Letters to Mrs Hernandez

by C S Gibbs

  Some people in the street saw what was happening, but tried not to stare. Everyone knew that this was how the Kempeitai, Japan's secret police, operated. Sometimes they were not this subtle in dealing with the 'dissident' types who were not fully behind Japan's military regime and its war in China, but the results were always the same. It was best not to become involved.

  Katushiro watched in stunned fascination as the car disappeared from view.

  “Okasan, is Otasan really working against Japan? Can it be true?”

  “Be quiet, musuko!” Snapped Masako. “Do not talk about your father in such a manner. Go to your room!”

  Katsuhiro stormed back up the stairs and Setsu embraced her mother.

  “What are we going to do, Okasan? How long do you think they will keep Otosan?”

  “I do not know. We must wait for them to finish questioning him. He may well be back before nightfall . . . so, I had better get that meal prepared, so that he can have something to eat when he comes home.” Wearing the bravest of faces, Masako made for the kitchen.

  The door of the study was still open and Setsu entered to find the room littered with books that had been cast around the floor like autumn leaves. She began picking them up and tidying the once immaculately kept study when she stopped and gazed at her father's desk.

  The new pen lay at the side of a fresh sheet of writing paper, upon which, the ink only just dried, was written a haiku.

   

  人生行路も Jinseikouro mo (control your life journey)

  宿命を管制 Shukumei o kansei (and your destiny)

  美しいせつ Utsukushii Setsu (beautiful Setsu)

  Setsu sat down in her father's chair, replaced the cap on the pen, kissed it, held the paper to her breast and sobbed.

   

   

  Chapter Three - July 1942

  “Lateness is a great discourtesy to others!” Those words echoed around the engine shed at Derby Works and in the ears of tardy apprentices who were now fully aware that some sort of recompense would be due.

  “You laddies can be sure that you'll be doing some extra sweeping up when the day is through,” thundered the much-travelled Glaswegian brogue of James Carruthers, chief engineer, who for the past four years had been putting Ben Hutchinson and his contemporaries through the rigours of a railway engineering apprenticeship. Today was another day of boiler work on one of the Midland Railway's steam powered behemoths.

  Carruthers closed the lid on his watch and placed it back in the pocket of his waistcoat. Buttoning up his work jacket and slicking back his still-blonde hair, he turned to the more punctual apprentices, amongst whom stood Ben, who were waiting attentively for the orders of the day.

  “Today, gentlemen, we will be perfecting the fine art of cleaning out the boiler on this here engine. Young Hutchinson, on account of your dedication – not to mention the fact that you are a skinny wee runt of a lad - you can be the first one in!”

  It was hardly a privilege, but it was part of the job – Ben clambered inside the engine without complaint and began working his way around the lacework of piping and iron plate which normally pulsed with high-pressure steam. He had done this plenty of times, which is perhaps why, after an hour of applying much elbow grease, he was surprised to find himself suddenly trapped and unable to remove himself from the engine.

  “Mr Carruthers! I think I'm stuck! I can't get out!”

  “What's that, laddie? You're stuck, you say? Alright. You two laddies – Simpson and Pleasance – come here boys, grab a leg each and we'll have him out in no time.”

  Two other apprentices clambered up on to the engine and each grabbed one of Ben's protruding legs. The initial attempts at removal only made the incumbent panic and tense up, making it harder to shift him, but this only encouraged the young men and the ensuing tug-of-war ended with a flourish as Ben was finally dislodged, setting the two tug-ees off balance and all three bodies fell from the engine chassis and landed in an undignified heap on the shed floor.

  Carruthers approached the sprawling mass of bruised young men, his laughter hiding any hint of compassion.

  “Are ye all all right, laddies? Hutchinson, perhaps your mother is feeding you a bit more than I thought? If ye get too fat to clean the engines, you'll be no good to me! Finish the job, boys, and then I think we will all need a cup of tea.”

