If Mom Had A Blog In 1942

The Coconut Soldiers

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 01:25:00 +0000

Mammie was already on her way to meet Greta and me near the kitchen. She felt something was terribly wrong and immediately ran to find us. I guess mommies are good like that. As soon as she took me into her arms I felt safe. Maybe I am dying but at least I was with her.

Poor Greta had my blood all over her arms and her clothes and even a little bit on her face. She was crying but she was listening to Mammie telling her what to do. I wish I was as strong as her. One day I will be.

Against Mammie's wishes, Greta had made friends with a few of the soldiers and today it helped us. She walked Mammie and me to the gate and sweetly asked if we could go to a doctor. There is no doctor inside our camp. I don't really remember what the soldier said, but he let us go. Mammie, me and my brother Frederick were allowed outside the camp. Greta had to stay behind.

"I'll be all right, Mammie. Trust me," she said.

The doctor was only a street away and Mammie carried me there. Frederick in the meantime decided to get himself into trouble. Why are boys that way? I guess being free was too much temptation. We don't know where he got the money from but he bought himself a couple of coconuts from a street vendor. He tried to hide them under his shirt. Looked rather silly if you ask me.

There were soldiers walking on the streets and Frederick seemed a tad bit too suspicious for their liking. They kept an eye on him which I suppose was good for me. Soldiers can always change their mind and tell us to go back to camp. They had Frederick to deal with now.

Finally we made it to the doctor's house. He wasn't very happy to see me. Frederick was not allowed to come in. I could tell that Mammie worried about that. But she had no choice. Brother was still trying to hide his coconuts. The soldiers still watched him. Then suddenly they shouted at him to give up the coconuts.

"I paid for them," Frederick yelled.

"You stole them," they said.

Then he darted off down the street. Mammie screamed at him to run back to the camp. He must have heard her cause that's where he ran off to. The last thing I saw was Frederick throwing his coconuts at the soldiers and them throwing their bamboo spears at him. They missed. I am sorry, but I had to laugh. At least it took away my pain for just a second.

The next half hour, however, was the hardest half hour of my life. My wound was not washed and the doctor had no anesthesia. He just sewed me up like I was a dress or something and he kept telling me not to move. Mammie said it was okay if I cried. I didn't want to, but I did. She held my hand for a long time. I wasn't scared anymore as she sang "Safe In The Arms of Jesus." Then everything went black.

When I woke up Mammie was carrying me back to camp where we found Greta and Frederick waiting for us at the gate.

"I lost my coconuts, Mammie," Frederick said.

Everyone laughed, even the soldiers.

It Wasn't A Bullet

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 23:46:00 +0000

Where is Sister? Why didn't I listen to her? Oh, where is she? Is this what dying is?

It was already hot around 6:00am. There was lots of noise in the early morning. Children ran around and mothers were fussy. Everyone had their tasks to get ready for. Young girls scampered to the kitchen, others were dragged to the building where Japanese soldiers lived. Those girls cried and struggled to free themselves. I thought of Greta. Where is Sister? "Do not be anxious, do not be anxious. Trust in the Lord." Where is Sister? "Please, Lord, keep the soldiers away from her."

I walked outside with other children. Mammie was near the fence. I wondered how long she had been there. How do the guards not see her? I see her, and I know what's she's up to. "Keep her safe also, dear Jesus. Close the eyes of the guards." Mammie is very good at not being caught. With a little bit of help from God, we should have bananas tonight.

A woman called to me from the mandi bak (wash basin). "Mari mandi!" I nodded and walked towards her. A quick washing will feel good. Leave Mammie to do her secret work, she will be fine.

On my way to the mandi bak I saw a little girl, my age, standing on top of the cement sewage pipe. It is dangerously high and the cement must be burning her bare feet. She's not moving. Her hands are tied behind her back. Don't cry, Becca. They will let you down soon. Don't cry and please don't fall. I walked slowly past her.

"Mari mandi!" someone else called out.

Finally, at the mandi bak I waited behind hundreds of people to fill my small bucket with water. Sister always said to stay in line and be patient. Yet other children were playing, so I joined them. I am the fastest runner in Tjeweng. Nobody could catch me. But today that became my curse.

I ran and ran. We laughed and jumped onto old machinery and over the slippery sheets of zinc which covered everything--no one stopped us. Suddenly, I lost my footing and the sharp edge of the zink flooring slashed into the inner part of my left thigh. The world became very bright for just an instance, with a million tiny flashing stars, then almost black. I saw lots of blood draining from my leg yet I did not feel any pain. Don't cry, I thought. But then I felt a piercing pain.

