by Ellie Dean
‘She certainly would,’ agreed Jane before giving a deep sigh. ‘Talking of servants, I wonder what happened to Amah after we left her behind.’
‘Well, we know from Pop’s note which she smuggled out that she got a job as a kitchen skivvy at Changi prison. Where she is now, is anyone’s guess.’
‘I hope she’s all right,’ said Jane. ‘She was already old when we left Singapore, and working in a kitchen would likely have proved too much for her.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a discreet knock on the door, and Sarah went to answer it.
The servant bowed low and held out a silver tray. ‘A telegram for you, Miss Fuller.’
‘Thank you. Will you wait to see if I need to answer it?’
At his nod, she felt Jane look over her shoulder as she tore open the envelope.
Arrived Singapore * Meet Raffles * Mother *
‘I will have to think how to reply,’ Sarah said to the man, ‘but in the meantime, could you arrange for us to have hot water for our baths, and a jug of gin and tonic with plenty of ice?’
She closed the door as he hurried off and then sank down onto the bed. ‘What do I tell her, Jane? With the weather the way it is, we could be stuck here for some time.’
‘I certainly doubt we’ll be there on Sunday at this rate,’ Jane agreed. She found a small writing pad and a pencil which had been placed by the telephone next to the bed. After a few minutes of indecision and crossings-out, they’d agreed on the wording.
In Calcutta * weather inclement * arrival date uncertain * Jane and Sarah *
When the servant returned with a tray of drinks, he was accompanied by several maids carrying buckets of hot and cold water. Sarah handed him their reply to be sent directly to Raffles Hotel in Singapore, tipped him a few rupees and waited for the maids to fill the baths.
Their creased clothing was whisked away to be ironed, and the silent-footed women left the room, their bright saris and scarves drifting elegantly around their slender figures.
It was amazing how quickly she’d fallen back into the easy life of servants, thought Sarah as she slid into warm water fragrant with rose petals and basked in the joy of feeling clean again, and the delights of icy gin and tonic.
Singapore
Sybil had gone to the ship’s radio room before disembarking in order to send her girls the telegram. She had their itinerary written down, so was confident it would find them. She realised she was a few days earlier than planned, but the crossing from Australia had been quick and untroubled. Once she was satisfied that her girls knew she’d arrived safely, she hailed a couple of rickshaws to take her and her luggage to Raffles.
The sounds and smells of Singapore hadn’t changed much, she realised as the rickshaw boy pulled her along the busy streets, but the sight of what war had done to this beloved island playground shocked and saddened her. Some of the old buildings were gone, or reduced to rubble in which ragged children foraged for anything they could use or sell. Other buildings were crumbling, and the once fine parade of stores, bars and cafés where she used to spend hours window-shopping or meeting friends for drinks had become nothing more than makeshift kiosks selling second-hand goods, fly-blown fruit and meat, or tawdry trinkets.
The people too had changed, for despite the end of hostilities, most of the natives looked half-starved and as downtrodden, weary and decrepit as their surroundings, and she noted a marked absence of the usual number of Chinese traders. There was a smattering of European faces amongst the milling crowds, but they seemed to be dressed in tropical service uniform, though Sybil noticed that some of the women looked far from healthy, and their skirts and shirts bore no regimental markings. It was all very strange, and didn’t feel like coming home at all.
She stared in horrified fascination at a line of manacled Japanese prisoners, bare-footed and wearing loincloths, being herded along like cattle by a British army officer. None of them met her gaze, hanging their heads so the conical straw peasant hats hid their shame. Sybil had heard enough from the wireless and newspapers of their heinous crimes to regard this treatment as rather tame. In her opinion, the lot of them should have been shot.
She looked away and deliberately turned her thoughts to more pleasant things even though she knew she was being foolish to cling to her fantasies. However, those dreams had kept her going from the moment she’d fled Singapore with baby James, and she would hold tightly to them until it was proved to her absolutely that her faith in Jock and Philip’s survival had been misplaced. But that was something she didn’t dare contemplate.
