The Roots of the Tree Read online

  Emily had already reached for the kettle. She replaced it and turned instead for the drinks cupboard and poured Annie a generous measure. Annie gulped it down.

  ‘How was work?’ asked Emily. ‘Were they glad to see you back?’ She sat down opposite Annie at the kitchen table, taking in Annie’s dishevelled appearance; her hair was untidy, her blouse crumpled, her shoes had dirt clinging to them and she had dark circles under her eyes.

  ‘I think so,’ nodded Annie. ‘They never could manage without me. Lots of problems to sort out. I’m really tired. Think I’ll have a bath and an early night.’

  ‘I’ve made us a lasagne for dinner. Just need to heat it up,’ said Emily.

  ‘I’m really not hungry,’ said Annie.

  ‘You have to eat,’ said Emily. ‘I insist. You’ll make yourself ill. Just a little portion with some nice freshly tossed salad. It will do you good. You get into the bath and I’ll get it ready.’

  Annie nodded meekly. She got up uncertainly, poured herself another glass of Scotch and walked unsteadily to the bathroom. Emily heard the sound of water running as the taps were turned on. She turned thoughtfully to the refrigerator, tripping over Marmaduke who had been unsettled all day and kept getting under her feet. She took out the lasagne and placed it in the oven. She was starting to lay the table when the telephone rang.

  ‘Hi, Aunt Emily,’ said Suzie. ‘How’s Mum?’

  ‘Hello, Suzie dear. You sound cheerful. Your mum is acting very strangely. She’s having a bath and then I’m going to make sure she eats something. She says she’s tired and wants an early night.’

  ‘In what way is she acting strangely?’ Suzie seized upon Emily’s first comment.

  ‘I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but she looks as though she has been sleeping rough in a park all week while at the same time trying to convince me that she is absolutely indispensable at work and the place has virtually fallen apart without her. Given everything else that we know about how she’s feeling, I just get an odd feeling.’

  ‘I’ll call round on my way home,’ said Suzie. ‘I have a bit of news, too.’

  When Suzie arrived at her mother’s house, Emily and Annie were already eating their lasagne at the kitchen table. Annie looked flushed but relaxed from her hot bath, although her eyes were dull and the hot steam had done nothing to remove the dark rings from under her eyes. Emily’s cheerfulness seemed forced as she poured Suzie a glass of wine and offered her a portion of lasagne.

  ‘No thank you, Aunt Emily,’ replied Suzie. ‘I’m sure it’s wonderful, as usual, but I’ve already had lunch and David is going to expect some dinner tonight, so I imagine I’ll be having dinner, too.’

  She looked at Annie who was staring intently at her plate of food, pushing it around with the back of a fork. She seemed hardly to have noticed that her daughter had arrived. Suzie looked at Emily, raising an eyebrow and Emily simply shrugged.

  ‘How was your day, Mum?’ she asked finally.

  Annie frowned. ‘Just another day at work, dear. You know how it is.’

  ‘I certainly do,’ agreed Suzie.

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the loud ticking of the kitchen clock. Eventually, Suzie broke the silence.

  ‘I’m going up to London with Tom on Friday. He has been such a help to me recently. He found out that there are now some new records at the National Archives at Kew that anyone can go and look at. They include details of soldiers and civilians who were held prisoner by the Japanese during the war. We’re going to see if we can find Edward Johnson.’

  Suzie watched her mother closely as she delivered this news. There was barely a flicker of recognition on her face. Does she even understand who I’m talking about? wondered Suzie.

  ‘That will be nice for you, dear,’ Annie said, pushing away her plate and getting to her feet. ‘It will do you good to have a day out. Will you excuse me, though? I’m absolutely exhausted. I must get an early night.’

  Suzie glanced at the clock as Annie left the room. ‘It’s only six o’clock,’ she said. ‘That is more a late afternoon than an early night.’

  ‘You see what I mean? Strange,’ said Emily.