  In the new, sprawling dining hall, Carruthers found a table free for himself and his young charges. The room could hold a thousand workers at once and this was an instance where it was largely at capacity. War production had seen the Derby Works take on the manufacture of aircraft parts, on top of railway engine construction and repair. A great many of the workers on their tea break were women bedecked in the most unfeminine of work overalls, their hair tied up and covered with headscarves.

  “Och, I've never seen so many women in the workplace, boys,” announced Carruthers with a hint of despair, holding court over his apprentices as he took a sip of strong, murky tea. “Even more than in the Great War – it just goes to show that you've never quite seen it all . . .”

  “And you have seen quite a lot of things, haven't you, Mr Carruthers,” Tom Pleasance egged him on and the old man took the bait. The other apprentices tuned in to their mentor, knowing that they were in for another of the old Scot's tales of yore.

  Carruthers, an avid raconteur, needed no further encouragement.

  “It's funny you should mention it, boys, but there was a time when I worked for the North British Locomotive Company, about twenty years ago, I found myself out in the Argentine, helping to assemble some of our engines for the Buenos Aires Railways . . . och, I forget where, but we travelled out to some places, I can tell ye. 'Tis a rare and beautiful place, out across the Pampas . . . there were bloody lamas and cactai everywhere, mind you . . . anyway, we had this old chap called Ramirez and he was the foreman for the coach works. He was eighty years old if he was a day and he took himself a wee young bride – a lovely wee lass of about nineteen, she was – her mother was a poor widow and pretty much sold her off for the money.

  “Anyway, the top and the bottom of this is that there was still some life in the old dog Ramirez and he sired himself twin boys with this young lassie. We didn'ae think he'd got any lead left in his pencil at that age, but again, just when ye think ye've seen it all, something comes along to take your breath away.

  “I'll tell ye, boys, I only hope I've still got it in me when I reach that ripe old age!”

  Ben saw his chance and grinned, “Well, it'll not be long before you can find out, eh, Mr Carruthers?”

  “Och, you cheeky bugger! I've half a mind to put you back inside that boiler!”

  The laughter was shared by all – after four years of working under Carruthers, Ben had done well and knew that the avuncular Scotsman would forgive him such a bold tease. There would have been no such ribaldry four years previously: the tall man from Glasgow had been a stern taskmaster when Ben began his apprenticeship, but in time, all the apprentices began to appreciate Carruther's ability to get the best out of them. His stickling for precision and thoroughness, the pride he took in both his own teaching and the work of his apprentices and, once he could see that his own efforts were being reciprocated, the encouragement and approval he gave to the boys.

  Since Ben lost his father, James was the only adult male who had ever taken the time to encourage him in his studies, but then, he seemed to have the time for all of the apprentices – giving up time at the end of the day to make sure that the boys knew how to maintain their machinery and make accurate drafts. On one occasion when Ben was struggling with his mathematics calculations, it was Carruthers who took him to the dining hall, bought him a cup of tea and took him through the equations for an hour to help him succeed.

  “Right, my laddies, back t'work! We'll never beat old Adolf if we can'nae get the trains running on time, eh?” Carruthers downed his tea, dregs and all, and led his boys back to the war effort.

&nb
sp;  

  ***

   

  Work and study over for another week, Ben stepped from the last train home, which puffed its way en route to its last few stops and the long awaited terminus of Nottingham Victoria Station. Even though the German bombers were much less frequent, now, than earlier in the war, the gas lamps still stood dormant – the night time blackout regulations remained in place – so Ben made his way through the darkness, knowing that home was near.

  This town has not changed for generations, thought Ben, as he made his way past the municipal sports field and over the stone bridge across the canal. Those long, straight rows of monotone brick houses were so uniformly plain – even the diagonal crosses of tape on each window pane gave each dwelling a sunken eyed expression of submission. “I didn't ask to end up in this time and place, and I've never lived anywhere else,” he thought to himself, “But I suppose that everyone has to be somewhere . . . I wonder where else there is to be?”

  Ben's reverie was to last no longer. With nothing but the moon for a spotlight, two figures entered, stage right, staggering around the corner, having just been ousted from the pub by wartime closing hours. Ben recognized the gait of the approaching duo and flinched, as he had done in the broad daylight many times on the school yard in the years before, upon seeing the same pair approach him.

