So the Christmas rush started. We cut off sleeves, short-ened dresses, cut off collars, sacrificed anything to get bits ofmaterial out of which to make presents. Many of us had sleptin evening dresses for a year or so, our nightgowns being wornout; now the good parts of these were sacrificed. We un-raveled stockings and socks to get thread to sew with. I hadone pair of kid gloves which I cut up to make dolls’ shoes. Inthe excitement of creating we sacrificed anything. Out of bitsand piec^ of every sort of material we made small dolls andfancy animals, and never have I seen their like for originaKty.Nothing was what it seemed to be.
Their bodies were made of flesh-colored underpants ornighties or beige stockings, and stuffed with kapok, tea, orshredded rags. Hair was made of hemp, unraveled from theends of rope, or else of wool. Faces were embroidered on, orrubbed on "with pastel, or painted. I had a few pastels whichthe Japanese Domei News reporter had given me when hehad posed me for a propaganda picture of “artist at play” theyear before; these I used combined wdth my owm lipstick androuge, to paint faces. I put the pastels on wdth a wet match-stick to make them more lasting, and finished each face with acoat of my face powder.
The Christmas before I had done fifty dolls’ faces forpeople this way, and nearly exhausted my make-up and mypatience. Now I said that I would trade each doll’s face fora scrap of extra food, or smokes. The barter did not dis-courage trade as much as I had hoped.
We cut blocks of soft rubberwood and carved small 10575;we used liquid rubber tapped from the rubber tree in campto glue things together with. And anything with any claimof edibility was bartered for, and hoarded for the day.
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If I hadn’t been exhausted anyway, if I hadn’t grudged theenergy and tune, if my heart had been in it, it might havebeen fun.
The day came. The children went wild. The barrack wasbedlam, the holiday bustle was there, the excitement and com-paring and quarreling. Each special Sister came along with afood tidbit for her special chUd, and contributions arrivedall morning. Gifts came from their fathers, permitted by theJaps; scooters, swords, guns, carts, and blocks, made of softrubberwood, put together with nails made from the twisted-off barbs of barbed wire.
The Japanese office sent word that we were to meet ourhusbands for half an hour, in the field outside the barbed wire.We put on our make-up and went.
Lieutenant Nekata was there, looking benevolent ormalevolent, according to your interpretation of him. MissAsaka was there, announcing and pronouncing the rules andregulations and taboos of the occasion with her own naturalvocal arrangements, which surpassed any ordinary loud-speaker. The armed guards were there, sweating and proddingtheir way amongst us. Colonel Suga was there, sweeping byin his motor car, he bowing, we bowing. Sweet biscuits ar-rived to be distributed to the. children.
We sat with our husbands quietly under the trees. Theyheld their children lovingly to them, and yearned over them.But the children would not have much of that. They wereoutside the barbed wire today, in the fields with the trees andthe stream, running wild, climbing trees, picking flowers,burs, buds —any living wild thing — running free. Fatherswere secondary to freedom.
Harry looked iU, always more ill, and more thin. At the endof half an hour the parting came. As always, I felt that I hadforgotten the most important things, that all I should havesaid was, “I love you.”
The men were mustered and marched off down the road.
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Some looked back striving to hold the moment longer. Alwaysthere was the feeling that danger, destruction, death, wouldstrike before we met again. Always each meeting seemed thelast. I looked after them as far as I could see. Was it better,or was it worse, to meet like this, I wondered.
In the afternoon we had the Christmas tree. It had beensent from the men’s camp with all the decorations on it, madeby the civilian men and the British soldiers, and arranged forby George Colley, the American from Manila.
The tree was pleasant, a small Dacrydium with bendingboughs. Flowers and tiny scraps of colored cloth or string orpaper were used to make it bright. There was a present on itfor every child from the sender, and a few children had ad-ditional gifts. The smaller gifts were hung on the tree, andthe heavy ones placed under. It was like every Christmastree, the shrine of great promise.
