by Hazel Gaynor
“Give the girls a riddle or two to work out,” I suggested. “They’re awfully good, really. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
By the time I’d fetched ice from the kitchen and made my way back to Minnie, she’d moved from where I left her. Somehow, she’d managed to pick up the books and fetch the first aid kit from the supply cupboard where she kept spare knickers, music stands, and glitter for Christmas decorations. She was sitting on one of the children’s chairs. It was far too small for her and I could have wept at the indignity of it all, but somehow I managed to pull myself together.
I folded my arms and tutted my mock disapproval. “I thought I told you not to move,” I chided. “You’re a terrible patient, Almena Butterworth.” I smiled, encouragingly.
Her face was milky pale, her usually rosy cheeks bleached by shock. It was so unimaginably awful that it was Minnie—a teacher who’d given so much to the school, and who treated everyone with such care—who’d been subjected to such a dreadful ordeal.
“I couldn’t just sit there,” she said. “You know what I’m like.”
“Yes. I do.” I patted her hand. It wasn’t her awful shiner I found so upsetting, but her quiet determination not to make a fuss. “You’re a stubborn old goose. Let them put their notices on everything if they want. A desk can be replaced. You, dear girl, can’t.” Minnie was like the big sister I’d never had. I wanted to throw my arms around her and give her a hug, like my brother Alfie always had whenever I fell in the lane and grazed my knees. But Minnie wasn’t family, and besides, affection wasn’t something that came easily to me. “Let me take a proper look,” I said. “Where does it hurt?”
“Where doesn’t it hurt might be the easier question to answer.” She managed a small smile and then winced. “I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”
It looked absolutely ghastly. Her eye was already bruising badly, but I didn’t want to say so. “He gave you a pretty decent wallop all right.” I dabbed carefully at her face with disinfectant, apologizing for the pain of the sting.
“It was silly of me to stand up to him, but while it might only be a desk today, what, or who, will they lay claim to next?”
“Let’s not think about that,” I said, and I meant it. The girls seemed suddenly exceptionally young, and horribly vulnerable.
I wrapped the ice in a tea towel and placed it carefully against Minnie’s eye. “That’ll have to do for now. Let’s get you into bed with a nice cup of tea.” I helped her to her feet and put my arm around her shoulder for support. “Good job we’ve had all that practice in the three-legged race. I think we could win it this year, don’t you?”
She let out a little gasp as her shock turned to tears.
I’d never seen Minnie cry. I very much hoped I never would again.
* * *
The day that had started with the beauty of snowflakes in a chapel doorway and my determination to finally put in place my plan to leave China, ended with threatening notices being posted at the gates declaring that the school was UNDER THE CONTROL OF THE NAVAL FORCES OF GREAT JAPAN. The plane I’d seen that morning flew intermittently over the school throughout the afternoon, banking over the harbor and tracking back across town, a steady stream of leaflets falling from its belly to join the still swirling snow. I wondered what was happening beyond the school walls, what other acts of violence were being witnessed by innocent children too young to know that such cruelty was possible, or to understand why. Worse still, the school wireless had been confiscated by the soldiers and removed from the assembly hall. Our last connection to the world beyond the school walls was now in the hands of our enemy.
So much had happened in so short a time. By nightfall that evening, the alarming news spread among the teaching staff that our headmaster, Mr. Collins, was missing. Nobody had seen him since the emergency staff meeting following the BBC broadcast, and we were all desperately worried. My concern only grew when Shu Lan stopped me on the stairs to tell me she’d seen him being taken from his house in the school grounds.
“They take him away, Miss Elspeth. On Commander Hayashi’s motorbike,” she explained. “I see from the laundry room. We hide.” She trembled as she spoke. “I’m very afraid, Miss Elspeth. I remember Nanking,” she whispered.
“Did the soldiers . . . hurt you?” I asked. I knew they had done far more than hurt the women, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the word.
