Enemy Camp (3 page)

A Jap submarine sneaked into Sydney Harbour back in June, and fired shells at the city. It's in the paper for the first time. A lot of news is kept secret just now.

TUESDAY, 10 NOVEMBER I had to hurry home from school, because Dad has a day
off and he's been getting vegetables for old Mrs Laurie over in Wakefield Street. Her grandson is a coast-watcher in the part of New Guinea the Japs haven't captured. He watches out for Jap ships or aeroplanes, and sends information back to Headquarters by Morse code. It's dangerous. Some kids say that if the Japs capture a coast-watcher, they execute him straightaway, and leave his body to scare others.

Dad tied a sack of spuds onto my bike handlebars, and another small sack of cauliflowers and cabbages across my back. ‘You look like a travelling garden, Ewen!' Mum laughed.

Dad grinned. ‘We'll have to check the section for buried treasure sometime, eh, son?' A few people in Featherston had buried jewellery and stuff like that in their gardens, or even in parks, when they thought the Japs were coming. Now some of them can't find where they put it!

Old Mrs Laurie was pleased to get the vegetables. She yakked away, then asked if I could post a letter for her. It was for her grandson, the coast-watcher. I looked at the address before I dropped it in the box: 217384 C
PL
L
AURIE
J K, R
OYAL
N
EW
Z
EALAND
N
AVY
, G
OVERNMENT
B
AG
, W
ELLINGTON
. Funny to think of letters from Featherston ending up in New Guinea, or in Egypt and Greece, like the ones Mum wrote to Dad.

I pedalled back past the Domain. Then I stopped. A
line of six men were on the grass, throwing cricket balls while another bloke yelled at them.

What was—? Then I heard what he was shouting: ‘Hold lever! Pull pin! Arm back! Throw! Down! — I said
down
, George Wilkins! If that was a real grenade, you'd have had your stupid head blown off while you were admiring your throw!'

The Home Guard training. Hope the Japs are ready to face a heavy bombardment of cricket balls if they ever invade.

I told Mum about Mrs Laurie's letter. Dad was listening. ‘None of the prisoners out at camp ever write a letter. They're ashamed that they were captured alive. If they start writing home, their families will feel disgraced.' He shook his head. ‘I guess their fighting men will be the same, when they arrive.'

‘That's so sad,' said Mum. ‘Surely their families would want to know how they are?'

WEDNESDAY, 11 NOVEMBER There's a woman train guard helping Mr Morris this week, and Mrs Morris is making him shine his shoes and brush his Railways jacket every morning. Dad laughed when he heard. ‘Poor old Harry.' (I didn't tell you that, did I? Barry and Clarry's father is called Harry!)

I wasn't looking forward to school today. Susan
Proctor gave her morning talk on Japan. I'm surprised it wasn't mentioned on the BBC News.

My mother likes Susan, because she always says ‘Hello, Mrs MacKenzie' if we meet her in town. ‘She has such lovely manners, Ewen. You could at least say hello to her.'

We had flag-raising. Then we all stood in silence for two minutes, since it's twenty-four years today since the Great War ended. I wonder how much longer this one will last.

Arithmetic first, then Mr White said, ‘Morning-talk time, Room Six. Thank you, Susan.'

Susan Proctor went up to the front. She had her hair sort of brushed back with two blue bows in it. I'd like to give it another good pull.

She took a deep breath, and I realised she was nervous. Serve her right for … for being a snob.

‘Good morning, Mr White and class. My morning talk is on Japan, so I apologise for wearing my shoes inside.'

What was she on about?

‘In Japan, people always take their shoes off and leave them outside when they go into a house. They put on special slippers.' Crazy! I folded my arms and got ready to be bored.

Crazier — I wasn't!

She talked about how Jap people have mattresses on
the floor instead of beds. How a lot of them don't use pillows, but a smooth wooden block. ‘Mummy tried it one time.'
Mummy
! She must have seen the expression on my face, because she gave an embarrassed smile.

She described how people dropped on their knees and pressed their foreheads against the ground if they ever saw their Emperor. How they play soccer and call it ‘
sakkah
'. (We all laughed at that. Even I did, until I realised, and stopped.)

