Of course, all of Changi, in fact all Singapore had heard of the massacre at Fraser’s Hill. Later, Flight Sergeant Cameron had been handed the bloody envelope and had seen the name of the airman on the report sheet the dispatch rider had brought around to the main provost office. It was he who had contacted the Social Welfare Department to ask their help, and it was he who had volunteered to make the drive to Kinrara.
The powers that be in the Royal Air Force had not exactly sanctioned this Chinese woman accompanying him on the long journey to Kinrara Hospital. No woman was mentioned when an officer at SHQ Changi handed him sealed documents supposedly required immediately at Kinrara Military Prison situated close to the hospital. On this occasion the RAF would look the other way and not see the pretty Chinese lady seated at his side in the patrol car.
He was curious to speak to the woman that Cookie had so often spoken of and bragged about. He wondered if she was as nice as Cookie had made her out to be. It should be quite an interesting journey. It was strange, though, he thought, that his ulcer was not playing up. His thoughts went to Cookie feeding him softly boiled eggs in the sergeants’ mess kitchen office, and supplying him with fresh fruit. He and his wife thought the world of Cookie, and their kids loved him, too. He had turned out to be a wonderful babysitter even though he emptied the refrigerator of beer during his each and every visit. He now hoped and prayed that Cookie would survive and that it would be worth the effort put into it by all those involved.
The door was creaking open again. They were coming. Tossing the unlit cigarette onto a pile of roadside rubbish, Flight Sergeant Cameron restarted the engine.
33
Nurse Mason!”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“What’s the time by your watch, please? Mine seems to have gone haywire again. The wretched thing still shows eight o’clock.”
Chuckling, Nurse Mason looked at her watch. “It’s precisely twelve noon, Doctor, time for my lunch. I’m starving.”
“Thank you, Nurse Mason. I must get rid of this damned thing, it’s never kept good time. I’m hungry, too. Oh, by the way Nurse, as I’ve yet to complete my rounds of the wards, how’s that boyfriend of yours progressing?” The good doctor had a sly grin on his face as he asked the question. “Wendle, Rendles, or some such name. I never can remember it. Come to think of it, Nurse, I haven’t heard you mention his name once today. Is there a problem between the two of you?” and his face beamed with delight at his teasing.
“You mean Captain Vernel, Doctor,” the nurse corrected him, blushing. “He’s improving, but his temperature is still a wee bit high.”
“Ah! Only when you’re near him, I’ll be bound,” laughed the doctor. “Mark my word, he’ll be as fit as a fiddle before this week is out. Then, Nurse Mason, watch your step. It’s just a touch of malaria, that’s all he has.” Then he asked, “How serious is it, Nurse?”
“The malaria, Doctor?”
“No, my dear girl. The romance blossoming between you and the captain.”
“Oh!” Startled by his blunt question the nurse hesitated before saying, “I really don’t know, Doctor. I like him a lot, but at times I wonder if I’m his ‘Miss Right.’ He speaks so often of other women, those whom he knew in the past, so much so that I wonder at times whether his thoughts dwell more on them than on me.”
“Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good. However, I’m sure that by feminine wiles you can rectify the situation.”
Fortyish, fat and jolly, Doctor Henshaw, an army medical officer at British Military Hospital Kinrara was a doctor not only respected by everyone at Kinrara but also liked by all the hospital staff, and patients, too. He was one of those rare officers with whom other rank service personnel could talk frankly man to man; a person who would listen to their problems, he being a doctor and not a military type man.
Standing on the wood-planked steps leading up to his personal quarters, a pile of papers stuffed untidily under an arm, and wearing no hat which showed off his bald suntanned head, Dr Henshaw reminded Nurse Mason of someone she had once seen in a film, but she couldn’t remember which film. To her, he looked somewhat like a cheeky gnome, or was it Happy, the dwarf in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, minus his pixie hat?
