Hazel Gaynor - The Bird in the Bamboo Cage

I leaned against the chapel wall to steady myself as the world seemed to tilt a little to one side.

It had happened then, just as we’d feared.

Britain was at war with Japan.

I immediately made my way back to the school building, my footprints sinking deep in the snow as I scooped up as many leaflets as I could. Across the courtyard, beneath the plum trees, I saw Shu Lan doing the same. We paused and looked at each other for the briefest moment before resuming our collection. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of an eager little face peering out at the snow through an upstairs dormitory window, warm breaths misting the glass. Nancy Plummer. The sight of her set my mind racing. What would the declaration of war mean for the children with their parents already thousands of miles away? I sighed as I searched for the ocean in the distance. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could take a rickshaw to the harbour and set out for Shanghai later that morning.

When it was time for morning assembly, I slipped into the back of the packed hall, beside Minnie, who towered above me.

She tapped her wristwatch. ‘What kept you? It’s not like you to be late.’ If she noticed the fear and worry in my eyes, she was kind enough not to say anything.

Minnie had been at the school almost seven years. We hadn’t hit it off at first, my natural pessimism and faltering faith rather at odds with her stoic optimism and steadfast devoutness, but we’d recognized something familiar in our Northern sensibilities, not to mention the silent shame that surrounded women like us – surplus women, society’s problem – whatever term was fashionable at any given time. Despite our differences, we’d become the greatest of friends.

‘I’m not late,’ I replied, fussing with the bun at my neck which was all asunder.

Minnie narrowed her eyes at me, poised to ask more, but the rousing strains of ‘Imperial Echoes’, the accompanying theme music for the popular Radio Newsreel programme on the BBC Overseas Service, emerged from the wireless cabinet, and we all jumped to attention. I was relieved to be spared an interrogation. At that moment I was held together by the smallest fragments of resolve. It would take only a fraction of Minnie’s gentle kindness to set me off.

The hubbub of conversation subsided as the introductory music reached the final bars and we waited for the announcer’s smooth English accent. His steady delivery made even the worst news palatable to the very youngest ears, and had become another reassuring constant I’d come to rely on while I was so far from home.

‘ This is London calling in the Overseas Service of the British Broadcasting Corporation. Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. ’ Goosebumps ran along my arms. I laced my hands and cleared my throat, prepared to react appropriately to whatever he was about to say. ‘ Japan’s long-threatened aggression in the Far East began tonight with air attacks on United States naval bases in the Pacific. Fresh reports are coming in every minute. The latest facts of the situation are these: messages from Tokyo say that Japan has announced a formal declaration of war against both the United States and Britain … ’

An audible gasp rippled around the room. Minnie grabbed my hand.

‘Oh, Els! It’s happened. We’re at war with Japan.’ To hear her say the words out loud made everything horribly real. ‘We’re enemy aliens.’

I shushed her, a little too brusquely, as I strained to hear the rest of the broadcast.

‘ Japan’s attacks on American naval bases in the Pacific were announced by President Roosevelt in a statement from the White House … ’ the announcer continued, calmly relaying details of sustained Japanese bombing raids on an American naval base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, with significant casualties reported. ‘ President Roosevelt has ordered the mobilization of the United States army … ’

The words settled ominously over the room as I observed the faces of my colleagues, watching closely for their reactions: Mr Collins, our ever-reliable headmaster; Amelia Prescott, all the colour drained from her usually ruddy cheeks; Ella Redmond, stoic as ever; Tom Martin, the Latin master; young Eleanor Yarwood, a recent addition to the teaching staff at the Prep School, and on and on. Even the boys’ PT master, Charlie Harris, was lacking his usual disarming smile. Everywhere I looked, a familiar face concealed the true emotions the announcement had stirred. We hid it well, but we all understood that Japan’s declaration of war against Britain changed everything. Missionary school or not, we were now the enemy, and we were in danger.

That winter had seen an unusually high number of children remain at school for the Christmas holidays, one hundred and twenty-four, in total. Just over a dozen staff and a handful of missionaries had also stayed, a few through choice, but most due to the Sino-Japanese war which made long journeys across the country too dangerous. The irony was not lost on me that danger had found us anyway.

My first instinct was to locate the girls from my class.

‘What are you doing?’ Minnie asked, as I reached up onto my tiptoes and began muttering under my breath.

‘Counting,’ I replied. ‘I can’t just stand here. I have to do something.’

For all their similarities, honed by the strict routines of school, it was the girls’ individuality I’d come to enjoy: Joan Nuttall, nicknamed Mouse, crippled by shyness but growing in confidence recently; Dorothy Hinshaw, nicknamed Sprout, the resident class clown, bursting with potential if only she would apply herself; and good-natured, ever-reliable Nancy Plummer, Plum to her friends, whom I’d recently appointed as Sixer of Pixies in the 2nd Chefoo Brownies. Nancy wasn’t the most natural leader, but was more than capable when given a nudge, and I was pleased to see her rise to the challenge. Despite being warned by several of the teachers about having favourites, the undeniable truth was that I’d grown fond of these three girls. I saw a little of myself in each of them: my past, certainly, but they also held a tantalizing sense of the present, and of a future full of possibility.

Aside from Joan, Nancy and Dorothy, Winnie, Agnes and Elsie were also present. Alice, Mary and Barbara had returned to their parents in Shanghai and Hong Kong. Bunty Browne had left for Australia only two days ago to rendezvous with her parents, who were already on furlough. I wondered how significant those last-minute decisions, and my own indecision, would prove to be. With the children’s parents dispersed all over China, reuniting them would be challenging, if not impossible. If I’d once felt uncertain about making an impromptu wharf-side promise to Lillian Plummer to keep a special eye on Nancy, I wondered what on earth that promise might mean now. Wherever Lillian Plummer was, I could feel her, urging me to keep my word; to keep watch over her daughter.

As the seriousness of the announcement began to sink in, the children turned to each other, wide-eyed. Some were upset, while others were excited to finally find themselves part of the war they had read and heard so much about. Some of the boys practised their rat-a-tat-a machine-gun noises as the rising drone of speculation and conjecture filled the room.

‘You don’t think Japanese soldiers will occupy the school, do you?’ Minnie whispered, voicing my own fears. ‘What if they come roaring through the gates in their awful trucks and fly their flag over the cricket pitch? I can’t stop thinking about Nanking.’

Neither could I.

The atrocities committed by the Imperial Japanese army in Nanking had preceded my arrival in China, but the horrific massacre of thousands of Chinese civilians was so shocking it had left a deep and painful scar. I knew that many of the school’s servants had seen family and loved ones brutally murdered, many women enduring the very worst indignity at the hands of the soldiers. The word rape was too ugly to speak out loud, but it had certainly occupied my thoughts whenever I’d seen the soldiers beyond the school gates, and it troubled me greatly now. While none of us wanted to think about the possibility of the horrors of Nanking ever happening again, the question on all our lips was not if soldiers would arrive at the school, but when. I hoped Minnie hadn’t noticed the tremble in my hand.