Page 127 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
John takes a startled June in his arms and joins them. The little girl is introduced to Ken and becomes caught up in a family embrace. Slowly, they help each other to their feet and make their way back to the chairs under the tree. Only after they have settled down does Ena ask the question.
‘Daddy?’
‘I’m so sorry, my darlings,’ Margaret says, fresh tears falling. ‘He died a few days after we were moved to Changi. He was so sick, he would never have survived. I’m glad he went quickly.’
Ena and Norah now hold each other and weep, daughters grieving for a father they never had the chance to say goodbye to.
‘You were all in the prisoner-of-war camp in Changi?’ John asks.
‘Yes, we were moved there a week or two after you left. There were thousands of us. I still don’t know how we survived,’ Ken replies.
‘I know howIsurvived,’ Margaret says.
‘You’re a strong woman,’ John reassures her.
‘That may be, but the only reason I’m not dead is because Ken wouldn’t let me die. He sacrificed his rations, risked his life to trade with the locals, took the beatings when caught, and told me every day that we had to live long enough to see my girls again. Ena, your husband is the reason I am here.’
‘You also saved me when I was sick,’ Ken tells her. ‘You found me food, water; we saved each other.’
‘Don’t listen to him, girls. Caring for him for a week does not compare to what he did for me for three and a half years.’
Norah and Ena exchange a look, a huge smile appearing on both their faces.
‘What’s so funny?’ Ken asks.
‘I think we shall enjoy sharing stories. Some are best left untold, however. But I think there’s one we’ll all cherish and that’s the love of family,’ Ena says.
It is only a day or two later a British officer, accompanied by a gaunt man in civilian clothing, approaches them in the gardens.
‘Excuse me, are you Ena Murray?’
‘I am; how can I help you?’
‘This is Mr Bourhill, he’s been in Changi, I’m sad to say, but we believe you have been caring for his daughter, June.’
On hearing her name, June stops eating and looks up at the two men, showing no recognition of either. Both Norah and Ena stand. June jumps up and hides behind Ena.
‘I’m June’s father,’ the stranger says. ‘I put her and her mother on theVyner Brookeand I’ve been contacted by the Australian government to say my daughter survived and is with you. Is that her, hiding behind your backs?’
Ena gently pulls June forwards. He steps closer to the little girl, and then kneels in front of her. He is fighting to hold back his tears.
‘June, June darling, it’s Daddy.’
June clings to Ena’s hand.
‘You look so much like your mother. Do you not remember me, darling?’
‘Where’s Mummy?’ she asks.
‘Mummy … Mummy …’ He can’t speak.
‘She’s been through an awful lot, Mr Bourhill,’ Ena tells him. ‘She’s terribly traumatised.’
‘I know, I understand. June, do you remember your favourite toy? It was a cuddly puppy, you called him Mr Waggy and you used to wag his tail for him.’
‘Mr Waggy? Where’s Mr Waggy?’ June asks, looking confused, hurt and scared all at once.
‘You couldn’t go to sleep without him. If you couldn’t find him, we’d … we’d have to search the house until he was safe with you in bed.’