Sybil let her mind wander through the visions of how it would be when Jock and Philip were released. She could see it all so clearly that it was impossible to think it might not happen. She would hire a car and they could all go back to the rubber plantation where they’d been so happy. There, the men would be able to rest and relax, get all the food and medicines they needed, find their bearings after what was bound to have been the most awful ordeal, and slowly pick up the threads of a normal life again. Her parents would bring little James over and stay for a while; Philip and Sarah would marry and move into the Tarrant house as they’d planned before the fall of Singapore, and everything would be perfect.
Except perhaps for Jane, who seemed to have grown a very uppity stubborn streak since living in England and constantly refused to have anything to do with all the meticulous plans Sybil had put together for their family reunion. But her father would soon sort her out. Jock had never stood for any nonsense from either girl, and she was sure that wouldn’t have changed.
Sybil’s parents hadn’t approved of her almost desperate need to remain positive, and had warned her not to make too many plans, for none of them had any idea of what she might find in Singapore, and she could be heading for a terrible fall. The same caution had been repeated frequently in Sarah and Jane’s letters, but she’d chosen to ignore them. Without hope there was little point in carrying on, and she was absolutely determined to keep that flame of hope alive. After all, she reasoned silently, Jock had probably done the same thing throughout his ordeal, and she wasn’t about to let the side down now.
She was snapped from her thoughts by the boy coming to a sudden halt. They’d arrived at Raffles, and the joy of seeing it again stopped her from reprimanding him.
The building looked so wonderfully familiar, and it was clear that even under Japanese occupation it had been regarded with respect – and quite rightly. The gardens were lush, the palm trees were still there, and everything looked freshly painted.
With eager anticipation, she paid off the two rickshaw boys, adjusted her broad-brimmed hat and waited for the Raffles servants to collect her luggage and carry it into the reception hall. Following them inside, she came to an abrupt halt.
The place looked the same, even smelled the same, but it was full of army officers and scurrying women who she guessed were aides or secretaries – and there was a group of rough-looking European women, some with equally ragged children, who were conducting a furious row involving a good deal of swearing, finger-pointing, pushing and shoving.
Sybil clutched her handbag to her chest, certain that a fight would break out at any minute and she might get caught up in it. What had Raffles become? Who were these ghastly people – where on earth had they come from – and why wasn’t someone throwing them out?
As the argument grew louder and the shoving became more violent, Sybil heard the coarse vowels of the East End of London mixed with the plummy tones of Mayfair, the twang of Australia and the clipped accent of a Dutchwoman – or was it German? Astonished, she found she was rooted to the spot and could only stand and stare.
And then a tall, dark-haired, handsome man dressed in the uniform of a British lieutenant stepped into the fray. ‘Now, ladies, please try and calm down,’ he said reasonably. ‘I know you’re tired after your long journey, but there’s no need for this.’
‘There flaming well is,’ retorted a short, skinny blonde with a strong
Sydney accent and terrible sores on her face. She grabbed hold of one of the other women by the scruff of her neck and shoved her towards him. ‘This bitch has no right to be here after what she got up to. She should be thrown into jail like the rest of the collaborators.’
A chorus of agreement went up, and the woman who’d been singled out drew her young son close to her side to protect him. ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong,’ she protested in a Cockney whine. ‘Me kid were starving, and any decent mother would have done the same.’
‘You’d better come with me,’ the officer said calmly. He looked at the others who were spitting venom and complaining about unfair treatment. ‘I’m taking her and the boy to arrange for another billet,’ he said, shooting them a smile that made him more handsome than ever. ‘I suggest the rest of you go to the bar and cool off.’
He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a wad of paper. ‘These chits can be exchanged for any drink you want,’ he said, handing them over. ‘Your rooms will be ready by six, and dinner’s at eight.’