Nurse Mason, the baby of the nursing staff at Kinrara Hospital, was petite, had a curvaceous figure, flashing, laughing brown eyes, chestnut-brown hair, and lips meant for kissing. As well as being the youngest staff nurse she was decidedly the favourite. In the wards, the bed-ridden young servicemen loved to see her flit from patient to patient, their needs happily attended to by her. She was never grumpy. And now there were rumours of her big romance with young Captain Vernel, a patient at the hospital, another malarial victim. Recently, it had been learned that the two had known each other for years, and were born and raised in the same farming village that was within walking distance of Bugle, a small town in the county of Cornwall. In fact, both had gone to the same hilltop village school at Treverbyn, which overlooks a valley of hedged fields, open moors, and many clay mines from where white china clay or kaolin is still being extracted, much of which is made into the finest bone china in the world.
Now, a trifle nervous, Nurse Mason stood on the steps at the medical officer’s side. “Yes, Doctor, I shall have to do something about it,” she said thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I really don’t know if I mean anything to him. He doesn’t seem to encourage me.”
“He doesn’t? He must be a bit of a twit.” Doctor Henshaw cleared his throat with a short cough. “I wish I were his age again. I would compete with him,” he said.
“Would you, Doctor?” Nurse Mason blushed as she heard herself saying, “Knowing you as I do, Doctor, you’d stand a good chance of winning.”
Laughing, the doctor did not carry the conversation further but instead nodded his head towards a rosy-cheeked woman of generous proportions, dressed in a white nursing uniform, who puffed and panted as she hurriedly approached the pair. “Ah! Here comes my dear friend Matron Finch, and hurrying, too. And by the look on her face, she brings happy tidings.” He waited until the matron reached the foot of the steps before singing out, “Good morning, Matron. You’re looking positively radiant this morning. Has the major been telling you yet another of his rather risqué jokes? If so, let’s hear it. We all need a good laugh.”
Her arms swinging, her cheeks aglow, and with everything bounceable bouncing, the good matron happily ascended the stairs, and on reaching the top she stopped and confronted the pair. “Good morning, Doctor Henshaw. Good morning, Nurse Mason,” she said, a gleeful expression on her face. “No, the major has not been telling me jokes, risqué or otherwise.”
“No? Then you must have something devilish up your sleeve, I’ll be bound,” said Doctor Henshaw, a note of curiosity creeping into his voice.
Beaming with merriment, the matron said, “It’s the patient in the post-surgery room of ward five, the young airman, Saunders. I’m happy to say that about an hour ago he came out of his coma and is now fully conscious.”
“Is he, by Jove! Well, that is excellent news!” exclaimed the obviously delighted Doctor Henshaw.
“Yes, it is good news. Doctor Hogan’s with him now.”
“What excellent news, Matron,” the doctor repeated. That young fellow has had me worried. We’ve had to pour gallons of blood into him, or so it seemed. How long ago, did you say, Matron?”
“About an hour, Doctor. Doctor Hogan says he believes Saunders will survive, that’s if there are no complications. It’s a miracle he’s alive. I suppose it’s God’s will.”
“I believe his lady friend has played a major part in his survival, and she could play an equally big part in his full recovery,” expressed Nurse Mason.
“I think you’re right,” agreed Doctor Henshaw. “I believe that our first ever volunteer supernumerary nurse is a great asset to the young lad’s recovery. I’m so glad we managed to have her brought here. I was afraid that military red tape would interfere. By the way, Matr
on, how is she taking it?”
“The poor mite is shedding tears of relief.”
“Is that so? Is she still with him?”
“She hasn’t left his bedside since she first set foot in the ward.
“When Saunders was delirious he kept repeating the name, Rose.” said Dr Henshaw. I presume he was referring to the same Rose who is now seated at his bedside.”
“That’s correct, Doctor.” replied the matron. “Rose of Singapore, that’s whose company we have the pleasure of here at Kinrara.”
“Rose of Singapore?” repeated the puzzled medical officer. “Is she a film star? Of course she’s definitely of the Chinese upper class. She’s most refined. Where does she live in Singapore?”
“Just off Lavender Street, Doctor. She lives in what one might call a brothel,” replied the matron matter-of-factly.
“I beg your pardon, Matron,” gulped the surprised medical officer.
“She lives in a brothel, Doctor,” the matron repeated. “She’s a prostitute. Quite a noted prostitute, too, so I’ve been told. Noted enough to earn her the title, Rose of Singapore.”
