When We Were Young & Brave

by Hazel Gaynor

  Before supper that evening, I walked alone to the imposing compound gates and imagined British and American soldiers breaking through, and the great cheers that would go up from the children. I’d already decided I wouldn’t lead them out in an orderly manner, as I’d once thought I would. I would encourage them to run out of the gates in an unruly swarm of delight, arms windmilling wildly, their thin little legs hardly able to keep up with them. Routine and discipline had been our glue, but I wanted the children to understand that the best part of routine was the pure, exhilarating joy that came when the rules were torn up and the gates of possibility flung wide open.

  I took a step forward and placed the palm of my hand against the dark wood. With every ounce of strength I had left, I pictured myself turning the lock and pushing the gate open. Without fuss or drama, I would walk away from the camp, across a dusty road, until I stood at the edge of a field of ripe kaoliang.

  And then I would take a deep breath, open my eyes wide, and run.

  Part III

  Liberation

  August 1945

  The Guide Law: A Guide’s Honor Is to Be Trusted

  A Guide’s standards of honor are so high and sure that no one would dream of doubting her simple statement of a fact when she says: “This is so, on my honor as a Girl Guide.”

  Chapter 40

  Nancy

  Oxford

  1975

  It is easy now to set an end date; to mark an anniversary on the kitchen calendar, but when we were living through it, there was no guarantee that it would ever end. If a war could rage on for six years, what was to stop it raging on for six more? Of course, we hoped. We always hoped. But it became a jaded, fragile hope. We had no energy for certainty.

  It has often struck me, in the years since, that while we changed so much during our time in Weihsien—our limbs grew longer, our skin was browned by the sun, our bodies discovered the shape of adulthood—our surroundings, our circumstances, and those around us, hardly changed at all. Our teachers were the one true constant. From Chefoo to Temple Hill and Weihsien, they were always there. I remember Miss Kent and Miss Butterworth especially.

  As an adult with my fair share of inadequacies and failings, I’ve often wondered how on earth they managed to remain so forthright and composed. We didn’t realize it at the time—children never do, do they?—but the women and men who carefully steered us through those years were giants. I should like to thank them if I ever get the chance; say all the things I wasn’t able to say as a child. Perhaps that is the cause of the regret I feel whenever I think about it. There is a melancholy deep within me, you see. An ache for what, and who, I left behind in China.

  I’m often asked what the experience taught me, and my answer is always the same. Weihsien taught me kindness. Although I was in the worst place in the world, I remember moments of joy, and love, and a tenderness that had no right to be in a place like that. The teachers and strangers who guided me, and the friends who supported me—they taught me everything when my mother wasn’t there to teach me herself. They, like her, are still very much missed. Freedom, you see, came at a price.

  I still remember that glorious summer’s day. I remember the sound of the airplane’s engine, faint at first, and then louder, to match the giddy thump of my heart . . .

  Chapter 41

  Nancy

  August 17, 1945

  At first, I thought the noise was one of the great hornets that often flew around the camp. It was an unbearably hot day and the flies were awful, even in the hospital, where I’d been sent to recover from a mild dose of dysentery. I reached for the fan Mouse had made for me from leaves she’d gathered and tied together with half an old shoelace. I fanned my face wearily, but the drone grew louder; closer. The hospital room was hot and still. I pulled at the buttons on my nightie to get some air as I stepped out of bed and pulled back the curtain at the window.

  The sky was the most perfect blue; the ground shimmered in a heat haze. I shielded my eyes from the sun and blinked away the brilliant dazzle. My mouth was dry and my head thumped as I rubbed a fine layer of dust from the window and stared up at a plane circling above the compound.

  My hand stilled as I saw the flag painted onto the tail. I’d learned the flag’s history; knew the national anthem of its country, and there it was, right above me. The stars and stripes. It was like seeing the face of a dear friend.

  My heart raced beneath my thin cotton nightdress as one word fell from my cracked lips. “America.”

