Defend or Die

by Gillian Chan

  Old Gander’s dignity had been offended and he was in a fighting mood. He was quickly on his feet, barking his defiance, but sensibly keeping a safe distance from the fence. When we got to our feet and made as if to run at the fence, the would-be dognappers took off running.

  “What on earth was that about?” Ike asked. “What did they want him for?”

  I started to laugh, remembering something one of the sailors had told me. “The Chinese are not too fussy about what they eat and old Gander here would feed several families for quite a while! I bet it’s that.”

  Our first day might have started with a bit of excitement, but things quietened down and those first few weeks in Hong Kong were the best times I ever had. We were young men flush with money, let loose in a place so exotic that those back home would never believe us if we told them the things we did or saw.

  Oh, we had to do some soldiering: check out our positions on Hong Kong Island, drill, go to lectures about what poor fighters the Japanese were (being small and short-sighted and night blind to boot). There were lectures on keeping ourselves healthy and not succumbing to temptation with any of the bar girls in Wan Chai. That was all a hazy background to what was the real part of those weeks, exploring Hong Kong.

  When I think back now to the nights we spent in the bars, the monstrous fight we had at the Sun Sun Café in Wan Chai on the island, where we joined the Grenadiers in thrashing some Royal Scots who had called us colonial yokels, it all seems like a glorious dream. I don’t remember too much of that fight, but there was a spectacular moment when a jukebox was used as a battering ram. The Military Police arrived to break it up and we forgot our differences and joined up with the Guards to fight the MPs and chuck them out before we ran laughing through the streets.

  The Sun Sun Café became our favourite watering hole. There were girls there and good, cheap beer, and when we had a few beers, there were the races. Even as miserable as I am now, the thought of the last race we had still stands out. We had to be back in barracks by midnight, so we usually left the Sun Sun about 2100 hours. There was a group of us — me, Ike, Killer, Paddy, Simon — and we were decidedly merry when Killer spotted the rickshaws and their pullers who waited outside, hoping that we’d pay them to give us a ride down to the Star Ferry dock. I didn’t usually take them up on it, since it seemed unfair to see these small, skinny guys busting a gut to pull their rickshaws with great, hefty Canadians in them.

  Killer yelled, “Rickshaw race! Who’s up for it?”

  We were laughing and happily agreed. What we liked to do was persuade the pullers to let us take the rickshaws with them as the passengers. They were none too keen, frightened that we would damage their rickshaws — which were, after all, their livelihoods — but we were fair and paid them well. I don’t know what a rickshaw cost, but if I had broken one I’m sure I could have covered the cost easily, things were so cheap there.

  After a lot of sign language and waving of money it was all set. As usual, we got the pullers to be the passengers. They were light, and I think they liked it that way because they could at least stay with their rickshaws as they careened down the Wan Chai Road.

  We placed bets on who would win. Killer and I had a bit of a rivalry going. In previous races he had only taken me once and was determined to do it again. He put down a bundle.

  “You sure?” I said.

  I saw a flash of anger in his eyes. “You think I can’t take you?” he snarled.

  “You’ve only done it once before,” I said. “Why not just stick to our usual stake of five dollars? Keep it friendly.” I should have left well enough alone, not said anything.

  Killer pulled more money out of his pocket and threw it down. “That’s how much I believe I can take you.”

  “Okay,” I said, “it’s your funeral.”

  This was typical Killer, wanting to make out that he was better than anyone else. I fancied doing something different. “Ike,” I said, “how about you being my jockey tonight.”

  Ike’s face broke into a huge grin. Due to his small size he never really joined in the races, just watched and ran alongside, cheering me on. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d like that.” He hopped into the rickshaw and then a real ruckus broke out.

  Killer was immediately protesting, yelling that it wasn’t fair that Ike could warn me of potholes and other obstacles, which his passenger couldn’t as he didn’t speak English.

  “Yes, but even though he’s scrawny, I think that Ike is heavier than your guy,” was what I answered him with. “So, if anything, it should work to your advantage.”