A Christmas angel in spangles with limbs of seduction andface of enticing dissipation teetered drunkenly on top, createdby a British Tommy, in likeness of a prisoner’s dream.
Long before the presents were distributed the boys hadspotted the best ones. These were two wooden motor trucks,a train, and a large and splendid ship carved of rubberwood.These were outstanding and stupendous, they were manlyand pretentious. All over the tree were hung various coloredstuffed animals and dolls which represented Mama’s garmentsand undergarments of the past — most ingenious, considering— considering! The materials for these had been sent to themen to work with; and there were giraffes, tigers, elephants,zebras, spotted ponies, dogs, cats, bunnies, and goUiwoggs —whimsical, fanciful, phony. We thought they were wonder-ful, considering . . . considering . . . But who wants toconsider?
The boys looked at this stuff lethargically, and even thegirls were blase. There comes a time when Mama’s clothesshould either be buried or burned.
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But at the foot of the tree the boys all crowded, andhandled, and grabbed, and dribbled on, and panted over thetrucks, the boat, and the train.
George said happily, “That’s mine, isn’t it. Mum? Thatbig big big boat?”
“I don’t think so, darling. That is so very big it must befor the biggest boy. But there is something lovely for you onthe tree, I know.”
“I want the boat, Mum.”
“But all the boys want the boat, and they can’t all have it.You must wait and see.”
“But I want it. Mum.”
“Wait and see.”
The distribution started. George waited breathless andconfident, to receive his boat. I was praying; if only one childcould have that boat, it might as well be George!
One by one the gifts were distributed. Still George didn’thave his, and the boat was stiU there. And then George washanded a white pony with red spots and an orange maneand a beautiful Christmas card, “To George.”
“Say Thank You, George.”
“Thank you. But when do I get the boat?”
“That is for somebody else, dear.”
“I don’t want this pony. I want that boat.”
“I think we’d better go home now, George.” Somethingwas about to start!
“I won’t go without my boat!”
Just then the boat was presented to Vicki! It was actuallytaken and held by Vicki, and it was removed by Vicki.
George watched it go. His world broke into bits. This wasworse than the war, or being hungry, or toothache; this wasthe end of everything.
So he acted accordingly.
Oh, George, my darling, I know just how you feel. Iwould have got it for you if I could. I didn’t know in time.
But it was too late then fox me to make one, or smuggle one,or steal one.
It wasn’t nice of you to dtrow that pony on the ground and
stamp on it. It wasn’t nice to scream and shout, “I hate thatbad-smell pony!” It wasn’t nice, but I know how you feeL
Dusk comes, quiet comes, chUdren sleep. Christmas is overagain. I say my prayers: “O God, before next Christmascomes, give me a boat to give my son.”
There was something that kept us going in Kuching, be-yond just rice and greens. Each one of us was beginning toknow that it is not enough to exist, that one must have areason for existing. “Man liveth not by bread alone, but byevery word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God,” wasnever so true as in prison camp. And the less bread there was,the more we needed the Word.
The word that proceeded out of the mouth of God for mewas the warning not to be consumed by hate. Hate is a waste-ful emotion; for my own sake
, I didn’t wish to hate the Jap-anese, or the people about me.
Every night when I lay down beside George I was filled
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with love for him. Every night we said the Lord’s Prayertogether. I was not praying for an answer, or to praise theLord, but to ease myself. I was looking for rest and peace, anda way to make life bearable, when it was not bearable.
With George beside me I could know that love holdstogether in time of danger, love soothes and strengthens, lovebuilds up, where hate destroys. I could pray then to love andto God, the two inseparable.
I went to bed at dusk most nights, and lay awake severalhours before sleeping. I got up several times during the nightto smoke cigarettes, because of hunger. I went out to thelatrines several times each night as a result of improper diet.My ribs and shoulder still pained me and kept me awake. Ihad time at night to think.
I thought of all the young men of all races, who were dyingall over the world in battle, who had at some time lain likeGeorge at their mothers’ side. When those boys died, whatdid they die for? How often must they have asked themselvesthis question. I could not believe that their answer was “Forhate.” Hate is worth neither living nor dying for.