She took a deep breath and dipped her head in the smallest excruciating acknowledgment. “They take the city first, and then the farms. They murder my father and my brothers. The women . . . they keep.” Her eyes held such pain. “You do not understand.”
She was right. I couldn’t possibly comprehend what she had seen and endured, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to help her.
“The British government will be aware of the situation here,” I said, keeping my voice as measured as possible. “We expect them to send help very soon.”
I reassured her as best I could, and advised her to tell the servants to stay in their accommodation for the time being, but we both knew there was very little that I, or anyone else, could do to stop the guards if they decided to satisfy their urges. I’d seen how quickly they could turn violent, and already regretted drawing attention to myself from the soldier who’d called himself Trouble. I would be less vocal from now on.
After lights-out, when the children were safely in their dorms, a group of six teachers—myself, Eleanor Yarwood, Amelia Prescott, Ella Redmond, Charlie Harris, and Tom Martin—met in the staff room. I’d assumed we would try to make some sense of the day, and agree on a plan of action, but Charlie surprised us all by revealing that he was in possession of a homemade radio.
“I managed to keep it hidden from the soldiers when they searched our rooms earlier,” he whispered as he showed us a rather rudimentary piece of equipment. It appeared to be nothing more than a block of wood with a razor blade, a safety pin, and some wires stuck to it. “I’m not sure it still works, but it’s worth a try.”
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, terrified of the consequences should one of the soldiers discover it. “Perhaps it would be safer to forget you ever had it.”
Either nobody heard me, or everyone disagreed with me, because Charlie proceeded to tinker with the wires.
“I was an electrician, and a mechanic, before I was a PE teacher,” he explained. “I made this last year. It was just a bit of a hobby really, but maybe it will turn out to be of use after all.”
“Is it working?” I asked, my eyes fixed on Charlie as he pressed the headset to his ear, his brow creased in concentration as he strained to hear a signal.
“Got it!” he whispered after an interminable wait.
I could hear a crackle and the faintest of voices, intermittently fading in and out.
We sat in silence, all eyes on Charlie as he listened carefully to the broadcast he’d picked up. Through agonizing fragments, we learned the shocking news that Pearl Harbor hadn’t been the only target. The forces of the Empire of Japan had also launched an attack on British and U.S. naval ships in Shanghai, and had taken control of the International Settlement there. Terrible assaults had also been launched on the British Crown Colony of Hong Kong, and brutal bombing raids on Singapore and Malaya had left many dead and hundreds injured. All three countries were now under Japanese control, with restrictions and house arrest imposed on all Western nationals. The situation was far worse than any of us had imagined. The war had escalated quickly, and dangerously.
Gradually, we shared our thoughts and concerns, but we soon began to go around in circles, asking more questions than we had answers for.
Charlie returned the makeshift radio to a hollowed-out book of cricketing rules.
“I got the idea from a spy film,” he explained, evidently rather pleased with himself.
“Make sure it’s very well hidden,” Tom advised. “Information is our best ally now. With knowledge comes power. That little radio could be crucial.”
“I don’t know how anyone is expected to sleep with all those soldiers prowling around,” Miss Yarwood remarked. “It’s horribly unsettling.”
Charlie Harris suggested we all push a heavy piece of furniture against the door. “Not to cause alarm,” he added. “But better to take precautions. Be Prepared, isn’t that your Brownie motto, Elspeth?”
“Lend a Hand,” I corrected. “Be Prepared is for the Girl Guides and Boy Scouts.”
“Well, I suggest we use all the mottos and furniture available,” he added. “And I suggest we meet again tomorrow evening to see what other developments have occurred. I suspect this is just the start of it. I’m afraid we should prepare ourselves for more bad news to come.”
“What sort of bad news?” I asked, wondering how much worse it could get.
He smiled, thinly. “Let’s wait and see what tomorrow brings. In the meantime, let’s all try to get some sleep.”
Weary, and deeply troubled by the day’s events, I bid everyone goodnight.
