Page 44 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
‘This place couldn’t be more removed from St Paul’s if it tried. Where are our stained-glass windows?’ Norah jokes.
‘You don’t need thousand-year-old bricks and beautiful stained glass to be one with the Lord,’ Margaret says.
‘If I had the choice of singing at St Paul’s or here with all of you, this is where I would want to be,’ Betty says.
‘Come on, ladies, it’s time,’ Margaret tells them. ‘I’ll make my opening sermon short; after all, the mob out there haven’t come to hear me drone on, they’ve come for you. Thank you for the gift you are about to give me and everyone else here.’
The crowd parts as the choir heads to the small vacant space at the rear of the garage, where packing crates have been upended to form an unsteady stage for the women to balance upon. Earlier, Norah and Mrs Hinch gathered chairs from every home to form three rows of seating. Mother Superior and Sister Catherina, along with the nuns, fill the front row, apart from the centre seat. Mrs Hinch is also the usher, sitting the children on the floor, insisting they stop pushing and shoving. No one questions her authority.
As Mrs Hinch makes her way towards Margaret and the choir, the talking stops, and the children outside cease their running around. Norah, Ena and the other choir members form a semi-circle behind Margaret. They are holding hands. No one sees June sneak up onto the stage behind Norah and Ena, wriggling her way between them. The sisters smile at each other as June avoids eye contact with her aunties; she doesn’t want to be sent away.
Mrs Hinch takes her seat in the front row, her work for the moment done.
‘I am not so silly as to believe that you have come to hear me preach the ways of the Lord,’ Margaret begins, with a big smile. ‘Thank you so much, each and every one of you, for being here today to hear these amazing choristers sing my humble words, set to beautiful music by the talented Norah Chambers. We present to you “The Captives’ Hymn”.’
Turning back to the choir, Margaret raises her right hand. As she gently lowers it, the full choir collectively take a deep breath and sing.
‘Father in captivity
We would lift our prayer to Thee,
Keep us ever in Thy Love.
Grant that daily we may prove
Those who place their trust in Thee,
More than conquerors may be.’
The intensity and strength of their voices rises as they sing the remaining four verses. Quiet sobbing travels beyond The Shed, onto the lawn and into the street beyond.
As the final notes ring out, Margaret drops her conducting hand and lowers her head. When she finally looks up at her choir, tears unashamedly roll down her face. The choir tighten their circle around her as they all weep; the significance of the words, of the music they have just made, has deeply moved each of them. Margaret touches each one softly on the cheek. Finally, she turns back to the congregation.
‘On behalf of all of us, thank you, thank you from the bottom of our hearts. I don’t think there is anything more I need to say today. Thank you.’
The choir’s exit from The Shed goes on for over an hour as women embrace the singers, seek comfort from them, try to find words to express what being here today has meant to them. Margaret laughs off remarks such as, ‘I don’t believe in God, but today you have given me hope, a faith in myself and all of us here.’ Words such as these are repeated over and over.
Accepting the hugs and words from the last of the congregation, Margaret spies three Japanese soldiers standing on the opposite side of the street. She stares at them, daring them to make a move. Norah and Ena, with June still squashed between them, surround Margaret. One of the soldiers nods towards the women, before all three scurry away.
‘Have they been there throughout?’ Margaret asks.
‘Yes,’ says a woman next to her. ‘I even saw one wipe away a tear.’
Wiping away her own tears, Nesta looks at the nurses standing nearby, all openly weeping. Jean catches her eye, her head nodding towards the four nurses who have sacrificed themselves as ‘hostesses’ to save the others. Nesta observes them embracing, quietly sobbing and comforting one another.
Jean pushes her way through the crowd to Nesta.
‘I don’t know how much longer I can bear it,’ she whispers.
Chapter 8
Camp II, Irenelaan, Palembang
April 1942–October 1943
‘Oh, my God – how are we supposed to choose what to put in the paper?’
Submissions have been pouring in since theCamp Chroniclewas announced, and the women have assembled in one of the houses, to sort through the offerings.
