Enemy Camp

by Hill, David

  A big sign blocked the entrance: ARMY TRAINING. DANGER — KEEP OUT. A soldier, an old guy about forty or so, stood there. He held a hand up as we appeared.

  We stopped and stared. Another shot cracked. Then two, close together. On the path, a man in uniform with a peaked cap — an officer — pointed a pistol in the air. CRACK! CRACK! I ducked again, even though clouds were the only things being shot at.

  Blokes were among the trees, crawling or lying on their stomachs, holding rifles. A line of them rushed out onto the grass, threw themselves flat with guns pointed towards the far side. More sprinted from the trees, past the first lot, and dropped down. The first line leaped up, advanced, hit the ground again. CRACK! CRACK! The shots went on.

  Some of the Home Guard had grey hair. I heard them puffing as they ran. A couple limped. But they looked like real soldiers. I wished I was old enough to do something like that.

  We realised the man by the sign was calling to us. ‘Alright, lads. Off you go. You could be Nazi spies for all I know.’ But he was grinning.

  ‘You r-reckon they could st-stop the N-Nips?’ Barry asked as we rode on. I shook my head. ‘Dad says if there’s an invasion, they move into the bush, and fight from there.’ I imagined the Tararuas in the rain, and wasn’t so sure I wanted to be older after all.

  Clarry had gone quiet. ‘Got a headache,’ he grunted as we turned into our street. ‘Don’t tell Mum.’

  SUNDAY, 22 NOVEMBER It’s not fair when it rains on weekends! Mum had a big load of washing to do, so I helped keep a fire going under the copper while she pegged things up on the verandah.

  We yakked away about where we’ll go when the war is over. There’s an organisation that arranges holidays for servicemen’s families; it would be great if we could have one of those.

  In the afternoon I sat by the fire and read Bruce’s book on space. I wonder if anybody will ever reach the moon on a spaceship? Hard to imagine.

  Dad came home in one of the camp trucks with his bike in the back, so he was pretty dry. After he’d hung up his greatcoat, and taken off his boots and army belt, he told us the news. The first lot of Jap military prisoners have arrived.

  MONDAY, 23 NOVEMBER Just three weeks until the summer holidays.

  Only a dozen of the new Japs arrived yesterday, including a couple of pilots still suffering from burns after the Yanks shot them down.

  ‘At least the second fence around their compound is finished,’ Dad told Mum.

  ‘Why do you need two fences?’ I asked. ‘Why not a really high one?’

  Dad was silent for a second. ‘If anyone gets over the first fence, the second stops them. That gives the guards time to shoot.’

  My back felt sort of shivery, all the way to school.

  The girls keep talking about the stupid dance at the town hall this Saturday. You’d think it was the most important thing in the universe. I’m not going, and I bet Barry and Clarry aren’t.

  Some women in overalls were loading the scrap metal from behind the town hall onto trucks as we biked home. One waved to us. ‘Isn’t that Moana?’ I asked. ‘Anzac’s big sister? Thought she was a tram conductor or something in Wellington.’

  Barry shook his head. ‘Some of the Yanks — the ones from p-places where N-Negroes aren’t allowed to m-m-mix with whites — they don’t like Maoris being on t-t-trams with them. M-Moana kept g-getting called names.’

  I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘That’s rotten!’

  Dad was home when I got back. The new prisoners seem quiet so far. Another lot are due soon.

  TUESDAY, 24 NOVEMBER The Germans are still bombing cities in England. There are whole streets in London that have been destroyed. And the Jap Air Force keeps bombing and shelling places in the north of Australia: Darwin and Townsville. Even though we’re going to win the war, there’s still a long way to go.

  As I was finishing breakfast, Mum told Dad: ‘I might drop by Mrs Connell’s shop this afternoon. I’ve got a few clothing coupons, so I’ll see if there’s anything I can wear to the dance. You looking forward to it, son?’

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My mother is going to the dance? Traitor!

  Then, when Barry and I were halfway to school, he said, ‘C-Clarry w-wants to c-come.’

  ‘Come where?’ I asked.

  Barry looked surprised. ‘To the d-dance. He reckons he c-can m-m-manage if someone holds him up.’ He stared at me. ‘You’re c-coming, aren’t you?’

  My best friend is a traitor, too!

