There had been some mention of Donald’s service in the army but nothing about what had happened since that fateful day at the railway station when we had farewelled him. Many years later, from Canada where he lives, he sent me a description of his activities after that day.
It turned out that his visit to Bangalore was not the first time he had seen me since the trek. He had come to see me at the Smees’ house in Calcutta not long after I had got out of hospital, but the visit had never registered on my mind. He wrote:
I managed to get a job with the American Supply Group that was ferrying arms to the Chinese army, engaged in war with the Japanese forces.
I drove trucks in convoy along the Burma Road to Lashio, a town near the Chinese border. The American involvement grew and when General Stilwell assumed command of the China/ America forces I was used as an interpreter. As the Japanese forces pushed the Allies north, I was informed that my family had evacuated to the northern town of Myitkyina from whence they had hoped to be transported by plane to India.
In the interval, we in the American strategic force retreated into India via the Imphal route. The journey took about 10 days and the terrain was not as intimidating as I had expected. The weather was extremely hot and the track was well used. We lost some members of the group along the way. Some succumbed to tropical illnesses. I left the group in India and made my way to Calcutta where I had some friends.
I soon learned that the airfield in Myitkyina had been destroyed by Japanese bombers and the only way out of Burma was via the dreaded Hukawng Valley Pass. School geography had taught me the Hukawng Valley had never been patrolled during the British occupancy of the country. The textbooks wrote of a part of the country where the timber was impenetrable and there were numerous rivers and high mountains. The area was also home to the Naga headhunting tribe of which little was known. Yellow water fever and malaria were also prevalent.
Shortly afterwards, I made contact with my father and was enrolled in the Scottish College of Calcutta University. News filtered through of the refugee trail through the Hukawng Valley. I was without news of my family in Burma. I was certain that they had not been able to secure a flight out and I wondered if they had made the decision to chance their luck by trekking over the mountains into India.
A refugee reception centre was set up in Calcutta and I spent all my spare time visiting the centre to hear some news of the survivors. All the authorities would tell me was that a few had survived the trek and those who did were holed up in refugee camps in Assam. With news that the refugee trail had dried up, I took some comfort in the thought that perhaps the family had decided to remain in Burma to stay out the hostilities.
Some time during late August 1942, three months after the fall of Burma to the Japanese, I was given the news that one of my family had survived the trek. My youngest brother, Colin, was the sole survivor. At this point things moved quickly and I left my studies and enrolled in the army.
My brother Colin in the meantime was plucked from the refugee hospital in Assam and moved to Calcutta where he was to be cared for by some Christian friends. It was here I met my brother Colin, the youngest of our family.
I remembered Colin as a strong kid brother, always involving himself, even at the age of 11, helping those less fortunate. I called on him at the home of the Christian friends. Seeing him gave me such a shock, I was dumb and inarticulate for a minute or so. He had become withdrawn and non-communicative. He answered my enquiries in monosyllables and was not forthcoming with any information whatsoever.
I observed the depth of the sadness with which he had witnessed the death of our mother and also that of our sister and brother. I wanted to know the details of the trek, but I was not about to force him to relive the agony he had so recently endured. Colin was very close to our mother and the loss must have been traumatic. I left the house wondering if my visit had registered in his mind.
Donald was absolutely right. Even now, I do not recall his visit to me at the Smees’ house in Calcutta at all.
In another, longer account of his life during those years, Donald expanded on his observations during his visit to the Smees:
Under normal conditions there is an opportunity to grieve one’s loss but in time of war, that luxury or benefit is denied one. I have always wanted to know the details but I was not going to force my brother to relive the agony that he had so recently had to endure … To this day the veil that has enveloped these horrific details has not been lifted from my perception and it was only many years later that Colin said that our mother, even in those circumstances where water was more precious than gold, gave up what she had so that a fellow traveller who was on the brink of death could slake her thirst ere she crossed the Rubicon.
What I also did not know was that Donald had taken exception to Mr Smee:
Mr Smee was quite a skinflint and the way he was being so stingy with Colin really irked me. I was in no position to make or demand that he make any changes but luckily Colin did not remain under his care for very long.
My brother also applied himself to the terrible question of why my mother had made the fateful decision to walk out of Burma:
Due to the rapid advance of the Japanese army and the sad way the British in Burma underestimated the ability of the Japanese army in jungle terrain, the airport in Myitkyina was made unusable and my mother and siblings had to make the fateful and disastrous decision to trek out of Burma along the Hukawng Valley route to northern Assam.
They were among the thousands who made that decision and one must understand that it was not a very easy decision for my mother to make. We knew from the way the people in China were treated, that the Japanese conquerors were ruthless and extremely cruel. For them the Geneva Convention did not exist, as proved by their treatment of prisoners on the Thailand to Burma railway.
Also, there was my sister to think about and had they been captured, she most certainly was a prime target for rape.
