Authors: Margaret Tanner
Marty, barely conscious now, was helped away, and Daphne slumped behind a pile of rope on the deck and closed her eyes. I could sleep for a week. Her baby was gone. Paul and Robbie were dead. She wouldn’t care if she never woke up.
Marty’s friend Steve came back for her. “Sorry,” he said, “Marty told us about…”
“Thanks. Is he all right?”
“Yeah, I think so. There’s a civilian doctor on board. He said he’ll be able to remove the pipe, it missed the bone luckily. I’ll take you down to the sick bay, it isn’t much, but better than up here where it’s practically standing room only. They’re firing up the boilers now, and we’re weighing anchor.”
The sick bay proved to be about the size of a large closet, but it did have four bunks with white sheets on them. Daphne checked herself, and by the amount of blood on her clothing realized there was no hope for her baby. She fixed herself up as best she could and crawled into one of the bottom bunks.
When she finally awoke, she glanced across at the other bottom bunk and saw Marty lying on it, his arm encased in bandages. He looked white and sickly and there were several cuts on his face. She closed her eyes once more because it was too hard fighting to keep them open. By the rolling of the ship she knew they were out at sea.
Chapter Fourteen
It would take a few days to get to Sumatra, Daphne surmised, then on to Australia and home to Wangaratta. I’ll never leave there again. Nothing ever hurt her in Wangaratta, it was the outside world that proved to be dangerous and cruel. Maybe she could get a job at the local hospital again. She needed to support herself because her parents couldn’t be expected to keep her indefinitely.
They had suffered, too. Lost their son and their grandchild. She almost wished she hadn’t written to tell them about the baby. There would be no grandchildren now, unless Tom married and produced some she thought sadly. Her womb would never know the joy of nurturing a child again. It would probably wither and die because no man would ever replace Paul.
You have to stop this she told herself, otherwise you’ll end up a bitter, twisted woman. She had enjoyed a few months of happiness; some people didn’t even achieve that. Luckily she had sent most of her wedding photographs home, or she would never be able to gaze at Paul’s handsome face again. I’ve lost everything. All I’ve got left are the clothes on my back and my wedding ring.
“Are you awake, my dear?” A man’s voice intruded on her misery. “I’m the doctor. How are you feeling?”
“All right I think. How’s Marty?”
“A lucky young man. Good thing you didn’t try taking the pipe out; he hemorrhaged when I removed it, but he’s fine now. He should make a complete recovery. Rest is all he needs. How about you?”
He examined her briefly, but she knew, even before he confirmed it, that her baby was gone. “I’m sorry, my dear, there’s nothing I could have done.”
“I knew I had lost it in that bombed-out building. Singapore took my brother, my husband and now my baby.” If he tells me I’ll find someone else one day I’ll scream.
“I know what you’re going through, my dear. I lost my wife and three little girls in Malaya when our house took a direct hit. If I hadn’t been on duty at the hospital, I would have been killed too. Strange thing, fate.” He patted her hand before wandering off muttering to himself.
Daphne was woken up by one of Marty’s friends vigorously shaking her. “You have to get out of here. Jap planes have been sighted. We could be under attack any minute now.”
She heard sudden gunfire and felt the ship shudder.
“Here’s a life jacket.” He helped her into it. “Look after Marty for me. I have to get back to my post.” He shoved another lifejacket at her and dashed away.
“What’s happening?” Marty asked groggily.
“We’re under attack, I think.” There was an almighty explosion, followed by a loud hissing noise.
“Jesus.” He struggled into a sitting position. “Sounds like the engine room has been hit.”
The ship started bucking like a crazed horse and Daphne could smell smoke.
“Get out. Get out,” Marty yelled. “Leave me and save yourself.”
She dragged him off his bunk and helped him into the lifejacket, no easy feat with his wounded arm. The pain must have been excruciating, but he didn’t complain. Daphne watched him gritting his teeth, saw the perspiration break out in beads on his forehead.
“We’ll both go on deck,” she panted. They struggled out of the cabin, and if she lived to be a hundred, she would never know how they made it up on deck.
