From Strength to Strength

by Sara Henderson

  As the room started to become fuzzy around the edges I was lifted onto a trolley and taken to the operating room. Then just as I was being lowered onto the operating table a contraction hit me with such force that my knee knocked a nurse off her feet.

  More panic, people shouting, doors slamming, but it was all becoming fuzzier and fuzzier and I slipped into welcome oblivion. Not for long. I could hear my name being shouted down a long tunnel. The noise was deafening. I tried to cover my ears. I then realised I was being slapped very hard on the face—I was being rudely jerked back to consciousness by injections, shouting and more slapping. I forced my eyelids to open, they weighed a ton. I was sitting, well not really, I was slumped over with many hands holding me. My doctor was holding up my head. He was looking into my drugged eyes and shouting.

  ‘The baby has moved into the birth canal. You must push. Push!’

  ‘Push’ was screamed at me for what seemed like forever. I finally blacked out to the words, ‘There’s the head.’

  During all that panic, chaos, pain and fear, one clear thought came through my poor drugged and fuzzy brain—never again.

  I awoke in blessed silence, a lovely pastel room, the sun shining through the window and Mum holding my hand. I remember being mesmerised by the dancing light of the sunbeam across the room. I tore my eyes from the sunbeam and looked at Mum.

  ‘Mum?’ I waited for the worst. She just shook her head.

  ‘The baby is dead?’ I was drained of all emotion.

  ‘Oh no, she is well, ten and three quarter pounds, no wonder you had trouble. But they nearly killed you to save her. I have never seen so much blood come out of one person and you should see the mess you are down below, they virtually ripped her out. I have never seen anything like it in all my experience.’

  Mum was right. It took months and a few operations to repair the physical damage done during that rushed birth. I don’t think I ever got over the mental experience. So, as far as I was concerned, there would be no more offspring.

  It was alright for Charles. He would hand me over at the white double doors, wave goodbye and go and relax while I went through the agonies of childbirth. I informed Charles I thought the whole thing was very one-sided and he had better be satisfied with what he had. I just didn’t have another six months of throwing-up energy in me, let alone the strength required to deliver.

  However, Charles requested four or five more and said he would put me on a build-up programme. So, taking matters into my own hands, I joined the pill brigade and Charles couldn’t do anything about it. Oh, he did try, and how he tried. He even told my doctor not to renew my prescription. I simply went on strike and that soon changed his tactics.

  He did everything he could to make me miss the pill. He would say ‘We’re going somewhere for a few hours’ and we would end up staying the night, a very loving night. Then there were unexpected weekends when we departed with no time to pack—‘You can buy all the clothes you need there’. He never did find out that I kept ten pills in a locket around my neck.

  CHAPTER 7

  1962-1965

  By this time we had moved into the ‘correct suburb’ and had a lovely old house close to the Polo Club. Charles bought me a horse for my birthday and we started riding every afternoon just before sunset.

  One evening we were on one of these peaceful rides when he said, ‘Oh hell, I forgot!’ Not me this time.

  ‘What have you forgotten?’

  ‘I invited the Baltimore Harbour delegation for cocktails. They’re in town for a few days and dropped by the office yesterday.’

  Now rather concerned, I ventured, ‘When?’

  ‘When? Oh, tonight. I can’t understand how I forgot.’

  ‘Yes, it’s so unusual for you to forget something.’

  He sat there shaking his head, actually amazed that he had forgotten.

  ‘What time did you say?’

  ‘Six o’clock.’

  ‘Charles, it’s a quarter to six now. How many?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, fifteen or so.’

  ‘Oh Charles, you are impossible! Fifteen minutes to get ready and I’m out in the middle of the Polo Club riding.’

  We galloped home and I jumped off and sprinted to the house while Charles casually strolled the horses back to the stable. I raced in the door yelling to the cook to take the reserves out of the deep freeze.