Sybil saw him walk away with the woman and her son and breathed a sigh of relief as the mob broke up, giggling, and rushed into the bar. Feeling slightly shaken by it all, she found she needed to sit down for a while.
Having restored her spirits with a Singapore Sling, she finally approached the reception desk.
‘I’d like to book my two usual rooms,’ she said. ‘The name is Mrs Jock Fuller. I don’t know how long my daughters and I will be staying, but it could be for some time.’
‘I’m sorry, Madam, but the hotel is full,’ said the Malay receptionist.
‘Surely you must have something,’ said Sybil, drawing some money from her purse in the hope that a bribe could still ease the way.
‘I do apologise,’ he said, ignoring the notes with a rather snooty air. ‘But the hotel has been requisitioned by the British Administration, and all the rooms have been set aside for the women and children who have been released from the prison camps. In fact, all good hotels have also been requisitioned. There is hardly a room to be had anywhere in Singapore.’
Sybil felt a pang of guilt mixed with her annoyance, for now all was explained, and she shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about those women. ‘Then what should I do? I’ve just come from Australia in search of my husband who was taken prisoner, and my daughters are expected to arrive tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps I may be of service?’
Sybil turned sharply and looked up at the man who’d quelled the rowdy argument. ‘I’m not sure how,’ she replied. ‘It seems every hotel in Singapore is filled to the rafters.’
He smiled down at her, his bright blue eyes quite startlingly attractive in his tanned face as he took in her elegant shantung silk suit and smart hat. ‘Would I be right in guessing that you’re Mrs Fuller?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, rather startled. ‘But how on earth did you know that?’
‘I overheard some of your conversation with the receptionist,’ he said without a hint of bashfulness. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Second Lieutenant Jim Reilly, and your daughters have been living with my wife in Cliffehaven.’
‘Good Lord,’ breathed Sybil as she found her slender hand being swamped in a dry, firm grip. ‘What a very small world it is. You’re the last person I expected to meet here.’
‘It’s the last place I really want to be,’ he admitted with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘But if you come with me, there’s someone you know who’ll be able to help you find accommodation.’
‘Jock?’ she gasped.
His smile disappeared and he looked mortified. ‘I’m so sorry to have given you false hope,’ he replied softly. ‘There’s no news of him or Philip yet, but we’re doing our very best to find them.’
‘Then who?’ she asked in bewilderment. ‘The girls aren’t due in until Sunday.’
‘Elsa Bristow,’ he replied. ‘But I must warn you, Mrs Fuller, the Brigadier didn’t survive his imprisonment.’
‘Oh no, poor Elsa,’ she gasped. ‘I must go to her. Where is she? What’s she doing here?’
‘Let me make sure your luggage is locked away first,’ he said, eyeing the expensive matching suitcases. ‘Things have a habit of disappearing round here.’
She looked at him, aghast. ‘At Raffles? Surely not?’
He shot her a grin. ‘The clientele has changed drastically since your last visit, and the women are like magpies after being deprived of everything over the years, and anything left lying about is fair game. It’s a habit they picked up in the camps where things could be bartered for extra food, a pillow, a comb, a cigarette – or anything to make their ordeal a little easier.’
‘I hadn’t realised there were women and children in the camps,’ she murmured. ‘How on earth did any of them survive?’
‘A great many of them didn’t,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Fuller, but it’s best you know right from the start that the odds of finding your husband and Philip alive are remote.’
Sybil digested this advice and decided he had to be exaggerating the situation. If women and children had survived, then surely men like Jock and Philip – healthy, strong men in the prime of their lives – could too. Feeling more positive despite his warning, she watched him as he went to talk to one of the porters and helped stow her suitcases in a room behind the counter.
It was interesting to meet him in the flesh, for she’d heard a great deal about Jim Reilly and his wife Peggy from her girls’ many letters, but she hadn’t expected him to be quite so handsome or charming. Yet it was fortuitous that he was here, and placed in a position where he could be a huge help in tracking down the men. Sybil had always believed that who you knew was far more important than what you knew.
