When We Were Young & Brave Read online

  While we worked, Miss Kent asked Shu Lan to tell us about her great-great-grandfather, an imperial metalsmith who’d made beautiful jewelry using feathers from kingfisher wings.

  “The feathers are placed close together, to look like enamel,” she explained. “The jewelry is very delicate.” She described the elegant aristocrats—wives and daughters of emperors—who’d worn the treasured pieces. I enjoyed the story until we learned that the kingfishers were captured in nets, their feathers taken from them while they were still alive in order to preserve their beautiful blue color.

  “But that’s cruel,” I said.

  “And yet it is a Chinese tradition, and a highly valued skill,” Miss Kent countered. “We can’t simply dismiss things that are unfamiliar to us as cruel, Nancy. We must learn to understand, and respect.”

  Even so, I was relieved when Shu Lan explained that the activity was now illegal.

  We finished our snowflakes in silence.

  * * *

  That night, I dreamed of lost things and kingfishers trapped in a metalsmith’s net. I was still dreaming when I was woken by the sound of an approaching airplane. The dormitory was dark as I crept out of bed and tiptoed to the window. The floorboards were cold. They creaked beneath my bare feet.

  As I opened the shutter, a Japanese plane flew low over the school chapel and headed out across the bay. In the distance, a line of soldiers marched toward a truck. The Japanese Army had occupied the city of Chefoo a year before I’d arrived at the school, so I was used to seeing the soldiers coming and going on operations against their enemy. We understood that Britain wasn’t at war with Japan, so although it was unusual for one of their planes to fly so close to the school, I hardly gave it a moment’s thought and turned my attention instead to the fat snowflakes tumbling from the sky. I pressed my forehead to the glass, delighted by the spectacle.

  I watched until I began to shiver from the cold and climbed back into bed. I pulled the sheets up to my nose, wrapped my arms around myself, and listened to the soft patter of snow at the window. I imagined Mummy lying awake somewhere, too, remembering a time when we’d watched the snow together, missing me so much that her bones ached. I wished, more than anything, that I was with her and not stuck at school, and hoped I really would see her in the spring.

  But wishes and hopes are fragile things, easily crushed by the marching boots of enemy soldiers.

  Chapter 2

  Elspeth

  I rose before dawn, my sleep disturbed by the prospect of the difficult conversations the morning would bring, and by Japanese soldiers roaring past the school gates in their noisy trucks until the small hours. While I knew they posed no threat to a Western missionary school, I didn’t care to be so close to other people’s disputes, especially when it kept me awake half the night and left unsightly bags under my eyes.

  I washed and dressed and made my bed, hospital corners precisely tucked in, the eiderdown smoothed of any unsightly creases. A cursory glance in the mirror left me wishing I could remove the lines from my face as easily. I missed the Elspeth Kent I used to see in the reflection; the carefree young thing who’d smiled for a week when Harry Evans asked her to dance. I hoped I might still find some scraps of her in England. Stitch her back together. Make Do and Mend. After all, wasn’t that what the Ministry encouraged?

  The decades-old floorboards creaked and cracked beneath my shoes as I made my way along the corridor and downstairs, past trophy cabinets and the many proud moments of the school’s history. Once outside, I took a moment to glance toward the waters of the bay and then hurried on across the courtyard, beneath the branches of the plum trees, to the old stone chapel. My footsteps echoed off the flagstones as I walked to the altar and bent my head in prayer before settling into a pew where I sat in silent thought, remembering the wedding day that had been cruelly taken from me, and the other I’d walked away from. I was six thousand miles away from home, and still they haunted me: the man I should have married, and the man who had nearly taken his place. Ghosts now, both of them.