  I’d been so busy dealing with Killer that I hadn’t paid much attention to the puller of my rickshaw. He was yelling and waving his hands around, pointing at Ike. Then before I could stop him, he jumped in too. No matter what I tried, there was no budging him. I waved money at him, even tried to put it in his hand, but his mind was made up. He was staying.

  I didn’t say anything, just stood between the shafts of the rickshaw and spread my hands helplessly, fully expecting Killer to recognize my plight.

  He gave me a triumphant grin. “A bet’s a bet!” was all he said.

  “That’s not fair!” Ike was yelling now, his face red with anger. “Jacko is going to be pulling twice the weight that you have.”

  Paddy and Simon joined in too, protesting on my behalf. They both dropped the handles of the rickshaws, saying that this wasn’t a fair race and they wanted no part of it.

  “C’mon, Killer,” Simon said, “what’s the point? You know Jacko’s the strongest and fastest. Winning like this doesn’t mean anything; it’s a hollow victory.”

  Killer’s face hardened. “A bet’s a bet.”

  There was nothing for it. I’d have to race.

  We set off and Killer was pulling away with each step. His passenger was enjoying it now, cackling and laughing as he was jolted over the rough street.

  I put everything I had into it and gradually I began to gain ground. My lungs felt as if they were on fire, but I was determined not to give up. Ike was yelling, and yes it did help that he was shouting directions. Thanks to him I managed to weave my way around the potholes and the other vehicles on the road, the same things that were slowing Killer down. By the time we were close to the ferry dock, I’d almost caught up.

  “You’ve got him,” Ike was yelling. “I know you can do this! Don’t give the cheat the satisfaction.”

  That did it. I threw every last bit of strength into it and surged forward. Every muscle was straining and I was in danger of blacking out, but I made it and inched past Killer to claim victory.

  Killer was furious. Swearing, he threw the shafts of the rickshaw down hard. Paddy, who had been carrying the bet money, came running up and thrust it into my hand. Ike launched himself from the rickshaw seat onto my back, where I stood doubled over, struggling for breath, and shouted in my ear.

  I straightened up, letting Ike slide off, and walked slowly over to Killer, my hand extended to shake his, even though I didn’t really feel like it. He batted it aside and stomped off, aiming a last kick at the side of his rickshaw. I heard something splinter.

  “Wow, talk about a sore loser,” Ike said.

  I looked at Killer’s rickshaw. His bad-tempered kick had staved in some of the bamboo struts on its side. I peeled off some notes and offered them to the driver, adding more until he finally signed that he had enough. It was Killer’s money after all.

  We didn’t hurry for the ferry, not wanting to share the ride with Killer.

  Paddy said, “You probably paid the rickshaw guy too much, you know.”

  “Probably,” I answered, “but I don’t want him thinking badly of us. We’re not all like Killer.”

  Rickshaw races, soccer games with other regiments — we were living a dream, and just as that sailor said, I lived like a king. My boy, Ah Sek, shaved me each morning as I lay in my bed, a cup of steaming tea next to me. I bought silk pyjamas to send home to my sisters, except for Bernadette, who
wants to become a nun. For her I bought the most beautiful rosary, the cross carved out of ivory, the beads of milky green jade. Maybe it was a bit bold, but I even bought a beautiful ring that I hoped to give to Alice when we got back to Canada. I walked down streets crowded with tiny shops where I could have bought everything from the best cameras to dried lizards. Obviously I chose the camera. There were beggars on the streets, many of them refugees from the mainland who’d been driven out by the Japanese, and I could even afford to give them money — not that I did often, but some of them were truly pathetic.

  Even Oldham didn’t bother me too much. When he drilled us, he drilled us hard, but I was determined not to give him cause to pick on me and so far I’d succeeded. There were rumours that the Japanese were getting closer to the border, but we knew we had the defences and fighting men to beat them off easily, sending them packing with their tails between their skinny little legs.

