In March-April 1943, we were sent to Weihsien. This was a large concentration camp close to the city of Weifang. Eventually 1,700 foreigners were detained here. Eventually, more Norwegians arrived, both sailors and missionaries. We were a total of 10 Norwegians. Remembering Weihsien, Kari Torjesen Malcolm was a Norwegian-American teenager in the compound, born in 1925. In a book she later wrote: "The camp had been a Presbyterian mission station with a church, seminary, normal school and hospital. Celebrities such as Pearl Buck (author) and Henry Luce (founder of Time and Life) were born in this place. But in 1943 the place had suffered from looting and disrepair. One of the first [prisoners] to arrive described it as a place of 'bare walls, bare floors, dim electric light, no running water, primitive latrines, open cesspools, a primitive bakery, two houses with public showers, three large public kitchens, a deconsecrated church and a demolished hospital, a few cubicles for workshops, a series of rooms that resembled cells, and three dormitories with high ceilings, intended for single people."

Mother told us about the first meal we were served when we arrived. It consisted of a fish soup, made from fresh fish with head, tail and offal mixed in. I don't think she could ever forget that soup! It was probably not very delicate. The food we got in the camp was a chapter by itself, so I'll talk about it later.

We were accommodated in long barracks. When we had been in the camp for a while, mother and I got a room to ourselves. We used the suitcases as furniture, and in one corner was a bed.

Luckily, we had mosquito nets, because there were mosquitoes. By the way, I don't know if it was mosquitoes, but we called them "bedbugs".

My evening prayer at that time went like this:
As I lay me down to sleep,
I ask the Lord his child to keep.
The Lord be with me through the night
And keep me safe until morning light.
Please don't let the bedbugs bite.
Amen.

But they bit, and they did it for sure if there was a gap in the net. I can remember one morning when I woke up and I had been lying with my face against the mosquito net. I was completely suckled up. The problem was that these bites itched terribly, and we scratched ourselves to the point of blood both on our arms and legs.

One morning a fellow prisoner, a boy, took a jar with a lid and collected all the bedbugs he could find in his bed. When counted afterwards, I think he came to 121 insects. He would take care of these, he said. He wanted to show them to his friends back home in Norway once he got home!

When it came to cleanliness, this ― like everything else ― was probably a problem.

We had to queue for everything, whether it was for food, water or drinking water. I remember well that there were several communal bathrooms. My best friend, Sandra, and I were each provided with a wash basin and sent off. We stood in line as usual, and then finally got in. There we were looked after by women whose task it was to scrub us. For me, this stands as a harsh experience. Either they were hard-handed, or it was the cloth or scrub that was rough. Anyway, now, I don't remember if it hurt. Maybe it was also because we were sore from all the scratching.

As I mentioned, my friend's name was Sandra Kay Helsby.

She was American and lived with her mother and father.

The two of us stuck together like peas in a peapod and were called "the twin sisters". If you saw one, you usually also saw the other.

We were best friends who played together. I can remember one day we were playing hairdresser, and Sandra cut my hair. Mother was not very happy when I got home. We dressed as much as we could, and to my mother's great dismay, I was very careful that the colour of the bow in the hair had to match the dress. It was probably not that easy to achieve with the limited selection we had.

When it came to clothing, the prisoners in Weihsien were good at swapping. When clothing became too small to wear, they were handed over to others who would be able to use them.

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AnWei Jensen on the left and Sandra Kay on the right.

For footwear, we only used clogs. This was a completely smooth wooden sole with a strap over the toes. These were a huge problem for Mother. She couldn't keep her balance. Therefore, she used her old shoes until they were so tattered that they were no longer possible to walk in. So what? Then she realised that she had a pair of old Norwegian bexem boots in a suitcase.

She used these. But then compassion awoke in some of the other prisoners. "Poor thing, she couldn't wear something like that in the heat!" Then they came and offered her shoes. I loved my clogs.

Such was the way of life of the prisoners in the camp — "I help you — you help me."

Life on a day-to-day basis consisted very much of standing in queues.

Queuing for food, queuing for water, queuing for coal dust, etc.

The coal dust came from the nearby coal mines. We had to mix this with clay and water and make coal balls out of it. This is how we got something to fire up in our self-made cooking area. This was built out of stone and a large, old cake box. Here we could cook simple food.

All kinds of professions were represented in the camp, and it did not take long before they had organised themselves into work teams.

At the very beginning, Mother had a job sorting and cutting vegetables — mainly onions. This became quite strong, and she was troubled by the tears flowing. Eventually she got a job as a nurse at the hospital. It was, of course, the right place for her.