  The Americans were here.

  For a moment it seemed as if the whole compound had fallen silent, each of us holding our breath as a hatch opened at the side of the plane. And then, one by one, great parachutes drifted down through the blue, twirling and dancing like dandelion seeds, until they disappeared into the fields beyond the compound walls.

  I ran across the room and peered down the hospital corridor, desperate to ask one of the nurses if it meant what I thought it did, but nobody was about.

  “The Americans are here!” I called. “They’ve come to rescue us!”

  I rushed back to the window.

  By now, people were running through the compound, punching the sky and cheering madly. Men pulled off their shirts and circled them above their heads. A group of women skipped wildly in a circle, holding hands and hugging each other. Behind them, another woman sank to her knees in the middle of the road and wept uncontrollably.

  My illness forgotten, I ran from the room, dashed along the corridor, and raced outside in my bare feet. Mouse was already running down Main Street toward me.

  “Plum! Plum!” she shouted, waving her arms wildly above her head. “They’re here! The Americans! They’re really here!”

  I ran toward her, and grabbed her hands. “Is it really them?” Tears pricked at my eyes. My words came out in little gasps.

  “Yes! It’s really them.” We looked at each other for a moment before she threw her arms around me, and we both burst into tears of joy and relief. “We’re free, Nancy!”

  Others ran past us, their cries of “They’re here!” and “God bless America” ringing through the dusty air.

  “Come on,” Mouse said, laughing. “Let’s follow them.”

  She pulled me along after her, down the long road we’d driven up two years ago.

  My nightie flapped around my legs and sent a lovely breeze against my skin. “We’re free!” I cried as I tipped my head skyward and spread out my arms and twirled around and around in circles until I was dizzy. “We’re as free as the birds, Mouse!”

  The huge compound gates already stood wide open, a stream of half-crazed people running through them, out into the kaoliang fields beyond. I remembered the few delicious moments that Mouse and I had spent in those fields, and as we reached the gate, I stopped. I’d never seen fields look so lush and green, or skies so perfectly blue. It was like seeing the world for the first time, and I didn’t know which part of it I wanted to discover first.

  “Look,” Mouse said. “Over there.”

  To our right, a group of men in American military uniforms were laughing and smiling. There were seven of them in total. They were all so big and tall and suntanned; their arms so full of muscles that they looked like giants. Two of the men scooped up a couple of the smallest children and sat them on their shoulders. The men danced up and down, making the children squeal with joy. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe they were really here.

  The guards stood quietly to one side, looking on as some of the stronger men in camp hoisted the American airmen onto their shoulders and carried them in a procession along Main Street. We ran alongside, reaching up to touch their hands. The men from the Salvation Army Band played the American national anthem. The patriotic rumpus of “The Star-Spangled Banner” and the proud notes of “God Save the King” made us all cry again.

  But the music and cheering melted away as the camp commandant approached one of the airmen and stood in front of him,
blocking his way.

  “We surrender,” he said as he held out his sword. “Japan surrenders,” he repeated.

  We surrender. The words we thought we would never hear, now so clear and wonderful.

  The man who seemed to be in charge of the American airmen stood up straight and proud. “I don’t want your sword,” he said. “I want your word that you will protect the compound from looters and Communists. I have your word?”

  The commandant nodded, solemnly. “You have my word.”

  Mouse tightened her grip on my hand as we looked at each other. Without a single word being said, a thousand thoughts and conversations passed between the two of us.

  It was over.

  At last, it was over.

  * * *

  I’d always imagined that when the enemy surrendered, we would jump into the trucks and be on our way home to England right away. But it didn’t happen like that.

  Miss Kent gathered us together to explain what would happen next.

  “Now, girls. Settle down! I know it’s all very exciting. The Americans will airdrop food and medical supplies over the next few days, so we’ll have plenty to eat, and clean water to drink. I know you’re all especially eager to be reunited with your parents, but there’s lots to organize before we can be on our way home, so just a little more patience.”