The children who were playing with me immediately stepped into line at the mandi bak. Adults turned their backs but tried to hide me. The line to the mandi bak was now my human shield. If the soldiers knew I had been running they would punish me and anyone who dared to help. I heard the whispers. "Stand up, get up Laney." It was hard to stand, but I did.

My body seemed too heavy and the sounds of the world were strange. Voices whispered and echoed. I cupped my hand over my ears. My leg didn't feel connected to my body which scared me more than anything. The other leg trembled terribly. Mammie told me once to just call out His name and it would make me feel strong. I whispered His name--Jesus. God is with me. God is with me. Mammie was right. Though I was still scared, His name did gave me strength.

I walked on, dragging my leg behind me. I fell a few times in a cloud of dust, got up time and time again. Then I heard the clangs of old pots and smelled the old oil drums they used to cook rice in. I had somehow made my way to the kitchen. I crashed into the bamboo door leaving bloody fingerprints. Where is Sister?

Am I dying? "Is Sister here?" The last thing I hear is Greta's voice yelling, "Mammie!" And I let myself collapse into Sister's arms.

Old Enough To Work

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Fri, 27 Jul 2007 01:20:00 +0000

We have lived inside the factory for more than a week now. I know it must smell bad, but I just can't tell anymore. People are constantly coughing, sobbing, and some of them don't move at all. Sister is writing down the dates in her school book so we won't forget what day it is. She is so smart. She winks at me to let me know that everything will be all right soon. I pray to the Lord that the soldiers don't even look at her. We have to keep her safe.

Today, we found out that we are prisoners of both Japanese and Indonesian soldiers. They must be working together which is very confusing. Mammie says to pray for our president, Sukarno ,because he doesn't seem to be on our side. I really don't understand, but I will pray for him.

Greta was taken away later this day. She told me not to worry. The soldiers said that she was old enough to work. She will work in the kitchen. "Dear Jesus, keep her from all harm. Send your Angels to protect her and surround her every minute of every day that we are here."

Oh no, I have to go now. There is a young girl being dragged away. I have to find my Mammie and my brothers. Soon I will write again and hopefully with good news. Pray for that little girl. Her name is Becca.

An Unsafe World

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 19:13:00 +0000

The train has stopped. Sister says to stay quiet and just follow everyone inside. She holds my hand and we walk very slowly behind hundreds of other children holding their mommies' hands. No fathers are here. I miss my Pappie very much.

"This is Twejeng," Sister says. "An old sugar factory."
"It looks like a big, cold monster with evil eyes," I whisper. "And there are no windows. How will we breathe?"

Sister just squeezes my hand. There is a wall of bamboo spears around the whole area. Are we in prison? I miss our home and garden. I just want to play and forget everything else. The soldiers have guns, their uniforms are dirty and there is a high tower where other soldiers can see the whole camp. Are we prisoners of this war?

There is some confusion amongst all the "prisoners." Everyone is whispering. Mammie is telling us to keep moving, don't ask questions and stay together. I look at the soldiers. They are not Japanese. They are . . . Indonesian. We are prisoners of our own people. I don't understand this at all.

Sister says to keep up with her. We walk inside the factory and Mammie finds a little spot on the cold, hard cement floor to lay our belongings. She makes a square by lining up our suitcases.

"This is home," she says. "It's not so bad. And remember . . . God is still with us."

A Train Ride (June 1942)

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 04:22:00 +0000

I haven't written for a while . . . I know. It's getting harder every day. A letter was sent to our house and the next thing I know, we are packing our suitcases. Then they put us on a train. Many people are with us, all women and children. Pappie and Opa were put on another train.

It's not much fun. Nothing smells right and we are all hungry, thirsty and scared.

I hear whispers that we are going to a place called Twejeng. Why are we going there? It's just an old sugar factory. Maybe my big sister will tell you more later. I think she knows why we are going there. Yes, I'll have her write more about this train ride when she is ready to talk.

My sister's name is Greta. She's twelve and very beautiful. I hope the Japanese soldiers will leave her alone now. Yes, maybe in Twejeng she won't have to worry about them. God will keep us safe. That's what Mammie says and I believe it with all my heart.

Between The Fences

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Sat, 27 Jan 2007 04:21:00 +0000

There is now a guard standing at our gate--all day and all night. Maybe there are more soldiers around our property. It's hard to tell. I guess we are amongst the lucky families. Our house is very nice, so I don't mind being locked up and I'm with my family. I will miss the garden. I will miss going to Sunday School.