  ‘So, what was lunch with Tom about?’ David asked Suzie later after they had put Daniel to bed and Suzie was preparing dinner.

  She paused and faced him. ‘He’s offered me a new job, as his deputy editor after Carl leaves next month.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ said David, hugging her. ‘I’ve always said you’re wasted as a lowly editorial assistant. You can do so much better.’

  ‘I know, but do I want to?’ Suzie questioned. ‘You know I’ve always said I want to be there for Daniel while he’s young. I want to be able to spend time with him and go to his concerts and plays at school without having to juggle work commitments. I don’t know if I can manage that and a career rather than just a job. There is a difference and you know if I take something on I won’t be happy if I’m not able to give it a hundred per cent commitment. I may soon find myself being bounced like a yo-yo between my work and my son and I don’t want that. But Tom has made it very attractive.’

  ‘If you’re worried that you’ll ever be anything other than a great mum to Daniel, I’m sure that will never happen. You will always put him first. But what do you mean “Tom has made it very attractive”?’

  ‘He’s said he understands that my first priority will always be Daniel, you and my family life and that he’s prepared to work around that in whatever way is necessary. He told me to name my terms and he would agree to them – or words to that effect.’

  ‘Then why are we even having this conversation?’ asked David. ‘Why haven’t you snapped his hand off already? You really enjoy working there and you would be great as his deputy editor. It’s not every day you get a job offer like that – take it.’

  ‘I wanted to see how you would feel about it. Now I do and I think I will take it. I’ll tell him on Friday when we go to Kew.’

  ‘Good, now let’s get that dinner finished shall we. I’m starving; unlike some, I haven’t been treated to lunch today.’

  ‘As if it ever matters if you’ve had lunch – you’re always starving,’ Suzie laughed.

  13

  The National Archives

  Suzie and Tom caught the train from Barminster to London and then the tube to Kew Station. They walked the short distance from the underground station to the National Archives in the hot and humid air of a breezeless summer day, and arrived at a large, modern construction of glass and concrete. Inside, the air was cool, the air conditioning working hard. At the welcome desk they were directed to the military records section and soon found themselves in a room housing computers and microfiche machines, with bookshelves lining the walls from top to bottom. A sign behind the reception desk reminded visitors to switch off all mobile phones. A helpful assistant explained that the registers they needed to look at were all recorded on microfiche and directed them to a pair of free machines in a corner of the room. Suzie and Tom settled down while the assistant located the relevant microfiche sheets, returning with a large box containing three files of film.

  ‘This archive is in no particular order,’ the assistant explained. ‘The registers were created and maintained by the Japanese for their own records. We now believe that Camp One was located in Changi, Camp Two was the Serangoon Road Camp, Camp Three was the River Valley Road Camp and Camp Four was the Adam Road Camp. Do you know which camp your ancestor was likely to have been held in?’

  Suzie shook her head.

  ‘Then you will need all three files. Good luck and if you need to see any of the original documents, just let me know.’ The helpful assistant went back to the desk to help the next visitor, leaving Suzie and Tom to open the files.

  ‘I guess I’ll take one file, you take another and we had better hope we get lucky sooner rather than later,’ Suzie sighed, looking slightly daunted by the vast pile of records in front of them. She opened the first file and p
laced the top sheet of film under the scope of the microfiche machine, adjusting the focus so her eyes could read it clearly. Tom did the same with the second file and together they started sifting through the piles of records which, as the assistant had warned, were in no particular order.

  In publishing terms, each record would have been described as a dps (double page spread), with the left-hand page detailing the prisoner’s name, registration card number, rank, unit and civilian occupation and the right-hand page repeating the registration card number and then listing what it termed ‘dispersal’ details, including where the prisoner may have been sent to work, whether they returned and if they died, all with relevant dates.