  Pushing my memories aside, I took my letter of resignation from my pocket. I’d agonized over the words for so long, they were imprinted on my mind. It is with much difficulty, and after a great deal of personal anguish and reflection, that I must inform you of my intention to leave my position at Chefoo School and return to my family in England . . . For weeks, it had idled among the pages of my Girl Guide Handbook, but I would give it to the principal of the Girls’ School after assembly that morning, confirming my intention to return to England on the next available steamer from Shanghai. There was no reason to delay further, although the prospect of telling Minnie Butterworth—my dearest friend on the teaching staff—wasn’t quite so straightforward. Calling off a wedding and traveling halfway around the world had been easy in comparison.

  I sat in the chapel until the cold got the better of my faith, and made my way outside to discover a soft blanket of snow had fallen. It was a perfect winter morning, still and calm. I stood for a moment beneath the arched lintel of the chapel doorway, admiring the quiet beauty and the deliciously plump flakes. Across the courtyard, Shu Lan was already busy with her day’s work. She paused to listen to the distant toll of the Buddhist temple bells. I listened, too, imagining that they were saying goodbye. China was almost invisible beneath the Western sensibilities of Chefoo School and its privileged offspring of missionaries and diplomats, so much so that I sometimes forgot I was in China at all. The temple bells and the snow-covered branches of the plum and gingko trees were a timely reminder of place, and that as the seasons moved on, so must I.

  A determined smile laced the edge of my lips. Finally, I would set in motion the wheels that would lead me back home. But the heavy drone of an approaching aircraft interrupted the delicate silence and saw my smile quickly fade.

  Instinctively, I stepped back inside the chapel doorway and tipped my face skyward, shielding my eyes against the swirling snow. I brushed a stray curl from my cheek as I watched the aircraft pass directly overhead. I stared up at the distinctive red circles painted onto the wingtips, and tracked a stream of papers that tumbled from the rear of the craft before the pilot banked sharply over Chefoo harbor, and disappeared into the rose-tinted snow clouds.

  When I was quite sure it had gone, I brushed snow from my coat, and grabbed one of the papers as it fluttered toward me through the frigid air. I stood perfectly still as I read an English translation of the front page of a Japanese newspaper: WE HEREBY DECLARE WAR ON THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND THE BRITISH EMPIRE. THE MEN AND OFFICERS OF OUR ARMY AND NAVY SHALL DO THEIR UTMOST IN PROSECUTING THE WAR . . . I skimmed over the full declaration, my hand raised to my mouth in dread as I reached the signature, HIROHITO, and the distinctive chrysanthemum emblem of the Japanese Imperial Seal.

  I leaned against the chapel wall to steady myself as the world seemed to tilt a little to one side.

  It had happened then, just as we’d feared.

  Britain was at war with Japan.

  I immediately made my way back to the school building, my footprints sinking deep in the snow as I scooped up as many leaflets as I could. Across the courtyard, beneath the plum trees, I saw Shu Lan doing the same. We paused and looked at each other for the briefest moment before resuming our collection. As I turned the corner, I caught a glimpse of an eager little face peering out at the snow through an upstairs dormitory window, warm breaths misting the glass. Nancy Plummer. The sight of her set my mind racing. What would the declaration of war mean for the children with their parents already thousands of miles away? I sighed as I searched for the ocean in the distance. Perhaps it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could take a rickshaw to the harbor and set out for Shanghai later that morning.

  When it was time for morning assembly, I hurried along the corridors. I windmilled my arms in wide circles and hummed a verse of “Rule Britannia.” I’d always found comfort in the rousing patriotism of the song, but with Japan’s declaration of war, and my letter sit
ting like a stone in my coat pocket, the words only made me terribly sentimental. I pinched the tip of my nose and pulled my shoulders back. A school assembly was neither the time nor the place for emotional weakness, especially not with the announcement I expected would be broadcast through the wireless. This was a time for courage and conviction, not for self-pity and sniveling.

  I slipped into the back of the packed hall and slid in beside Minnie, who towered above me.

  She tapped her wristwatch. “What kept you? It’s not like you to be late.” If she noticed the fear and worry in my eyes, she was kind enough not to say anything.