  WEDNESDAY, 25 NOVEMBER Nothing.

  THURSDAY, 26 NOVEMBER Barry told me as we walked home that because Clarry’s got polio he worries he might get it, too. I hope nothing happens to him. OK, I get fed up sometimes because he thinks things out quicker than I do, but he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.

  So when he and Clarry and I played Sink the German Navy, I told Barry he’d sunk one of my destroyers, even though he hadn’t.

  Clarry said, ‘Only two days until the dance!’ I nearly went ‘Yeah, worse luck’, but I kept my mouth shut. I’m still not going.

  Then, when I was heading home, Mrs Morris said, ‘Tell your mum that I’ve found a shawl to go with her dress for the dance.’ She smiled. ‘Can I have a waltz with you, Ewen?’

  Even my best friend’s mother is a traitor!

  Things are really happening at the camp. ‘The second lot of their navy blokes arrived this morning,’ Dad told Mum and me at dinner. ‘About fifty of them. The ones who came in on Sunday, they just stood there with their heads down while the new lot were getting off the trucks.’

  He chased a pea around his plate. ‘There’s a couple of officers with them. One speaks pretty fair English; could be a help. Anyway, our blokes were trying to move them into their huts. Then one of their officers shouts something, and next minute they’re all standing to attention, while he goes on at them in their lingo. A couple of the guards tried to shift them, but they wouldn’t move an inch until their officer had finished.’

  Dad trapped the pea. ‘We’ve got a good interpreter — Captain Ashton. But we need someone else who can speak Japanese. Could stop a few problems.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll do what they’re told?’ asked Mum.

  Dad gave a half-shake of his head. ‘Major Parsons says before they leave for war, Japanese soldiers swear to give their lives for the family honour if they have to. If they’re captured, they feel they’ve betrayed their ancestors and the Emperor.’

  He stood and stretched. ‘There’s a few guards who’d just love to push them around a bit. I’ve even heard a couple of them talking about “little yellow monkeys”. No way to show that your side’s better.’

  He and Mum shooed me off to do my homework after that. It usually means there’s something private they want to talk about. Makes me annoyed!

  FRIDAY, 27 NOVEMBER Mr and Mrs Morris came to play cards at our place tonight. Barry and Clarry came, too; Clarry walked — hobbled — part of the way, then his dad carried him on his back.

  We kids mucked about in my room. When we came through to see if supper was ready, Dad was talking about how the new prisoners wouldn’t move until their officer had finished talking to them, and how one tried to jump overboard from the Yank ship bringing him to New Zealand.

  Mr Morris shook his head. ‘You’ve got to come down hard on them, Jack. You can’t treat Nips like normal human beings.’

  ‘What do you reckon we should do, Harry?’ Dad shuffled the cards. ‘Starve and beat them, like they do to our fellows in their camps? Shoot them if they won’t do what they’re told?’

  Mr Morris looked annoyed. ‘I’m just saying you’ve got to show them who’s boss. A good boot up the backside wouldn’t do them any harm. Might make them think twice.’

  Dad’s voice stayed quiet. ‘I’m like you, Harry: I don’t want Nips telling us what to do. But when this lot go back to Japan, they need to know there’s a better way of treating people. Our way. You want Barry and Ewen and … and Clarry to ha
ve to fight, maybe get killed, because we wanted to get our own back on the Japs?’

  We kids listened silently. So did Mum and Mrs Morris.

  ‘That’s rubbish, Jack!’ Mr Morris’s face had gone red. ‘You’ve got to show these Nips who’s in charge!’

  ‘Harry—’ began Mrs Morris, but Dad cut in.

  ‘If we are supposed to be fighting for decency and civilisation, then we have to behave decently.’

  Mr Morris still looked angry. ‘They deserve—’ But this time, Mum interrupted.

  ‘Come on, you two. I thought we were playing cards?’ She glanced at Barry and Clarry and me. ‘You kids go back to Ewen’s room, eh? We’ll tell you when supper is ready.’

  I’d never heard Dad and Mr Morris have a row before. They’re usually best friends, like Barry and me. When we got to my room, the three of us looked at one another. ‘D-Dad wanted to join the army,’ Barry went, ‘b-but they t-t-turned him down, t-told him he had to d-drive trains. He g-gets upset about it.’