‘Mummy — Mum — used to have a Japanese penpal. They stopped writing when the war began. Her friend said things changed after army generals began controlling the government. Now all the boys have their hair cut short, and wear military uniforms to class.'

I wouldn't mind that, I thought.

Margaret Nicholls put her hand up and asked: ‘What do the girls wear?' Anzac pretended to yawn.

‘For special festivals, they wear—' She reached into a little suitcase she had brought, and held up something red and yellow and black. It looked like a woman's dressing gown to me, but the girls went ‘Oooh!', while Mr White said, ‘Very spectacular, Susan.'

She finished and we all clapped. Yes, I did: I've got lovely manners, too. Mr White said, ‘Well done, Susan.' (I bet she loved that.) ‘Any questions, class?'

The first hand up was Terry O'Donaghue's. ‘Does your mother
like
the Nips?'

Susan turned pink. Mr White went, ‘We will restrict our questions to Susan's talk, thank you, Terence.'

Some kids asked about Japanese food, and Susan said that they eat lots of rice and bean curd and noodles. Yuk! Someone else asked how you say ‘Hello' in Japanese. ‘I think it's “
Konnichiwa
”. I only know a couple of words.'

I saw Barry's hand was up. It's not easy for my friend to ask a question, and the class went silent while he spoke. ‘Why are the Ja-Ja-Japanese so c-cruel to their p-prisoners, when we t-t-treat them so well?' Again, I wished
I'd
thought of that.

Mr White answered instead. ‘A very good question, Barry. I think that during wartime, people sometimes behave in ways they never would during peace. New Zealanders can feel proud of their humane attitudes.'

Barry and I went home to his place together. ‘You blokes take ages to walk here,' Clarry complained, as he clumped down the hall in his metal braces. He smirked. ‘Something wrong with your legs?'

‘Go and wash your hands, son,' Mrs Morris told Barry. ‘Would you mind, Ewen?'

Some doctors think polio might be spread by germs. For a while, our school had buckets of disinfectant to wash our hands in, every time we went to the toilet or played outside. Terry got strapped by Miss Mutter for using the bucket to wash his feet once!

Clarry has been practising walking along the street and back without using his crutches. ‘B-Bet you had to hang onto the f-fence,' Barry said. Clarry snapped, ‘Only a b-bit.' They both went silent.

I did quite a lot of reading after tea. Bruce from the camp likes books (he can't do much physical stuff because of his asthma), and he had loaned Dad some books about space. Did you know the planet Pluto has a moon? They found it a year or so back.

At nine o'clock we listened to the BBC News, with the bell of Big Ben striking before it. There's been a big battle in the North African desert, at a place called El Alamein, with New Zealand soldiers in the fighting. Dad and Mum went quiet while they listened.

Mr Morris and Dad are building a little trolley for Clarry to sit in, so that he can be towed behind a bike. Barry and I can take him out to the camp after all.

Spectacular
means remarkable-looking, while
humane
means civilised and thoughtful. In another hundred years, I might be able to have a conversation with Mr White!

THURSDAY, 12 NOVEMBER When I met Barry this morning, I knew something had happened.

‘C-Clarry fell over on the p-path. He was c-coming out to see me g-go, stupid k-k-kid.'

‘Is he OK?'

Barry shrugged. ‘Sc-Scraped his knees and hand. He doesn't want to use his c-c-crutches.'

I thought of those steel rods the doctors mentioned, and shivered.

We came into the playground and stopped. Mrs Connell from the dress shop stood on the front steps, talking to Mr White. Talking angrily.

‘You tell me why our kids should have to hear about those filthy Nips! They're killing our men, doing all sorts of awful things to prisoners, and you're giving morning talks on them. It's disgusting!'

Mr White sounded perfectly calm. ‘Mrs Connell, I appreciate your concern, but—' he held up a hand as Mrs Connell started to speak again ‘—the talk was delivered by a pupil after her mother and I discussed the idea.' He caught sight of Barry and me, and looked steadily at us. ‘I believe we all learned something.'

‘The Nips are our enemies! I don't want our kids' heads filled with disgusting rubbish!'

Behind Mr White, a figure in black appeared. Miss Mutter. Mrs Connell hesitated, then barged on. ‘You should be ashamed, giving lessons on filthy yellow Japs. I've a good mind to report you to the police. It's disgus—'

‘Ishobel Connell.' Miss Mutter didn't raise her voice, but the other woman stopped straightaway. ‘Ishobel
Connell, you're being shilly. Ish thish the exshample an adult should shet?'

