Chapter 8
SOLITARY
March 4, 1944, is a day that will forever be engraved on my memory.
My marketing business was flourishing. As the war dragged on the quantity and quality of food in the dining hall deteriorated, creating an ever greater demand for over-the-wall foodstuffs. Increased need and demand for the goods drove prices higher and higher. Sugar, the principle commodity, was selling at $220 FRB (U.S. $11.58) for six and a quarter pounds. Still, orders kept coming. Though we had told Han to keep each bill under $3000 FRB dollars, the previous week we had done $18,000 FRB dollars worth of business, even accumulating a surplus of eight packages of sugar.
Han arrived at the wall early the morning of the 4th. I instructed him to return with the goods after the 8 a.m. roll call when I would hoist my signal flag, a piece of white cloth. Roll call over, I cautiously retreated to our rendezvous point and sent up my flag. From my perch on the drain pipe behind the guard house, I could see Han and his helpers almost immediately start running across the field toward the wall. All were burdened down with supplies. When he arrived I slipped a wad of bills, $680 FRB, under the barbed wire into the merchant's outstretched hands.
Now in a moment, I thought, the packages will begin to flow across the wall. When the goods did not arrive, however, I began to feel uneasy. Climbing back up on my perch, I surveyed the situation to learn the reason for the delay. Suddenly I saw Han's helpers scampering in every direction. At the same time I could hear the thundering footsteps and bellows of rage coming from Japanese guards in pursuit of the miscreants.
Instantly I hauled down the flag, jumped to the ground and called to my lookouts that the deal was off. Stuffing the white cloth in my pocket I started toward our quarters, struggling to affect the casual gait of a man on a leisurely morning stroll. But the next moment I found myself looking into the surly visage of a guard who pointed to the bulge in my pocket and demanded an explanation. From the cold smile on his face as he examined the flag, it was clear he knew all too well what purpose it served.
He started to escort me to the guard house, but then evidently remembering the unclaimed bonanza of sugar and supplies abandoned outside the wall, he hastily took my name and darted toward the front gate. The brief reprieve gave me time to hurry back to our quarters and "clean house," distributing our stored goods among our friends before the inevitable search began.
At 10:30 a.m. I was summoned to the office of the commandant for the grand inquisition. Interpreting was our "friend," Saborwal, a burly man of unknown nationality fluent in Japanese, who was clearly serving our captors in return for sundry favors. Saborwal was not the most popular man in camp.
I soon learned that the Japanese had the story of my buying activities well in hand, obviously obtained from inside intelligence. My sentence was two weeks in solitary confinement without books (although at the end they relented allowing me to take my Bible). At 12:30 I entered my cell, a small six by eight room in what had originally been the servant's quarters. The kang (Chinese brick bed) covered with a single blanket occupied two-thirds of the floor space, leaving me little room to move about. Surveying my new home I saw immediately that it was far from escape-proof. Although the door was secured with a huge lock, the frame around the barred window was flimsy enough and would have easily yielded to a few stout blows. But there was little point in escape. Where could one hide in the confines of the small compound? And, of course, the authorities knew exactly where I lived.
I slumped on the hard bed and looked around a bit more carefully at my little domain. This was no Sheraton for sure! There was no electric light and worse, no heat. The penetrating winter cold was already chilling my bones. At night temperatures dropped as low as 20 degrees turning my drinking water to ice. And since there were no panes in the window I got the full benefit of the dust storms frequent at that time of year. Often when I awoke in the morning it was to find myself completely covered with a layer of fine grit, in my eyes, nose, and on my lips.
My captors did not allow friends to visit, but many supplied warm clothing and blankets which Christine was given permission to bring me from time to time. This they were only too glad to do, recognizing that I'd been "sticking my neck out" supplying them with sugar and other supplies at considerable personal risk. Mrs. Bruce, wife of the Chefoo school headmaster, sent me an excellent fleece-lined foot warmer, a blessed relief after that first bitter night which left my feet frostbitten. Hugh Hubbard loaned me his quilted Chinese trousers and our dear friend, John Hayes, supplied me with his long padded gown, his father's sleeping bag and extra blankets. Wonderful friends!
The Japanese permitted Christine to bring me food once a day. Of course my meal preparation and supply was entirely in the hands of fellow internees. As a result, far from suffering from meager prison fare, I now benefited from the generosity of fellow internees, eager to express in a tangible way their sympathy and appreciation for my procurements on their behalf. Not only did I receive unprecedented quantities of food, but also an extra allowance of an egg a day — unheard of! More than this, Christine outdid herself preparing special treats — a tiny cake, cookies, even a small lemon pie. This, again, was possible through the help of friends who supplied her with sugar and other ingredients. Sleeping 14 hours a day and enjoying the best fare I had known in three years, I actually gained 12 pounds during my two-week confinement.