We in prison were now the mistreated ones. Yet it wouldbe only a matter of time, and the turn of the tide, before wewould be the abusers, and our captors the abused, becausewe had in ourselves the same instincts for brutahty. Warevoked and exalted these instincts. It was war that we musthate, and not each other.
It was the practice of the Japanese to make us unwillingwimesses to their abuse of our fellow prisoners. These exhi-bitions were pubhc, and the victim was detained in pubhc viewlong after punishment. A dog may hide away when in pain,but not so a prisoner.
During these episodes I have never seen a victim fail infortitude, or lose the dignity of courage. At such times thethought came to me of Christ, who suffered persecutionbravely on the Cross. It was not Christ who was shamed, but
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the persecutors. Watching these men and boys who were sobrave I saw that the only shame for them would be if theyshould ever change place with their persecutors.
I had often to observe the actions of one handsome youngNipponese soldier. He was always in charge of the guard thatherded us women out to haul firewood, outside the perimeterof the camp. He was tall for a Japanese, with unusually nicelegs, of which he was very proud. He treated them tenderly,clothed them with the Japanese rarity of well-fitting trousers,and ended them in well-polished army boots.
On the road down which we carried firewood we usuallypassed British soldiers at work. They were almost naked,without shoes or trousers, half-starved, and scarcely able tocarry the loads under which they struggled. Our handsomeguard could never pass by one of these soldiers without kick-ing him on his naked body with his own well-booted foot.
We always pretended not to see, walking with eyes aheadand with expressionless faces. But under our breaths we mut-tered “The swine, the louse, the filthy Jap.’’ I know that wedespised this boy as he could never have despised us.
This Japanese lad had another victor’s gesture. When dis-pleased, annoyed, fed up with life, he would call a Britishsoldier out of his group, and command him to stick out histongue. He would then snap the man’s Jaw to on his tongue,with a swift uppercut.
Unwillingly I witnessed this boy’s progress throughout twoyears of war. I made up my mind then that I would sooner seemy own son die of starvation, in camp, than live to grow upand be like that. I learned then that I hated the spirit ofbrutality in man more bitterly than I hated anything that theJapanese could do to me.
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I went to Colonel Suga and told him that I must ceasewriting, and go back to work in the field.
He said, “But I have excused you!”
I said, “You have ordered us to turn out so many womenevery day as a working party. You exempt me personally fromgoing, but somebody has to fill my place. There is no onemore able to go than I. All are now unwell, I must help.”
He made no further comment. Perhaps as patron of thearts he had been satisfied. I went back on the work list. Butthe Japanese office forgot to discontinue the three-doUarsalary and this was paid to camp funds xmtil peace came.
With each anniversary I looked back and counted thewaste. Each year I had gained nothing. I had lost joy, youth,accomplishment, love. I had retained one thing only, life.
Life is worth much; I did much to keep it. I learned to doanything, or die doing it. I ate, or didn’t eat, though I pre-ferred to eat. I hved with germs, and did not die of them-1 wasunsanitary, and escaped the diseases of diet.
I endured pain, when discomforts and annoyances seemedunendurable. I looked at death without fear, though I did notwant it; but my ungenerous living frightened me.
I doubted the existence of anything beyond myself, butmore than ever I needed something. As life grew grimmer myonly sign of something beyond was the constant search anddesire for it.
The circumstances of prison-camp living brought out theworst in us. The struggle for survival of the fittest in primitivecircumstances is not a show-up of one sex against the other,but a show-up of anybody who competes.
We had two virtues: good cheer, and courage. The moralein camp was always good. We knew the only way to makecamp fife bearable was to laugh, not cry. Tears and gloomwere resented more than vice.