Absolute pandemonium reigned there. People screamed, pushing and shoving as the crew tried to lower the lifeboats. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the deck awash with oil and blood. Never had she witnessed such carnage. It was a scene from hell. The Zeros came over again, strafing the deck and the people who had already jumped or fallen into the water. Daphne hit the deck, pulling Marty down with her as the planes pounded the doomed ship.
“Abandon ship. Abandon ship,” someone screamed frantically. A lone gunner kept firing at the attacking planes. He scored a hit. A Zero, trailing plumes of smoke suddenly burst into flames, nose-diving into the sea with a tremendous roar. Spray shot up into the air like an erupting volcano
The ship was on fire now. She would never forget the smell of burning flesh and the desperate screams of those trapped in a fiery inferno below decks.
They climbed over bodies and smoldering debris. It was almost beyond comprehension how quickly everything had happened.
Marty wrapped his good arm around her waist, she did the same to him, and they leapt into the water side by side, to sink into the murky depths.
She felt the weight of the water pressing her down, pain seared her ears and chest. Suddenly she noticed daylight far above her head. Frantically she clawed her way upwards until her head and shoulders popped out of the water and she could breathe again.
Marty was right beside her. “We have to get away from the ship,” he gasped. “When she sinks we could be sucked under.”
They struck out towards the nearest lifeboat and were dragged on board. She turned her head, just in time to see the ship explode in a fireball and slowly, almost gracefully, slide into the sea.
Several lifeboats were crammed with women, children and wounded, while sailors and other men held on to the sides. Many people clung to pieces of wood, forty-four gallon drums, or anything that would keep them afloat. Others drifted in their life jackets, too shocked or injured to even try saving themselves.
Darkness fell so suddenly it caught everyone by surprise. People kept calling out to each other, but as the night wore on the cries became fainter, until there were none at all.
They couldn’t make much head way as the lifeboat was too crowded. If the sea became rough, they would be swamped because they sat so low in the water. Even with her limited knowledge, she realized this.
“There are too many of us in this boat,” a young officer said. I’m calling for volunteers from any man not wounded, to vacate the boat and take your chances in the water, holding on to the sides. Three sailors and the officer immediately climbed out of the boat. None of the others moved. “For God’s sake, none of us will make it if we don’t lighten the load,” the officer pleaded from the water. “The first big wave will swamp the boat.”
“All right, count us in,” two other men grudgingly volunteered.
“Me too,” Marty said.
“You can’t, you’ve only got one arm,” Daphne protested. “I’ll go in your place as soon as I’ve done what I can for the wounded.”
“Right. Life jackets are for those who go in the water. We’ll take turns, an hour in the water then an hour in the boat,” the officer ordered.
Over the next few hours Daphne witnessed acts of extreme heroism, but also some unimaginable selfishness. Several people in the boat who were not prepared to take a turn in the water, also refused to give up their life jackets. It was appalling.
She did what she could for the wounded, splinting a couple of broken limbs by using pieces of wood bound with strips of material ripped from her dress. The burnt survivors suffered most, because there was little anyone could do except offer words of encouragement.
As dawn spread its pink tentacles over the sky, she watched with a strange detachment, as three of the wounded, having succumbed to their injuries during the night, were consigned to the sea, enabling three others to scramble into the boat.
The water felt warm but her legs were cramping up, and she was becoming delirious. Glancing around for the young officer who organized them last night, she was shocked to find he had disappeared, along with two sailors. She was desperately thirsty, water surrounded them, yet they couldn’t drink any of it.
Marty still clung to the boat, his one good arm hitched to a rope. She made her way around to him.
“Good morning,” she croaked. He didn’t answer. “Marty.” She touched his arm and it felt stiff. Death had silently claimed him during the night.
Someone has rigged up a sail she idly noticed, wondering how long it would take to die if she let go and drifted away. She couldn’t even cry when someone undid the rope wrapped around Marty’s hand and he disappeared beneath the churning waves.
