James was the first to pull away. He cleared his throat with an awkward cough and checked his watch.
‘Now come on, it’s still early and Emma won’t be home from work yet. Why don’t we go back to my place? I’ll make you a cuppa and you can discover whatever mysteries lie hidden inside that envelope.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Annabel smiled in agreement. ‘But I think a glass of wine might be more in order!’
CHAPTER 23
Penrose Farm,
Wincastle
Cornwall
6 June 1946
My dearest Ah Ling,
I cannot tell you how delighted I was to receive your reply to my letter. After all this time, I was at a loss how to contact you, but I had an inkling that dear old Mr Wong at your temple would know where you were. Please send him my deepest gratitude for passing my letter on to you; you have no idea what pleasure your reply brought me. I was so glad to hear that you are well and happy, and settled as a wife and mother.
You must forgive my tardiness in contacting you, dearest friend. As I mentioned in my first, brief note, the past couple of years have been quite a whirlwind. It has taken some time for me to come to terms with the events that led up to my departure from Singapore. As with any tale, it had its ups and downs, but rest assured that I, too, am well and happy.I feel incredibly fortunate to have had a second chance with a new life – and a new family – here in beautiful Cornwall. I am, indeed, very content with my lot.
How to begin my tale? It is a question that has kept me awake many a night. I suppose I should start at the beginning, or rather the ending, when I bade you farewell at the dock in Singapore. Do you remember that terrible night, Ah Ling? Friday 13th February, 1942. I shudder to think of it. I don’t think it matters how much time passes, it remains a vivid memory that just won’t fade.
I can close my eyes now and still see the chaos at the docks, where so many of us were trying to escape. The pushing and shoving on the gangplanks, the frightened faces of the children and the fear in their mothers’ eyes. I can still hear the drone of the Japanese planes overhead. I can feel the pulsating thump and smell the acrid stench as their bombs exploded around us. These are things I can never forget. I also hear echoes of Shenton Thomas’s voice, reassuring us that we were perfectly safe in Singapore. Oh, but how wrong he was! Our world was tipped upside down so quickly and there was nothing to be done about it.
As ever, you were my constant support at that time, calmly and quietly helping me pack, preparing me to leave the country that had been my home for the past four years. I felt so awful leaving you behind, Ah Ling, to anuncertain future and the threat of imminent Japanese invasion. At the time, how I wished I could have taken you with me. But in the end, after everything that happened next, I was so glad that you had stayed behind.
SS Kuala was to be my escape, taking me to Australia, from where I could get a ship home to England. After everything that had happened, first with my parents and then with Douglas, how I longed to go home to cold, rainy England.
I shall never forget saying goodbye to you that night; it was the saddest of farewells. We clung to each other in one last embrace, then both bravely tried to smile through our tears. You were my final link with Singapore, with the family that had disappeared one by one, and it was an utter wrench to leave you.
What happened next came completely out of the blue and you will doubtless be as surprised as I was. I was halfway up the gangplank to board the ship when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and saw her there: Maria da Costa Pemberton. My heart sank. I couldn’t face the thought of being stuck on board together for the next few weeks. But what happened next was even more shocking than that.
‘Dorothy, you must help me,’ she began in that clipped, staccato Italian accent of hers. She sounded like she’d been crying. ‘I do not know what else to do. Please take him, I cannot keep him. My husband will kill me.’ And, withoutceremony, she handed me a bundle of cloth. It felt warm and was moving. I peeled back the cloth and there he was: her baby. Douglas’s child. Before I could say anything, she passed me a piece of paper with a scribbled address on it. ‘His grandparents, in England. Please take him to them. For Douglas’s sake, if not for mine. He was born on Christmas Eve. He is innocent in all of this. Please, take care of him. You must promise me. Please!’
I stood there dumbstruck, desperately trying to keep my balance as I held onto the baby and kept my grip on my suitcase as other passengers hurried up the gangplank past me. But there was little time to respond. What else could I do? There was such desperation in her eyes. I simply nodded my reply and said, ‘I promise.’
She disappeared then, dragged back down the gangplank by one of the staff, whom she must have persuaded to let her through. It was time to leave; the ship was ready for departure. And away she went, lost in the crowd of escaping evacuees, leaving me with her child; a tiny scrap of humanity, barely six weeks old.