  ‘This is fascinating,’ muttered Tom. ‘I feel like a child who’s been given the key to the toy shop and told to play with whatever takes his fancy until the shop keeper returns.’

  ‘I don’t know; I find it quite disturbing actually,’ admitted Suzie. ‘These lists are so sparse with their detail, and impersonal – it’s like a shop doing a stock check – but these are real people who are being documented here, not animals or inventory for a business.’

  ‘Not to the Japanese they weren’t,’ Tom replied grimly. ‘They were free labour and there were so many of them it didn’t matter how many thousands were lost through disease and starvation as there were plenty more to replace them. The Japanese did not exactly operate within the terms of the Geneva Convention.’

  For two hours, they scanned sheet after sheet of microfiche records. Eventually Suzie pushed her chair back and stretched. ‘I’m going goggle-eyed looking at these,’ she said. ‘I need a break. Shall we go and get some lunch in the café?’

  Tom didn’t reply. Instead, he slowly looked up at Suzie. ‘I think I’ve found him,’ he said.

  He moved over to allow Suzie to examine the record he had found of a prisoner held at Changi. She sat down at his machine and adjusted the focus.

  Name:

  Edward Johnson

  Registration Card Number:

  0008964

  Rank:

  Private

  Unit:

  6th Battalion, Norfolk Regiment

  Civilian Occupation:

  Driver

  Dispersal:

  1943 overland; 1944 returned

  Suzie stared at the chilling entry for what seemed like hours before Tom broke the silence.

  ‘Do you want to carry on?’ he asked.

  Suzie felt as though her stomach had fallen from her body and buried itself somewhere in the floor of the reading room. All thoughts of taking a break for lunch disappeared as her quick mind recognised the significance of the final entry in the record being ‘returned’ rather than ‘died’, which she had read in so many others. She realised she felt immense relief that he had not been killed in the last few days of action in the war in the Far East and equally that he had not died from disease or wasted away from malnutrition whilst in captivity. She had not been sure until this point quite how she would feel and she was surprised to find herself suddenly overcome with emotion and hope that they might yet be able to trace him. She could hardly believe she could care so much about this man whom she had never known and whose very existence had mattered not one jot to her just a few weeks before. Now she was in torment simply imagining what horrors he may have experienced and facing the inevitable question: he had survived, so why hadn’t he come back to claim his child?

  She turned to Tom and not trusting herself to speak, simply nodded.

  Tom was quite familiar with dealing with people who were in shock or had suffered emotional trauma. ‘First things first,’ he said. ‘You need a cup of tea to help you calm down. Go to the café and I’ll join you there after I’ve spoken to the assistant here to organise what we need to do next.’

  Obediently, Suzie grabbed her bag and left the room. Tom took the microfiche sheet from the machine and strolled over to the reception desk.

  ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’ asked the helpful assistant.

  ‘Yes, we did. Could we possibly order some photocopies of the original document please. Three should be enough and could we now look at the liberation questionnaires?’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ replied the assistant. ‘It will be one pound per copy and it will take about thirty minutes to pull out the liberation questionnaires.’

  Tom handed over £3 and said, ‘Thank you. We’re just going to take a break in the café. We’ll be back in half an hour.’

  The café was surprisingly busy. He found Suzie sitting at a table in a corner and joined her. She poured him some tea.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Actually, it’s a relief to finally start getting some answers. So far it’s been so many questions and so few answers. Obviously I’m glad he survived the war and the camp, but why did he abandon my grandmother and my mother? He clearly loved them both. We know that from his letters.’

  ‘Unless the passage of time and his years in captivity changed his feelings,’ suggested Tom. ‘Or,’ he added gently, ‘he didn’t survive the journey home. Those that survived to see the Japanese surrender would not have been in good health. They would have been living for three years on a poor diet and not very much of it, limited health care and they would have worked hard. We’ll know more if we can find his liberation questionnaire.’