  “Ey up, youth! Well will you look who it isn't?” came the call through the blackout gloom, as the figure of Ken Blanchard and his sidekick Bobby Watson staggered towards him. In the gloom, Ken and Bobby's respective physiques meant that they had a more than passing resemblance to Laurel and Hardy, but there was to be no comedy routine forthcoming from this duo. Wartime drinking hours were short and to compensate for this, both had put in an extra shift, this evening.

  “Here he is . . . boffin Ben's been playing with his train set again!” Grinned Bobby, who began motioning towards Ben, using his full frame to good, intimidatory use. “Been fiddlin' with yer piston, have yer?”

  “You should have a proper job, like us, mate,” chimed in Ken, “Instead of playing with yer pencil!” Not having Bobby's bulk, Ken kept himself a step further back.

  “Aye, well I like what I do, lads, and the job takes a lot out of me, so I'll be off home . . . have a good night, eh?” Ben tried to make his way onward but Bobby barged his shoulder.

  “Y'see, Ken. On his way home t'mother. I told yer he was weird – thinks he's too good for us – always had his stuck-up face in a book when we were at school and still has now!”

  “Too good t'work down the mine and do some decent graft like yer dad,” spat Ken, “Do what yer mother says and be a good boy, eh, Ben?”

  “Look, lads, there's no need for this . . .”

  “Isn't there?” Bobby pushed Ben in the chest, “We're down the mines grafting whilst your just pushing a pen around?”

  “That's not true, Bobby, I work as hard as you, now let me be – besides, what have I ever done to you?”

  “What have you done? You breathed, boy! You got in my way! Stuck up sods like you should clear off out of here!”

  Bobby made a rush for Ben and swung a wayward, brawny fist, catching his left temple. In the instant of the impact, Ben felt the pain, kept his balance and realized that he was good enough to strike back. He remembered his father's advice on scrapping: that a good punch to the ribs would always inflict some decent pain.

  Bobby's midriff was a sizeable target and Ben could not miss – in fact, he landed a better blow than he anticipated and Bobby immediately doubled up and heaved his last pint out in to the gutter.

  Ben did not wait to be asked for an encore and made a dash for home.

  “You smug get! Clear off and be with yer own kind!” Ken shouted after him as he vainly tried to get Bobby's lumbering frame back on its feet.

  Once around the corner, Ben felt a little safer and slowed his pace. “Well, that settles it,” he thought, “This is no home for me – I've got to look for something new.”

   

   

  Chapter Four - A mindful farewell

  Beyond the garden fence, the domineering presence of the war weighed heavily on the everyday life of all Japanese. However, within the confines of the Kimura house, there was a peace and stillness.

  Masako stood up slowly from her seated position, ran her hands gently down her cream coloured kimono to straighten out any creases and surveyed her work in the chashitsu, or tea room. The small room, with its panelled paper walls and tatami mats, was adorned with only three features: a small cavity in the floor by the far left corner, in which stood the kama, an iron kettle, simmering silently upon smoking hot charcoal; to the left of this, the mizusashi, a water container for topping up the kama, whilst in the opposite corner stood a short, wooden table of about six inches in height called a tokonomai, on which stood a plain, porcelain vase.

  After a moment of considered observation, Masako decided that the cherry blossom in the vase needed to have its position altered, so that it pointed more directly to the kakejuku that was hanging on the wall behind it. This fabric banner had been made by her grandfather and the calligraphic message upon it was, she felt, most appropriate for today's special ceremony:

  Gyounryusui (Clouds pass, water runs)

  Satisfied, she made her way out of the chashitsu with small, measured, mindful paces, silently sliding closed the door after her, so that the tea ceremony might begin.

  The last four years had been hard on the Kimura family and a lot of their possessions had been sold to help make ends meet, but some items had to be kept at all costs for times such as these, and prized kimonos were such items. Katsuhiro's was a plain, navy blue – as was the custom for males in a tea ceremony - whilst Setsu's was a pale pink with a deep red plum flower pattern. Like her mother, she was wearing a Spring season kimono.