  Minnie had been at the school almost seven years. We hadn’t hit it off at first, my natural pessimism and faltering faith rather at odds with her stoic optimism and steadfast devoutness, but we’d recognized something familiar in our Northern sensibilities, not to mention the silent shame that surrounded unmarried women like us—surplus women, society’s problem, whatever term was fashionable at any given time. Despite our differences, we’d become the greatest of friends.

  “I’m not late,” I replied, fussing with the bun at my neck, which was all asunder.

  Minnie narrowed her eyes at me, poised to ask more, but the rousing strains of “Imperial Echoes”—the accompanying theme music for the popular Radio Newsreel program on the BBC Overseas Service—emerged from the wireless cabinet, and we all jumped to attention. I was relieved to be spared an interrogation. At that moment I was held together by the smallest fragments of resolve. It would take only a fraction of Minnie’s gentle kindness to set me off.

  The hubbub of conversation subsided as the introductory music reached the final bars and we waited for the announcer’s smooth English accent. His steady delivery made even the worst news palatable to the very youngest ears, and had become another reassuring constant I’d come to rely on while I was so far from home.

  “This is London calling in the Overseas Service of the British Broadcasting Corporation. Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it.” Goose bumps ran along my arms. I laced my hands and cleared my throat, prepared to react appropriately to whatever he was about to say. “Japan’s long-threatened aggression in the Far East began tonight with air attacks on United States naval bases in the Pacific. Fresh reports are coming in every minute. The latest facts of the situation are these: messages from Tokyo say that Japan has announced a formal declaration of war against both the United States and Britain . . .”

  An audible gasp rippled around the room. Minnie grabbed my hand.

  “Oh, Els! It’s happened. We’re at war with Japan.” To hear her say the words out loud made everything horribly real. “We’re enemy aliens.”

  I shushed her, a little too brusquely, as I strained to hear the rest of the broadcast.

  “Japan’s attack on American naval bases in the Pacific was announced by President Roosevelt in a statement from the White House . . .” the announcer continued, calmly relaying details of sustained Japanese bombing raids on an American naval base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, with significant casualties reported. “President Roosevelt has ordered the mobilization of the United States Army . . .”

  The words settled ominously over the room as I observed the faces of my colleagues, watching closely for their reactions: Mr. Collins, our ever-reliable headmaster; Amelia Prescott, all the color drained from her usually ruddy cheeks; Ella Redmond, stoic as ever; Tom Martin, the Latin master; young Eleanor Yarwood, a recent addition to the teaching staff at the Prep School, and on and on. Even the boys’ PT master, Charlie Harris, was lacking his usual disarming smile. Everywhere I looked, a familiar face concealed the true emotions the announcement had stirred. We hid it well, but we all understood that Japan’s declaration of war against Britain changed everything. Missionary school or not, we were now the enemy, and we were in danger.

  That winter had seen an unusually high number of children remain at school for the Christmas holidays, 124 in total. Just over a dozen staff and a handful of missionaries had also stayed, a few through choice, but most due to the Sino-Japanese war, which made long journeys across the country too dangerous. The irony was not lost on me that danger had found us anyway.

  My first instinct was to locate the girls from my class.

  “What are you doing?” Minnie asked as I reached up onto my tiptoes and began muttering under my breath.

  “Counting,” I replied. “I can’t just stand here. I have to do something.”

  For all their similarities, honed by the strict routines of school, it was the girls’ individuality I’d come to enjoy: Joan Nuttall, nicknamed Mouse, crippled by shyness but growing in confidence recently; Dorothy Hinshaw, nicknamed Sprout, the resident class clown, bursting with potential if only she would apply herself; and good-natured, ever-reliable Nancy Plummer, Plum to her friends, whom I’d recently appointed as Sixer of Pixies in the 2nd Chefoo Brownies. Nancy wasn’t the most natural leader but was more than capable when given a nudge, and I was pleased to see her rise to the challenge. Despite being warned by several of the teachers about having favorites, the undeniable truth was that I’d grown fond of these three girls. I saw a little of myself in each of them: my past, certainly, but they also held a tantalizing sense of the present, and of a future full of possibility.