  When we went through for supper, the grown-ups were talking away like they usually do. But the Morrises left early, and my parents didn’t say much while Mum cleared up.

  SATURDAY, 28 NOVEMBER A million things happened today!

  Barry and Clarry and I rode out to the camp this morning. Well, Barry and I rode (and towed); Clarry sat in his trolley and complained how slow we were.

  The moment we saw the place, we knew it was different. The second fence was finished, and a double square of ten-foot-high barbed wire surrounded the growing rows of huts and other buildings. A bare stretch of earth about eight feet wide ran between the two fences, and a guard with rifle and bayonet over one shoulder moved slowly along it. I remembered what Dad had said about how anyone who got over the first fence would be an easy target as he tried to climb the second one, and a shiver ran down my back again.

  There were more guards than last time. Some were up in the watch-tower; some patrolled outside the second fence; some stood in pairs inside the compound, gazing around. All were armed. Nearby, posts and wire were laid out for what looked like the start of a new compound.

  Clarry had gone silent; it was the first time he’d seen the camp, of course. We reached the short shingle road leading to the main gates and stopped. Could we get closer?

  ‘I didn’t know it was so big!’ Clarry breathed. ‘Are those real Japs?’

  We looked to where he was pointing. About a dozen blue uniforms were approaching the main gate, guards on either side. Some carried hoes; others spades. A working party, like last time. But today there was no talking among the prisoners. The guards kept a bigger distance from them. The gates opened; they moved through and halted.

  A guard began walking among them.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Clarry asked.

  His big brother answered. ‘C-Counting the t-tools.’

  So he was. When he’d finished, the Japs turned and headed for one of the garden areas we’d seen before. Neat rows of green shoots had appeared. Still no talking from prisoners or guards.

  ‘Who’s th-that one?’ Barry went. A figure in blue stood inside the barbed wire, watching. Watching us, I realised. He was slim and black-haired like the other prisoners. He held himself upright, totally still, hands by his side. We three gazed back at him. There seemed to be a mark across his face. A burn or something.

  ‘Is he—’ Clarry began, then stopped. Two other prisoners were passing behind the one watching us. They paused and bowed to him, then moved on. He took no notice; just stood there, still gazing.

  ‘He must be an officer.’ I wondered whether he was the one Dad had mentioned; the one who’d made that speech to the other prisoners.

  There was no expression on his face. Just as Clarry said ‘Why’s he keep staring?’ the man turned and walked away. More prisoners bowed as he passed them. Once again, he took no notice.

  The working party had reached a patch of ground at the far end of the fence. After a few more minutes, we started for home. I’d have to tell my father about that officer.

  I didn’t. It was lunchtime when I got home, and even before I’d washed my hands in the scullery, Mum said, ‘I’ll get you to clean all our shoes this afternoon, Ewen.’

  ‘What for?’ I asked.

  Mum smiled. ‘Well, we want to look our best for the dance, don’t we?’

  Oh, no! I thought. ‘Do I have to go?’

  Mum frowned. ‘Your dad will be disappointed if we don’t.’

  She vanished into the kitchen.

  Dad was in the shed, chopping kindling wood. ‘Do I have to go to the dance?’ I asked him.

  He frowned, too. ‘Your mum will be disappointed if we don’t.’

  Everyone is a traitor.

  We ate tea early. I had to put on my best grey shorts, my best knitted jersey and a tie. All for a stupid dance! Dad had his good green sports-coat and grey flannel trousers. Mum had the dress she usually wears to weddings or funerals (she didn’t buy one at Mrs Connell’s after all), and some bit of cloth across her shoulders. ‘You like the shawl Mrs Morris lent me?’

  I grunted. Dad said, ‘Looks good, Molly’, and shot me a BEHAVE! stare.

  Heaps of people were heading to the town hall. Men stood around outside, talking and smoking. Inside were more kids, grown-ups, even teachers from school. Streamers hung from the ceiling. A big table with plates of food was at one end of the hall.

  But I didn’t look at the food. I stared at the Yanks.

  There were five or six of them, talking to some women. Their uniforms are different from the New Zealand ones: lighter-coloured and more expensive-looking, with brass buttons and badges. A few Home Guard blokes, the younger ones, were watching the Americans from the other side of the hall, and muttering among themselves.