Mrs Connell opened her mouth again, but no words came. More kids were listening now.

‘Our job ish to educate children,' Miss Mutter told her. ‘If that meansh they hear things you don't like, you may make your complaint in a proper way. Now off you go.'

Mrs Connell's mouth opened once more, then shut once more. Mr White smiled politely at her. ‘Off you go,' Miss Mutter repeated.

Off Mrs Connell went, lips pressed so tight that you could almost hear her teeth crunching. Miss Mutter glared at us kids. ‘And if you people aren't in your clarshrooms by the time I count to five, you'll feel my shtrap around your legsh. One … two …'

Off we went, too. Fast.

‘I don't like the Nips,' Anzac said at playtime, ‘but it's our business what we learn.'

‘Yeah,' went Terry. ‘Boy, I wish I'd seen Miss Mutter!'

News spreads fast in a small town. Dad called me into the kitchen when he came home. ‘I hear you had a visitor at school this morning, son?'

I told him what had happened.

‘Nosy old chook!' Mum said.

Dad nodded. ‘The Japs reckon any prisoners they capture are cowards, and deserve to die. Sooner or
later we'll have to live with them, though. Bert White is right.' (
Bert
? I'd never thought of teachers having first names.) ‘But keep quiet about it, Ewen. A lot of people think like Mrs Connell.'

Some good news I've saved until last: there's pictures in the town hall this Saturday! And some boring news. There's going to be a dance in the hall sometime, raising money to buy presents for troops overseas.

FRIDAY, 13 NOVEMBER Friday the thirteenth! I was careful all day. Dad left early for guard duty. There's a new camp commandant coming in a few weeks; I wonder what he'll be like?

Clarry is OK. Just a few scrapes on his hands and knees, like Barry said. He was stupid trying to walk without crutches, but he wants to do the things Barry and I do.

Our blokes have won that battle at El Alamein. The New Zealand infantry and artillery were right in the thick of it. The Nazis are losing. The British Empire and the Americans are going to win. Friday the thirteenth is a good day after all!

SATURDAY, 14 NOVEMBER I've been writing this journal for three weeks! Mr White
is right about this being a special time. Funny thing is, I enjoy writing about ordinary things, too.

Something not-ordinary happened today. Barry and I biked to the POW camp again. Clarry looked pretty down when Barry started getting his bike out. Then Mr Morris appeared. ‘Right, young Clarry. Ewen's dad is coming to help me build that trolley, and we need a boss to show us how.' Clarry grinned and grinned.

It's been a fortnight since we last biked to the camp, and I could see new buildings inside the barbed-wire fence. The fence itself had more levels of wire; the top must be ten feet off the ground. Big spikes stuck out everywhere; nobody could climb over that. The ground where we'd seen the Nips working was empty, the soil raked up in long neat rows.

We got to the short gravel road leading to the main gate and sat on our bikes, watching. Inside the wire, a few guards with rifles and bayonets over their shoulders walked up and down. A couple more were in the watch-tower, gazing around. Figures in blue shook blankets at hut or tent doorways, scrubbed big pots beside a tub of water, swept the dirt paths. It didn't look like anything to do with war.

We wheeled our bikes a bit closer. A group of prisoners was forming up by the main gate, guards calling orders to them. We edged closer still.

The big gates swung open. A guard saw Barry and
me, and shouted, ‘Stay there, lads!'

The prisoners headed for a pile of pine logs lying on the ground and began lifting them. The logs were heavy, and it took three or four men to carry each one.

A really little bloke was on the end of one, struggling with it. They started towards the main gate, but you could see that he was going to drop it.

The nearest guard grabbed the log. He said something and grinned at the little Jap, who bowed to him. The guard gave a pretend bow back, and his lemon-squeezer hat fell off. All the guards burst out laughing, and some of the prisoners smiled.

Some of the Nips glanced at Barry and me. I was going to say ‘G'day' to them, I decided, like Barry did last time. As the next lot began to move past, I opened my mouth.

My friend beat me to it — again. ‘
K-Konnichiwa
,' he went. What? Then I remembered Susan Proctor's morning talk.