“A prostitute! Really! I find that hard to believe. Why don’t the three of us pay a visit to ward five? Lunch can wait.”
Doctor Henshaw led the way along a narrow concrete pathway bordered by flowering hibiscus and well-tended green lawns until, eventually, they arrived at a flight of planked wooden steps leading up to a wide verandah encircling ward five, one of several white painted, one-storey wooden huts built in rows.
Mounting the wooden steps, the doctor pulled open a screen door and held it for the two ladies to enter. He then followed them down between a double row of beds all occupied by military personnel, many of whom were those wounded at the Gap. Giving the patients words of encouragement as they passed through the ward, the three came to a door at the far end. Pushing open this door, they entered into a room specially equipped to treat patients needing intensive care. Senior Aircraftman Peter Saunders occupied the only bed. Lai Ming sat on a chair at his bedside holding one of his hands whilst gazing into the ashen face peering upward from a snow-white pillow.
On hearing the door open and seeing the approach of the three, Lai Ming turned her head, smiled timidly, and then rose slowly to her feet, a tired, appealing look on her face, her cheeks swollen and wet from weeping.
“Good morning,” Doctor Henshaw greeted her in a kindly manner, a reassuring smile upon his gnome-like face.
Respectfully, Lai Ming bowed her head. “Good morning, sir,” she replied softly.
Matron Finch also said, “Good morning,” and Nurse Mason said, “Hello.”
“Please, sit down and relax, my dear,” said the medical officer.
“Thank you, sir.” Lai Ming sank wearily back into the chair. “I am in your way, yes?” she asked.
“In our way? Oh, no, not at all! On the contrary, we’re glad you’re here.”
“I am happy. I am honoured to be here,” and Lai Ming turned and smiled down upon the wan face peering up from the pillow. “Peter will be all right? He is going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“Oh, good gracious me, yes. Before you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’ he’ll be on his feet and as fit as a fiddle again.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on the patient’s white face; the first smile.
“You see! He’s smiling already. It appears that you have performed a miracle. Therefore, young lady, I thank you. We all thank you.”
“Peter is my boyfriend. I love him very much,” Lai Ming softly said, dabbing tears from her eyes with a tiny colourful handkerchief.
“Hmm! Yes.” Doctor Henshaw coughed a dry cough. “Hmm, yes,” he repeated, coughing again and not knowing what else to say. “I suppose you must,” he finally said.
A weak voice from the patient suddenly surprised all present by asking, “Did they bring in the other airman, sir? His name was Rickie. Gerald Rickie.”
Puzzled, the doctor thought for moments before replying. “I cannot recall seeing a Rickie on any medical report of mine, but he may be in another ward under the care of a different doctor. I’ll see if I can locate him.”
“He’s dead, sir. He was a friend of mine.” The voice faltered and tears came to his eyes. “I just wanted to know if his body had been recovered.”
“Oh!” Lost for words, the doctor eventually said, “I will make enquiries.” And seeing the horrified expression that appeared on Lai Ming’s face, he asked. “Did your lady friend know him?”
“She knew of him.”
“I’m sorry, for both of you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I will make enquiries. Now, no more talk. You must rest.”
“I must ask about someone else, sir.”
“You’re going to rest, my boy,” said Matron Finch adamantly. “That’s the doctor’s orders.”
“Just the one question. I found a little girl up there. I’m wondering if she’s all right?”
“The Chinese girl? Oh, yes! That girl who was brought in with you,” said the doctor. “We treated her for shock and minor injuries. She told a remarkable story. Yes, we looked after that little girl until her father sent for her. She’s safe and well, back in her home in Singapore.”
“I’m glad. Am I in Kinrara hospital?”
“That’s right. You’re in good hands. And now it’s time for you to sleep.” The doctor turned to Nurse Mason. “A mild sedative,” he said quietly to her.
“Yes, Doctor.”
Stooping over Peter, Lai Ming kissed the lips of the white face. “Sleep good sleep, Peter. I come back soon,” and she lifted a dainty hand and brushed it lightly over his cheek, whilst trying to smile and not to cry. Then, bowing to the three gathered around the bed, she said to them, “I am now so happy, I don’t know what to say. But I do know that I have much gratitude to everybody here.”
