Chapter 13

LIBERATION!

By early August 1945, rumors of a pending peace began to multiply. A mud ball thrown over the wall, evidently from one of Tipton and Hummel's couriers, told of a super bomb which the Allies had dropped on Japan. We could hardly imagine the import of this "dawn of the atomic age." We also learned that Russia was entering the Pacific war, thereby strengthening the Allies' hand.

Now an Allied victory seemed only a matter of time but this prospect did not produce in us unmixed elation. Mingled with excitement was a measure of apprehension. The phenomenon of suicide pilots was a clue to an aspect of the Japanese character which, when desperate, will resort to extreme measures. And if, in the face of humiliating defeat, they thought so little of their own lives, what would stop them from taking a couple thousand Allied prisoners with them when they went? Yes, many agreed, Japanese defeat could very well mean a massacre at Weihsien.

On August 15 a message was smuggled into camp declaring that the war was definitely over. When our Administrative Committee met with the Japanese chief of police to make inquiries, however, his response was, "I can neither deny nor confirm this rumor." Later that day when a message was received from one of Tipton and Hummel's men (our most reliable news source), it touched off a wild, impromptu celebration. We feasted on food that we had been hoarding for a special occasion or "just in case" ― a prized tin of jam, cocoa, or Spam.

For days silver specks flying at great altitudes had been spotted. Too swift for the lumbering Japanese craft in our area, dubbed "coal burners," we felt sure they were U.S. planes. Now we began to wonder from whence our liberation would come. Some suggested the Russians sweeping down from the north would reach us first. Others averred that Chinese Nationalist troops would be the agents of freedom, rather than the Americans.

On Friday, August 17, our day in camp began pretty much as usual. Then, at 9 a.m. we were startled by the thunder of a low-flying aircraft. I was in the kitchen making stew at the time. (Everyone in camp remembers precisely where he was at that moment.) We dashed out-side to see a most incredible sight.

A B-24, the Stars and Stripes emblazoned on its side and bearing the name, "Armored Angel," was circling camp so low it seemed about to brush the treetops. What emotions the sight provoked!

"I never thought of myself as very patriotic," one missionary recalls, "but when I saw Old Glory on the side of that beautiful silver bird, the tears began to flow."

En masse we began shouting, laughing, screaming and waving whatever old shirt or piece of cloth we were wearing. Some, who had hardly spoken to one another for months, were freely embracing. Our moment of deliverance was clearly near at hand. We found our hearts chorusing, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."

We surmised that this was a reconnaissance mission and expected the B-24 to head back to Chungking, but as we watched it circled, climbed higher and then swooped even lower over camp. Twice they flew so low we could see "our men" up there. More pandemonium broke out — wild screams and jumping as though, with a bit more effort, we could touch them. Five times they flew over us and then in amazement we saw the door of the plane open and a parachute blossomed, then another and another — altogether seven of them. They were a sight of surpassing beauty as they drifted down into the field of kaoliang, adjoining the cemetery.

Now it was a contest to see who would be the first to greet our liberators. While most of the women and children headed for the gate, I joined several men who, by climbing a locust tree adjacent to the wall, managed to jump over the electrified barbed wire, landing in the soft earth on the other side.

Meanwhile, the paratroopers had taken a defensive position behind the mound-like graves in the cemetery. Guns drawn, they expected momentarily to be greeted by a Japanese patrol.

We later learned that all of them were volunteers for what, some judged, would likely be a suicide mission. These seven heroic men led by Major Stanley Staiger of Klamath Falls, Oregon, looked almost like gods to us. CIM missionaries recognized one of the men as Navy Lieutenant Jimmy Moore, a graduate of the mission school at Chefoo — and they were proud of him! A few days later we learned His Majesty Hirohito, the Emperor of Japan, had issued an Imperial Rescript on August 15, 1945, calling for a cessation of hostilities and decreed an acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration. In turn, General Shimomura, Supreme Commander of the Army in North China, declared acceptance of the Emperor's High Edict. For this reason our camp guards offered no resistance to the seven parachuting Americans.