Before I turned in, I checked on Minnie. She was propped up against her pillows, a book lying facedown on her lap. Her eye was the size of a golf ball and the color of blackberries.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked as I peered around the door.
She shook her head. “Every creak in the corridor has me springing up like a startled cat.”
“That’s understandable, considering.”
“How are the children?” she asked.
“Tremendously resilient,” I said as I stepped farther inside. “They’re approaching it all as a rather thrilling adventure, and we’re not discouraging them. Most of their talk is about the great fleet of British naval ships on their way to rescue us. Edward Plummer is quite the expert on the matter. Or a dreadful show-off, perhaps. I can never quite decide.”
“Do you think they will?” she asked. “Rescue us.”
I tugged the wrinkles from my cardigan. “Of course. And if they don’t, we will jolly well rescue ourselves. I always suspected my Girl Guide skills would come in handy one day. All those knots and signals and lessons in self-defense? No better time to put them to use than during a war.”
Minnie smiled wearily. “I’m not sure we can knit or knot our way out of this one, Els. I’m afraid we’re in rather a pickle, aren’t we?”
I plumped her pillows and smoothed her eiderdown. My silence was all the answer required.
The sound of boots marching beneath the window made Minnie flinch again.
I took her hockey stick from the wardrobe. “Here. Put this beneath the covers.”
“Whatever for?”
“Protection. A quick swipe with that will see them off. You’re a dab hand with a hockey stick. Didn’t you tell me you were county champion, 1924? Those soldiers won’t stand a chance.”
Minnie ran her fingers over the handle of the stick. “Lord help us if we have to resort to women defending themselves with hockey sticks.”
I wished her a peaceful night. As I turned off her light, she slid the hockey stick beneath the eiderdown all the same.
My mind raced as I walked back along the empty corridor. I hardly knew where to start, or what to think about first: the declaration of war, the arrival of the soldiers, the violent attack on Minnie, the troubling disappearance of our headmaster. I’d spent so much of the day reassuring everyone else that I’d hardly had time to think about myself. Not for the first time, I missed having someone to share my troubles with at the end of the day. I missed having someone to reassure me.
As I did every night, I stopped to check on the girls before I retired for the evening. I leaned my head against the doorframe and studied the peaceful faces nestled among the crumpled bedsheets. It was one of my favorite parts of the day. To see them all sleeping meant that I, too, could finally rest. No questioning hands in the air. No need to scold or encourage. I could be Elspeth, and not Miss Kent. But in the moonlit silence that winter night, I felt something other than relief as I stood at the dormitory door. I felt a fierce need to protect the girls from the dangers that now lurked within Chefoo’s proud walls. Nothing was certain anymore, and, without their parents to protect them, that job fell to us, their teachers. The prospect terrified me.
As I carried on to my bedroom, I thought about how close I’d come to leaving Chefoo, how fateful my hesitation in delivering my letter might prove to be. What was there waiting for me at home anyway? An empty bed. Regret. A headstone bearing his inscription: HARRY DANIEL EVANS. The man whose name I’d so often imagined as my own. So many times, I had written it down. So many times I’d smiled at the whispery feel of it on my tongue: Elspeth Evans. It fit so perfectly. We fit so perfectly. But like a favorite dress regretfully outgrown, I’d put away the life I’d once worn so well. Nothing would ever suit me like Harry did. Nothing else worked.
My bedroom at the school was furnished exactly as it was when I’d arrived two years ago. Nothing added, nor taken away. In many ways, I’d always considered my position as temporary. The China Inland Mission had offered a place for me to escape. It was never intended as a place for me to stay. A painting of Christ still hung above the bed, a Bible sat on a lace doily on the nightstand, a Wedgwood vase stood on top of the chest of drawers beside the window, empty now of the fragrant sprigs of peach blossom Shu Lan always placed in it at the start of spring.
As I kicked off my shoes, I noticed an envelope beside the vase. Even amid the chaos of the day, the morning post had made its way around the school. I immediately recognized my mother’s precise black copperplate. She didn’t write often, and not without good reason. I opened the envelope with trepidation and sank down onto the edge of the bed as I absorbed her words.
