The Bird in the Bamboo Cage

I washed and dressed and made my bed, hospital corners precisely tucked in, the eiderdown smoothed of any unsightly creases. A cursory glance in the mirror left me wishing I could remove the lines from my face as easily. I missed the Elspeth Kent I used to see in the reflection; the carefree young thing who’d smiled for a week when Harry Evans asked her to dance. I hoped I might still find some scraps of her in England. Stitch her back together. Make Do and Mend. After all, wasn’t that what the Ministry encouraged?

The decades-old floorboards creaked and cracked beneath my shoes as I made my way along the corridor and downstairs, past trophy cabinets and the many proud moments of the school’s history. Once outside, I took a moment to glance toward the waters of the bay and then hurried on across the courtyard, beneath the branches of the plum trees, to the old stone chapel. My footsteps echoed off the flagstones as I walked to the altar and bent my head in prayer before settling into a pew. I sat in silent thought, remembering the wedding day that had been cruelly taken from me, and the other I’d walked away from. I was six thousand miles away from home, and still they haunted me: the man I should have married, and the man who had nearly taken his place. Ghosts now, both of them.

Pushing my memories aside, I took my letter of resignation from my pocket. I’d agonized over the words for so long they were imprinted on my mind. It is with much difficulty, and after a great deal of personal anguish and reflection, that I must inform you of my intention to leave my position at Chefoo School and return to my family in England … For weeks it had idled among the pages of my Girl Guide Handbook. I would give it to the principal of the Girls’ School after assembly that morning, and confirm my intention to return to England on the next available steamer from Shanghai. There was no reason to delay further, although the prospect of telling Minnie Butterworth – my dearest friend on the teaching staff –wasn’t quite so straightforward. Calling off a wedding and travelling halfway around the world had been easy in comparison.

I sat in the chapel until the cold got the better of my faith, and made my way outside to discover a soft blanket of snow had fallen. It was a perfect winter morning, still and calm. I stood for a moment beneath the arched lintel of the chapel doorway, admiring the quiet beauty and the deliciously plump flakes. Across the courtyard, Shu Lan, was already busy with her day’s work. She paused to listen to the distant toll of the Buddhist temple bells. I listened too, imagining that they were saying goodbye. China was almost invisible beneath the western sensibilities of Chefoo School and its privileged offspring of missionaries and diplomats, so much so that I sometimes forgot I was in China at all. The temple bells and the snow-covered branches of the plum and gingko trees were a timely reminder of place, and that as the seasons moved on, so must I.

A smile laced the edge of my lips. Finally, I would set in motion the wheels that would lead me back home. But the heavy drone of an approaching aircraft interrupted the delicate silence, and saw my smile quickly fade.

Instinctively, I stepped back inside the chapel doorway and tipped my face skywards, shielding my eyes against the swirling snow. I brushed a stray curl from my cheek as I watched the aircraft pass directly overhead. I stared up at the distinctive red circles painted onto the wingtips, and tracked a stream of papers that tumbled from the rear of the craft before the pilot banked sharply over Chefoo harbour, and disappeared into the rose-tinted snow clouds.

When I was quite sure it had gone, I brushed snow from the bottom of my coat, and grabbed one of the papers as it fluttered toward me through the frigid air. I stood perfectly still as I read an English translation of the front page of a Japanese newspaper: We hereby declare War on the United States of America and the British Empire. The men and officers of Our Army and Navy shall do their utmost in prosecuting the war … I skimmed over the full declaration, my hand raised to my mouth in dread as I reached the signature, HIROHITO, and the distinctive chrysanthemum emblem of the Japanese Imperial Seal.

I leaned against the chapel wall to steady myself as the world seemed to tilt a little to one side.

It had happened then, just as we’d feared.

Britain was at war with Japan.