  Brother and sister made their way in to the chashitsu with the same elegance that their mother had used on her exit.

  The door slid open again, so that brother and sister could enter. Katsuhiro went first, kneeling before the kama and placing a closed fan on the tatami mat in front of him. To his right, Setsu did likewise, joining her brother in a moment of contemplation before the words of the kakejuku.

  The door slid open again. Masako was kneeling behind it and laid a kashibon plate of higashi sweets before her. Still on her knees, she glided in to the room, turning to slide the door closed behind her before rising up with the plate, which she then placed before her children, who in turn bowed to their mother.

  Katsuhiro and Setsu reached in to their kimonos and produced small paper parcels called kaishi, inside which were bamboo utensils for the higashi sweets. Using the paper as a plate, they picked up the sweets and ate with gentle mindfulness – these sweets had been made with the last remaining grams of powder mix in the house. Goodness knew when their kitchen would offer such bounty again.

  After eating, the utensils were folded up inside the kaishi. Katsuhiro was now to the left of his mother, so he placed the closed package of the kaishi into the right sleeve of his kimono. Setsu was to the right of Masako, so she placed her folded kaishi into her left sleeve.

  Protocol observed, it was now time to begin mixing and pouring the tea.

  Masako picked up the matsumei, containing the tea powder, in her right hand, whilst holding upright in her left hand the chawan tea bowl, which would be shared by all for the drinking. Inside the chawan was a folded white cloth called the chakin, as well as the whisk, the chasen. On top of the chawan sat the long, bamboo chasaku spoon. The matsumei and the chawan were placed before the mizusashi water bowl.

  Maintaining the silence, Masako placed two spoonfuls of usucha weak tea powder in to the chawan, then ladelled a small amount of hot water on to it. This mixture was then stirred with the chasen until the water was a pastel shade of green. The bowl was taken by Katsuhiro, all in the room bowed in thanks and after sitting up straight and rotating the bowl in his left hand, Katsuhiro began to drink.

&nb
sp; On emptying the bowl, he placed it before him and Masako wiped the bowl with the chakin, rinsed it and then poured the water in to the kensui water bowl which sat next to her. The bowl was now ready for a repeat of the ceremony for Setsu.

  On finishing her tea, bows were made, pleasantries exchanged and Masako faithfully retraced her movements and actions from the beginning of the ceremony in order to remove all of her utensils from the chashitsu. Each time that she left the room, she would slide the door shut behind her.

  Remaining in their kneeling positions, Katsuhiro and Setsu took a moment to inspect the matsumei and chasuku for cleanliness, then worked their way along the tatami mats, taking turns to move the matsumei and the chasaku to a new position at the side of the still-hot kama. Once the items were in place, Masako could return to the room.

  Pleasantries were again exchanged using phrases that had not changed in centuries, then the prized possessions were removed. Siblings bowed in thanks, then turned to bow and pay respects to the written words of their great grandfather which had hung behind them throughout the ceremony. It was now their turn to reverse their entrances, with Setsu being the last to leave, sliding the door closed behind her.

  There had been stillness in the chashitsu before their entry, the ceremony saw the family become a part of that stillness, and now, at least within the chashitsu, the stillness continued.

   

  ***

   

  “That was a wonderful ceremony, Okasan. It is so long since you have done that for us,” Setsu told her mother.

  “Well, we have not had too much to celebrate in recent times, but both of you are about to move on to new pastures and I wanted to commemorate that. Both my children are flying the nest – it's a real turning point in all of our lives.” She put a hand on a shoulder of each of her children.

  “I just wish that Otosan was here to share this day with us.”

  “I do, too,” interrupted Katsuhiro, “But we have done well to manage without him and we must keep being strong.”

  “Yes, I miss your father very much . . . we all do,” said Masako, but the hurt in her voice did not reach Katsuhiro, “But in just a short while you will be leaving us! Do you want some help in packing your bag? Do you have all of your papers?”