Daily I thanked God that I had been permitted to have my Bible. I spent long hours reading and rereading favorite scriptures, particularly the Epistles, Hebrews, Acts and the Psalms. I memorized most of Romans 8 and Psalm 34, passages which took on special meaning for me in those circumstances. Friends smuggled in other reading material, old copies of Readers Digest and a novel by Sabatini. But when the guard caught me reading the novel, he confiscated all reading matter including my Bible. Three days later, however, John Hayes managed to get his Fisherman's New Testament in to me.
I found other diversions to pass the long days. Hubbard had sent me a list of Chinese characters which I practiced writing over and over. I developed a keen appreciation for simple things I had long taken for granted. I watched, totally charmed, a family of birds that congregated outside my small cell window. Since I had so much time, one friend asked Christine to take in some four-ply wool with which she wanted to knit a pair of socks for her husband. I split it into two-ply and sent back to her two good-sized balls. Relying on memory I managed to draw a fairly accurate sketch of the Weihsien compound, though, as Christine pointed out, my "south-pawedness" had really shown up in that I'd carefully put all buildings that were on the left side of the gate on the right and vice versa. No one could possibly have found anything in camp from that map, unless they held it up to a mirror.
Christine's Story:
When Meredith was put into solitary confinement I knew my greatest need was prayer. That first night, of course, Sandra and I were alone. She was almost three and a half now and needed some explanation. "Daddy is going to be gone for a while," I told her (at that time I didn't know how long he would be imprisoned), "but God is with us and He's with Daddy too and will bring him back to us soon."
After she fell asleep I lay in the darkness thinking, asking for wisdom, and praying for my husband's protection. Though the guards were usually humane enough, once they started drinking saki (rice wine) as they often did at night, anything could happen. Over and over I kept reminding myself — "but God . . . but God!" That night we had a horrendous thunder and wind storm and part of the compound wall collapsed. People I met the next day said, "See what happens when they pick on someone who is fine, upright and helpful to us? The Lord has shown them that He is still in control." And, of course, the guards hurriedly called outside workmen to begin the rebuilding, fearful that some of us might happily find an escape route.
Every morning about 11:30 I took Meredith his allotment of food. Since the lockup where he was held was off limits to internees, I was always accompanied by a guard on this errand. After the man removed the padlock from Meredith's cell and I handed him the three-tiered, metal lunch box, the guard would deliberately position himself between us. Any attempt to talk or to touch one another elicited a surly growl.
We did, however, find a way to communicate. In the lid of the lunch pail under the handle was a small declivity, almost an inch wide and three-fourths inch deep. Into this compartment I slipped a note along with a one-inch stub of a pencil. While Meredith ate he would extract my note and insert one of his own. We learned how precious a few words of communication are from a loved one. Even scribbled words on a scrap of paper concealed in a lunch pail brought immeasurable joy and kept hope alive.
The brusque treatment we received from the
guards was marked by one memorable exception. His name was Mr. Koga. We later
learned that as a lad he had attended a mission school in
March 18, the day Meredith was released, was the nearest thing to resurrection I expect to experience this side of eternity. The fact that this emancipation, his return to the land of the living, happened on his birthday made it all the more special.
That noon, the hour of his release, about fifty friends and "customers" gathered in the yard in front of our house to sing Happy Birthday. In the evening the three of us had a blessed reunion supper with special friends, Mary Scott, Margorie Monohan, and Marcy Ditmanson. Our friends dug deep in their carefully hoarded, under-their-beds, treasure boxes and provided a tin of salmon and a bit of cocoa, which became a salad and a pudding. Of course, these weren't made by cookbook recipes or standards but were exquisitely yummy to our deprived appetites. It was a truly big splurge to us, a royal feast even though we had to add the usual dining hall fare "for bulk."
This repast was followed by a festive time of parlor games — a ping-pong ball blowing contest, charades, and so forth. In this we were joined by other friends including John Hayes and Inger Danielson, an amazing Norwegian woman with whom we had developed a special relationship.
Inger and her husband, Gerhardt, were
Norwegian missionaries assigned to a station in inland
And so two years later the young widow with her daughter arrived in Weihsien, still suffering from the trauma of her great loss. We soon made friends with this courageous, sensitive, young Norwegian lady. She became part of our special group, joining us for parties and informal get-togethers. Astrid, adorable with blonde curls, was the same age and height as Sandra and they were fast friends. When Meredith took Sandra for a walk, Astrid would go along. One spot in camp behind the church was slightly elevated. There he would stand the girls on his shoulders and let them see over the wall. Neither child remembered life outside camp, so afterwards they would argue whether the "distant land" they had seen over the wall was "Orway" or "Merica."
Neither, of course, had ever been to her homeland, but they knew where they belonged. Our friendship with Inger and Astrid was so precious that when our first son was born we named him Gerud, a shortened, Americanized form of Gerhardt.
