The Other Side of Paradise

by Margaret Mayhew

  They were driven in ambulances to an Australian military hospital. There they were deloused, took baths in tiled bathrooms with hot water and scented soap, washed their hair with shampoo, cleaned their teeth with toothbrushes and toothpaste, used porcelain lavatories and lavatory paper. They were given pyjamas, dressing gowns, brushes and combs, and slept in beds with clean white sheets and two soft pillows. It was all far too comfortable.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ Stella said from the bed beside Susan. ‘But I’m going to sleep on the floor.’

  The next day the Red Cross provided clothes. Undies, frocks, blouses, skirts, stockings, shoes to put on their splayed and leathery feet, as well as face creams, powder and lipstick and nail files. They were given civilized meals on civilized china plates that they ate with civilized knives and forks and spoons.

  There were other internees in the hospital, too – women and men survivors from other camps and some from Changi prison in Singapore. A lot of them were very ill and likely to die or to take many months to recover. Susan talked to one man who was well enough to walk around. He had been a solicitor working in Singapore and he described what had happened after the city fell.

  ‘People couldn’t believe it – not even then. It was like a nightmare. The Japs made all European civilians assemble on the Cricket Club Padang. Thousands of men, women and children. We were there for hours during the hottest part of the day while they told us exactly what they thought of us whites. No shade, no water, no mercy. Later they made the men march the twelve miles to Changi prison. The women and children had to walk, too. We were already there when they arrived at Changi and as they came marching through the gates we heard them singing at the tops of their voices, “There’ll Always be an England”. We thought that was pretty splendid, I can tell you. We cheered them like anything.’

  She said, ‘Did you happen to come across my father, Thomas Roper? I think he must have been in Changi.’

  ‘Tom Roper? Good Lord, yes. He was in the same cell as me for over a year.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where he is now? Nobody seems to know.’

  ‘Oh dear, haven’t you been informed? He died a long while ago. It would have been back in December 1942, I think. Or around that time. My memory’s not too good, I’m afraid. I’m so sorry. Didn’t you know?’

  She said quietly, ‘No, I didn’t know. What did he die of?’

  ‘Hard to say exactly … people died of all kinds of things, sometimes there were several causes. You were in a Jap camp yourself, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then you know how it was.’

  Yes, she knew.

  ‘Did he suffer very much?’

  ‘We all suffered. Some more than others. I shouldn’t dwell on that, if I were you. Much better not.’

  ‘The Kempeitai,’ she said. ‘Did they question him?’

  ‘They questioned anyone they suspected of any kind of disobedience or conspiracy. Any man who stood out as a natural leader, like your father. It didn’t matter that there was no shred of evidence and nothing to justify it.’

  ‘Did they torture him?’

  ‘He was a very courageous man. An example to us all. That’s all I can tell you.’

  She went on doggedly. ‘Did he die because of being tortured?’

  ‘As I said, it was hard to know what a man died of. There was never any shortage of causes. Some died, some survived. That’s all one can say. I was one of the lucky ones. I don’t know why. I did absolutely nothing to deserve it.’

  She felt the same guilt, too: guilt at surviving when so many others had died, and now the agonizing grief that one of them had been her father.

  Officials from an organization called the Repatriation of Allied Prisoners of War and Internees came to the hospital. A plump, middle-aged woman in uniform interviewed Susan with Peter and Hua. The plumpness looked strange – so much flesh on bones, among so little.

  ‘I’m very sorry about your father, my dear.’

  ‘Are you quite sure he’s dead?’

  ‘His name is here on the list, I’m afraid. He died on the tenth of December 1942 and was buried in the prison cemetery. The Japanese seem to have been meticulous about the Changi lists. I’m sure you’ll want to visit the grave and it can be arranged for you, when you’re feeling up to it.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to do that, please.’

  The RAPWI woman was being very kind, like the Aussies at the camp, but she kept staring at her. It wasn’t the first time that Susan had noticed how people seemed fascinated by internees – they stared as though they were freaks.

