you think came home?’
Kate was silent, knowing that no answer was required. All through her childhood they had visited friends of her mother’s, who sat in their drawing rooms, bright and intelligent as they discussed schooling, holidays, friends.
She did not see them properly until later; only her mother noticed how carefully made up their fragile faces were and how their voices cracked when they spoke of the future, and how it was always the help’s day off when people happened to call.
‘Of the six who were bridesmaids at my wedding, only Jenny and Victoria have living husbands,’ said her mother. She pulled off her thick gloves for a moment and looked critically at the calloused palms of her hands. ‘And Jenny’s is in a wheelchair.’
‘It’s not fair,’ said Kate as she thudded the axe down, feeling a sense of satisfaction as the log split perfectly in half. She picked up another and carried it back to the block, positioning it carefully. ‘On any of you.’
Her mother shrugged. ‘Nothing to be done.’
‘Do you ever wish things had been different?’ said Kate. ‘That you’d not married at all, or at least married someone who wouldn’t have to fight?’
‘No,’ said her mother simply, shaking her head. ‘I wonder, sometimes, but I don’t wish. The only choices we can make are those we’re meant to make.’
‘What choices did you make?’
Carrying an armful of logs, her mother looked thoughtful. ‘Did I ever tell you about Rupert?’
‘No. Who was Rupert?’
‘We were very nearly engaged,’ said her mother. ‘This was – oh, about 1907, I suppose. He was an Irish landowner’s son, staying with friends somewhere near here, and they brought him along to a Hunt Ball. We danced together every night for two weeks. He was very open about pursuing me and I fell head over heels for him, although I don’t suppose he knew that we were poor. In those days one tried to hide it. He was going back to Ireland and invited a big party of us to join him for a week in Limerick with lots of Irish friends. I was all set to go with them.’
‘What did Grandfather think of that?’ said Kate, flexing the stiff muscles in her arms.
‘He wasn’t too impressed, as you can imagine, but he was persuaded that it would all be very respectable. Several friends were going and all of Rupert’s aunts and sisters would be there. What I didn’t tell him was that I knew Rupert was going to ask me to marry him.’
‘And what happened?’
‘I stayed with friends in Fishguard the night before the ferry. The others had gone on ahead, so it was just me. They took me to the harbour. We were running a bit late, but I would just have made it.’
‘And?’ Kate prompted. She had stopped chopping, waiting to hear the end of the story.
Her mother laughed. ‘And I didn’t get on the ferry. I watched it steam out of Fishguard Harbour and away towards Ireland without me on it. Then I got on a train and came home.’
‘But – why?’
‘As I got out of the carriage I had this sudden feeling that the future waiting for me over there wasn’t mine. It would have been more materially comfortable, but it wasn’t the right one. It’s not often in life you get such a clear choice: to get on the ship or not get on the ship. So I didn’t, and watched that possible life disappear for good. I met your father the following year when he came to the farm to see your grandfather about insurance.’
‘What happened to Rupert?’
‘Oh, he got engaged to someone else – a girl he’d met that week in Limerick, as a matter of fact.’ Kate’s mother shook her head and threw another log into the corner. ‘We lost touch after that. I don’t even know if he survived the war.’
She dusted down her overalls and pointed. ‘Look, there are just a few left. Get those split and then we can finish off here and have some tea with your father.’
Kate lined up a gnarled log, eyeing it carefully, and then lifted the axe, feeling the smooth wooden handle under her fingers, and brought it down sharply. The two halves of the log fell neatly to either side.
‘Perfect,’ said her mother, gathering them up. She looked kindly at Kate. ‘What I mean is that life is a series of choices. There’s no way around it, although sometimes they are taken out of your hands. And every big decision you make leaves a life unlived, a sort of alternative life, that disappears.’
‘A ghost ship,’ said Kate.
‘Exactly,’ said her mother. ‘You can’t make it turn back and you can’t get another ship to the same place. It’s gone. All you can do is wave from the shore.’
28
Upper Burma, May 1942
The second day was worse. Blistered feet and aching leg muscles affected everyone, particularly Mrs Bryant, and progress was slow.
They stopped for lunch in a clearing, where an Indian family sat grouped around their heavy bags, looking exhausted. Their young daughter had been stung by an insect and her ankle was swollen
.
‘You’d better lift that up as high as you can,’ said Fred. ‘It should help to reduce the swelling.’ He pulled out an army first aid kit and rummaged through it while Kate introduced their party.
‘How far have you come?’ she said.
‘From Prome,’ said Sameer, the father, coughing painfully. ‘We’ve lived there for many years.’
‘We’ve never been to India,’ said the little boy, Satish, watching as his mother Nabanita took the battered tube of ointment Fred had found. She looked at it rather dubiously but applied it liberally to Shreya’s ankle.
‘Where are you heading?’ asked Mrs Bryant.
‘I have cousins in Bombay,’ said Nabanita. ‘We will go to them. We had to leave everything behind.’ She gave the ointment back to Fred and looked anxiously at the swelling, smoothing her daughter’s hair.
‘I had a small business in Prome,’ said Sameer. He coughed painfully, and his thin body shook. ‘I’ve lost everything. I do not know what we will do. You have left your homes, too?’
‘We live – lived – in Maymyo,’ said Mrs Bryant, gesturing to Christopher. ‘My late husband brought us to Burma for his work and we stayed on.’
‘Will you go back to England?’ asked Sameer.
‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Bryant. ‘Do you know, I haven’t really thought about it.’
‘Let’s take it one step at a time,’ said Fred. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for making plans once we get to Fort Hertz.’ He looked at the sun, which dazzled through the trees. ‘We ought to be getting on.’
‘So should we,’ said Sameer.
‘Shreya cannot walk,’ said Nabanita, looking imploringly at her husband. ‘Let us stay here for the night.’
‘You ought to keep moving,’ said Fred. ‘The Japanese may only be a day or two behind us.’
‘What about Shreya?’
‘I’ll carry her,’ said Fred, and took off his knapsack. He looked at Shreya appraisingly. ‘Why, I’ve carried lunch bags heavier than you!’
The Long Journey Home Page 12