Prisoner from Penang

1. Singapore-3

The hotel wasn’t grand, but it was clean and comfortable. After allowing us the rest of that day and night to settle in and recover from our journey and our hasty departure from Penang, Veronica arrived the following morning and asked if we would join her as volunteers at the military hospital.

Mum looked alarmed. She was worried sick that Dad had not yet managed to join us, and she didn’t want to commit to doing anything until she had news of him. I think the idea of being surrounded by wounded and dying men frightened her too – little did she know that she would soon become accustomed to the sight of extreme suffering and death.

‘Mum is completely banjaxed,’ I said to Veronica. ‘I’ll come but she needs to rest.’

A pair of finely shaped eyebrows were raised at me in reply.

On the way to the hospital – Veronica brought me there in the front of the ambulance she was driving– she asked if I’d had news of Frank.

I hadn’t even been aware that she knew his name. But I remembered she had tried to flirt with him at the Penang Club, and Veronica always made it her business to find out about everyone and everything.

‘No. I’ve had no news, but I fear the worst.’

‘Really?’ She looked surprised. ‘Shouldn’t you be looking on the bright side? Mustn’t be defeatist, darling.’

Her chirpy tone irritated me and I snapped at her, ‘If you’d seen the smoke over Butterworth aerodrome when the Japanese blew up our planes you wouldn’t say that.’ I bit my lip. I could have added that I had watched as the few RAF planes that did manage to scramble were shot down over the strait like fish in a barrel, but I chose not to mention that. I didn’t want to risk crying in front of Veronica.

And yet, even though I knew instinctively that Frank was dead, I couldn’t help but harbour the hope that he might appear among the wounded, so being at the hospital felt right. To acknowledge that he was gone forever was too painful. In the meantime, I would try to take some comfort in helping care for other poor wounded men, whose wives or girlfriends were far away.

‘I’ll find out for you. I know everyone who’s anyone, including Brooke-Popham,’ she said, referring to the Commander in Chief of the British Far East Command. Veronica had never been slow to drop names. ‘If your chap’s dead, it’s better that you know, so you can get on with the rest of your life.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘Although what kind of life is that going to be? The idiots in power are still making out that we’re safe as houses here.’

I wanted to scream. She was the most insensitive woman I had ever met.