I immediately made my way back to the school building, my footprints sinking deep in the snow as I scooped up as many leaflets as I could. Across the courtyard, beneath the plum trees, I saw Shu Lan doing the same. We paused and looked at each other for the briefest moment before resuming our collection. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of an eager little face peering out at the snow through an upstairs dormitory window, warm breaths misting the glass. Nancy Plummer. The sight of her set my mind racing. What would the declaration of war mean for the children with their parents already thousands of miles away? I sighed as I searched for the ocean in the distance. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could take a rickshaw to the harbour and set out for Shanghai later that morning.

When it was time for morning assembly, I slipped into the back of the packed hall, beside Minnie, who towered above me.

She tapped her wristwatch. ‘What kept you? It’s not like you to be late.’ If she noticed the fear and worry in my eyes, she was kind enough not to say anything.

Minnie had been at the school almost seven years. We hadn’t hit it off at first, my natural pessimism and faltering faith rather at odds with her stoic optimism and steadfast devoutness, but we’d recognized something familiar in our Northern sensibilities, not to mention the silent shame that surrounded women like us – surplus women, society’s problem – whatever term was fashionable at any given time. Despite our differences, we’d become the greatest of friends.

‘I’m not late,’ I replied, fussing with the bun at my neck which was all asunder.

Minnie narrowed her eyes at me, poised to ask more, but the rousing strains of ‘Imperial Echoes’, the accompanying theme music for the popular Radio Newsreel programme on the BBC Overseas Service, emerged from the wireless cabinet, and we all jumped to attention. I was relieved to be spared an interrogation. At that moment I was held together by the smallest fragments of resolve. It would take only a fraction of Minnie’s gentle kindness to set me off.

The hubbub of conversation subsided as the introductory music reached the final bars and we waited for the announcer’s smooth English accent. His steady delivery made even the worst news palatable to the very youngest ears, and had become another reassuring constant I’d come to rely on while I was so far from home.

‘This is London calling in the Overseas Service of the British Broadcasting Corporation. Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it.’ Goosebumps ran along my arms. I laced my hands and cleared my throat, prepared to react appropriately to whatever he was about to say. ‘Japan’s long-threatened aggression in the Far East began tonight with air attacks on United States naval bases in the Pacific. Fresh reports are coming in every minute. The latest facts of the situation are these: messages from Tokyo say that Japan has announced a formal declaration of war against both the United States and Britain …’

An audible gasp rippled around the room. Minnie grabbed my hand.

‘Oh, Els! It’s happened. We’re at war with Japan.’ To hear her say the words out loud made everything horribly real. ‘We’re enemy aliens.’

I shushed her, a little too brusquely, as I strained to hear the rest of the broadcast.

‘Japan’s attacks on American naval bases in the Pacific were announced by President Roosevelt in a statement from the White House …’ the announcer continued, calmly relaying details of sustained Japanese bombing raids on an American naval base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, with significant casualties reported. ‘President Roosevelt has ordered the mobilization of the United States army …’

The words settled ominously over the room as I observed the faces of my colleagues, watching closely for their reactions: Mr Collins, our ever-reliable headmaster; Amelia Prescott, all the colour drained from her usually ruddy cheeks; Ella Redmond, stoic as ever; Tom Martin, the Latin master; young Eleanor Yarwood, a recent addition to the teaching staff at the Prep School, and on and on. Even the boys’ PT master, Charlie Harris, was lacking his usual disarming smile. Everywhere I looked, a familiar face concealed the true emotions the announcement had stirred. We hid it well, but we all understood that Japan’s declaration of war against Britain changed everything. Missionary school or not, we were now the enemy, and we were in danger.

That winter had seen an unusually high number of children remain at school for the Christmas holidays, one hundred and twenty-four, in total. Just over a dozen staff and a handful of missionaries had also stayed, a few through choice, but most due to the Sino-Japanese war which made long journeys across the country too dangerous. The irony was not lost on me that danger had found us anyway.

My first instinct was to locate the girls from my class.

‘What are you doing?’ Minnie asked, as I reached up onto my tiptoes and began muttering under my breath.

‘Counting,’ I replied. ‘I can’t just stand here. I have to do something.’

