As spring approached and after getting over my chicken pox, I could not help noticing that there were ever increasing tensions amongst the women in the camp. Small pinpricks would become inflated and serious rows would develop, only to be forgotten quickly in the face of some Japanese insult or slapping or other punishment, when everyone would rally round each other to help and sympathise. These tensions were never to go away amongst the women throughout our stay, but the one outstanding person who was a pillar of strength and calmness throughout was Mother. She was like a strong beacon of light amongst the rest, Australians, British, Chinese, Malay, Ceylon Burghers, and a Bengali and from all walks of life. All respected her wisdom, her education, breeding and her quiet inner metaphysical and spiritual grace. She was not in the least bit religious in the church going or biblical sense, but had that deep knowledge of God, or Karma, or Goodness, call it what you will. Undoubtedly her past sufferings in her marriage, in her spiritual readings, and her flirtation with Buddhism had all played a part, and she was universally approached for guidance over all sorts of problems that occurred almost on a daily basis. She was the quiet teacher with a heart of gold and a head filled with wisdom, but with an iron resolve never ever to let oneself be browbeaten by agreeing or compromising with something that one knew to be morally wrong or evil. I was privileged to have her as my own Mother during these harsh years and she gave me a sense of maturity through her guidance far beyond my years. Also the mere fact of living under such an authoritarian regime with ones own kind all around to help and support you , gave one an instinctive sense of loyalty to your own lot against the “Enemy or them”. This sense of rigid unwavering loyalty has lasted me my whole life, and I still to this day find nothing more abhorrent than people who betray their own kith and kin, their own upbringing and their own nation. Such people instinctively I treat as betrayers or “Quislings” after the Norwegian traitor who co-operated with the Germans following the invasion of their country. A serious incident occurred just after I was back to health, when a row blew up between Gabby Lyons and the stewardess Mrs Gleason. It came about from the neglect of Clive who was then about a year old and crying because his nappy had not been changed yet again. The stewardess picked him up and made some caustic remark, whereupon Gabby flew at her knocking her down, and then had her fingers round her throat. Mrs Gleason was a large woman with a broad frame and large hips, and was attacked by someone who was much more petite, but nevertheless she found that she was literally fighting for her life with a wildcat! She said afterwards in her broad Australian accent: “I never thought I would get away. I really honestly thought she was going to strangle me, and she would have, had I not been so strong and summoned all my energy to free myself.” She never again tangled with Gabby again! Tragically however she died four months before the end of the War on 7th April 1945 aged 43 from an intestinal blockage, and never saw freedom. On a more pleasant subject during the early spring about the time of my 12th birthday, whilst bathing, the women would remark on my sudden growth not only in stature, but also in hairiness down below as puberty developed! It was a point also noted by Lavender (known as Vanda) Yates the lanky 17 year old mentioned before when Mother was thinking of boarding the Nankin. She was always finding an excuse to be near me, sharing a book or whatever as she was very keen on poetry as I was as well, and was forever composing verses. She was also very artistic with a good line,