  ‘We’ll try and trace the children’s families but it may take a while. At least we have some helpful details for Peter but it’s going to be very difficult so far as Hua is concerned. Her mother is dead, her father missing and all we seem to know about her is roughly where she lived and that she had an aunt called Su. It’s not very much to go on but, of course, we’ll do our best.’

  Susan said, ‘I could go to the place myself and see if I can find out anything. I remember exactly where the Chinese settlement was.’

  ‘Do you think you’re fit enough to go anywhere yet?’

  She had weighed just over five stone on arrival but after one week she weighed nearly six, and her physical strength was beginning to come back.

  ‘Yes, I’m quite all right.’

  The woman said, ‘We’ll find out about your mother and grandmother. That shouldn’t be too difficult. As soon as I have any news I’ll let you know.’

  She waited a moment while more notes were made in neat handwriting.

  ‘Do you happen to know anything about the massacre at the Alexandra Hospital?’

  The woman looked up. ‘I heard about it. It was shocking. A terrible thing.’

  ‘I knew some of the doctors and nurses there. I’d like to find out if any of them survived.’

  ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘Captain Ray Harvey. He was a doctor in the Australian army.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, it could be a bit of a problem too. I gather they were all buried by the Japanese in a mass grave. But I’ll certainly try.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s all a bit chaotic at the moment, you see. It will take time to sort everything out. Is there anything else I can do to help?’

  ‘Well, there is one thing. The children are getting very fed up in the hospital. So am I, to be honest. It’s awfully depressing. Is there anywhere else we could stay?’

  The woman smiled. ‘Yes, my dear, as a matter of fact there is.’

  * * *

  The YWCA had commandeered rooms at Raffles Hotel for women and children internees. Susan, Peter and Hua were taken there by ambulance – an Austin K2Y exactly like the one she had driven. She sat in front beside the Red Cross woman driver with Hua on her knee and Peter sitting on a tin toolbox beside her. She had tried to persuade Stella to go with them, but Stella had chosen to stay on and help with the nursing while she waited for a passage home.

  ‘I’ll come over and see how you’re getting on. You can buy me a drink at that posh bar. What’s it called?’

  ‘The Long Bar.’

  ‘That’s the one. And I’ll have a Singapore Sling. In fact, I’ll have two.’

  The Red Cross driver was hopeless and crashed through the gears.

  Susan shouted to her above the whining and the shrieking. ‘I used to drive one of these.’

  ‘Really?’ The gears shrieked in protest again. ‘They’re jolly hard work, aren’t they?’

  They were going down Orchard Road. The bomb damage was still there – all the shelled and burned-out buildings – but otherwise the city looked almost unchanged. She had expected the Japanese to have torn down buildings, built new ones to glorify their victory over the White Devils, to have left their Imperial mark stamped all over their Syonan. Not so. The Rising Sun flags had been hauled down, Union Jacks raised in their place and the hotel, no longer the Syonan Ryo
kan, was called Raffles once more. It was now a transit point for army personnel and internees – as many as possible crammed into the luxurious bedroom suites. Nobody danced to an orchestra in the ballroom or dined in splendour at the restaurant in evening dress. Clothes were whatever people stood up in, food was short and, though the Long Bar was open, alcohol was scarce.

  But there were ghosts lurking in the shadows. Ghosts from the past. She could hear the murmur of their voices, the echo of their laughter, the beat of their dance music. And the girl she had once been was among them.

  Mr Singh still worked at her father’s bank. He welcomed her politely into his office and expressed his condolences.

  ‘Mr Roper was a most valued customer for many years. We were indeed very sorry to hear of his death. The situation regarding his accounts with us is difficult until we are in possession of all official documents, but the bank would be glad to do anything it can to assist you and Mrs Roper. Mrs Roper is not with you?’

  She said, ‘My mother and my grandmother are believed to be in Australia, but I’m still waiting for news of them.’