  Oh, how wrong we were. My dreamlike state ended on Sunday, December 7, when all passes were cancelled and we were ordered to our posts.

  North Point Camp, Hong Kong Island, March 1942

  I haven’t written for a while. Partly it’s because Ike has been ill, and what with him not able to be my lookout, and me trying to look after him, it just wasn’t safe. I didn’t want to ask anyone else to do it. The fewer people who know about my diary, the better.

  Ike’s had some sort of fever, a bit of dysentery, and it was touch and go for a while. The sawbones couldn’t do anything for him — they haven’t any drugs — so all I could do was watch over him, stay with him during the day in the dysentery ward and help him to the latrines when he could get there and clean him up when he couldn’t. I try to make sure he eats and drinks what little rations he gets, but it’s hard and he’s gotten awful skinny.

  The other reason is because I’m a bit chicken, I suppose. It’s easier to remember the good times we had, not what happened when the war actually started. But I said I wanted to record it all, so here goes. Ike is sitting outside our hut getting some sun now that he’s better, so I’d better get a move on.

  Obelisk Hill, Hong Kong Island, December 1941

  Even through the good times we were having, there was a feeling something was about to happen. There were always rumours, even if most people didn’t believe them, that the Japanese were massing in large numbers on the other side of the border between Hong Kong’s New Territories and China. We were drilling more and there wasn’t as much time as there had been to go out and explore Kowloon and Hong Kong Island, where the main city of Victoria was.

  On Sunday, December 7, we were all marched out to church parade in the main square at Sham Shui Po, thinking longingly of being anywhere but there. We got our wish answered all right, but not the way we wanted — as we got the order to go to war stations!

  It was a madhouse. We grabbed our gear and were rushed down to the ferries for Hong Kong Island, then loaded into trucks and even some commandeered buses, because none of our own transport had made it over with us on the ships. The streets were crowded as usual and it was obvious from the looks on people’s faces that they were worried to see us on the move.

  I suppose I should have been worried too, but all I felt then was a kind of odd excitement, like this was what I had become a soldier for — to fight.

  Our commander, Lieutenant Mason, stood up at the front of the bus that our platoon was on, with Sergeant Oldham and Lance Corporal Durand on either side.

  “I don’t know exactly what’s up, boys, but the top brass have got wind that something’s going to happen,” Lieutenant Mason said. “We are to stay in position until we hear otherwise. You can be sure I’ll let you know when I hear anything else.”

  The babble of conversation that followed didn’t suit old misery-guts Oldham. “Quiet down!” he bellowed in his parade-ground bark.

  I liked our lieutenant even more when I heard him say, “It’s all right, Sergeant, let them talk. We might have precious little time to do that later.”

  Oldham was furious, but what could he do. He did what he always did so well, harassed us as we piled out of the bus to take up our position on Obelisk Hill. He yelled at everything we did. We didn’t move fast enough for him. Unloading our gear was taking too long. Getting our four Bren light machine guns into position was done sloppily. We were a bunch of idlers. I seemed to be the one he picked on most, and after that it was my particular buddies who got it in the neck too.

  In fact, Killer laughed and said to me, “Jacko, it’s a good job we like you because being your friend is a pain in the backside with Oldham around.” I bridled a bit at that, as I wouldn’t count Killer as one of my buddies. He had a mean streak that came out too often for my liking. There was no point making a fuss though.

  We didn’t sleep much that night. Some were lucky and were able to shelter in a bunker, but there wasn’t room for everyone and we had to keep guard anyway. At 0800 hours the next morning, the something that was going to happen, happened. Lieutenant Mason didn’t have to say anything because we all saw and heard it.

  One of the Frenchies, Teddy Lanois, saw them first. “Look!” he yelled, pointing to the west. “Those aren’t ours.”

  I strained to see, finally making out a V formation of about forty planes heading for Kowloon, where we had been only the day before.

  My heart was racing and I realized my fists were clenched. “Come on, come on,” I whispered, willing our planes to come up to meet them; but none did. There was the whistling sound of bombs falling, then the dull crump as they hit their targets. Smoke and flames were soon billowing up from the mainland.