There are occasions in life when one is denied the luxury of time for careful contemplation and consideration, and this was one such occasion. I had no choice but to follow my instinct. And my instinct at that moment was to protect the helpless babe in my arms. After what had happened to his father – anothermemory that continues to haunt me to this day – it was the very least I could do.
I moved as if in a trance. The ship was full to bursting, with some five hundred of us evacuees, crammed in like the proverbial sardines. There was nowhere to sit, but everyone was trying to make the best of it, settling in the aisles and stairwells, wherever there was space. No one could move without stepping over or around people. Hot and cramped it may have been, but we were all relieved to be there, away from the pandemonium of the dock and desperate to sail to safer shores. Looking around, it was such an eclectic mix of passengers: Chinese, Europeans, Eurasians, men and women, old and young. I didn’t see anyone I knew, which was a relief to me as I might have struggled to explain the baby in my arms.
An elderly Singaporean man in a smart suit nodded at the baby and gave up his seat for me. I accepted it gratefully and settled into it, repositioning the baby as my arm was starting to ache. Despite the chaos going on around him, he was remarkably quiet and, after tucking into milk from the bottle of a helpful mother nearby, he was soon snoozing peacefully.
I took the piece of paper that Maria had handed me from my pocket and recognised the address of Douglas’s family home; Highcliffe Manor, Wilton, Salisbury. At that moment, I knew that the only thing to do was to makesure that the baby was safely delivered to his paternal grandparents. In our short marriage, I had never had the opportunity to meet my in-laws. And now I felt rising panic and an overwhelming sense of guilt at the thought of meeting them now, knowing what I’d done to their son. I had sent a telegram and later a letter, informing them of Douglas’s death, but no reply had ever come. What must they think?
But safe delivery of the child soon became a distant hope. At 11 a.m. the next morning, SS Kuala, our safe haven and escape route, was bombed by the Japanese.
The chaos at the docks was nothing compared to the chaos on board the ship. We were plunged into darkness, surrounded by terrified screams. But I no longer worried for myself, I had someone else to think about. I found myself shepherded by the kind mother who’d lent me her own baby’s bottle – Harriet was her name – and we were among the fortunate few to get onto a lifeboat.
For as long as I live, I shall never forget the sight of those who were left behind. Mothers stood on the side of the ship while bombs continued to rain down, crying out for help that would not come. They faced the most impossible decision; to stay on board the burning vessel or take their chances in the violent waters below. Most could not swim and there were no lifebelts. But, left with no other choice, they jumped in, clutching theirbabies and toddlers close to them, hanging on to whatever they could reach and desperately trying to keep their heads above water. Sailors were throwing anything that could float down into the water: chairs, tables, rattan baskets, empty packing cases. But few survived, becoming victims of the choppy waters or the barbaric machine-gunning of the approaching Japanese soldiers.
The lifeboat was fit to burst, but the sailors rowed us steadily towards the island. We were packed in, cheek by jowl, but there was some comfort in our being together. Bombs exploded in the water around us, but miraculously we managed to dodge them. I clutched the baby close to me and closed my eyes tight shut against the horrors. But there was no blocking out the sound, the tormented wails of desperation. It was when the baby started to cry that I realised that it was not just my own life that I had to save, but his, too. I couldn’t believe what a peaceful little chap he was. Poor little thing, with no milk on offer, he satisfied himself by suckling on the tip of my finger.
And that was the moment, Ah Ling, when I became a mother. Despite everything that was going on, he made me smile. And I realised, quite simply, that he needed me. And, in a strange way, I needed him, too.
We reached the island of Pom Pong and scrambled up the rocks towards the jungle as best we could. But the Japanese were relentless,cold and callous in their actions, as they pursued innocent people. They shot dead mothers with children in their arms in pure, ruthless cold blood. One of their bullets hit Harriet, who had been so kind to me. I turned to see her lying face down in the sand, a growing pool of blood around her and her infant. Her older child clutched at her body, wailing in horror, until he was silenced by another bullet. It was a living nightmare, Ah Ling, unravelling before my eyes. I felt numb with shock at it all and was grateful to the sailor who came back for me, grabbing my arm and urging me to keep going.