I was four years old when one day I had to be admitted to the hospital to have my tonsils removed. A wide staircase led up to the front door. On this staircase I tripped on the way in, and knocked both incisors loose in my upper jaw. Once inside the doctor's office, we were told that because of the danger during the operation, he had to pull the loose teeth. He did not dare to perform an operation on the throat with loose teeth. Then, to my mother's dismay, the teeth disappeared. The rest went well, but Mother was not allowed to visit me after the operation because I became so restless. It was probably quite hard for both her and me.

Other memories from the large staircase outside the hospital were that I sat there waiting for my mother every time she was on duty. It could be a long wait for a little girl. But for all the years since, this has been my special staircase.

In the hospital we had a room where there was Sunday school every Sunday. One of the things I think about with great pleasure was the time at Sunday school. Outside the window grew a large green tree, and the birds flew in and out of it. It was so beautiful. I remember a couple of stanzas of a song we used which I liked so much, and which suited the view so well:

The birdies in the treetop
sing their song
all day long.
So why shouldn't we
Why shouldn't we
Praise him too?

There was a lot of singing in the camp. I know that several songs were composed. One of them was called The Weihsien blues. I think there are others too. When the rumours began to swirl in 1945, among other things these verses were made:

Flour.
Bring back my Bonnie to me.
The Russians have landed in Norway
Rabaul is reported to be
In the hands of our staunch US allies
But that sounds like a rumour to me
The guards are all leaving on Wednesday
And the weekend will see us set free
But look in tomorrow at teatime
And there'll be some rumours for tea!

Singing at Sunday school about the birds flying in and around the trees.

I was very fond of singing as a child. But due to age, of course, the selection was limited. So every Sunday during the service I was allowed to stand on the bench in the church and sing my songs at the top of my lungs, while the congregation sang their hymns.

Basically, I think Mother was quite courageous. I would never have dared to do the same during a Norwegian church service.

I have another memory from the church — it was from Christmas 1943. A Christmas play was staged, and I was an angel. A small, very restless angel of three and a half years, fair and with lots of curls. I think I was mostly busy looking for acquaintances down in the pews.

In the Sunday school Christmas play, I was an angel on a tree. I was three and half a years old.

Of the things that stand out most clearly to me was of the lining-up in the morning and in the evening: "roll-call". We stood in line outside the barracks for hours, while the Japanese prison guards would count us.

Mother's prisoner's badge in Weihsien.

It was another test of patience for a little restless youngster.

It took time because the end number often didn't match, and then they had to start all over again.

One night we were ordered out to the roll-call square to be counted. I remember being scared as we stood in the dark, because the Japanese gaped so loudly when they counted. It later emerged that it was feared that some of the prisoners had escaped. I can imagine that Mother was scared too ― where she stood. Sometime later she told me that she had been informed about the two who had managed to get out.

These two fugitives remained hidden in some nearby caves for the duration of the war. They managed to send in messages about the progress of the war. These messages were smuggled in on pieces of silk that the garbagemen had in their mouths. At the agreed place, they spit out the notes, and the detainees received their information.

There was a wall around the entire camp area, and over this a widespread trade took place with the Chinese on the outside.

As long as there was money in the camp, it was spent. Later, jewellery was used and in the end there were promises of payment after the war. The Chinese were incredibly kind.

Weihsien was a six-acre area and was eventually populated by close to 2,000 prisoners. These were distributed among 800 British, 600 Americans, 250 Dutch, 250 Belgians and approx 100 Italians. In terms of age, the entire spectrum was represented, from the oldest over 90 to newborns.

Outside our barracks we had a dining area. We could use a line for laundry and a cooking area, as mentioned earlier.

Here we could cook some simple food when we had something to cook with. The Japanese guards had great "fun" kicking down the cooking area.

Of course, we had to painstakingly rebuild it.

As for the Japanese guards, they requested deference from us prisoners. We had to bow deeply every time we met one of them.

I had enormous respect for these roaring people. Mother had given me strict instructions not to go alone near the gate. There were armed guards there, so I stayed far away.

I still get a lump in my stomach with anxiety when I meet a Japanese person. When the Olympics were held in Japan a few years ago, I was unable to watch on TV. When I saw soldiers come in carrying the flag during the opening, I switched off the TV set, and later I didn't watch the Olympics anymore.

On a daily basis, as mentioned, I hung out with Sandra.