While the more agile men were carefully scrambling over the west wall in order to get to the GIs in the kaoliang field, many of the women and some of the older male internees and children were moving slowly down the gradual incline toward the large front gate. Extending above and across the gate was an enclosed walkway with gun emplacements. From each of the three openings, the barrel of a submachine gun was pointed ominously in our direction. I (Christine) clutched Sandra's hand protectively, knowing that the hands holding those weapons belonged to our "enemies" who held lives, their own and ours, less than dear. We moved one step at a time, our eyes fixed upward, though we could not see the guards themselves, just their deadly guns. In thinking back to that time I'm very sure that the Lord Himself covered us and kept us all safe for we finally reached the gate, and with many hands were able to pull back the heavy bolt. Was this air on the outside really sweeter, fresher, than that we'd breathed a second or two before? Now by this time our "wall climbers" were reaching the fields in which the Americans had landed.

Upon hearing our delirious shouts of welcome (Meredith continues), the men put away their guns and emerged from behind the grave mounds. What a spectacle we must have presented! Barefoot, thin, emaciated, clad in tattered and patched garments, we must have looked like something out of Robinson Crusoe. And in our eyes these courageous, broad-shouldered men who had, at great personal risk, come to save us seemed almost deities.

I was among the first to reach the flyers. We struggled to hoist them on our shoulders. It took five of us per paratrooper, but we formed a triumphal procession back to camp. Approaching the gates where the Japanese guards stood with bayonets drawn, it was clear that the airmen were apprehensive as they fingered their weapons. Then, in an instant, the tension broke as one of the guards raised his hand smartly in a salute. His cohorts reluctantly followed suit.

In the camp the men were mobbed by adoring women and children. One young airman, helpless in the embrace of an effusive female, called to his buddy, "Hey Joe, come help me get this woman off my neck!"

Another of the men savoring the moment commented, "I wouldn't change places with Clark Gable for all the tea in China."

Now the camp band, mostly Salvation Army personnel, struck up a thunderous welcome, a medley consisting of the national anthems of the various nations represented in camp. It was a joyous, triumphant symphony that few of us who heard it will ever forget.

No more than 20 minutes had elapsed from the time our liberators had landed until Major Staiger, accompanied by his interpreter, Tadashi Nagaki, an American-born Japanese sergeant, entered the office of the commandant. Those who accompanied the men later described the scene to us.

Staiger came through the door with both pistols drawn. Through his interpreter he asked for the commandant's weapons in an act of surrender. The man hesitated only a moment, and then slowly reaching into a drawer produced his pistol and samurai sword, laying them on the desk.

In a gesture that must have left the commandant confounded, Major Staiger returned the weapons to him, informing him that henceforth he and his men would serve under the U.S. command, to guard the camp and preserve order. Staiger realized that unruly Chinese in the area could well take advantage of the situation, and a force of seven Americans could hardly maintain the security of the entire compound. One rumor had it that a Chinese bandit nearby planned to seize the camp and hold us hostages in return for food, arms and other considerations.

That afternoon the entire camp gathered on the soft-ball field for a victory dinner. Stocks, long held back, were now brought out and tables piled high. Stomachs which for two and a half years had seldom been free from hunger pangs were now indulged in a surfeit of wonderful food. Many overdid it and got sick. We quickly discovered the hazards of gorging stomachs that had actually shrunken during the lean camp years. We learned we must eat smaller quantities but more frequently.

One of the first freedoms we now enjoyed was that of sending a telegram and writing letters to loved ones. Our telegrams were sent to my parents then living in Gloversville, New York, telling them of our liberation, another to Christine's parents in Virginia. Now that we were free to leave camp we began to flock into town, to roam the streets and markets savoring our freedom. With virtually no cash we found we could barter even old clothing for delectable fruits, vegetables, and sometimes meats we had so missed during our imprisonment.

Chinese, the most enterprising merchants on earth, seized the opportunity to do business with 1600 foreigners eager to buy or barter almost anything. Overnight an open-air Chinese market sprang up just outside the camp gates.

Sunday, August 19, was set apart for special Thanksgiving services which were held jointly by both Catholics and Protestants. Praising together, tears of joy flowed shamelessly down every cheek. Never, it seems, were hearts more grateful. At the services everyone who had any kind of uniform wore it. What a conglomeration of dress — uniforms and insignia of the Boy Scouts, Girl Guides, Rangers, military services of various countries, and of course the Salvation Army.

Three days after liberation we found ourselves again gazing with wonder into the skies at the approach of U.S. planes. These were B-29s, so huge they seemed to dwarf the B-24s that had come earlier. We guessed they were based in Guam, Saipan and Okinawa. Theirs was a supply mission. Again the huge bomb bays opened and a succession of multi-colored parachutes drifted down-ward. All were laden with a cornucopia of supplies, everything from food stuffs and medicines to clothing (but this again for men only!). Many rushed out to receive this incredible "manna" raining down on us from the skies and in doing so very nearly met their doom.