A stranger coming into our camp would not have guessedfrom the atmosphere that all of us were hungry, many were
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suffering from physical complaints for which we had neitherremedy nor palliative, and all were sick at heart. For on thesurface we were cheerful. The Japanese officers, when in-specting our camp, often turned this quahty of cheer totheir own credit; they said that one could see by our cheer-ful attitude that we were well-treated.
Some of this cheer was pride: we were determined to showthe Japanese that Western women did not complain. Wehad many opportunities to hear about the virtues of Japanesewomen in contrast to Western women.
We had pride amongst ourselves. One was ashamed tocomplain, when all had cause to do so. The heroism of a fewwas noticeable. It is impossible to exaggerate the mental tor-ture experienced by those women whose husbands had beentaken from camp and either were held without cdmmunica-tion in Japanese prison cells, or had disappeared from theirknowledge completely. And yet, they were brave. Almosteveryone in camp displayed physical courage; we came toaccept discomfort and pain as normal conditions. The old,the fil, and the frail attempted and accomplished impossiblephysical tasks, survived impossible illnesses, and evaded un-avoidable death.
In the men’s camp there was only one coffin in use, thiswith a false bottom. With each burial the coffin was loweredinto the grave, then the bottom was released and the body fellthrough into the dirt. The coffin was then brought home anddusted off for the next corpse. This custom was establishedwhen a glut of corpses created a firewood shortage. But inthe women’s camp, each body went to rest, and remainedthere, so we befieved, in its own coffin.
A Sister was dying.
For months past the weary process had been going on, forleukemia is a slow and despoiling, but inexorable, disease.During a period of many days only Sister Antonia’s strong
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heart had kept her alive. To palliate her illness and its result-ing agonies Dr. Gibson had just one remedial therapeuticaid, soda bicarbonate. There had been litde food in the campdiet that the Sister could eat. Rice gruel alone sustained hernow.
Her final breaths were coming. Her fellow Sisters visitedher, whispering and genuflexing and praying, and then pass-ing out of the ward with long, mysterious faces, and dry,mysterious eyes, and plowing feet and whispering skirts.
At the other end of the hospital ward three little girls layin hospital beds, Edith, Margaret, and Anne.
Edith was Shihping Cho’s five-year-old daughter. Her ill
-ness was due to eight decayed double teeth, and her gumswere abscessed and covered with gum boils. The decayedteeth could not be removed because anesthetics were not ob-tainable, and the shock to the child’s nervous system of re-moval without anesthesia would have been too severe. Edithhad been suffering from this septic condition for months, andwas also anemic and undernourished.
In the bed next to her lay Margaret, who was ten. She hada “tired” heart, and wept with the pains in her legs and arms.Rheumatism, the doctor said, caused by malnutrition andgeneral debility.
Anne was the third child, with straight, fawn-colored hair,and wistful brown eyes. Her body scarcely caused a wrinkleunder the sheet which covered her. Anne was always havingto take it easy, and the other day when she became uncon-scious in Sister Dominica’s schoolroom the doctor took herinto the hospital for rest and care. Hers was a case of heartweakness, also caused by malnutrition and general debility.
These three were hospital cases. What they needed wasnot medicine or doctoring, but food: eggs, milk, meat, vege-tables, and fruits. And these neither hospital nor doctor couldsupply. In Kuching itself they were difficult to obtain andexpensive; for internees they were impossible.
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The beds of the little girls were covered with their home-made dolls and small playthings, but the children themselvesspoke in whispers. They cast anxious glances down the wardtowards the dying Sister’s bed. Frequendy in the midst oftheir play their attention focused thoughtfully on the mysteri-ous parade of whispering, praying Sisters as it rustled by them.
“Everything is all right,” the doctor had assured themmany times. “Quite all right! Do not pay any attention! ”
But they were not reassured.
Now a Sister is dead.
We pause in our work in the kitchen to watch the bodypass by. The hearse is a stretcher on four wheels, the coffinis a rough wooden box, the cover is held down by two bentand rusted nails. The pall is covered with scarlet cannas andbalsam, flowers which have been planted by the Sisters andhave bloomed many times since our arrival in this camp.
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