I went in and out with them like a daughter in the family. I bonded strongly with Daddy Meredith. Occasionally he would take us both for walks. Then we often went to a small hill in the camp. There we could see over the wall. He placed a child on each shoulder, and then we could look out into freedom.

Admittedly, we were young, but both of us had understood from the conversations at home what freedom was. For the Helsby family, freedom was connected with America, and freedom with us was connected with Norway. That's why we sat on Mr. Helsby's shoulders and wondered loudly whether it was "Orge" or "Merika" we saw there on the outside of the wall. We never agreed. I can imagine it must be fun to listen to.

Short messages in between Norway and China were done by the the means of International Red Cross.

All the time while we were detained, we had some kind of contact with the family, via the Red Cross. We could only write a few words, and it could take several months for the letters to arrive.

When it came to play, we made toys out of whatever we could find.

This is how it happened that some of the bigger boys made themselves a football out of rags, which they used diligently on the playfield. One day they were unlucky and kicked the ball so that it got stuck in the high-voltage barbed wire that ran up the wall. One of the boys jumped up, grabbed the ball and, of course, got stuck.

I don't remember seeing the actual episode, but what I do remember are the screams of his mother as she had to be held back from her dead son. She was a widow, and this was her only son. Tragic!

As far as the food was concerned, it was quite good in 1943, but throughout the winter and spring of 1944 it became progressively worse and the rations diminished dramatically.

A typical day's menu was as follows:
For breakfast we had bread and porridge made from mouldy bread mixed with water, served without milk or sugar.

We got lutou: small, dried green beans, or kaoliang.

Lunch (the main meal) usually consisted of bread or stew — popularly called SOS: "same old stew", that is, bread with water.

From time to time, it happened that we skipped the stew and got some meat, fried potatoes and cheese. The meat was usually rotten and of unknown origin, presumably horse or mule.

I know that Mother had discovered a large cache of meat in the camp.

She went to the camp commandant and asked if the prisoners could not have some of this meat. She was told that, "no", they couldn't, because it wasn't rotten enough.

Map of the camp in Weihsien.

Since the food was so bad, it was important that we didn't spoil our appetite, so Sandra and I walked around with a poster on our chest that said: "Please don't give me anything to eat!" My mother was a well-known nurse and therefore knew quite a bit about what kind of substances the body needed. Therefore, she went to the garbage dump and found eggshells after the Japanese had eaten the contents.

These shells she dried and removed all membranes. They were then crushed and mixed into the food. To this day, in my 62nd year, I vomit when I put a small piece of eggshell in my mouth. But there can be no doubt that the effect of eating eggshells has been good, because my teeth have been strong all my life.

I was called Lillegull — here wrapped in Chinese clothes.

I mentioned earlier that there was trade going on across the wall.

That was before high-tension barbed wire was installed. Sandra's father, Meredith Helsby, was one of the most active in trading — along with a Catholic priest. My understanding is that they took orders from the prisoners, then went to the meeting place and delivered the order to the Chinese. Then they agreed the delivery time and later went to receive the goods.

Of course this was dangerous. It was dangerous to be caught, and there was also the risk of being surprised with the goods in the house. It was therefore important to distribute the goods as quickly as possible to those who were to have them.

We were given a kind of flour called kaoliang. We used this for different kinds of baking. A wedding cake was actually baked two or three times during those years. In 1997 when I was back in China, I asked a Chinese what kaoliang was. The Chinese was shaken and said: “You didn't get it, did you? It's something we feed our pigs with!" That says it all.

Kari Torjesen Malcolm tells about a person in the camp who made an impression on her as a teenager:

"One of the young heroes who spent all his free time with the young people was the Olympic hero Eric Liddell, known from the movie Chariots of Fire — Chariots of Fire. He took the world record when he won the 400 metres for Great Britain at the 1924 Paris Olympics, having initially refused to compete on a Sunday. Just a year after this international success, he had gone to China as a missionary.

In the camp, he took charge of the leisure activities for the youngsters every afternoon, and in the evenings he played chess or chatted with them. More than anyone else, "Uncle Eric" brought hope both to the missionary children and to the others.

It was said that "in our little world measuring 150 by 200 yards, he was without a doubt the person most sought after, respected and loved".

Twenty nationalities were represented among the 1,600 prisoners — with businessmen, public servants, missionaries, prostitutes, drug addicts and various troublemakers. They had enjoyed their freedom as foreigners in China — far from home. We were not tortured like prisoners in other camps, but we were given little food and lived with open sewers, rats, flies and diseases. Without the generous support of Christians like Eric Liddell, many of them would have succumbed to the harsh conditions in an overcrowded prison camp. Eric Liddell could be observed setting up a shelf for a prostitute one day and carrying lumps of coal to an elderly person the next.

