“Just Japanese,” he said. “They’re on Ubin Island.”
“Not for long,” I said enthusiastically. “We’ll get them out of there.”
I went to the entrance and waited for Thomas, digesting what I had just heard. Indian troops near the navy base and another confirmation of Japanese activity on Ubin Island. Maybe it was easier to obtain information just by talking to people.
The automobile, a sporty roadster with a convertible top, was parked by the entrance to the lobby.
“I’ll show you some of Singapore before we investigate the countryside,” Thomas said. “It’s a fabulous city.”
His tour started at the Victoria Hotel with a trip down Orchard Road. It was a beautiful boulevard, lined with broad sidewalks and shops that sold everything from cakes to corsets. I saw street vendors, rows of tenements, landscaped parks, waterways with small boats, buildings that touched the clouds, and people that swarmed the streets. The architecture was distinct, British and Colonial, Oriental and Indian, all intertwined and mixed in a hodgepodge of colors and shapes, bricks and limestone and turrets and tiles, merging into a twirling kaleidoscope that depicted a cultural melting pot where people of many races and places lived comfortably.
It was exciting. And it suddenly occurred to me, that Singapore held the secret for peaceful coexistence; its residents had come from around the globe: Great Britain, India, China, Australia, the Dutch West Indies, and they blended and melded and lived in peace and harmony and happiness. The city was a microcosm for what the world should be but probably never would be.
Thomas interrupted my admiration of the idealistic society. “We’ll go north on Woodlands Road.”
“My sources tell me there’s an Indian division in the north, protecting the navy base,” I said.
We saw troops when we exited the city proper, as soon as the buildings yielded to trees and farms. On one hill, which sloped gently from the road to a peak of a hundred feet, we saw a wide assortment of tents and tanks, men and mortars, sandbags and shells. A patrol was nestled along a nook in the road, a dozen men tucked within a grove of trees, warily watching the landscape. Thomas braked to a stop.
“Can you tell me where the Indian Twelfth Infantry Brigade is stationed?” he called.
“Who wants to know, mate?” a soldier asked suspiciously. I saw an Australian insignia on his uniform.
“I’m looking for a friend,” he said. “An Indian captain named Balraj Patel.”
He studied Thomas for a moment, and then relented, assuming he was harmless. “There’s Indian troops scattered around the island,” he said. “Your friend could be anywhere. The defenses are just getting organized after the retreat from the north. He may be easier to find in a few days.”
“Thanks,” Thomas called. “I appreciate the help.”
We continued on, passing ordnance and troop carriers as well as soldiers walking in groups. Some numbered a few, others over a hundred. Thomas stopped three or four times and asked for information; no one could, or would, provide any.
We soon reached an area a few miles from the northern coast. A scenic pond sat beside the road, branches from the trees that surrounded it providing a protective canopy. Two Australian soldiers sat along the edge of the water, studying the ripples as they spread from a nearby waterfall.
Thomas guided the car beside them and stopped.
They glanced at us curiously, then returned to watching the water. We got out and walked up to them.
“How are you?” Thomas asked.
They nodded, offered no reply, and pointed to the water.
“What?” Thomas asked.
“A crocodile,” the soldier said.
We moved up to the pond and looked. The crocodile was along the bank, its scaly tail lounging in the mud, its long snout just below the waterline, watching us with interest. We made sure to keep a safe distance, the soldiers included.
“His jaws look pretty powerful,” one soldier said. “I’d hate to make him angry.”
“Best stay away then,” his friend said. He turned to us and laughed. “We almost went for a swim.”
“Lucky we saw him first,” the other said.
“I wonder if you can help us,” Thomas said. “We’re looking for a friend in the Indian Twelfth Infantry Brigade. We came from the city, but we’ve only seen Australian troops.”
“We know that an Indian division is near the naval center, but we haven’t been able to determine who or exactly where,” I added.
“The Indian Third Corps is protecting the base,” one soldier said. “But the Twelfth isn’t part of that.”
“Try the west coast,” the other said. “He could be there.”
We thanked the soldiers and decided to head back to the city.
“This may be harder than I thought,” I said.
“What’s the best way to continue?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I got more information from the deliverymen than we did any of the soldiers. I’ll try my military contacts again. They might help. But wouldn’t you think Captain Patel could get a message to Lady Jane fairly easily?”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “If he’s not dead or wounded.”
I thought for a moment, my mind returning to the purpose of our journey. “I saw troops everywhere. So I’m not convinced we’re unprepared to fight.”
“You saw uniforms everywhere,” he stressed. “What you didn’t see was faces. And the look of defeat that consumed them.”
I was silent the remainder of the ride, digesting Thomas’ logic and observations. Most of the troops in Singapore had come from the Malay Peninsula. Since the initial Japanese invasion, they had retreated over three hundred miles. And Thomas was right. They had yet to taste victory.
Just as we reached the suburbs of the city of Singapore, a motorcycle sped past us, racing down Woodlands Road. The long blond hair of the driver was blowing in the breeze. It was Lady Jane Carrington Smythe.