For all their similarities, honed by the strict routines of school, it was the girls’ individuality I’d come to enjoy: Joan Nuttall, nicknamed Mouse, crippled by shyness but growing in confidence recently; Dorothy Hinshaw, nicknamed Sprout, the resident class clown, bursting with potential if only she would apply herself; and good-natured, ever-reliable Nancy Plummer, Plum to her friends, whom I’d recently appointed as Sixer of Pixies in the 2nd Chefoo Brownies. Nancy wasn’t the most natural leader, but was more than capable when given a nudge, and I was pleased to see her rise to the challenge. Despite being warned by several of the teachers about having favourites, the undeniable truth was that I’d grown fond of these three girls. I saw a little of myself in each of them: my past, certainly, but they also held a tantalizing sense of the present, and of a future full of possibility.

Aside from Joan, Nancy and Dorothy, Winnie, Agnes and Elsie were also present. Alice, Mary and Barbara had returned to their parents in Shanghai and Hong Kong. Bunty Browne had left for Australia only two days ago to rendezvous with her parents, who were already on furlough. I wondered how significant those last-minute decisions, and my own indecision, would prove to be. With the children’s parents dispersed all over China, reuniting them would be challenging, if not impossible. If I’d once felt uncertain about making an impromptu wharf-side promise to Lillian Plummer to keep a special eye on Nancy, I wondered what on earth that promise might mean now. Wherever Lillian Plummer was, I could feel her, urging me to keep my word; to keep watch over her daughter.

As the seriousness of the announcement began to sink in, the children turned to each other, wide-eyed. Some were upset, while others were excited to finally find themselves part of the war they had read and heard so much about. Some of the boys practised their rat-a-tat-a machine-gun noises as the rising drone of speculation and conjecture filled the room.

‘You don’t think Japanese soldiers will occupy the school, do you?’ Minnie whispered, voicing my own fears. ‘What if they come roaring through the gates in their awful trucks and fly their flag over the cricket pitch? I can’t stop thinking about Nanking.’

Neither could I.

The atrocities committed by the Imperial Japanese army in Nanking had preceded my arrival in China, but the horrific massacre of thousands of Chinese civilians was so shocking it had left a deep and painful scar. I knew that many of the school’s servants had seen family and loved ones brutally murdered, many women enduring the very worst indignity at the hands of the soldiers. The word rape was too ugly to speak out loud, but it had certainly occupied my thoughts whenever I’d seen the soldiers beyond the school gates, and it troubled me greatly now. While none of us wanted to think about the possibility of the horrors of Nanking ever happening again, the question on all our lips was not if soldiers would arrive at the school, but when. I hoped Minnie hadn’t noticed the tremble in my hand.

‘Well, let’s hope for the best,’ Minnie continued. ‘I’m quite sure a western missionary school won’t be of any interest to them, and children have a wonderful capacity for bringing out compassion in people, don’t they? Besides, the British Navy will be on top of things. They’ll send a warship to evacuate us and we’ll be repatriated and tucking into goose and all the trimmings before you can say “Merry Christmas, Mister Scrooge.” I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they weren’t already en route.’

It was typical of Minnie to look on the bright side. Not for the first time, I found her optimism rather naïve and misplaced and I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself saying something unkind as an awful sense of dread settled in my stomach. It was the same feeling I’d woken up with on the morning of my wedding day.

In the end, calling it off was the easiest decision I’d ever made. The sun had just risen, spiderwebs draped across the hedgerows like lace veils as I’d walked up the lane to Reggie’s mother’s house and calmly explained that I couldn’t marry him after all. He wasn’t surprised. He knew he wasn’t the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That man, Harry Evans, was buried beneath the collapsed mine he’d worked in all his adult life, and the vibrant young woman who should have married him and lived a quiet life with our children asleep in their beds and washing dancing on the line, had been buried with him.

‘God save the King,’ Minnie whispered as the broadcast came to an end.

My fingertips brushed against the envelope in my pocket. It is with much difficulty, and after a great deal of personal anguish and reflection, that I must inform you of my intention to leave my position at Chefoo School and return to my family in England … I imagined my words slipping from the page, unwritten, unseen, irrelevant now.