  Tom sipped his tea. Suzie was silent. Although they had made a big breakthrough, there were still so many questions unanswered. Could Tom be right? She really didn’t want to think of him surviving the hell of a Japanese camp just to die during the journey home.

  ‘You know, one of the reasons why I am so fascinated with history is that it is what makes us what we are today,’ Tom said quietly. ‘For good or ill, everything that has happened in the past affects our future and we all have a right to this knowledge. You told me your mum wants to know the truth and she’s right to want that. When you get to the bottom of all of this the story may not have the ending you would choose, but however it does end the answers will be revealed and, given time, you will all be able to move on.’

  ‘How did you get to be so wise?’ demanded Suzie with an attempt at a smile.

  Tom shrugged. ‘They should be ready for us by now. Shall we go?’

  Suzie nodded, drained her cup and together they walked back along the cool corridors to the archives room, where they resumed their positions at the microfiche machines. A plastic wallet containing the photocopied records Tom had requested along with another box full of records had been placed on the desk beside them. This time the records were in alphabetical order. Sifting through to the Js, it didn’t take long to find Edward Johnson of the 6th Battalion, Norfolk Regiment. The home address given removed any doubts they may have had over whether this was the right Edward Johnson – according to the record he had lived at 16 Glossop Road, Barminster.

  ‘When they left Upper Chaddington after Lily’s accident they obviously stayed local because Edward ended up working at the manor,’ reasoned Suzie. Then, focusing on the text on the screen, she began to read.

  Edward Johnson

  Registration Card Number: 0008964

  Private, 6th Battalion, Norfolk Regiment

  Captured: Singapore, February 15, 1942

  Changi

  I spent my first year of captivity in Singapore. We were set to work, helping to clean up the city after the battles and rebuild the infrastructure. It was fairly tedious, but compared to what was to come, it was luxury. The accommodation was adequate, the climate was warm so lack of clothing didn’t matter. We had food and we were able to grow vegetables in our gardens to supplement the basic rations. There was illness, but mostly due to vitamin deficiency, nothing like what was to come.

  In 1943, I was selected to join a unit of 600 men of various ranks and regiments to be moved out of Singapore. We didn’t know at the time, but we were destined to work on the railway the Japanese were constructing from Siam to Burma. Life in the jungle made Changi cam
p feel like a holiday. We marched for miles. When we reached the camp where we were to be based, we were housed in tents or bamboo huts. The Japanese were under pressure to meet deadlines on the construction and men had to be very ill before they were permitted not to work. The hospitals in the camps were also limited to a number of patients and if the hospital was full and you were ill you just had to carry on until someone got better and was deemed fit for work again or someone died. Jungle illnesses started to take their toll. I had dysentery a couple of times and a leg ulcer. I was lucky, my ulcer was removed in time by a brilliant doctor who was operating in the camp I was in. Many others weren’t so lucky and had to have limbs amputated. I was also lucky not to get malaria.

  You ask about Japanese officers who stand out for good or bad. We weren’t allowed radios because the Japanese didn’t want us to listen to what they called ‘Western propaganda’ about the progress of the war. Nevertheless, there were lads that had them and news used to spread throughout the camps. There was a particularly strict Japanese officer, called Saitou, who was in charge in our camp, near to Hin Tok, when they found out some POWs had a radio. They searched all the camps and found several radios. My friend, Joe, had one. The Japanese, led by Saitou, paraded all the culprits in front of all the POWs to make an example of them. Then they were led away and we didn’t see them again. We didn’t find out what happened to them either, but we could imagine.

  On the other hand, there was one officer, Itou, who showed a more humane streak. He was more understanding of our situation and less contemptuous of us as POWs. He was either completely naïve or he deliberately turned a blind eye to some of our efforts to supplement our meagre diet with the addition of anything wild we could catch and kill. The thing is, the diet was poor for the guards as well and anything extra that could be caught they wanted for themselves, so usually we didn’t get a look in. He also let us buy food from the local Thai traders.