  The whip-poor-will didn’t sing at the window that night. It was as if he knew that I didn’t need his lullaby anymore.

  “Perhaps he’s flown away,” Mouse said. “Gone to some other place to keep a lonely child company.”

  I hoped so.

  But Churchill remained locked up in his bamboo cage. “I’m going to ask Mrs. T if we can set him free,” I said as I watched him hopping about on his little perch. “I do hope she says yes.”

  To my surprise, she did. “I didn’t tell you, Nancy dear, but I’d always promised myself—and Churchill—that I would set him free when I was free.” Mrs. T picked up the handle of the cage, and smiled. “Would you help me?”

  We walked together to the compound gates at sunset, when the air was a little cooler and the flies and insects swarmed in small clouds. We walked to the edge of the fields, where Mrs. Trevellyan put the cage down.

  “You lift the latch, dear,” she said. “You be the one to set him free.”

  I turned the latch, and the cage door swung open.

  “You can go now, Churchill,” I encouraged. “You’re free. Just like us!”

  He didn’t fly straight out. He hopped about in his cage for a while and peered outside, uncertain and unsure. For several minutes we stood and watched as he made up his mind, or plucked up his courage, I wasn’t sure which. He turned his black eyes to me before he hopped onto the edge of the door, then launched himself forward, stretched out his wings, and flew away, over the fields. It was as natural to him as blinking and breathing. I shielded my eyes to follow him until I couldn’t see him anymore.

  Mrs. Trevellyan took a deep breath and picked up the empty cage.

  “You looked after him ever so well,” I said as we walked back inside the compound gates together.

  She couldn’t reply. She was too busy dabbing tears from her cheeks.

  Later that evening, I asked Miss Kent if she thought Churchill would be all right in the wild. I’d remembered what Mrs. Trevellyan had said about his cage being his home, and it worried me a little.

  “I think he’ll be delighted!” Miss Kent said. “It’s where he’s meant to be. Among the other birds. Free to go wherever he chooses.”

  “He wasn’t sure at first,” I said. “He seemed a bit afraid. A little hesitant.”

  “And that’s perfectly understandable, Nancy. It will take us all a little while to find our feet, to remember how to live freely again and leave our cage behind.”

  “We will though, won’t we?” I asked, seeking her reassurance once more, as I had so often over the years. “We will be all right.”

  She smiled. “Yes, Nancy. We will be all right. Guide’s honor.” She took my hand, and wrapped her fingers tight around mine. I looked up at her as she gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. “Always look forward, Nancy, never back. Eyes on the horizon. That’s the ticket.”

  My heart soared as I felt my wings unfurl, and start to beat.

  Chapter 42

  Elspeth

  That’s it then,” Minnie said as we stood together at the edge of the fields. “After all these years, it’s over as quickly as blowing out a candle.”

  I placed my arm around her shoulder, and pulled her toward me. We watched the children as they ran and skipped through the long grass in front of us; a perfect unruly jumble of excitement.

  “Thank you, dear Minnie,” I whispered. “For everything. I honestly couldn’t have endured it without you.”

  “Pish, Elspeth. It’s me who should be thanking you.”

  “Well, let’s settle on having been a rather good team,” I said.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I rather like that.”

  Despite all our words of hope and encouragement to the children and each other, we’d never known when, or if, our ordeal would end. We’d existed in a seesaw of hope and disappointment until we’d become too broken and hungry to think about the future. Life had distilled down into the smallest actions required to survive, so when the end did finally come, we weren’t entirely sure how to respond.

  There was relief and joy, mostly, but there was also fear and uncertainty, and sadness for those who hadn’t seen the spectacle of the parachutes drifting through the sky. Many of the prisoners ran straight out of the open compound gates, skipping through the kaoliang fields like wild creatures, whooping and hollering in hysterical joy. But there were others, like me, who first reacted with stillness, and silence, and for whom liberation was our final cue to collapse.