  By now I had learned that my husband would often turn up with anything from six to twenty people without a moment’s notice. So to keep the cook, and my sanity, I always had a whole line of frozen meal and snack standbys on hand. Wilma, the cook, also used to his ‘nibs’, went straight into action the moment I charged through the door. I rushed into the bedroom and had started to change when I realised that Charles was not there to take off my long riding boots and there was no way in the world I could get them off by myself. I called one of the girls from the kitchen to come and help, but it was hopeless. Every time I put my other foot on her behind to push, she would vault across the room and land in the corner in hysterics. No amount of persuasion could get her to stand still while I pushed. I would never get my boots off with her help, so I sent her back downstairs to help Wilma.

  I now had about three minutes to go and I was stripped to the waist with boots and riding pants still firmly in place. I did a very tricky manoeuvre and showered to the waist, donned an evening sweater and a long flowing skirt over my riding pants and boots, and after drowning the horse smell in expensive perfume, went downstairs to greet my guests. They all arrived en masse and were a very nice group of men.

  Charles arrived not long after and I went to help the girls in the kitchen while he and several of the men went through the, ‘Do you know Whimpy?’, ‘Do I know Whimpy! Why, we were at high school together!’ routine. They all had a go, and by the time they had exhausted this avenue and settled down to how to save the world, I had the girls circulating with the snacks.

  I ended up having dinner with jodhpurs and boots still under my evening skirt and I nearly had to sleep in them as Charles was so tired he fell asleep while I was in the nursery checking the children. After a short nap, my boots were finally removed, along with everything else.

  I had a few problems catching on to the local habits and customs. About six weeks after the riding boots incident we were invited to dinner by a Spanish business client. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was very peckish but I assumed we would have dinner around eight or at the latest nine. No such luck. The house was built on the side of a very high hill and had a magnificent terrace built out over the valley. We were led to this terrace and there we stayed while drinks and more drinks were poured into us. After two hours, I was dizzy as a top and still starving. I did the circuit of that terrace many times but I never once encountered food.

  Charles, having discussed all his business long ago, had gone to sleep next to a man who wouldn’t stop talking. He had an intelligent expression on his face, and in the dim light, he looked for all the world like he was deeply engrossed in the conversation.

  I started drinking Coke so I would be able to walk to our car. The hostess finally appeared at about ten-thirty dressed in a bath robe, with a wet poodle under each arm. She wandered vaguely around the terrace, said something to the waiters in rapid Spanish and then disappeared without a word to any of the guests.

  We finally sat down to dinner at midnight. Charles, having had several hours sleep, enjoyed a hearty meal but I was so full of Coke I felt sick and couldn’t manage a bite.

  After that I never went to any dinner without a snack first, and a few snacks in my evening bag and Charles’s pockets.

  I was keeping up nicely with the hectic social and business rat race, when one day Charles told me that because I had done such a good job with all the dinner parties, he had a surprise for me. We were going away for a weekend sail. Some surprise. The thought terrified me. He assured me I would be safe, we would sail to Bataan and all we would do was swim, rest and enjoy ours
elves. No clients, no phones and, most of all, no Timothy telex.

  Who was Timothy telex? Well, he was an innocent telex machine except that he lived right next to our bed. This unusual state of affairs was due to the fact that the European shipping market was in full swing at two a.m. Manila time, so if Charles was closing a ship or cargo deal, he would have to either sit up in the office all night or drive back and forth every time a message came in. Charles, liking his comfort, had a telex installed right next to his favourite place, the bed. It was very unnerving to say the least. It would whir and click at the most inappropriate times. Sometimes I felt it was almost human.

  Just to be away from Timothy telex for three nights was enough to induce me to venture onto the water again. Not to mention having my husband alone for a whole weekend. I agreed to go.

  We sailed across the bay Friday night. The heavens behaved, the water was flat as a board and a beautiful full moon bathed the whole bay in light. It was magic. We dropped anchor in a small cove just inside the Bataan point at about three a.m., went to bed, and slept the whole morning till lunch.