  ‘You will join them?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘It would not be advisable for you to stay in Singapore alone, Miss Roper. Much has changed. And there will be more changes. Have you returned yet to your former home in Cavenagh Road?’

  ‘No.’ It was something she dreaded. ‘Not yet. But the house belonged to my father’s company. I couldn’t stay there.’

  ‘In any case, there may be nothing left. The house may be a ruin. Do you have funds?’

  ‘Funds?’

  He said gravely, ‘Money to live on. For your daily needs. For your passage to Australia – when the time comes.’

  ‘No. None.’

  ‘We must see what can be done. Your late father would wish us to help you as much as is within our power. It will be my pleasure to do so.’

  She took a rickshaw to Cavenagh Road. The house was still there but with a desolate, abandoned look. The chicks were rolled down, shutters and windows closed. She paid the rickshaw man and walked slowly up the driveway to the portico. The front door was shut, too, but when she tried the handle it opened.

  Inside, the house had been stripped bare. She went from empty room to empty room, downstairs and upstairs. Except for the red carpet on the marble staircase and the black and white chicks at the windows, everything had been taken. Her mother’s English antique furniture, the tables, the chairs, the sofas, the pictures, the mirrors, the beds, the chests, the wardrobes … vanished. And the clothes she had dreamed about in the camp had gone. Saddest of all, the green glass Buddha no longer sat smiling at the foot of the stairs.

  She went out on to the west verandah, robbed of its comfy rattan and chintz. The sun was beginning to go down, the sky streaked with crimson above the trees. It would soon be time for Soojal to bring the evening drinks – the stengahs, Grandmother’s gin pahit, the iced lime juice – and to light the lamps. The ghosts were here, too.

  She sat at the top of the steps leading down to the lawn where she had always sat to feed the doves and where they had fluttered down to perch on her shoulders and coo softly in her ear. Their dovecote had gone, so had all the birdcages hanging from the eaves; Hector’s big brass cage too. The lallang had grown feet high, the garden was reverting to jungle.

  The grass parted and a small black shape emerged, miaowing loudly. The cat trotted towards her and jumped on to her lap, purring at full volume.

  ‘Sweep, oh Sweep …’

  She buried her face in his fur.

  ‘You come back, missee. You come back.’

  She turned to see Soojal on the verandah above. Not a ghost out of the past but the real Soojal, staring at her as though he could scarcely believe his eyes. She stood up, cradling Sweep in her arms, wiping the tears from her cheeks. He had changed a great deal: he was shrunken and stooped, dressed in shabby clothes, and his feet were bare.

  ‘It has been a long time, missee.’

  ‘Yes, a very long time. How are you, Soojal?’

  ‘I am quite well, thank you, missee. How are you?’

  He was probably just as shocked by the look of her as she had been by him.

  ‘Not too bad, thanks. I came back to see how things were.’

  ‘I am sorry. Not at all good. I do my best to look after the house but everything has been taken.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen. By the Japs, I suppose.’

  ‘Not only them. At first some steal, but then they stop. Their officers forbid it. But other people come and take what they want and in the end there is nothing left.’

  She said, ‘The tuan is dead, Soojal. Did you know?’

  ‘I hear this. It is very, very sad. He was a very good man. Do you have news of the mem?’

  ‘As far as I know she’s safe somewhere in Australia with my grandmother. I’m waiting to hear.’

  ‘And you, missee? What has happened to you? Where have you been? I find out that you are not in Changi prison with the tuan.’

  ‘I got away on a ship but it was sunk by the Japs. I’ve been in a prison camp on Bangka Island and then in Sumatra – until the Allies came.’

  He shook his head. ‘Very bad. Very bad. Japanese very cruel people.’

  ‘Yes, they can be pretty unpleasant. I expect you found that out too.’ She stroked Sweep. ‘I never thought I’d see Sweep again. Has he been here all the time?’

