‘It’ll get easier, just give it time. Kids are resilient, she’ll bounce back, I’m sure.’ Annabel reached out to touch his back but he edged slightly away and didn’t respond.
‘Maybe I’ll make a move,’ she said quietly. ‘And you could try calling back?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Emma will be home soon, I can read the rest of this at her place.’ She nodded to the stack of papers from the coffee table and got to her feet. Something sank inside her when James did not protest.
‘OK, sure,’ he said, getting up from the sofa. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I’ll be much company now. I need some time on my own. Shall I book you a cab?’
Annabel demurred and, feeling awkward, made a swift exit. She made her way out to the bus stop and used the transport app that Emma had recommended. Three minutes later, the right bus pulled up. She was glad to get out of the late afternoon sun and into the coolness of the air-conditioned bus.
What had she been thinking? Annabel sighed as she settled into a vacant seat. There was a chemistry between them and after a couple of glasses of wine she had let herself get carried away. But neither of them was in any position to be rushing into something new. They weren’t at university now, all footloose and fancy free; she was still getting over a break-up and James had his ex-wife and daughter to consider. It was all just too complicated. She wished she could turn the clock back and start things all over again.
But for now, she just wanted to get safely back to Emma’s and read the rest of her grandmother’s story.
CHAPTER 26
Sime Road Camp, Singapore
May 1944
It was a vain hope that living conditions would be better at the new camp. Sime Road was far worse than Changi and, with overcrowded huts and inadequate facilities for the number of inmates, malnutrition and disease were rampant.
Before the war, the Sime Road site had been the headquarters of the RAF. When the war began, it had become the Combined Army & Air Force Operations HQ. It was located in the centre of Singapore, in what had been a pleasant green, leafy area, on the road leading to the Royal Singapore Golf Club. It looked very different now, with a series of long, attap prison huts lining the road.
The golf club had become unrecognisable, too, since the start of the occupation. The Japanese had taken over the clubhouse and now used it as their office. Roads had been built across the greens, and fairways had been dug over to grow sweet potato and tapioca. And the green of the third hole now boasted a large Japanese shrine.
Dorothy’s heart had sunk on arrival. They had been forced to march all the way there from Changi, a distance of nearly fifteen miles, in the sweltering midday sun. Although small for his age, the now two-and-a-half-year-old Noel had weighed heavilyin Dorothy’s arms as she had trudged along the dusty road. She had been grateful not to be separated from Pat and her girls, who not only helped her carry and take care of Noel, but who also kept her spirits up.
For the first week at Sime Road, those spirits had plummeted to an all-time low. She barely ate, instead giving most of her food to Noel, and was quiet and listless. With no news from Changi Jail, Dorothy had no idea what had happened to Dr Archie. The sound of his pained cries on that final day continued to haunt her and she was racked with guilt that he had been punished because of her. What had they done to him? She had written to him numerous times but she had not yet received any reply. All correspondence was heavily monitored and strictly censored so she had purposely kept the letters mild and brief. She had also tried writing to one of the other nurses, Margaret, with whom she had become friendly while working at the hospital, but there was no reply from her yet, either.
Pat was worried about Dorothy and told her as much. In the end, it was her Aussie friend’s no-nonsense, tough-love approach that had finally bucked Dorothy out of her torpor.
‘Now come on, I can’t stand by and let you give up. We’ve come too bloody far for that! And besides, you’ve got the little fella to think about.’ She had nodded towards Noel who was, at that moment, trying to catch a drowsy cockroach that had crawled under the door of the cell. ‘Who’s gonna take care of him if you cark it? He needs you, Dozza.’ Her tone softened as she used the Aussie-style nickname she had given Dorothy. ‘Come on, love, we’ve just got to keep on keeping on. Stick a smile on it and she’ll be right!’
Dorothy knew that Pat was right. She also knew that the only way to get through each day was to do as she was told andkeep busy. By now, she had perfected the ninety-degree bow expected by the Japanese guards, and was mild and obedient in all her interactions with them. In this way, she avoided the slaps that were regularly meted out for any hint of insubordination.
Leaving Noel with the playgroup, a gathering of similar-aged children organised by Mrs Fossett, Dorothy’s days were filled with an assortment of jobs. She worked in the tapioca fields, knitted socks for the Japanese and did shifts in the match factory that the Japanese had set up in the camp. They were long hours, but she was glad of the opportunity to earn slightly larger portions of rice for her son. As a growing toddler, Noel needed all the nourishment he could get and Dorothy’s maternal instinct to protect him had never been stronger.
Life in Hut Fourteen was grim. The only saving grace was that Dorothy still had Pat and her daughters for company. Noel adored the girls and she loved to watch them playing together. Their cell was smaller than the Changi one, but the layout was different, with enough space for the five of them to sleep side by side on wooden platforms, which somehow made it feel more spacious.
As before, the camp was infested with cockroaches and mosquitoes and there was always much hullabaloo when the children spotted one of the many rats. It amazed Dorothy how easily they had all adjusted to their new environment. While it would have appalled the mothers back in their former lives, watching the children play ‘chase the rat’ had now become something of an entertainment.
The prisoners survived on minimal rations and Dorothy sorely missed the relief packages that the Red Cross had managed to deliver to Changi Jail. Those parcels contained much-needed canned food, medical supplies and welcome toiletries such as soap andtoothpaste. But more than that, they had also been a symbol of hope and support that had helped them keep going. Without them, life in this camp felt a lot harder.
One afternoon, a few weeks after her arrival, Dorothy was returning to her hut from the tapioca field when she saw a group of women and children arriving at the camp. She winced as she recognised the scene, remembering her own arrival some weeks earlier. Had they also come from Changi, she wondered?
Dehydrated and exhausted, they were a raggle-taggle bunch who certainly looked as though they had endured that arduous walk. Children were crying and tired mothers had little energy to comfort them. Her heart went out to them.
Dorothy paused behind a palm tree and watched as the guards lined them up and began the routine roll call. Then they announced which huts they would be going to. Dorothy heard her own hut, number fourteen, being called and she groaned inwardly. How on earth were they going to fit anyone else in? It was already full to bursting.
The guards organised the women into their hut groups and then led them off to their new accommodation. A small group of women with several young children between them filed along the path to Hut Fourteen and Dorothy followed behind.
One of the women dropped back from the group, red-faced and harassed. She was struggling to manage a bag with a broken strap and two young children, both of whom were crying. Dorothy caught up with her.
‘Hello, can I help?’ she began with a smile. She picked up the bag by its one remaining strap and hefted it up onto her shoulder.
The woman looked her up and down, clearly exhausted and fed up. ‘And who are you? The bleedin’ welcoming committee?’she asked in a familiar London accent. ‘What a place!’ she spat, nodding at the state of the huts.
‘Well, the Ritz it certainly isn’t!’ Dorothy gave a wry smile. ‘I’m Dorothy Llewellyn, I just got here a few weeks ago from Changi.’
The other woman looked at her and sighed. ‘Sorry, I’m forgetting myself, it’s been a hell of a day.’ She wiped her hand on her dirty dress then reached it out to Dorothy. ‘Maureen. Maureen Thompson, that is. And this here’s Susie and Billy.’ She indicated each of the children then picked up the youngest, Billy, with a tired sigh. She peered more closely at Dorothy. ‘Hang on a minute, don’t I know you from somewhere? I’m sure I’ve seen you before.’