  Everyone was on their feet, watching. Those in the bunkers came out too.

  “Hell,” Ike said, “I think they hit the airfield at Kai Tak.”

  As we watched, the planes turned and headed away, then flew low, dropping more bombs. We could see the fiery lines of bullets as they strafed another target. That’s when it started to become real. I knew what they were going after — our barracks in Sham Shui Po! I shivered, wondering who might still be there.

  “Get back to your stations!” Sergeant Oldham shouted as he ran among us. “They could come back. Don’t stand around gawking.”

  I hated to admit it, but he was right. We should have stayed put, ready to fire if they came over the island. Ike and I ran back to the gun emplacement we’d been assigned.

  “Where’s Killer?” Ike asked, looking around.

  He was supposed to be with us, but I hadn’t seen him since the bombing started.

  “I don’t know,” I said. Killer was one of those larger than life guys, always in the thick of anything that happened. He never stopped talking and joking and kept us amused for hours with his stories about his exploits after he ran away from home in Hamilton. We called him Killer partly because of his surname, Kilpatrick, and partly because of a story he’d told us where he had ended up killing a rat while travelling around, jumping boxcars on the railways. I’d have expected him to be up front, yelling at the enemy planes, but there was no sign of him.

  “Should we go look for him, or maybe report him missing?” Ike looked concerned.

  “Nah,” I said. “Let’s wait a while. We don’t want to get him in trouble for no good reason.”

  I’d made the right decision, because a few minutes later Killer came sauntering out of nearby bushes, whistling as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Hey, boys, some fireworks, eh?” he said with a huge grin.

  Ike nodded and held out a tin mug of tea he had just brewed. I thought it strange that when Killer took it, his hand was shaking. He took a huge gulp of it even though it must have burned his mouth.

  Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who noticed, because I saw Sergeant Oldham standing nearby, watching us. I waited for him to come over and find some fault with us, but he didn’t. He just turned and walked away, head down as if he was thinking about something.

  North Point Camp, Hong Kong Island, March 1942

  War changes p
eople. I’ve seen things in the last few months that I never want to see again. It brings out the best and the worst in people and you don’t know what it will do to you until you’re there.

  I’m lucky. I have good buddies here, including some who I never thought would be. We look out for each other, even at our darkest moments.

  Ike, of course, is my best buddy, but Paddy Houlihan is pretty close too. The three of us pooled what money we had when we were captured and used that to barter for food through the wire. That’s a risky business though, and it could all go wrong depending on the mood of the guards if they spot you trading. If they’re in a good mood, they might turn a blind eye. If they’re not … I’ve seen men beaten up when they’ve been caught, and not just the POWs. The guards go after the Chinese as well. If anything, they’re more brutal to them than they are to us. I saw them bayonet a woman who was trying to sell fish through the fence. They left her body there for days to discourage others from coming to trade too.

  We have no money left now and I had to make a hard decision. Ike’s been sick again and he needs building up. I had something that I could sell, but I hated to part with it — the ring I bought for Alice. I didn’t like to leave it back in the barracks, since there were a few guys who had sticky fingers, so I got in the habit of carrying it in my pocket at all times. In all the scrambling up and down hills, being under fire and even in the hand-to-hand fighting, it never fell out. I couldn’t risk trading it through the fence; there was no way I would get a fair price for it. My only hope was to try and sell it to one of the guards, and that’s where my old friend Shig the Pig came in. Having seen him pocket those pearls, I knew he had an eye for jewellery, and the ring was a beaut, a round emerald surrounded by tiny pearls.

  I waited until he was alone and sidled up to him. Turning my body so that my hand was shielded from view, I pulled the ring from my pocket. His fingers went to grab it, but I quickly had it back inside my pocket. There was so much that could have gone wrong. If he had been as bad as some of the guards, he could have just beaten me and taken the ring with no one being any the wiser.