Fifty-gallon metal drums had been welded together forming heavy tubes as large as sofas, all packed with goods. These huge pallets of supplies had evidently been assembled with haste. The parachutes which bore labels "not to exceed 350 pounds" were dangerously overloaded. Cords snapped and cargoes plummeted to earth with murderous force. Some of us came within inches of being hit by these "bombs" During the whole of World War II my most terrifying experience came at this time, when I and my crew of Chinese workmen were out in the open fields gathering up supplies. A second formation of planes came in, and heavily loaded pallets were landing all around me. I was frightened beyond words, running in circles, but finding no protection. One Chinese teenager was less fortunate. At the time he was a few yards from me in the kaoliang field when a heavy bedding roll broke free, falling directly on him, mashing his body into the soft earth. Though unconscious and badly bruised, he was not dead. We carried him to the camp hospital where he eventually recovered from his injuries.

The supplies continued to come for several weeks averaging a drop every three days. Understandably the Chinese, intent on availing themselves of the goods, swarmed into the fields to lug off anything they could carry away. This resulted in some humorous incidents. One Chinese who had learned a few words of English was discovered devouring the contents of a tube marked "cream" a word he had learned. The fact that the contents did not taste like ordinary cream could be explained by the other word on the tube which was "shaving," an English word he had not learned. Another villager had copped a large bottle of vitamins. When he saw foreigners approaching, he feared they would confiscate his prize. Taking off the cap, he gulped down the entire contents of the bottle!

Many of the items descending on us from the skies we had never seen before. "What is ketchup?" one missionary was heard to ask. "Are you supposed to drink it or what?" DDT and band-aids were alike products we had never heard of.

Almost like Rip Van Winkle we were projected into a world from which we had been isolated for four years. So much had happened, of which we hardly knew anything. The world was full of new inventions. Even new words. To ease us back into civilization our liberators set up orientation classes. Using large maps, they charted for us the progress of the war leading to the signing of the documents of surrender on the Battleship Missouri. They also taught us a whole glossary of new terms — GI, jeeps, D-day, kamikaze, pin-up girls! Some internees judged that our liberators were a bit overzealous in their desire to propel us into American culture when they roused us from slumber at 6 a.m. with blaring jazz and pop songs, broadcast over the camp's new RA. system. One Britisher was heard to mutter, "We'll have to have war all over again in order to get some peace!"

One afternoon we were visited by a friend, Pastor Lee, who had traveled 150 miles, mostly by foot from his Tsinan Church to greet us. Most moving, he had brought with him a quantity of gifts from the church members, gifts certainly obtained at great personal sacrifice. He presented us with two pounds of sugar, ten eggs (by now far from fresh), half a dozen tomatoes, three apples, even a small watermelon. All this love poured out to us though we had never met him or any of his congregation. But they seemed to know all about us and had kept us in their prayers. Someone had even made a pair of cloth shoes for Sandra, which became her prized possession. Added to this, he insisted on giving us a cash amount equaling U.S. $78.95 — a loving gesture that moved us deeply for most of our Chinese friends had suffered even more than we under the Japanese occupation.

Ten days after our liberation the seven-man special force of volunteers was replaced by a detachment of regular military who arrived by truck from west China bases. Now the time had come to think about packing and preparing for long-anticipated return to our home-lands.

First to leave were those with critical physical and mental needs who were flown out. After them, a group of 600 consisting of internees who wished to return directly to their home countries were farewelled. They traveled by rail to the port of Tsingtao where they were housed in the Edgewater Hotel until their repatriation ship arrived. They wrote back to camp describing the incredible luxury of the famous hotel with its carpeted floors and innerspring mattresses.

The last group being evacuated by railway had arrived at the hotel at night. The next morning upon awakening, one of the small children looking out his window at the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean shouted excitedly to his mother, "Mommy, Mommy, come here and look at this big cesspool!" For the youngster who had known only one world in his lifetime, and that, with-in the enclosure of the Weihsien compound, the camp cesspool was the only "body of water" he had ever seen.

As the several groups were moving out, the Lord began to make it clear that we should go back to Peking before returning to the U.S. We knew it would be some time before non-military personnel would be allowed to enter China, and there were many mission matters that needed immediate attention. So with much prayer, we asked to be flown to Peking.

#