I feel sad that I was unable to share with Donald the details of the trek. He was entitled to know. It must have taken great strength on his part to refrain from interrogating me. I suppose I was simply too traumatised to unlock the door and let him in.
Chapter 18
Growing Pains
As time went on William Beer and I grew close. I was beginning to accept him as a brother. We discussed intimate matters more freely and the subject of ‘boy meets girl’ was high on the agenda.
Though he was a studious character, he was now of an age when young fellows begin to fancy themselves with the opposite sex.
He took to mentioning some of the girls who attended our church. ‘What do you think of her?’ he would ask, of any who took his fancy.
‘What makes you think I’m an expert on the subject?’
Nonetheless, I felt privileged.
‘I think that if I fancied a girl, I would make my feelings known to her.’
‘Really? But what if she didn’t feel the same?’
‘I’d take my chance anyway,’ I said with more bravado than I felt.
As one can appreciate, at that age every second or third girl takes one’s fancy, but there was one he liked whom even I thought fitted the bill.
‘Tell you what. I’ll pass the word along to her.’
‘No, please, I wouldn’t know what to do.’
‘Look, William, if you think she is desirable, go tell her yourself then.’
‘I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t. Can’t you help me out here?’
So, one day after the Sunday Gospel service I arranged a get-together with some others, so William could at least utter a few words to the love of his life. We all stood about chatting, and he managed to work himself around to where she was standing with one of her girlfriends.
On the way home, I grabbed his arm.
‘How did it go? She seemed to like you all right.’ He blushed.
‘I say, Colin, it was good of you to arrange it.’
I enjoyed the role of decoy,
and our friendship firmed appreciably.
The Beer family had recently employed a new cleaning woman.
She was a young woman with a city background, well groomed and stylish. Both William and I took a fancy to the new recruit who, like a lot of South Indian women, did not wear a bodice underneath her sari. I don’t doubt she had a hunch that the two young fellows were onto her.
‘Tell you what we’ll do. Let’s entice her into the airraid shelter.’ William, though keen, was nervous.
‘What would we do then?’
‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake!’
However, he spoke to the maid.
‘She’s agreed, but we have to be careful.’
We kept a watchful eye out, but she always had the excuse that the time was not right.
One day the adults were away.
‘Right, William, this is it. Pass her the word that I’ll be waiting in the shelter.’ I waited and waited. I could hear voices nearby but no movement. In exasperation I emerged and saw the pair in conversation. William was looking embarrassed.
‘Tell her that I’m no longer interested,’ I said, and marched off. I never again let my emotions drift towards this young woman.
Since then, I have occasionally pictured this woman, who once created such a stir in William’s and my lives, slavishly tending half a dozen of her own children in a tenement somewhere in South India.
William was a keen student. He could absorb schoolwork and even in those early years had set his mind on medicine. Though he never wavered from his goal, I believe my presence in the family had made him aware that there was more to life than school, prayers and church: harmless, yet pleasurable things such as picnicking with girls and boys, taking walks and swimming in waterholes.
We also had vigorous discussions. One day, during a debate about class distinction, I said harshly, ‘You seem to forget that I am a half-caste and in discussions of race I have two crosses to bear, the Oriental and the European.’ William looked up.
‘You’re the best thing that has happened to me,’ he said simply. ‘And I really admire your principled stand against what you believe to be the evil treatment of the natives by the white population.’
I was overwhelmed by his praise, but all I could say was, ‘Thanks.’
There was a remarkable transformation in the way William now viewed things. I even detected a hint of the rebel in him. When I convinced him that my use of a swear word or two meant nothing, he began to slip in a phrase or so, albeit sheepishly and out of earshot of his parents. He could never quite muster the appropriately casual attitude, but he worked at it. We bounced off one another and I grew more at peace.
The understanding and familiarity between us extended to Lily. We studied together and often broke off to talk.
I liked Lily as a sister and felt I could pass on some knowledge of worldly things. She was deeply interested in the way people in love behaved.
‘What do you think makes one person attracted to another?’
‘I don’t know really. I suppose it’s something to do with biology.’ ‘You know, Colin, there is a boy whom I really like. I think he might like me a little bit, too.’
I gave her the same advice I had given her older brother. ‘Let the fellow know your feelings and get on with it.’
Unbeknownst to me, she did. A clandestine affair developed. One night she told me all about it.
‘Lily! I didn’t mean you should take my advice quite so literally!’ She was devastated.
‘Oh, Colin, please don’t say anything to anyone,’ she beseeched.
In 1950 I visited Lily and her sister in London. She had become an attractive woman. We talked of our school days and surprisingly she brought up the subject of the boy in Bangalore. I was so embarrassed that I feigned a loss of memory.
Everything was going well. I felt I fitted in with the family and they, it seemed, had accepted me completely. I was growing to love the people who had taken me in and given me a new life. I had also settled back into school after the upset of my father’s visit. I was into my second year with the Beer family and the time was flying by.