  All the worry, all the pain and loss, all the exhausting effort to remain optimistic, poured out of me, and I sank to my knees and wept, not just with overwhelming relief, but also with a profound sadness for what we’d each lost in very private, and public, ways.

  “So, what do we do next?” Minnie asked when I’d composed myself a little and we began to walk back to the others.

  I knew she meant what would we do in the next minutes and hours and days, but her question reached much further than that. What would we do now? We knew nothing of the world beyond Weihsien’s walls. We knew nothing of our loved ones back home. What was waiting for us there? Who was waiting for us? Liberation brought as many questions as answers. The freedom and future we’d all longed for suddenly felt strange and unfamiliar.

  “Will you go back to Lancashire?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “There are only bad memories for me there. My sister and her family are in Devon. I’ll go and stay with her for a while. It’s ever so pretty there. You must visit.” She stopped walking, and grabbed my hand. “You will visit, won’t you?”

  “Of course! I hear the clotted cream is delicious. Mrs. T told me all about it.” I fished in my pocket for the parcel of sunflower seeds. I had four left. “Will you take one, for your sister’s garden?”

  “That would be lovely. What will you do with the others? Keep one for yourself, I hope?”

  “Yes, and I’ll give one each to Nancy and Joan. It’s silly and sentimental of me really, but these little seeds have become important over the years. I’d like them to have one.”

  Minnie patted my arm. “I think it’s a terrific idea.”

  I hadn’t forgotten my promise to find Wei Huan when we were liberated, and he and Shu Lan were on my mind that afternoon. They were free to return to their homes now, as a family, with baby Meihua.

  “I never thought I’d have another chance to be a mother,” Minnie said when I delicately raised the matter. The infant slept in her arms. “I know she was never mine to keep, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

  My heart broke for her. “You took her without a moment’s hesitation, Minnie. It isn’t everybody who would
have done that. You’ve cared for her as well as any mother would care for their child. Wei Huan and Shu Lan will forever be grateful.”

  I left her alone with the child to organize her things, and to say her goodbyes in private. It would, no doubt, be the first of many difficult farewells we would see in the coming weeks.

  Over the course of a rather chaotic day, the American airmen told us about the atomic bombs that had been dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and that it was those events that had led to Japan’s surrender. A little later, we gathered to listen to a speech from our king, played out clearly on the airmen’s wireless.

  “Three months have passed since I asked you to join with me in an act of thanksgiving for the defeat of Germany. We then rejoiced that peace had returned to Europe, but we knew the strong and relentless enemy still remained to be conquered in Asia. No one could then tell how long, or how heavy would prove the struggle that still awaited us. Japan has surrendered. So let us join in thanking Almighty God that war has ended throughout the world.”

  A great cheer went up as the national anthem played. It was, perhaps, the moment when I finally believed that the war was over. That we really were going home.

  “I’ll just be a moment,” I said, turning to Minnie as we made our way back to the accommodation. “There’s something I need to do.”

  The day of our liberation was a sultry summer day when all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the sky and the sun stuck to my skin. I would usually have withered and wilted beneath the heat, but I stood proud and tall as I walked away from the excited conversations and talk of going home.

  I took a moment, alone, to look around the compound. I walked to the school building and the hospital, and along the lines of low buildings we’d slept and eaten and cooked in—the places where we’d kept our greatest fears silent and clung onto hope with the tips of our filthy fingernails. I’d always shrunk away from the substance of the place, afraid to look at it too closely, refusing to let it define me. But I looked now, and what I saw was just bricks and stone, trees in the full livery of summer, dusty roads and abandoned watchtowers. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. Like the fledglings we’d watched leap, so bravely, from the branches that spring, the children would soon leave us to return to their families, our responsibility no more. Our part in their story was done.