Page 15 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
‘Out! Out!’ a Japanese soldier yells.
Several soldiers enter the room, pushing and shoving anyone in their way with their rifles and their fists. Norah and everyone else scramble and stumble from the building. Once outside, she turns around to see the last survivor exiting the building; there is blood streaming down his face from a blow to the head, and his distraught elderly wife is holding him up. As they are all marched through the village, Norah wonders what their unknown future holds in store.
Chapter 4
Muntok, Indonesia
February–March 1942
‘Ena, what are we going to do? We can’t lose John. He won’t survive without us,’ Norah whispers.
In full sunshine, the prisoners, after walking or stumbling with their children, reach a barracks-like compound. They are ordered through the gates, where the men are immediately separated from the women.
‘Maybe it’s just for sleeping. Please, Norah, just stay calm until we find out what’s happening.’ Ena wisely tries to placate her sister, but she is just as anxious.
They guess that the barracks were built to house local workers for the now-disbanded tin mine close by. Sleeping huts surround an open central area with one well the only source of water. A long concrete trough nearby, they are told, is where they will wash. Several women are already scooping water over their heads to cool down. In the land behind the huts are the toilets – long pits dug out of the earth.
The women and children, who outnumber the men, are ordered into huts on the left of the barracks. John is pulled away from Norah and pushed into a hut on the opposite side. Norah nudges Ena and, with June, they head for a hut almost opposite John.
‘But where do we sleep?’ a woman’s voice calls out.
Attached to the walls are shelf-like sloping concrete slabs.
‘On these, I suppose,’ another voice calls.
Choosing a spot for themselves and June, the women begin to exchange names. There are several mothers with children. June finds a little girl her age and, with encouragement, joins her in play.
An older woman amongst them introduces herself as Margaret Dryburgh, sharing her background as a missionary teacher with nursing training.
‘I also have a passion for music,’ she tells the women who gather around.
‘My sister, Norah, trained at the Royal Academy of Music in London,’ Ena pipes up.
Margaret approaches the sisters. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. You never know, maybe one day we will sit around and sing about this experience.’
‘Sounds interesting, but I don’t think any expertise I might have in music will be needed here,’ Norah says, peering into the dark corners of their hut.
‘You never know. But I’d love to hear about your training one day.’ Margaret turns to the wider group. ‘I can see many of you don’t have any possessions with you,’ she says, observing the oily rags some are wearing, and the smart dresses of others. ‘You have only the clothes you stand in?’
‘And our lives,’ Ena quips.
‘And your lives, you’re quite right, I’m sorry if I sound insensitive. Ladies, I am sure we can find some clothing and other necessities to share with those in need. What do you say?’
As the women with suitcases begin to rummage through their belongings, they hold up skirts, blouses, dresses.
‘You’re sisters?’ Margaret asks.
‘Yes. I’m Norah and this is my sister, Ena.’
‘Your hands! What on earth happened to your hands?’
‘When we had to abandon ship, we made the mistake of holding onto the rope as we slid into the sea. I don’t know why, but it didn’t occur to me that I would be shredding my skin. Then Norah did the same thing,’ Ena tells her.
‘May I have a look?’
The sisters hold out their hands for examination. Margaret turns them over to see if any damage or infection has spread to the back of each hand.
‘How long were you in the water?’