  ‘Yes. He stays here and every day I bring food for him. I promise you to look after him, missee. Remember? Like me, he waits for your return. He knows you will come back. He is very sure.’

  She swallowed. If she wasn’t careful she’d start to cry again. She waited till she could trust her voice.

  ‘How about Ghani? How is he?’

  ‘Ghani tries to look after the Buick for the tuan but it is taken by Japanese. They make him drive for them. Treat him very bad. Then he is ill and he dies.’

  Poor Ghani with his brown moon-face, creased with so much worry. Missee go too fast. Not safe. Berenti! Berenti!

  ‘Li-Ann and the other amahs? Cookie?’

  ‘I have no news. The Japs killed many Chinese.’

  ‘Amith? Arjun? Kumar?’

  ‘I do not know. They all disappear. These were very bad times.’

  ‘What about you, Soojal? What happened to you?’

  He spread his hands. ‘I work, missee. In Tanglin Club. The Japanese officers are there.’

  She could picture them. Strutting about in their ugly uniforms, screaming orders, lolling around, eating and drinking, swimming in the pool.

  ‘How horrible for you!’

  ‘I work so I can eat and live, not die. But I come here every evening to the house and I always say to myself that one day the Japanese will go and the tuan and the mem and missee will return.’

  She said, ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to come back to live here, Soojal. Nor will the mem. Not now that the tuan is gone. The house doesn’t belong to us, you see.’

  ‘I understand this, missee. And I am very sad. Sad for me, and sad for you. It has been very happy here.’

  ‘Yes, very happy.’ She swallowed again. ‘Would you go on feeding Sweep for me for a while? I’ll come back for him later and take him away with me, if I possibly can.’

  ‘I will do this willingly for you, missee.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked around the overgrown garden. ‘The pond’s empty, I see.’

  ‘Yes, missee. The fish were all taken for food.’

  ‘And the doves have gone too.’

  ‘Yes, missee, they fly away. Also the other birds. Except one.’

  ‘Oh? Which one?’

  Soojal smiled. ‘He stays here in the trees. I feed him, too, when I come. I bring flower seeds for him and he comes down to eat. He is waiting now.’

  She shielded her eyes against the sun. ‘Where? I can’t see anything.’

  Soojal lifted his hands and clapped them together loudly. An answering squ
awk came from the top of the jacaranda tree.

  ‘God Save the King! God Save the King! God Save the King!’

  Soojal had hidden the handbag and suitcase that she had left behind in the hall. He brought them to her.

  ‘I bury them in the garden for you, missee.’

  Her passport and the boat ticket to Australia were still inside the handbag, and when she opened the suitcase she found her memories. The evening gown of white satin and pink silk roses, the photos in the album, her favourite doll and her books. She sat on the steps with them gathered up in her arms and wept.

  Sixteen

  THE RAPWI ORGANIZATION had set up an office in Raffles.

  ‘We have news of a John Travers,’ one of the officers told Susan. ‘He was taken prisoner in early 1942 and held in Pudu gaol, Kuala Lumpur. According to the Jap records, he was a civil engineer with a British construction company. It sounds as though he’s probably Peter’s father, though I wouldn’t say anything to Peter yet, if I were you. One can’t be absolutely certain.’

  It was a man this time – younger than the plump RAPWI woman at the hospital and not nearly as sympathetic. He stared at her, too, and harder.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘That’s the problem. We’re not quite sure. The prisoners were moved out as soon as it was possible but there’s no actual record of where he was taken. He’s bound to turn up soon.’

  ‘Peter’s waiting for news. It means an awful lot to him. Can’t you hurry things up?’

  ‘We’re doing our best, Miss Roper. You must give us time.’

  He was immaculately turned out: well-pressed uniform, moustache that looked as though it had been drawn on neatly with a black pencil, plenty of flesh on his bones, no signs of wear and tear. She wondered where he had sprung from. Probably some cushy bolt-hole where the war had conveniently passed him by.

  ‘Have you heard anything about my mother and grandmother yet?’