One of my greatest moments in the prison camp was when I was alone trying to swat hundreds of flies in the kitchen before 600 people lined up for their daily rations.

Then Eric Liddell passed by. I knew him well, both as a coach in handball and as a Bible teacher. Now he stopped and gave me his undivided attention for a few charged moments. With his steel blue, piercing and gentle eyes and his disarming smile, he had my full attention.

He said that as a Christian I brought people closer to Christ by doing something as simple as killing flies for them. I had heard him say that we were either leading people away from Christ or bringing them closer to Christ. Now he thanked me heartily for what I did just then, while no one but God noticed what I did, and no one else could give me praise for it.

With Uncle Eric's encouragement, I continued swatting flies and later became the leader of a campaign to kill all the flies.”

Elizabeth Hoyte Goldsmith was one of 94 children who came to Weihsien without their parents. Furthermore, 32 children were born in the prison camp, while 28 died.

Elisabeth was nine years old at the time. The parents served as missionaries approx. 1000 miles away. The teachers showed special attention to these orphans.

When Elisabeth asked one of these teachers after the war what she remembered best from life in the camp, she replied: "Every night in the summer I went over to where you slept your deepest sleep. You were sprawled across the sheet, dripping wet with sweat and wearing as little clothing as possible. Then I saw it as my job to pick off all the bed bugs and bed bugs I could find."

Kari Torjesen Malcolm says that faith in God meant a lot in prison. "I once felt, while we were singing, that God was asking me if I was satisfied with him in all circumstances.

I felt I could answer honestly that I was content to listen to him, even though I was in prison.

One Easter, a Salvation Army missionary from Wales sang in his clear and strong soprano voice: "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth — I know that my redeemer lives." As I stood there on the cement slabs, I felt her sing hope into my heart with new assurance that my risen Lord was indeed alive.”

I have already told about Meredith Helsby and her daughter Sandra, who became like father and sister to me in Weihsien. The wife's name was Christine, and we also developed a close relationship with her. In 1993, Meredith wrote a book about life in the prison camp. I will include a bit from this book, where he tells about Mother and me:

"While Inger was still grieving the loss of her husband, she came to Weihsien. We soon became friends with this brave, sensitive young Norwegian woman. She became part of our special group, joining us in parties and informal gatherings. Little Astrid (AnWei) was so beautiful with her light curls were the same age and height as our own Sandra, and they quickly became friends. When Meredith took Sandra on walks, Astrid wanted to join. A place close to the church was higher than the others. There he lifted the girls onto his shoulders and let them see over the wall. None of the children could remember what life was like outside the camp, so afterwards they debated whether the "distant land" they had seen outside the wall was "Orway" or "Merica". Of course, none of them had been to their home countries, but they knew where they belonged."

Meredith was also fond of Eric Liddell and very grateful for what he meant to the missionary children and everyone else.

Meredith says:

“Eric Liddell was in his early forties when he came to the camp.

He wore baggy shorts that reached his knees and a roomy sports shirt. He walked with agility and was a head taller than most. His broad smile beamed with confidence and hope, something everyone appreciated in these surroundings. Eric was not at all concerned with his Olympic fame.

He spoke with a charming Scottish accent and beamed with Christian joy, with an exuberant sense of humour.

He did not have a special singing voice, but participated with enthusiasm in the good, old hymns.

Christine remembers one of Eric's illustrations from a sermon:

"He told of an evangelist in Australia who had spoken about Jesus's entry into Jerusalem. A young man had witnessed to a friend who was a jockey, and at this meeting he was present with his friend. When the speech was over, the jockey said one: 'What wonderful hands this Jesus must have had.

If an untamed colt could make his way through a screaming, palm-waving crowd and reach his destination safely without injury, then the only explanation is that this Jesus must have had some marvellous hands.' As a result, the man gave his life to Christ," said Eric Liddell.

Eric helped teach the young people. In chemistry he had only one pupil: Joyce Stranks, a 16-year-old girl. Since they had no textbooks, Eric set about writing an entire chemistry textbook by hand. She still has that book as a precious memory. Of course, there were no test tubes, chemicals or other equipment, but in their imaginations Eric and Joyce carried out all the experiments in the world.

