boots that stamped roughly across the fresh snow. I was too shocked to do anything but stare. It wasn’t the soldiers themselves that was so shocking – we’d seen them plenty of times before – it was the fact that they were here, in our school, trampling all over Wei Huan’s lovely flower beds.
‘They’re spoiling everything!’ The words came out before I could stop them. I clapped my hand over my mouth and glanced at Miss Kent, expecting a reprimand. When none came, I added, ‘Wei Huan will be so upset. They’re squashing the China roses. His favourites.’
Miss Kent started us off in the Lord’s Prayer again. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowed hard, and pressed my knees together to stop them shaking.
‘Our Father, Who art in Heaven …’
There was an unusual wobble to Miss Kent’s voice. Even when we joined in, our combined voices couldn’t drown out the noise that was now coming from all directions. As we reached the part where we forgive those who trespass against us, an almighty commotion started up in the corridor outside the classroom. I opened my eyes a fraction and glanced at the door.
‘For Thine is the kingdom,’ Miss Kent continued, raising her voice another level until we joined her in the final words.
‘The power and the glory, Forever and ever. Amen.’
A long pause circled the classroom as we waited to see what would happen next.
Miss Kent stood at the front of the room, her cheeks as pale as chalk dust. I couldn’t remember the classroom ever being so quiet. Even Sprout was silent. She’d recently returned from a spell in the San with instructions to take Nurse Prune’s awful cough medicine. I glanced toward the door again as another loud bang came from the corridor, closer this time. Any moment now they would burst in, I was sure of it. Agnes started to cry, which set off Winnie, and then Elsie beside her. I looked at Mouse, who stared at the floor. At the back of the room, Sprout smothered a cough with her hand.
‘You can sit down,’ Miss Kent announced, finally finding her voice. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
Miss Kent rarely smiled in the classroom so I knew the smile she gave us that morning was the sort of ‘we must be brave’ smile adults use when they’re trying to pretend something awful isn’t happening. As I smiled back at her, the classroom door flew open, swung roughly back on its hinges and banged against the bookcase which fell forward with an almighty thud, spilling its books everywhere as two soldiers marched through the door. Their long boots squeaked against the polished floor as they positioned themselves on either side of Miss Kent’s desk, their dark eyes fixed on the wall at the back of the classroom where the map of the British Empire hung below a painting of King George VI. A third, older man, arrived and stood stiffly in the doorway.
‘School is now the property of Emperor Hirohito,’ he said, his voice harsh. ‘I am Commander Hayashi. You obey my orders. All children. Come.’ He waved a heavy-looking bamboo stick in the direction of the corridor.
We all looked at Miss Kent.
‘Form a neat line beside the wall, girls,’ she instructed, her voice as steady and calm as if she were about to lead us out to the bay for a spot of exercise.
We did as we were told. Nobody said a word.
With one soldier at the front of our line, and one bringing up the rear, we filed out of the classroom. I stared at the world map as I passed it, remembering how I’d borrowed Edward’s atlas before we left England and traced my fingertip around China’s vast coastline, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere as mysterious and exotic as the Far East. I’d seen so little of the real China, the China beyond the missionary and school compound walls, that I still didn’t know the answer. As Commander Hayashi marched ahead, leading us to the assembly hall, I wondered if I ever would.
Most of the other children were already gathered in the hall by the time we arrived. I looked around for Edward and was relieved to see him with his friend, Larry, and some other boys. I waved when I thought he was looking, but he didn’t wave back. I let my hand fall to my side, embarrassed for having waved at all.
‘I don’t think he saw you,’ Sprout whispered as she squeezed my hand encouragingly. ‘Connie never waves when she sees me. She doesn’t like to be seen with her little sister now that she’s all grown up and wears a brassiere.’
I told her to shush before she got into trouble for talking.
‘Wait here,’ Commander Hayashi ordered. He pointed his bamboo stick at us and then at the soldiers guarding the door. ‘Guards see everything.’
‘What an awful man,’ Sprout said when he’d gone. ‘You come here. You wait there.’
Her imitation of him made some of the girls giggle nervously.
Miss Kent overheard, and was quick to scold.
‘I do not want to hear such insolence again, Dorothy. Not from any of you,’ she snapped. I’d never seen her so cross. ‘We will show the soldiers the same courtesy and respect we would show any visitor to the school. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Miss,’ we chorused.
‘Good. Now, sit down in a circle. Nancy will start you off in a game of “I Went to the Shops”. I’ll be back in a moment.’
She crossed the hall to speak to some of the other teachers as I started us off in the memory game, but nobody could concentrate on the shopping list we tried to memorize. We only got as far as onions, sausages, buttons and blue wool before Winnie got in a terrible muddle and couldn’t even remember onions. She started to cry, which made me want to cry, too. I bit my lip to stop myself.
Miss Kent soon returned to explain that Japanese Shinto priests wished to perform a ceremony at the sports field. ‘They would like us all to wait here until the ceremony is done. Then I’m sure we’ll be able to return to our classrooms.’ She fiddled with the St. Christopher that hung from a slim gold chain at her neck. ‘How about a few rounds of “This Little Light of Mine” and “Little Peter Rabbit” while we wait?’
The songs distracted us for a while and, when we’d finished, the Latin master from the Boys’ School led us all in a rendition of ‘Jerusalem’. I thought it rather brave to sing something so patriotic, but the guards at the door hardly seemed to care and didn’t stop us. Like a perfectly hemmed seam, our voices fit neatly together, boys and girls, teachers and children, all stitched together as one. When we sang, it felt as if nothing could harm us, so we kept singing, one song after another, until we were nearly hoarse and the younger children grew fidgety and tired.
‘Are you frightened?’ Sprout whispered as we played a game of Cat’s Cradle with a piece of wool she’d found in her pocket.
‘A bit,’ I admitted. ‘Are you?’
She nodded as we moved our fingers to make the intricate patterns from the wool. ‘A bit.’
Despite the teachers assuring us there was nothing to worry about, it was impossible not to be wary with stern-looking soldiers guarding the door and others marching about outside and shouting commands and instructions at each other. It was all so different from the usual calm routine.
Sprout lowered her voice and grabbed my hand. ‘But imagine what a story we’ll have to tell when we’re rescued. We’ll be famous Chefusians, like the children who