Then two things happened that made it impossible for me to stay.
William and Lily had an older sister, Cora, who was about 10 years older than Lily and me. She was kind-hearted but there seemed to be something missing in her life. Despite her age, she did not appear to have a relationship with any young man. Yet she loved to touch and embrace us all. She often came into the room I shared with William and, if her brother was out, she would sit on my bed and touch me.
The touches became more frequent as she manufactured any excuse to flit into my room. The touching turned to rubbing. Her visits embarrassed me and I feared William would one day walk in. This went on for quite some time until one day she entered my bedroom knowing the family was away for the afternoon. She suggested something quite extraordinary, coming from a devoutly religious person.
‘I am proposing a friendly intercourse.’ I was shocked and scared.
‘What if somebody comes home?’ I stammered. That made her think for a moment.
‘You’re right. We had better be careful.’
She then proceeded to masturbate me. When she left, I tidied myself up, left the house and went to the cemetery nearby to try to take my mind off the embarrassing affair.
Try as I might, I knew things could never be the same again in the Beer household. Cora became aloof. I felt terribly sad and guilty.
I could not wipe the incident with Cora out of my mind. My schoolwork deteriorated. I even grew suspicious of people and it seemed the wave that had been carrying me along in pleasant circumstances had somehow lost its way. My school reports reflected my attitude. When they reached Dr Beer, he called me aside.
‘Colin, this is very disappointing, especially since you had been doing so well. Is there something the matter?’
How could I tell this good man the truth? In a moment of despair, I turned to him and said, ‘The only thing I am interested in doing is returning to Burma.’
Of course this was all fantasy. The war was still raging in the border region. Nonetheless the urge to get back home and look for my mother burdened me constantly, and ever since the incident with Cora my mind had been drifting back to my quest.
‘I am sorry, Colin. I wish there was something we could do.’
I appreciated his concern. I had thought I had pushed the tragedy of the trek way into the darkness of my mind, but I began to have nightmares about it. Instead of concentrating on my schoolwork, I spent the days dreaming about my lost family and home.
Then something else happened.
One day at school, sitting at the desk I shared with an Anglo–
Indian girl, I was staring out of the window.
India’s only aircraft factory was in Bangalore and the allied forces used the base for training. I was gazing at two planes in a mock fight, a Hurricane and an American plane, the Lightning.
The Lightning was distinctive, the only fighter I knew that had a dual fuselage. As they circled, the Hurricane climbed steeply, did a flip and commenced a dive at the Lightning. It was a noisy manoeuvre and my eyes remained glued to it. I was enjoying the show, when the diving plane sliced through the Lightning and with bits and pieces flying about continued its downward flight. With a dull thud it crashed into a nearby paddock. I bounded out of my seat and raced out towards the crash.
As I ran I looked up and saw the pilot of the Lightning floating down under a parachute. When I arrived at the site of the Hurricane crash, a few Indian villagers were already there. The plane was embedded in the soft ground and only its tail section was visible. Some of the debris was very hot to touch.
There was nothing anybody could do to save the pilot. He was buried deep in the ground. Before long air force personnel arrived in trucks.
‘Everyone must move off! We are going to seal off the area!’ The crowd dispersed.
I did not have the heart or spirit to return to s
chool. Instead I walked along a back lane that led to the cemetery, clutching a fragment of the perspex canopy which I had souvenired.
I sat there with just a few monkeys romping around. I grieved for the pilot, whoever he was, and the family who would be notified of his death. In my short life, I had witnessed thousands of deaths. I had seen many planes crash from the skies, yet this incident lay heavily upon me. Late in the evening I walked back to the Beer home, not even realising I had left my school case in the classroom. I stayed silent as everybody in the family related their versions of the accident.
The next day I was called to the principal’s office. ‘McPhedran, you know it is unacceptable to leave class without
permission. Please explain why you did so.’
I tried to form the words, but they would not come out. As the silence grew, he became angry.
‘That is not good enough, young man. I will have to contact Dr Beer to discuss your conduct.’
The events of the war in Burma came flooding back. The accident had triggered a vivid recall of the tragedy of the fighting and the trek. I somehow left the principal’s office and the rest of the day passed in a dream. I only remember walking home that evening thinking that surely by now he must have been in touch with Dr Beer.
Dr Beer was in his study when I arrived.
‘Colin, please come and sit with me for a while. Tell me what happened.’
I sat there, mute. He put his arms around me, and at that moment I burst into tears. He comforted me, saying, ‘It’s not fair that one so young as you should have had to witness so much tragedy.’
I wiped my eyes and replied, ‘I’ll be fine,’ but I was desperately sad and did not know where to turn. Everything seemed to be going wrong. I was acutely aware that I was not living up to anyone’s expectations.
During the next few days I pondered my future with the Beer family. I was beginning to feel fenced in.
White Butterflies Page 17