‘God save us all, Minnie,’ I replied. ‘God save us all.’

Immediately after assembly, we were called to an emergency meeting in the staff room.

‘I will assess the local and international situation with Mission HQ and await further instruction,’ our headmaster explained. ‘We have one hundred and twenty-four children in our care, comprising ninety British, three Canadians, five Australians, two South Africans, eighteen Americans, three Norwegians and three Dutch. The preservation of the children’s faith, safety and education must be our utmost priority until assistance arrives, and, in the meantime, it’s business as usual.’

Everything else, including my plans to return to England, would simply have to wait.

After the short meeting, we returned to our respective classrooms.

I smoothed any signs of worry from my face and walked the eleven steps to the front of the classroom, just as I had yesterday, and the many hundreds of days before that. I tapped my metre rule three times against the desk, and cleared my throat, twice. Routine and discipline sustained me in many ways, but especially on days like this.

The simmering noise of the girls’ chatter fell away as they stood behind their desks, the scraping of chair legs against the floor setting my teeth on edge.

‘Good morning, class,’ I announced.

‘Good morning, Miss Kent.’

Like a well-rehearsed song, there was a distinct harmony and tone to the exchange, but the girls’ response that morning was understandably sombre.

‘Hands together for prayers.’

When the children had closed their eyes tight, and I was certain nobody was peeping, I crumpled Emperor Hirohito’s declaration into a ball and tossed it into the wastepaper basket beneath my desk. I placed my resignation letter inside the China Inland Mission Bible in my drawer. The pages fell open at Joshua 10:25. Joshua said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous.’ Not for the first time, I wished the words meant more to me than they did.

I joined the girls in prayer, focusing on the singular truth I’d clung to all these uncertain years: that every decision I made, whether right or wrong, whether people criticized or admired me for my choices, took me closer to the place, and the person, I was meant to be. As the girls’ bright voices filled the classroom, I closed my eyes and absorbed the simple familiarity of the moment: chalk dust on my fingertips, the pool of winter sunlight against my cheek, the sounds of singing and instruction drifting along the corridors. Routine and discipline. The glue holding me together while the world was falling apart.

We were halfway through the Lord’s Prayer when the soldiers arrived.

NANCY

Our prayer puttered to a stop, and the classroom fell silent.

I opened my eyes and reached up onto my tiptoes to see what all the commotion was beyond the snow-speckled windows: the loud rumble of trucks, raised voices, doors slamming.

Miss Kent followed my gaze, all the colour having drained from her face. For a moment, the world seemed to stop, unsure of what to do with us next, until Miss Kent clapped her hands and cleared her throat.

‘Face the front, children,’ she instructed. ‘It appears our new rulers have arrived. But that’s no excuse for incomplete prayers. Start again, please. Our Father …’

But another loud noise outside pulled everyone’s attention back to the window. The low winter sun glinted against steel helmets and short swords that hung from belts. Khaki-coloured jodhpur-like trousers ballooned over the tops of glossy knee-high boots that stamped roughly across the fresh snow. I was too shocked to do anything but stare. It wasn’t the soldiers themselves that was so shocking – we’d seen them plenty of times before – it was the fact that they were here, in our school, trampling all over Wei Huan’s lovely flower beds.

‘They’re spoiling everything!’ The words came out before I could stop them. I clapped my hand over my mouth and glanced at Miss Kent, expecting a reprimand. When none came, I added, ‘Wei Huan will be so upset. They’re squashing the China roses. His favourites.’

Miss Kent started us off in the Lord’s Prayer again. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed hard, and pressed my knees together to stop them shaking.

‘Our Father, Who art in Heaven …’

There was an unusual wobble to Miss Kent’s voice. Even when we joined in, our combined voices couldn’t drown out the noise that was now coming from all directions. As we reached the part where we forgive those who trespass against us, an almighty commotion started up in the corridor outside the classroom. I opened my eyes a fraction and glanced at the door.

‘For Thine is the kingdom,’ Miss Kent continued, raising her voice another level until we joined her in the final words.

‘The power and the glory, Forever and ever. Amen.’