  I was sunning myself on deck thinking what a perfect day it was when Charles had one of his brilliant ideas. He was going to teach me to sail. From the bottom up. He had Ernesto rig the small sailing dinghy. All my protests were like water off a duck’s back. It was knowledge one must have, he said. So, I was deposited in the twelve-foot sailing dinghy, told to sail in that direction and then turn and come back to the boat. Simple. Even if I capsized I would be quite safe. The dinghy could not sink as it had an airtight compartment, so all I had to do was hang on and I would just float back.

  I sailed off as directed, keeping the wind in the sails. I didn’t mind as I was heading towards the shore and I liked that. Charles was screaming instructions and everything was working as planned until I turned to make my home run. ‘It was just one of those unpredictable things,’ he said later.

  I ended up in a rip and instead of drifting back to the boat in the cove, I was going sideways out to sea at an alarming rate. The China Sea! Charles was frantically shouting directions to me but by this time I was so terrified I was not receiving. I stopped pulling ropes and sails and just stared. What to do? I certainly couldn’t swim for it. Even with sails and a strong wind, the boat was making no impression on that riptide at all.

  Once out of the protection of the point, I hit stronger tides and winds from a different direction. Trying to sail the dinghy in high wind on open water was beyond my experience and it was not long before I capsized. I went around the point watching a crazy Charles and an equally crazy Ernesto trying to pull up the anchor, which had decided at this moment to jam. The last words my darling husband shouted to me as I drifted around the point out of sight were, ‘The bloody god damn anchor is jammed, swim for it!’

  I was now passing Bataan point, which was sheer rockface with rocks jutting out of the water at its base in a mad foam of surf. The distance of about one thousand yards, against the current that was taking me swiftly out to sea, was completely beyond me as a swimmer. On my left was the fortress island of Corregidor in the middle of the channel with cliffs straight into the water on all sides.

  If only I could make it there, but I couldn’t. No way in the world a sparrow could find a footing on those rocks, not to mention the six-foot swells racing by. With these alternatives facing me, I decided to take a chance and stick with the dinghy. So I curled myself tighter around the centreboard and cried.

  I kept my eyes glued to the point, hoping every moment that a big white boat would sail around it and come to my rescue. It didn’t. The point became smaller and smaller. Frantic thoughts raced through my mind. What direction was I going in? As if it mattered. The obvious question was how long could I hold onto the centreboard.

  An hour passed and land was fading out of sight. Watching the sun drop lower in the sky, I realised my situation was grim. What about the night? Would I make it through till morning?

  I was so engrossed in my morbid thoughts that I didn’t hear the outboard motor until the fishing bunker was nearly on top of me. I couldn’t believe it; there was a native fishing bunker right next to me. The men helped me aboard, tied the upturned dinghy to the stern and headed slowly back to Bataan. They started questioning me and I knew I was in more trouble. Out of the frying pan into the fire. I had been picked up by Cavite pirates! Oh well, it was better than floating around in the China Sea, at least I would be on dry land. But when I told them I was from the large white boat inside the point, things changed dramatically.

  ‘Ernesto?’

  ‘You know Ernesto?’

  ‘Oh, Ernesto always feeds us. He’s our best friend. He hides us when we are being chased. You are very safe. We take you back to Ernesto.’

  Thank heavens for Ernesto! It was sunset when we reached the boat, still with its jammed anchor. I thanked them and they departed, very happy that they had helped Ernesto. Both Ernesto and Charles were out looking for me, so I had one of the boat boys go ashore to contact the search boat.

  Having done all I could, I sat on deck and waited. Charles saw me on the deck when the boat was a fair distance away.

  ‘Thank heavens. I was so worried. When it came over the radio on the patrol boat that you were back here, I couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t have sailed the dinghy?’

  ‘Yes, I did!’ I said smugly.

  ‘Sara!’

  I couldn’t keep a straight face. ‘The Cavite pirates brought me back.’