CHAPTER 7
When we returned, I went to the Raffles Café with my notepad and sat at an outdoor table. I sipped a cup of tea, watched pedestrians passing by, and started scribbling my next article, my thoughts forming as the pencil raced across the page. I eyed the clock in the tower on the Singapore Bank building, conscious of the afternoon slipping away. I wanted to complete my article in time for the morning papers in London. I wrote quickly, ideas flowing freely. When completed, I took the handwritten article to the office and watched as the typeset appeared.
Byline: Live From Fortress Singapore
Japanese forces are tightening the noose around the neck of Singapore, slowly strangling the island with battle-hardened troops. Numerous sources, from fishermen to bankers to boaters, have confirmed that the enemy has occupied Ubin Island, to the northeast, complimenting Japanese strongholds to the north on the Malay Peninsula. His Majesty’s troops are strategically placed for maximum defense with Australians to the west, Indians to the north, and British to the east. The strength of the enemy army is not known, but given their observed positions, reinforcements of all kinds, naval, air, and ground forces are desperately needed for the city’s defenses. Further civilian reports indicate...
I thought it important to present an accurate depiction of the situation to encourage reinforcements and to sway public opinion. The defenses of Singapore had to be bolstered. The Japanese had launched two air raids since my arrival. They were clearly on the offensive. Yet I knew from other articles that not many reporters were bold enough to paint such a desolate landscape or brave enough to see it.
I posted my second article in thePeople of Singapore series. It featured the truck driver who, in his owns words, delivered beer from the cricket club to the navy base. Life in Singapore continued.
I entered the taproom at 8 p.m. that evening, assuming it would be closed from the bomb damage. Instead I found that repairs had started, a makeshift wall already in place to provide support pending permanent restoration. The rubble had been cleared aw
ay, broken windows had been replaced, the room was cleaned and mopped, and little evidence of the destruction remained.
Patrons of the prior evening, give or take a few, were busily wasting the hours away. They sat alone or in small groups, dining, drinking, and laughing. As I observed their relaxed behavior, I wondered if the recent air raid had even occurred, especially since I knew, as they did, that it was only a matter of time before the planes returned, bringing death and devastation.
Thomas was seated at the bar, a half-empty bottle of gin before him. He puffed on his pipe with obvious contentment, gazing at the other guests, smiling at the ladies and nodding at the gentlemen. He was handsomely dressed in a gray, hand-tailored suit and a blue shirt with a gray tie. I’m sure he wanted to make a good impression on Lady Jane.
As I approached I saw him eyeing a raven-haired woman on the other side of the room. Their eyes met and she smiled, no doubt flattered by his attention. Their discreet communication occurred to the obvious ignorance of her inattentive mate who was enjoying the glass of brandy that sat before him.
“How are you feeling?” I asked as I sat beside him.
“Better,” he said. “But still a bit sore.” He motioned for the bartender. “A sparkling water with lime for Mr. Adams, please.”
I scanned the taproom. “Has Lady Jane arrived?”
“I haven’t seen her. But I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”
She arrived ten minutes later, pausing in the arched doorway to search the faces of the room. The dim lighting afforded her a mysterious quality and, when combined with the pale-red evening gown she wore, produced a beauty that I hadn’t before appreciated. The gown hugged her frame, shyly revealing her cleavage, and her hair glowed like the moon’s image in a peaceful pond.
“She looks a bit pale,” Thomas said. “I wonder if the situation in Singapore is wearing her down.”
I gave him a bewildered look, wondering if we were looking at the same person. “I think she looks fabulous,” I said softly. As soon as I said it I thought of Maggie and felt a stab of guilt.
She started towards us, her body swaying with self- confidence, her presence filling the room and overwhelming those of us who dared to share it with her. I had underestimated her poise and sophistication, her charm and charisma. I couldn’t take my eyes from her, and I doubted that anyone else could either.
“Lady Jane Carrington Smythe,” I offered. “May I present Mr. Thomas Montclair?”
She nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Montclair. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
He bowed and took her hand, kissing it lightly. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He stepped aside to let her pass. Then he winked at me.
“Maybe we’d be more comfortable at a table,” I suggested, ignoring his antics.
I thought of what an unusual group we were. I was from London, strictly middle class, but closer to the lower end than the upper. Thomas was French and seemed comfortable with any class, and Lady Jane was from the highest echelon of society, yet she didn’t want to be and didn’t act as if she was.
I ordered her a glass of white wine, and we moved to a booth in a dimly lit corner, far from most eavesdroppers. Two middle aged men occupied a nearby table. They were probably waiting for their wives to come down for dinner. They were discussing horse racing and surely had no interest in us.
When we sat down Thomas pointed to the small bandage on his forehead. “I have a souvenir from the attack last night,” he said. “We were a little late getting to the bomb shelter.”
“I was wondering what happened,” she said. “Your arm too?
“Yes, bad luck, I suppose. George saved me.”
She turned to me and smiled. “Really,” she said with mild surprise. “You seem to have a penchant for danger, George.”
I thought of the night in England, the car hurtling over the cliff. Maggie’s lifeless body. “Nothing could be farther from the truth,” I said softly.
“George tells me you need some assistance,” Thomas said.
