Page 55 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun
‘Look how much is here.’
‘How did they do this? Aren’t they starving like us?’
‘It must come from the men we sang to; they must be nearby.’
‘Oh, my goodness, this is the best Christmas present I have ever received.’
‘They buy from local traders,’ offers a guard.
As the rest of the women and children leave the church service, they are stunned to see the overflowing baskets of food.
Mrs Hinch is keen that everyone acknowledges the unfathomable generosity of the men. ‘Ladies, we have been blessed with a wonderful gift. While we were singing and giving thanks to God, we were graced with this bounty.’
Margaret joins Mrs Hinch. ‘Ladies, would you bow your heads and pray for the men who have made this selfless act in sharing their food on this day of giving and receiving.’
‘Welcome to our home,’ announces Nesta. ‘We hope you all enjoyed the services; we enjoyed preparing this spectacular feast for you, made possible by the gift of the food.’
The nurses have invited occupants of several other houses to share their rations and join them in what they had only recently assumed would be a humble meal. Tables have been carried through to the spacious backyard and the guests take their seats, filled with anticipation at the forthcoming meal.
Nesta holds open the back door and the three nurses who helped her cook march outside, carrying heaving and steaming pots, bowls and plates. Laying them on the table, they return to the kitchen to fetch even more.
‘I don’t believe this; I’m eating potatoesandbeef,’ Betty cries.
‘I have an onion with mine, can you believe it? Steak and onion; this is the best Christmas dinner I’ve ever had,’ Vivian cries.
Jean calls for attention. ‘Before we begin eating in earnest, can we please thank Nesta and the others who have slaved away for hours preparing what Nesta correctly called a feast. Thank you all so much, this is wonderful.’
And everyone toasts the cooks with glasses of tepid water.
When they have eaten, they clear everything away and gather to sing a few Christmas carols. Soon, the women grow weary and everyone returns to their own homes. The nurses retreat to their bedrooms, a quiet corner of the living room, the backyard, now wet and muddy from a brief tropical downpour. It is time for the women to be alone, to think of family, friends and loved ones, at home, or in other camps just like theirs.
Before they retire to bed, Christmas presents are finally exchanged. Nesta’s mahjong gets a loud cheer. She turns the hand-carved, hand-painted tiles over and over in her hands, unable to say a single ‘thank you’ because she’s crying so hard.
‘This is not how any of us thought we would see in 1943. I wish I could tell you this year will be better than the last. Whatever happens, we must not give up hope that this war will end, and we’ll be at home with our families this time next year. I want you to know how incredibly proud Jean and I are of you all. It has been truly humbling for me to watch you go about making this place a home, being part of the camp, working in the hospital, and all of it without complaining,’ Nesta tells her nurses.
‘I’ve heard Betty complaining many times,’ Vivian pipes up.
New Year’s Eve is not celebrated. The women have endured the worst year of their lives, and any hopes for 1943 are voiced quietly amongst small groups, in the houses they have attempted to make into homes. The younger nurses accept an invitation to a party in The Shed, the original concert room. Spontaneous plays are improvised, songs are sung and an award given to the woman who can make the best animal noise. Their evening is cut a little shorter than they would have liked when a passing guard tells them to go to bed.
Nesta shuts the door when the last of her nurses is back. Everyone is still up.
‘Yes, well, we have all complained from time to time, thank you, Vivian. Including me. But that hasn’t stopped any of us from doing our duty, caring for ourselves and others.’
‘You’re so busy caring about all of us, I’m wondering how you’re doing, Sister James,’ Vivian says.
‘Well, Bully, about the same as the rest of you. I’m tired, hungry – more hungry than tired to be honest, despite our Christmas Day feasting.’
‘You don’t show it,’ Betty says.
‘Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. But, most of all, I’m bloody angry. Angry that this war began in the first place, angry that we got chased out of Malaya, angry at losing so many of our men in Singapore. Furious about what happened when we tried to leave. But this doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about those friends we fled Singapore with who are not here with us now.’
‘Oh, Nesta! Nesta, I’m so sorry. Every single one of us shares our anger and frustration with you all the time, you are so strong for us, and we’ve never asked you how you feel, I’m sorry,’ Betty says, hugging her senior, her colleague, her friend.
Everyone in the room gathers around Nesta, wiping away their own tears, wiping away Nesta’s, vowing to take care of her just as she takes care of them.
Nesta tries to apologise for being so unprofessional but is shouted down and reminded that she is just as human as the rest of them.
‘It was lovely hearing “Auld Lang Syne”,’ Ena whispers to Norah as they settle down to sleep.