“We are grateful to you, young lady,” said doctor Henshaw. Then, turning to Nurse Mason, he said, “Don’t take Rose through the ward. I don’t want the boys to see her right now. Take her out the back way.”
“And take good care of her, Nurse,” whispered the matron. “Take her to my bedroom. She can sleep there.”
“Your bedroom, Matron?”
“Yes. She’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s a quiet room.”
“Certainly, Matron. Thank you.” Nurse Mason put an arm around Lai Ming, “Come, love, I’m going to look after you.” Exiting the room, the two were followed by the eyes in the deathly white face.
“You’re going to be all right, son,” said the medical officer gently, “Both of you. If you need anything, ask a nurse or the matron here. But remember, whilst you are here, Matron Finch is your boss. You’ll have to await your discharge before your lady friend takes over again,” he said, smiling. “I’ll come to see you this evening,” and he waved a long finger at the patient. “Rest and sleep is what you need. The more rest and sleep you get, the sooner you’ll be leaving Kinrara to return to Singapore.”
34
Ah, my memory serves me well, thought Tan Kah Hin, the chauffeur, smiling to himself as he scanned the red and white road sign a hundred yards from the hospital’s main entrance.
He had passed this way before, but that was well over ten years ago; even before the Japanese invaders set foot on Malayan soil. He still had recollections of the area, however, even though many reminders had long disappeared, obliterated, he presumed, by the Japanese. The Malay atap village was no longer there, nor were the coconut palms that had shaded the village; also gone were the many acres of rubber plantations which had dominated the area. Now, rolling manicured lawns, shade trees, flowering shrubs and masses of colourful flowers graced much of the land on both sides of the twisting road. He remembered the road solely by its many twists and turns, but now it was much wider. And where there had been barking dogs and Malay children playing in the dirt outside thatch-roofed huts, there were many new buildings; villas mainly, which surrounded the grey, fo
reboding military prison and the military hospital complex.
Breathing in the sweetly perfumed air of his surroundings, Kah Hin approached a black and white sign, which stated ‘Security Guardroom’. Below these two words a long red arrow pointed towards a turning in the road. Kah Hin swung the new, black, R-type Bentley Continental into the turning. Approximately a hundred yards further ahead he could see a small brick building in front of which was a green painted sentry-box and a lowered black and white pole that stretched the full width of the road.
Coming to a stop in front of the sentry-box, Kah Hin’s eyes dwelled for moments upon the glinting, highly polished black bonnet in front of his windshield. Proudly and with great satisfaction he knew that the whole exterior of the car would have the same highly polished appearance; his reward for two hours of labour carefully spent, although it had meant rising from his bed that much earlier than usual.
From the sentry-box a uniformed Malay guard emerged and greeted Kah Hin, “Tabik.”
“Tabik,” Tan Kah Hin replied.
“What is your business at Kinrara, please?” asked the sentry in English.
From the driver’s seat, Kah Hin looked without expression up into the face of the obviously curious Malay sentry.
“I bring my master, the venerable Ng Kwok Wing, who has reserved audience with a patient at this hospital,” said Kah Hin.
Now the sentry had heard stories of Ng Kwok Wing, of his great wealth and power in Malaya, and of his many philanthropic deeds, so he said in a surprised voice, “The Ng Kwok Wing?”
“The Ng Kwok Wing,” replied the chauffeur, his face remaining, as always when with his master, inscrutable.
“Ng Kwok Wing,” repeated the sentry in awe. It was his duty, however, to check all occupants of incoming vehicles before he could give information or lift the barrier. He took a step forward and peered into a rear side window. A black lace curtain obscured his view, but he could make out the dark figure of a man sitting in the back seat, not looking at him but seemingly towards the hospital at the end of the road. “Ah! Please excuse me, sir,” he said in a respectful voice. Bowing his head, he stepped back a pace. He had done his duty. Addressing the chauffeur, he said, “Please, move forward to the security guardroom ahead. There you will need to see the officer in charge who will take particulars and direct you.” The guard then saluted the chauffeur and raised the barrier.
The Rose of Singapore Page 42