She saw how easily he conversed in Malay with the porter, how the young women flashed their eyes at him as they sashayed past and how he smiled back appreciatively. He was a charmer, all right, and she suspected that Peggy must have had many uneasy moments while he’d been away, for it was clear that he had an eye for the ladies and that they were drawn to him.
However, she kept her thoughts to herself as he returned to her side. ‘You were going to tell me what Elsa’s still doing here,’ she prompted.
‘Like you, she came in search of her husband.’ he said softly before explaining her position with RAPWI and the overwhelming task that lay ahead of them.
Sybil frowned. ‘But what about her girls? Are they here too?’
‘They’re both married now, so she left them in Sydney,’ he replied, leading her through a labyrinth of corridors to Elsa’s office. ‘I’ll leave you both to catch up,’ he said, opening the door.
Sybil thanked him and stepped into the small, stifling room and tried not to show her shock at seeing Elsa looking so much older – in fact, she looked quite haggard, and her clothes were horribly rumpled. ‘Elsa, my dear,’ she said, approaching the cluttered desk. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about Reggie.’
Elsa rose to greet her and after a brief hug, tried to smooth out the creases in her skirt and tidy her hair. ‘I realise I must look a fright,’ she said, eyeing Sybil’s immaculate turn-out. ‘But I’ve barely time to breathe let alone worry what I look like.’ She gave Sybil a regretful smile. ‘I do wish you hadn’t come, my dear.’
‘I had to,’ said Sybil. ‘And my girls will be here soon. They’re coming over from England. Now I know you and Jim Reilly are in charge, I’m certain things will move on swiftly.’
Elsa shook her head. ‘It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.’
Sybil sat in the stiflingly hot little office and her spirits plummeted as Elsa told her in quite graphic terms what she could expect.
‘Singapore is in chaos and far from what you and I remember,’ said Elsa. ‘The Chinese fled or were killed, the Malays forced into slave labour. Without the ships bringing food and medicines, everyone would starve. The prisoners are only just beginning to be flown in from the jungle camps, and most of them are in dire straits and being sent stra
ight to the hospital which is becoming quite overwhelmed. The Dutch, Australians and Americans are trying to repatriate their nationals as quickly as possible, but with more and more coming in every day, the task is painfully slow.’
Elsa paused and ran her fingers through her already untidy hair. ‘All we know so far is that Jock and Philip were sent from Changi to work as slave labourers on Philip’s rubber plantation. One of the Malay workers recognised them, but they were not amongst those who were liberated.’
‘Slave labour? On their own plantation?’ gasped Sybil in horror.
Elsa gave a weary sigh. ‘They could have been sent anywhere after that, Sybil. The lack of documentation is our biggest problem in trying to find the thousands of men still out there, so you could have a very long wait ahead of you.’
‘I’ve waited three years, Elsa. A few more weeks won’t hurt.’
Elsa regarded her thoughtfully. ‘To be brutally honest, Sybil, you and the girls will simply be in the way – but if you want to do something useful while you wait for news, I suggest you go to the hospital and help on the wards. They’re desperate for more pairs of hands.’
Sybil didn’t want to appear unhelpful, but she shuddered at the idea. ‘I’ll go there once I’ve found somewhere for us to stay,’ she murmured.
‘You and the girls can bunk in with me at the bungalow,’ said Elsa as a girl rushed in with an armful of brown cardboard folders and fidgeted impatiently by the desk. ‘It’s a bit basic, I’m afraid, but better than nothing. Come back at seven and we can go together.’
Realising she was being dismissed, Sybil gathered up her handbag and wandered back through the maze of corridors to the Palm Court which had always been a favourite place of hers to socialise and while away a pleasant afternoon in idle chatter or games of bridge.