A long pause circled the classroom as we waited to see what would happen next.

Miss Kent stood at the front of the room, her cheeks as pale as chalk dust. I couldn’t remember the classroom ever being so quiet. Even Sprout was silent. She’d recently returned from a spell in the San with instructions to take Nurse Prune’s awful cough medicine. I glanced toward the door again as another loud bang came from the corridor, closer this time. Any moment now they would burst in, I was sure of it. Agnes started to cry, which set off Winnie, and then Elsie beside her. I looked at Mouse, who stared at the floor. At the back of the room, Sprout smothered a cough with her hand.

‘You can sit down,’ Miss Kent announced, finally finding her voice. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

Miss Kent rarely smiled in the classroom so I knew the smile she gave us that morning was the sort of ‘we must be brave’ smile adults use when they’re trying to pretend something awful isn’t happening. As I smiled back at her, the classroom door flew open, swung roughly back on its hinges and banged against the bookcase which fell forward with an almighty thud, spilling its books everywhere as two soldiers marched through the door. Their long boots squeaked against the polished floor as they positioned themselves on either side of Miss Kent’s desk, their dark eyes fixed on the wall at the back of the classroom where the map of the British Empire hung below a painting of King George VI. A third, older man, arrived and stood stiffly in the doorway.

‘School is now the property of Emperor Hirohito,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘I am Commander Hayashi. You obey my orders. All children. Come.’ He waved a heavy-looking bamboo stick in the direction of the corridor.

We all looked at Miss Kent.

‘Form a neat line beside the wall, girls,’ she instructed, her voice as steady and calm as if she were about to lead us out to the bay for a spot of exercise.

We did as we were told. Nobody said a word.

With one soldier at the front of our line, and one bringing up the rear, we filed out of the classroom. I stared at the world map as I passed it, remembering how I’d borrowed Edward’s atlas before we left England and traced my fingertip around China’s vast coastline, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere as mysterious and exotic as the Far East. I’d seen so little of the real China, the China beyond the missionary and school compound walls, that I still didn’t know the answer. As Commander Hayashi marched ahead, leading us to the assembly hall, I wondered if I ever would.

Most of the other children were already gathered in the hall by the time we arrived. I looked around for Edward and was relieved to see him with his friend, Larry, and some other boys. I waved when I thought he was looking, but he didn’t wave back. I let my hand fall to my side, embarrassed for having waved at all.

‘I don’t think he saw you,’ Sprout whispered as she squeezed my hand encouragingly. ‘Connie never waves when she sees me. She doesn’t like to be seen with her little sister now that she’s all grown up and wears a brassiere.’

I told her to shush before she got into trouble for talking.

‘Wait here,’ Commander Hayashi ordered. He pointed his bamboo stick at us and then at the soldiers guarding the door. ‘Guards see everything.’

‘What an awful man,’ Sprout said when he’d gone. ‘You come here. You wait there.’

Her imitation of him made some of the girls giggle nervously.

Miss Kent overheard, and was quick to scold.

‘I do not want to hear such insolence again, Dorothy. Not from any of you,’ she snapped. I’d never seen her so cross. ‘We will show the soldiers the same courtesy and respect we would show any visitor to the school. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ we chorused.

‘Good. Now, sit down in a circle. Nancy will start you off in a game of “I Went to the Shops”. I’ll be back in a moment.’

She crossed the hall to speak to some of the other teachers as I started us off in the memory game, but nobody could concentrate on the shopping list we tried to memorize. We only got as far as onions, sausages, buttons and blue wool before Winnie got in a terrible muddle and couldn’t even remember onions. She started to cry, which made me want to cry, too. I bit my lip to stop myself.

Miss Kent soon returned to explain that Japanese Shinto priests wished to perform a ceremony at the sports field. ‘They would like us all to wait here until the ceremony is done. Then I’m sure we’ll be able to return to our classrooms.’ She fiddled with the St. Christopher that hung from a slim gold chain at her neck. ‘How about a few rounds of “This Little Light of Mine” and “Little Peter Rabbit” while we wait?’