  Music started up. There was a piano on stage, with—Was it? It couldn’t be! It was: Miss Mutter playing!

  Couples moved onto the floor. The Watsons from next door. Anzac’s sister Moana and one of the Yanks. A couple of other Americans, with some of the women they’d been talking to. Girls from school, with their fathers or with each other. I gaped as one couple swung past and smiled at me. Mum and Dad! He held his crook arm around her waist.

  ‘H-Hiya, Ewen.’ Barry appeared, in his good shorts and least-patched shirt.

  ‘Didn’t Clarry come?’ I asked.

  He pointed. ‘L-Look.’ As the dancers moved by, I saw Mr and Mrs Morris. They held each other’s hands — and Clarry’s as well. He was half-hobbling, half-waltzing, laughing and talking flat-out to his parents.

  Up on stage, Miss Mutter kept playing. She looked just the same as she did at school — scary. But, boy, could she make music!

  I saw Susan Proctor and Margaret Nicholls dance past, and looked away quickly. Then Barry, dancing with his gran, and grinning, too. I felt stupid, just standing there. The only other ones not dancing were some of the Home Guard blokes, still muttering among themselves, and an old lady on a chair by the wall, looking a bit lonely.

  I still can’t believe what I did next. My legs seemed to move by themselves — they marched over to the old lady. I heard my voice go ‘Hello, Mrs Laurie. Would you like to dance?’

  She smiled. ‘I’d be honoured, young man.’ She stood up slowly, we walked out onto the floor slowly, and began to dance … slowly. I’ve learned a bit from dancing with Mum at Christmas and on birthdays, so I can manage.

  People smiled as they swept past. Dad asked, ‘Who’s your boyfriend, Mrs L?’ and Mum said, ‘Well done, Ewen dear.’ Clarry hobble-waltzed by, with just his mum this time, and called out.

  Miss Mutter finished, and everyone clapped. I led Mrs Laurie back to her chair. I danced with Mum, and with Mrs Morris. I yakked to Barry. We had a beaut supper; people must have been saving their ration coupons for months!

  So it wasn’t too bad after all — until we were leaving. We were almost at the door when we realised something was happening outside.

  Two young Home Guard blokes were sq
uaring off against a couple of the Americans. ‘Just get your fancy Yank ways outta here!’ I heard. An American voice replied, ‘Take it easy, buddy. I’m allowed to talk to the lady.’ The other Home Guard jabbed his finger. ‘You think you can walk in here and take our girlfriends?’ A hand shoved. Another hand shoved back.

  Dad stepped forward. ‘Hang on, you fellows. We’re on the same side, aren’t we?’

  The men in their different uniforms kept glaring at one another. Then Mum said, ‘We’re proud of you boys, you know. All of you: New Zealanders and Americans. We’re friends. Why don’t you all go inside and have some supper? There’s enough left for — for an army!’

  That brought embarrassed grins. One of the Yanks stuck his hand out to one of the Home Guards. ‘No hard feelings, huh, buddy? Can’t help missing our girls back home.’ Mumbles on both sides, then they drifted back into the hall.

  Dad chuckled. ‘Boys will be boys, eh, Molly?’

  Mum sounded serious. ‘The war stops boys being boys, Jack. It turns them into something different. That’s why I hate it.’

  We moved on up the dark street. I thought of the new prisoners out at the camp. War had made them into something different, too.

  SUNDAY, 29 NOVEMBER Nothing. I’m exhausted!

  MONDAY, 30 NOVEMBER Barry and I still can’t believe how Miss Mutter played the piano. ‘She’s g-g-good!’ my friend said.

  I told him about the arguing and shoving between the Yanks and Home Guards. ‘G-Gran says one of them visits the family next d-door,’ Barry went. ‘He likes the g-girl there, and he always b-brings her flowers, and chewing gum for the other kids. One time he b-brought bottles of that new drink. C-Coca-C-Cola.’

  Coca-Cola: I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never drunk any.

  Dad was saying again tonight how the camp needs more interpreters. ‘Things are getting tricky. The military Nips think the civvies are cowards: some of the civvies are scared. The little bloke who gave me the fish won’t talk to me any more, in case the new ones see him doing it. Major Parsons wants a second compound built fast, to keep them apart.’