Escape to Pagan (25 page)

In the west, a man knitting in public would be considered effeminate; to Nipponese manhood there is no such stigma. It was not uncommon for us to see a group of front line soldiers sitting around after bathing, knitting quietly and softly grunting to each other in that way of theirs when at repose.

“Perhaps my mother's stern face and proud demeanour reminded Sergeant Enoda of his own mother who had died; he was then adopted by his grandparents, as is the custom. I believe all Japanese men have a special place in their hearts for their mothers. Sergeant Enoda's presence would soon save my, Mother when she had a confrontation with an armed Japanese soldier, I was terrified she would be killed. Despite this friendship, Mother told me never to trust him.

“In the damp humid conditions of the monsoon the ingredients we had taken from Yu would soon go mouldy, so my mother decided to make sweet cakes to sell in the market. Sergeant Enoda gave Mother permission to do so and she set up a market stall in the village. We needed small change instead of the high denomination notes and Maria Teresa dollars given to us by the De Souzas. These cakes became a favourite of the Japanese soldiers.

“We had reached Pybaw around mid-May; soon after the monsoon fully broke. The warm rain came down in sheets, thank God there were no high winds with the rain as yet. It usually begins raining early in the afternoon and stops in the evening but it could continue all night and all day sometimes. The rain in the afternoon was so warm and we used to stand outside fully clothed like the locals, washing ourselves under our garments, as was the custom.”

A deadly tug-of-war

“It was near the guard house where the Japanese soldiers had set up a check point that an incident happened. I became terrified my mother was going to be shot or bayoneted by a Japanese soldier. She was so brave.

“One day, the usual long convoy of trucks bringing supplies to the Japanese check points was delayed by Sergeant Enoda in the belief he and his men were being short changed by the supply troops. Sergeant Enoda worked himself up into a fury. Very quickly a large crowd of villagers had gathered to watch the confrontation between the two Japanese sergeants. The Japanese troops in the guardhouse turned out with their rifles and fixed bayonets. Sergeant Enoda was a higher ranking Sergeant and wore a small purple tag on his chest that everyone respected. He slapped the supply sergeant's face. The face-slapping incidents always amused the watching Burmese villagers.

“We were selling cakes in the nearby market and heard the commotion. My mother asked me to look after the cakes so she could see what was happening. By the time my mother reached the crossroads Sergeant Enoda was in a blind rage shouting at the other sergeant. He then jumped up onto a truck and began searching for something he felt he and his men should be getting. After a short while I became worried for my mother and left our stall to see if she was alright.

“The sergeant was standing on one of the trucks throwing items of captured tin food off onto the ground, like tinned cheese which the Japs did not like. He then found a case of tinned sardines in tomato sauces, which the Japs loved. His men helped themselves, the rest were gathered up by the villagers. My mother got a couple of tins.

“Still Sergeant Enoda was not happy, there was something else he was looking for, he could smell and hear it. Climbing down, he listened along the line of trucks and then climbed onto another lorry that was covered in British Army blankets and began throwing these onto the ground. Hidden beneath the cover of blankets were bamboo coups full of chickens.

“Sergeant Enoda then went into another rage and began bellowing at the supply sergeant while throwing the coops full of fowls onto the ground. Many of the chicken coops broke and the birds quickly escaped chased by the villagers and the Japs. It was the woollen blankets that your grandmother was interested in. She picked one up and told me to take it back to our hut.

“It was the second blanket that caused the trouble. Mother was spotted picking it up by one of the Jap transport guards. He rushed over and began pulling the blanket from her; she would not let go and a tug-of-war ensued. Transport and supply Japanese soldiers were not the sturdiest of men and my mother was bigger and heavier.

“The tug of war was being closely watched by a smiling Sergeant Enoda and his troops. They made no effort to intervene but their presence must have given my mother more confidence to continue. She finally won the blanket, gave the slightest of bows to her Japanese opponent and quickly left with her prize. Two extra wool blankets were a godsend to us on chilly nights. The Japanese soldier who lost
the tug-of-war was furious and, as he was only a Second Class Private, could only slap the faces of the Indian truck drivers, which he did.

“The Jap transport sergeant had also lost face – there was only one thing he could do. First he slapped the guard who had lost the contest, then slapped the Indian drivers' faces again for good measure. As some of the Indian drivers were taller than him, he stood on the step of the cab to do this. Slapping over and honour satisfied the convoy was about to move on when one of the trucks would not start. This would not be the first time we saw a Japanese soldier beat the truck engine with a stick.”

I still remember these blankets: one was dark brown and had a blue stripe down lengthwise; the other was grey with a blue stripe. The two blankets remained with us in Singapore, Malaya and England, perhaps they reminded Mum of her mother's brave tug-of-war in a far distant country. I began to dislike both blankets. The Sergeant Major would wrap me (arms pinned to my side) like an Egyptian mummy when I had a temperature “to sweat out the fever” he used to say. Struggling to free myself was impossible, I could not move my arms and legs as the wrapping was so tight and I became hot and claustrophobic to the point of panic. Mum used to release me at the first opportunity. I would then quickly disappear, calling the RSM all the Burmese swear words I remembered.

“After the blanket incident, life carried on in the village as normal. As usual my mother and I sold cakes in the market. Her best customers were the Japanese soldiers who loved her cakes, but they always paid in their cheap printed occupation money and she had to take it. At that time everyone was now expected to use Japanese money (known as ‘banana money'). The Burmese rupee was no longer encouraged by the new masters. The Burmese rupee was still preferred throughout Burma by the villagers and the vendors. Opium was also a currency.

“By that time the Japanese soldiers got to know my mother quite well, and treated her with respect, calling her Oka-Sama, ‘Mother' and often used to bargain with her. The pay of a Japanese soldier was extremely low and they regularly counted their money. My mother speaking Nippon Go, her noble unsmiling manner and her honesty gained their respect.”

I can clearly remember a long line of young Japanese soldiers queuing up for Grandmother's cakes. The soldiers may have seemed old to me, but many new recruits were still in their teens. As you can see by her photograph (see plates), Grandmother had high cheekbones; when I was older she reminded me of an Apache, or perhaps (wearing a pointed fur cap), a Mongol Tartar.

“When the Japanese soldiers began to talk to me, my mother always put them in their place, with a sharp word in Nippon Go or a dirty look; she was very good at dirty looks. One day during our stay at Pybaw, we suddenly noticed you were missing. We asked the villagers if they had seen you and were told that you were at the checkpoint with the Japanese soldiers.

“On hearing this news we both became extremely worried, in case you said something about your father, as you could talk by then. We both approached the guard hut, in which a group of Japanese soldiers were lounging. As soon as we got near to the open door we heard laughter from the Japs and then heard your laughter. When we looked through the door there you were standing on the table naked doing a jitter bug, stopping every now and then with your mouth open while the Jap soldiers threw small round biscuits into it. They then laughed at the monkey faces you pulled while trying to bite into the iron hard biscuits with your unstable milk teeth.