She sipped her wine. “Yes, I do. It’s a rather delicate situation, and absolute discretion is required.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “We understand.”
“Rest assured, Lady Jane,” I added.
“Can you tell us what you need?” Thomas asked.
I listened attentively while she described her dilemma to Thomas. She carefully avoided explaining why she was meeting the Indian captain. Thomas never asked.
Once she had finished providing the information, he asked a question I had never thought of.
“How do you and the captain plan to get to Australia?”
She looked sheepishly at me. “That was my next request of George.”
I was stunned. “Lady Jane, that might be difficult. I know you want to protect your identity, but after we find Captain Patel, why don’t you go to the authorities and ask for assistance?”
She studied us closely, assessing our sincerity, before continuing. “There are several reasons,” she said. “Captain Patel will be deserting, for one.”
I almost reconsidered my offer to help. Not only was desertion a serious crime, but to a man like me, who had been rejected by every branch of the military, it spit in the face of honor and integrity, courage and commitment. It denied the fight for freedom, ignored the lives lost, and rejected the sacrifices made. It was a disgrace.
Thomas sensed my revulsion. I saw him watching me, curiously, and he answered Lady Jane with an eye keenly trained on me.
“I’m certain that Captain Patel has strong and valid reasons for deserting, just as you, I’m sure, have a very solid basis for assisting him,” he said. “Since your integrity is beyond question...” he glanced at me, “we have no need to know those very personal details.”
His speech helped; it was very diplomatic. But I still found the whole episode distasteful. I elected to ignore it, at least for the present.
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing me warily. “It is intensely personal.”
“And I may be able to help,” Thomas continued. “I have a friend who operates an air freight business. He can probably get you out of Singapore. But it gets more difficult with each day that passes.”
“Do you think the Allies will be defeated?” she asked. There was a flicker of fear in her eyes.
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I think the situation is desperate and that we should all leave the island, including George.”
I looked at him. His statement was sudden and unexpected, his opinion exaggerated and dramatic. I wondered why. Did he know more than he was willing to share? Or had he already been preparing to leave the island?
“That’s a pessimistic assessment,” I said. “I’m not ready to admit defeat. And I made a commitment to report from Singapore. So that’s what I intend to do.”
“George, a Japanese victory is days away,” he said. “And after they conquer the island, there will be no London Times office. You’ll have no purpose in Singapore, other than to risk your life.”
I thought about the air raids, panicked people, bombed buildings, the tired, defeated faces of the soldiers, theTimesoffice, where a dozen frightened reporters talked on phones and hammered typewriters. I envisioned the geography, Ubin Island and the Malay Peninsula, and the area the Japanese already occupied. I considered Singapore, and compared it to London. And I evaluated the Japanese and contrasted them to the Germans, realizing they had no intention of abandoning the city in search of other prey. So in the end, the only conclusion that I could possibly reach, was that Thomas was right. Regardless of the commitment I had made to Toby Fields, it did me nor theLondon Times any good at all if I vanished beneath the boot of the enemy. As long as there was a war there would be a front line. I must find it and give the British subjects of the world a window to the war.
“What do you suggest we do?” Lady Jane asked.
“My friend is flying to Batavia,” Thomas said. “Probably in the next two or t
hree days. I plan to go with him. You and Captain Patel, when we find him, are welcome to come with us. You can easily leave for Australia from there. George, I suggest that you come also.”
“Can we trust your friend?” Lady Jane asked.
“I am going to see him tomorrow,” Thomas said. “Why don’t you both come with me? I’m sure you’ll feel comfortable after you meet him.”
“Where is he?” I asked. I didn’t want to be gone the whole day. There were interviews I wanted to conduct.
“He’s located just outside the city, on the southeast sector of the island. That’s the only portion not threatened by the enemy. In the meantime, I’ll have fake identities prepared for all of us. I think it’s the best thing to do.”
“I suppose we should be prepared,” I said reluctantly. I still found it repulsive to run away. But I was also realistic enough to know the consequences if he was right.
“I agree,” Lady Jane echoed.
“And we did search for your friend today,” Thomas added. “But we weren’t able to locate his regiment. At least not in the northern sector of the island.”
“I know,” she said. “I went there too. He’s not in the western sector either, and I’m told that the British cover most of the eastern portion.”
“Maybe we’ll find him tomorrow,” Thomas said.
She looked relieved. “I hope so. I am frantic with worry, wondering what might have happened to him.”
“We saw you on the motorcycle earlier today,” I said. “Where did you ever learn to ride?”
She smiled, and the room grew brighter. “In India. Not that my father approved. But I refused to sit in the stifling heat, being fanned by servants. I was restless, and I wanted to see the world, even if it was a small corner of countryside wrapped around New Delhi.”
“So there’s a bit of gypsy in your blood,” Thomas said. “I can certainly relate to that. I’ve lived in more countries than most can count.”
“How interesting,” she said, her eyes studying him, perhaps seeing him for the first time. “I started as a child, venturing a little bit farther on my bicycle every day. Then I graduated to horses, cars, and motorcycles. Eventually it was airplanes. Each week I planned a different journey until I was traveling farther and farther from home.”
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