  Aside from Joan, Nancy, and Dorothy, Winnie, Agnes, and Elsie were also present. Alice, Mary, and Barbara had returned to their parents in Shanghai and Hong Kong. Bunty Browne had left for Australia only two days ago to rendezvous with her parents, who were already on furlough. I wondered how significant those last-minute decisions, and my own indecision, would prove to be. With the children’s parents dispersed all over China, reuniting them would be challenging, if not impossible. If I’d once felt uncertain about making an impromptu wharf-side promise to Lillian Plummer to keep a special eye on Nancy, I wondered what on earth that promise might mean now. Wherever Lillian Plummer was, I could feel her, urging me to keep my word, to keep watch over her daughter.

  As the seriousness of the announcement began to sink in, the children turned to each other, wide-eyed. Some were upset, while others were excited to finally find themselves part of the war they had read and heard so much about. Some of the boys practiced their rat-a-tat-a machine-gun noises as the rising drone of speculation and conjecture filled the room.

  “You don’t think Japanese soldiers will occupy the school, do you?” Minnie whispered, voicing my own fears. “What if they come roaring through the gates in their awful trucks and fly their flag over the cricket pitch? I can’t stop thinking about Nanking.”

  Neither could I.

  The atrocities committed by the Imperial Japanese Army in Nanking had preceded my arrival in China, but the horrific massacre of thousands of Chinese civilians was so shocking it had left a deep and painful scar. Many of the school’s servants had seen family and loved ones brutally murdered, and many women, including Shu Lan, had endured the very worst indignity at the hands of Japan’s soldiers. The word rape was too ugly to speak out loud, but it had certainly occupied my thoughts whenever I’d seen the soldiers beyond the school gates, and it troubled me greatly now. While none of us wanted to think about the possibility of the horrors of Nanking ever happening again, the question on all our lips was not if soldiers would arrive at the school, but when. I hoped Minnie hadn’t noticed the tremble in my hand.

  “Well, let’s hope for the best,” Minnie continued. “I’m quite sure a Western missionary school won’t be of any interest to them, and children have a wonderful capacity for bringing out compassion in people, don’t they? Besides, the British Navy will be on top of things. They’ll send a warship to evacuate us and we’ll be repatriated and tucking into goose and all the trimmings before you can say Merry Christmas, Mister Scrooge. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they weren’t already en route.”

  It was typical of Minnie to look on the bright side. Not for the first time, I found her optimism rather naive and misplaced and I had to bite my tongue to preven
t myself saying something unkind as an awful sense of dread settled in my stomach. It was the same feeling I’d woken up with on the morning of my wedding day.

  In the end, calling it off was the easiest decision I’d ever made. The sun had just risen, spiderwebs draped across the hedgerows like lace veils as I’d walked up the lane to Reggie’s mother’s house and calmly explained that I couldn’t marry him after all. He wasn’t surprised. He knew he wasn’t the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. That man, Harry Evans, was buried beneath the collapsed mine he’d worked in all his adult life, and the vibrant young woman who should have married him and lived a quiet life with our children asleep in their beds, and washing dancing on the line, had been buried with him.

  “God save the king,” Minnie whispered as the broadcast came to an end.

  My fingertips brushed against the envelope in my pocket. It is with much difficulty, and after a great deal of personal anguish and reflection, that I must inform you of my intention to leave my position at Chefoo School and return to my family in England . . . I imagined my words slipping from the page, unwritten, unseen, irrelevant now.

  “God save us all, Minnie,” I replied. “God save us all.”

  * * *

  Immediately after assembly, we were called to an emergency meeting in the staff room.

  “I will assess the local and international situation with Mission HQ and await further instruction,” our headmaster explained. “We have one hundred and twenty-four children in our care, comprising ninety British, three Canadians, five Australians, two South Africans, eighteen Americans, three Norwegians, and three Dutch. The preservation of the children’s faith, safety, and education must be our utmost priority until assistance arrives, and in the meantime, it’s business as usual.”