Dear Elspeth, I’m so sorry to have to tell you that Alfie is reported as missing. He was last seen in North Africa . . .
Like the snowflakes that had melted against my outstretched hand beside the chapel that morning, my brother, Private Alfred Kent, had disappeared. I read the letter again, unable to fully grasp what it meant. Keys went missing, and stockings and slippers. Not dear Alfie. Please, not Alfie.
I wept without shame.
War had found me in the place I had run from, and the place I had run to.
There was nowhere left to hide.
Chapter 5
Nancy
A week after the soldiers had burst into our classroom, the snow still lay thick on the ground, and our headmaster, Mr. Collins, was still missing. Sprout dared me to ask Miss Kent about him after choir practice.
“Well, Nancy, I’m sure he’s busy talking to the authorities,” she said when I finally plucked up the courage to ask. “Nothing for you to worry about. Everything will be back to normal soon.” But she looked away when she spoke, and Edward said looking away from someone when you’re talking to them was a sign of fibbing.
“Watch out for it, Nonny,” he warned as we walked around the courtyard. We were both wrapped up against the cold in our best wool coats and school hats, but the tips of my ears were freezing. “All sorts of fibs are told when there’s a war on. It’s called propaganda. I read about it in a book from the library.”
“I don’t like the way they stare,” I whispered as we passed close to one of the soldiers. We’d nicknamed him Charlie Chaplin because he never said anything, unlike the others, who always shouted at each other.
“They only stare because they’re as fascinated by us as we are by them,” Edward said. “I bet they’ve never seen freckles before. Or ginger hair. We’re as foreign to them as they are to us.”
I’d never thought about it that way, and supposed he was right.
“Peppermint?” He held out a crumpled paper packet. “It’s my last one, but I don’t mind.”
I felt lucky to have the sort of brother who gave me his last peppermint, and not the sort who pulled wings off flies and stood on spiders, like Winni
e’s horrid brother, Alex. I took the candy and let it rest on my tongue, savoring the sweet taste.
“Make it last,” Edward said.
“Why?” I mumbled.
He looked at me before ruffling my hair. “Just do.”
Sibling Saturday—when the boys and girls were allowed to mix for a while—went ahead even though Japanese soldiers now seemed to be in every part of the school grounds. I was always glad to spend time with Edward, and especially glad of him, given our current predicament. I liked that he called me Nonny, the way Mummy did. It reminded me of being at home in England, butter dripping onto our fingers from warm bread, and the gold carriage clock ticking away the minutes on the mantelpiece.
Edward knew all sorts of interesting facts about the war, and talked a lot about the Navy coming to rescue us, but it was bitterly cold and I was glad when the bell was rung to signal that we should make our way back inside. I hung my coat on the peg in the corridor. I would need a new one soon. My arms were already sticking out below the cuffs.
The assembly hall wasn’t much warmer, and I wished I’d kept my coat on. Edward and I sat together on a gym bench, and his best friend, Larry Crofton, soon abandoned his own sister and came to join us. Sprout and Winnie thought Larry was ever so handsome and went red whenever he looked at them, but to me he was just Edward’s spotty friend. I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.
“Shove up, Nance,” he said as he squashed in between us. I shuffled to the right on the bench and nearly fell off the end. “Do you think the Navy will really come and rescue us, Ed?” he asked.
“Absolutely. Churchill won’t see a group of British schoolchildren deprived of their Christmas goose.” Edward always spoke with such confidence, as if he were part of Churchill’s War Cabinet and knew this for a fact. “He’d never live it down. Imagine the stories they would print in the newspapers. Bad for his image.”
“But how will they even know what’s happening all the way out here in China?” I asked. “How will the government know we’re being held captive?” In the past week I’d often thought about the map of China in Edward’s atlas, and the tiny little peninsula where Chefoo School was based. It felt so very far away from Churchill and London.