When the sun came out her thirst intensified. A few sips of water per person, a quarter of a biscuit, and one slice from a can of peaches was all they were allowed from the emergency rations. One of the sailors guarded their precious supplies with a gun.
“Civilians should be entitled to larger portions,” complained a woman sheltering under a floral parasol. “My husband is a high ranking officer in the government, I demand…”
“Listen, lady,” one of the sailors snarled. “We don’t give a rat’s arse who your husband is. Shut your bloody mouth or you’ll get nothing.”
“Bravo,” another woman said. “You always were selfish Moira.”
On the third night it rained, and they filled up anything that would hold water, including Moira’s parasol.
“By my reckoning, we’re not too far from land,” a man who had been a planter in Malaya said. He elected himself navigator because he had a pocket compass. “We’ve drifted a fair bit but we’re out of the main shipping lanes now, probably why the Japs haven’t sent us to the bottom.”
When day broke, the planter was proven right. Far in the distance they could see land. Using pieces of wood for oars, two of the sailors started rowing towards it. Only ten of them remained on the boat now, as three more of the wounded had succumbed to their injuries on the second day.
Mid morning, they made it to a sandy shore, fringed with lush palms and undergrowth. Piles of debris littered the beach, two forty-four gallon drums, pieces of timber and an empty life jacket, but no sign of any other survivors.
They debated about whether to light a beacon fire or not. Should they risk drawing the Japs to them, but perhaps attracting the attention of some passing Allied ship, or was it better to huddle around praying for rescue?
“We’ll take a vote,” the planter said. “Those for lighting a fire raise your hands.” Moira was the only one whose hand remained down.
“I don’t think we should risk it,” she whined. “You sailors should row to Sumatra and bring help back for the rest of us.”
“We would, if we bloody knew where it was,” one of the sailors retorted angrily.
“Shut up,” the planter said. “We’ve had a gutful of your bitching. Go and collect some firewood.”
Daphne grinned even though her lips were cracked. What a horrible selfish woman Moira was. They had a few extra sips of water, to celebrate discovering land and shared a whole tin of peaches.
After they got their fire going, Daphne went off with the planter and one of the sailors to find water. In less than ten minutes they discovered a stream of cool crystal clear water. Paradise, she thought drinking her fill. I’ll never take water for granted again as long as I live.
In what appeared to be an old garden they found yams and sweet potatoes. “We’ll eat well tonight,” the planter said. “Might even be able to catch some fish.”
They returned to camp with their booty and found another surprise awaited them. A coast watcher on the island introduced himself to them. He had already radioed for help, and a ship was coming to rescue them. He also informed them that the Australian navy had picked up several lifeboats in one of the shipping lanes. Two boats had also made it to Sumatra. Out of about six hundred people on board the ship, all but a couple of hundred perished.
And she couldn’t even cry.
* * *
When Daphne finally woke up and blinked her eyes, she was in a small room painted in pastel blues. Where are Paul and Robbie was her first conscious thought
“She’s waking up,” a young female voice said, and Daphne tried to focus her eyes. A young nurse was checking her chart.
“Am I dead?” Strange, she couldn’t remember dying.
“No, you’re safe in England.”
“England? What am I doing in England?”
Daphne felt cool fingers caressing her hot, aching, forehead. Her eyes closed again, no matter how hard she fought to keep them open.
When she next surfaced, a different nurse sat by the bedside. “You’re finally awake. Your brother will be glad; he’s just nipped down to the canteen for a cup of tea.”
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a military hospital in Kent.”
“Kent?” She tried to grapple with this but couldn’t. There was something wrong somewhere. “Isn’t this Singapore? Of course it isn’t. We were making for Sumatra.”
The nurse turned away. “Oh, here’s your brother.”
“Tom, what are you doing here?” Daphne stared at the patch covering her brother’s eye and the tears started to fall. “Mum wrote about your eye. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m getting used to it. How are you, Daffy?”
“Terrible. What am I doing here?” She tried to sit up, but weakness overwhelmed her.
“You’re in Kent, in the same hospital as I was in.” He gave a strained grin. “Julie, my fiancée, and I have been hovering over you ever since they told us you were here.”