The Plantation - Di Morrissey [111]
The women stood paralysed, shocked at this treatment. They watched as their few possessions were examined. Some soldiers picked up food items and other things they considered valuable, they kicked the rest of the luggage around in the dust.
‘Damn them, what bastards,’ muttered one women. ‘They said we’d be well treated.’
Marjorie looked around her. The perimeter of this main square consisted of small huts roofed with attap and bamboo walls. They looked flimsy and obviously had few amenities. There were women and children inside them, watching through the holes cut in the walls. A Japanese soldier began shouting at them furiously.
‘What’s he saying?’ whispered the woman next to Marjorie, who only managed to shake her head in reply.
Then, as if in exasperation at their stupidity for not understanding him, the soldier suddenly began to shout at them in English, as if to small children.
‘You are now prisoners of Emperor of Japan. Emperor look after women and children. You obey rules, and you not get into trouble. You not obey, you will be punished.’ He began shouting a list of instructions and rules that were barely understood by the exhausted and frightened women. A few small children whimpered. A baby cried in hunger. After what seemed an age, standing in the hot sun, they were finally dismissed and the women began to scoop up their belongings. Marjorie knelt down and stuffed her mother’s clothes into her suitcase, tugging back a dress that another woman was trying to pick up.
‘That’s my mother’s.’
But the other woman was too distraught to notice or care.
An older woman appeared from one of the huts and introduced herself to the group. ‘I’m June Humphries. I’ve been elected as the camp representative. I act as the go-between with the Japs and the prisoners. Welcome to you all.’ She began to explain the camp routine as she assigned the women to the various huts.
Marjorie and her mother, clutching their belongings, walked to one of them and blinked in the dimness of its two dormitory rooms. The woman with the little boy that Marjorie had seen at the fence came forward.
‘Welcome to what we have, although it’s not much.’
‘My mother is sick. Can she lie down?’ said Marjorie.
‘We were told that more women were coming. We’ll have to sort out some better sleeping arrangements, but for now your mother can sleep on my bed. I see that you were able to bring a few things. Do you have any medicines?’ she asked.
‘I have some quinine and aspirin in my cotton bag. The guards took so many of our things,’ said Marjorie. ‘That’s not right.’
‘No, it’s not. There are many things not right here so we have to make the best of it. When Philip and I arrived, we had very little, except of course Philip’s elephant. By the way, I’m Bette Oldham. What’s your name?’
‘Marjorie Potts.’
‘And I’m Evelyn Potts. I’m so sorry to be a nuisance to you,’ said Marjorie’s mother, faintly from the direction of the bed.
Bette brushed the apology aside. ‘I understand, this must be a terrible shock for you, but you must get well as soon as you can. There is no doctor or proper hospital here, but we do what we can. There’s a sick bay, run by an English woman and a couple of nuns. They’re wonderful, but there’s only so much you can do in these conditions.’
‘What are the conditions like here?’ asked Evelyn.
‘Terrible, just look at these beds. They’re only bamboo slats and very uncomfortable, unless you have money to buy a thin mattress – then I guess they’re a bit better. To eat we get a cupful of rice a day, occasionally some terrible meat and greens that are slimy and inedible, although we eat them. Drinking water is precious. We catch as much as we can when it rains. The latrines are a nightmare. They are just a hole in the ground, over there behind that shack, and someone has to