Eric also wrote a handbook for Christ's disciples at that time. The purpose was for the young people to receive practical guidance on how they could grow as Christians. In the section where he writes about the morning devotional, he suggested starting each day with six questions:
1)
Have I surrendered this new day to God, and will I seek to obey the Holy Spirit's leading through the hours of this day?
2)
What do I have to thank God for especially this morning?
3)
Is there any sin in my life for which I should ask Christ for forgiveness and cleansing? Is there someone I should apologise to or have a good relationship with again?
4)
Who does God want me to pray for this morning?
5)
What is the meaning of this morning's Bible Passage for my life, and what does He want me to do about it?
6)
What does He want me to do today and how does He want me to do it?

There was so much traffic from young people to Eric's room that his roommates put up a poster that could be turned over: "Eric Liddell is in / out." That way, the roommates could avoid having to answer constantly.

Eric got sick.

The first sign of the disease was a severe headache. Then he became forgetful. A doctor suggested he was about to have a nervous breakdown. Eric did not like hearing this. Therefore, he began to memorise long passages from classical literature.

He didn't complain. Even after he was admitted to hospital, few realised how seriously ill he was.

On Sunday afternoon, February 18, he went to borrow a songbook. He was writing a letter to his wife, and then he wanted to quote from the song "Be safe, my soul" verbatim. At this time his wife was in Toronto, Canada.

Otherwise, nobody wrote letters at that time, because there was no possibility of getting them sent. Still, he must have assumed that would be his last words to the family. (The letter was taken care of and brought to his wife in Canada five months after everyone was released from the prison camp.)

On the last morning Eric lived, his chemistry student Joyce was with him. They talked about living for God, and Eric said, "Surrender."

The next moment he had a terrible spasm all over his body. Joyce burst into tears and ran after a nurse. Within minutes he was dead. It turned out that he had a large brain tumour that would have been impossible to operate. Eric lived to be 43 years old, and he died on February 20, 1945, just six months before the camp was liberated.

The funeral was the largest that had been during the two and a half years of the Weihsien camp's existence. Eric had won the goodwill of everyone, whether they were hard-boiled businessmen, government employees or prostitutes. Everyone had seen Eric as a friend.”

Meredith tells this in his book.

Otherwise, it wasn't just Eric who got sick in the camp. Mrs. Christine Helsby fell ill with typhoid fever. Hour after hour her life hung in the balance. She herself constantly thought of the word from the Bible: "My times are in your hand." She barely survived, and Meredith said that two verses from the Bible took on special meaning for them in the difficult conditions: “For you are my hope, Lord God. You are my trust from my youth" (Psalm 71:5), and "But I will always hope, and to all your praise I will add new praise" (Psalm 71:14).

I also include something Meredith tells about the Christmas celebration in the prison camp:

"The Stay in Weihsien was a lesson in the art of being grateful for the little things. On Christmas 1944, which was the last of our four-year stay as prisoners, we gave each other small homemade gifts. We will always remember it as an expression of the deepest content of true generosity."

In August 1945, the rumours began to circulate. Could it be true that the hour of freedom was approaching? I had a good friend in the camp who was called Torje Torjesen and was 13 years old. He was the son of a Norwegian missionary and was often a babysitter for me. He wrote about the liberation after he returned home to Norway:

"A little over a year ago, I experienced the happiest day of my life, 17 August at 08.00. I had been out pumping water. On the way back, I thought I heard something. I stopped, but the sound was gone. I walked a few steps and stopped again. Far, far away I heard the sound of a plane, a plane that did not resemble the Japanese ones. This time I was sure and I started running around the camp shouting, 'A plane, a plane." But now I was no longer alone. Suddenly I saw everyone running out of their barracks.

There we stood in the still, clear morning hour and saw a four-engine American plane coming towards us. Many women and men watched with tears in their eyes, while others did not know whether to laugh or cry. I stood there with a big lump in my throat and watched the plane get closer and closer. Hurray! Soon it was right above us, and we started shouting and screaming at the top of our lungs. The cry came from 1,700 prisoners and was so loud that it had to be heard in the plane.

The plane flew back and forth and got lower and lower, and the cheers would never end as they released parachutes in all colours: red, yellow, green, blue and white.

American planes drop food and clothing over the prison camp.

The excitement was almost more than we could bear, but I found myself in the midst of a great crowd rushing towards the gate which had been closed for three years. The guards were frightened and fled, and like a wild horde we rushed out to find our liberators. As soon as we found them, they were lifted and carried into camp like heroes, while the Salvation Army band played and we sang various allied national anthems. Without having been a prisoner inside the walls for three years, it is impossible to understand how wonderful it was to be free again."

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