  ‘Cavite pirates? Why, they’re the worst cutthroats in the world. You must be mistaken.’

  ‘No. I don’t think their first intentions were very honourable, but when they found out I was from the big white boat and Ernesto was our boat boy, I was safe as a bank.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It seems he feeds them now and then and hides them when they’re being chased by the police around the wharves. They think the world of him.’

  That night Ernesto had his own bottle of champagne and he disappeared ashore for a big night. Charles said I could give up the sailing lessons, for a while at least, and we had a very peaceful Sunday on the beach with the children. Late that night, we reluctantly returned to the mad social/business merry-go-round.

  The riding, tennis, dinner party, entertaining clients circuit continued and the months went by. We enjoyed the riding parts of this busy schedule, but even these were not without unexpected excitement.

  Apparently, before my horse belonged to me, she was owned by a polo player and as soon as the chukka whistle or the referee’s whistle blew, she would take off like the wind straight for the polo field. I would find myself in the middle of the battle with mallets whizzing in all directions. She must have been a good polo pony in her day because she was always right on the ball, and would become quite agitated when I did not hit it.

  This embarrassing situation improved my riding at a very fast clip. The players were good sports about the whole thing and I was never actually flattened by a mallet. They had only one request, that I refrain from going riding when a match was on.

  For my approaching birthday, Charles arranged a cruise to Japan on the President Roosevelt. Unfortunately, to fit in with business, it had to be in the middle of the typhoon season again. No, not another typhoon, in fact the complete opposite. The sea was like a sheet of glass the entire trip. I couldn’t believe it.

  We didn’t board till two a.m., so we skipped breakfast the first morning just for the pleasure of sleeping in and being alone. At lunch we went to the swimming pool when all the people were in the dining room. It really is amazing how people become regimented on board a cruise ship, they jump at every bell. Charles, of course, did the opposite. So, when everyone was eating, we went swimming, then retired to our cabin before they all returned to take up their positions till the next bell. We returned to the pool in the early afternoon for another swim and some sun while afternoon tea was served on top deck.

  By this time we also were feeling
a little peckish so Charles hailed a passing waiter, told him we wanted to be alone and could he arrange somewhere private where we could eat an early evening meal. He said yes and set up a card table on the side deck under one of the lifeboats. We had a marvellous meal with not a soul in sight. Charles tipped the waiter generously and said we would have our meal there at the same time each day. The waiter said he would arrange it.

  We retired to our rooms and had a very pleasant evening alone. It was like a real honeymoon, at last. We were together day and night with no interruptions, and enjoying it tremendously. The following days passed as pleasantly as the first, with a few late night and early dawn walks around the deck.

  By the third day, the only person who had spoken to us was the waiter who fed us each afternoon. We had not made the dining room once and no food orders had gone to our room. This was puzzling the steward in charge of our rooms. The other thing that was puzzling him was that only one bed was being used. No matter how small the bed, Charles always insisted that we share it. When we ordered the first breakfast in our cabin, this was the final straw for the steward. Charles ate a heavy breakfast and I just had fruit juice, tea and toast, so the order only seemed to be for one. When the steward delivered the breakfast, I was asleep, wedged down between the wall and mattress with Charles’s back on me and a pillow over my head. I was completely hidden, and Charles was reading. When Charles woke me for my tea and toast he commented on the strange behaviour of the steward. Apparently he had looked through each room in the suite, in the cupboards, and asked a lot of odd questions. He finally left when Charles was very short with him. We had breakfast and chatted about many things and forgot our steward.

  After breakfast Charles was called to the purser’s office to answer an urgent telex from the office. I showered, dressed and went shopping, leaving a note for Charles to meet me at our private eating spot under the lifeboat at four-thirty. In typical form, Charles did not see the note and assumed I had gone swimming. Or at least that’s what he told the purser and security guard who came to the suite. They were very persistent and insisted that they meet me. When Charles asked why, they told him that the steward suspected he had ‘done me in’! No one had seen me since I boarded the ship.