Are we going to run out of food? Maybe the guard will let us pick fruit from our trees. Yes, the jackfruit will feed us all.

Mammie did something very dangerous tonight. I think my brother helped her but I'm not sure. Our neighbors next door are Chinese. They are still free. It looks like the Japanese will leave them alone. They own a rijst pellerij (rice factory). Somehow they flattened out a 100-kilo-bag of rice (125lbs), dug a hole under our fence and left it there for Mammie to get whenever it was safe. Those big burlap bags make good pillow cases.

Mammie says our neighbors will give the children treats. Can you imagine the delight when she gave us bean bak pao? More than a treat for me.

The House And Garden

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 05:04:00 +0000

I remember when Pappie and Opa were still with us. Oma was with us too. Supper with the whole family was very fun. There were nine of us and we all fit around our djati wooden table in the middle of our dining room. We had so much food that I would never have guessed we would ever go hungry. I loved having everyone living together. Oh, and did I tell you that our marble floor was a very good place for sliding? Well, it was and still is.

Pappie is a very rich man. I don't know how we are rich but it has something to do with electricity. And Opa's brother owns a brick factory. It seems that our family is very blessed. Pappie and Mammie bought all of us children a house. Mine was purchased when I was born. Maybe I will have a garden like we have now.

Our garden has many trees. We have four different kinds of mangoes: Madu, Golak, Gandeng (which grows in pairs like cherries), and Aromanis. Also growing all over our plantation is semanka (papaya), pisang (banana) and assam (tamarind) trees. But it is our Jackfruit tree that will be our main source of food now that the war has started. They are bearing lots of fruit which weigh up to 40 lbs. and grow closest to the house. The villagers are welcome to take what they need. We must share the wealth.

Kampong (The Village)

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 07:23:00 +0000

I think I should tell you about the brave people in the kampong behind our house. It is true, I believe, that my family and I would certainly be dead if not for their courage. There is a very rough trail through the jungle of jack fruit trees, banana trees, and those star fruit trees.

We follow this trail behind the huts, through the forest, to church. All the people in the kampong live in little huts made from bamboo poles and bamboo mats are used for walls. The people are very poor. But like I said they are very brave and kind to us. I pray they will make it through this war alive.

They let us hide behind their huts. The Japanese soldiers never find us and the villagers never tell them that we are there. Maybe the jungle looks too scary for the soldiers. In any case our hike through the forest is always a safe one even though I can still hear the bombs falling in the distant.

I thank the Lord Jesus for all the nice people that make our lives quite livable. Soon I will tell you of a few individuals who risk their lives to save ours. For now, it is safer that I don't talk about them yet.

Capitulation 1942

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Sun, 14 Jan 2007 02:35:00 +0000

(Left) Japanese bombs destroy ammo stacks in Soerabaja.

KNIL (Dutch) soldiers surrender.

Pictures from Java Gallery.

A Path To Church

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 08:57:00 +0000

March: All over Java women and children are prisoners inside their own homes. All the men, and boys 12 and older, have been taken away. I don't know where Papa and Opa are. It's probably better that way.

Mamma fears for our lives every day. Early each morning she prays to our Jesus in Heaven. We are only half Indonesian and half Dutch. This is not a good thing apparently. I will try to find out why later.

Our friends next door are Chinese. They are still free and Mamma says they will help us as much as they can. Rumor has it that when we run out of food the Japanese will not allow us to get anymore. We will need our friends to help get food for us. Mamma is good at rationing what we have, but it's probably only enough for a week.

My older siblings, Greta and Frederick, have been going to church on their own. But Mamma says it's very important that we all go together now. I know it in my heart that Jesus will help us through this awful time. Every night I kneel by my bed, fold my hands, and talk to Him and He always makes me feel less scared. Sometimes He takes my fear completely away. I wish I could feel like that all the time.

It will take us fifteen minutes to walk to church and we will have to be very careful. We will stay in the shadows of our trees and sneak through the village behind our property. The villagers are very good people. They will help us.

Gunfire is all around us. Do they see us? Are they shooting at us? Don't scream. Run. Keep running. Don't scream. Bullets sound like the rushing wind. We keep running. The villagers show us the way to safety. For now, we are safe.

War Comes Home

gtargirl@gmail.com (The Gatekeeper) — Wed, 10 Jan 2007 06:25:00 +0000

These are the first stories my mom can remember as we try to put the pieces of her life all in order. Information of dates, times and places are still sketchy but I can feel it come together. She does want to make it clear that she harbors no anger against the Japanese or the Indonesian people. These are her earliest memories . . .

March 1942:

Japanese soldiers came today. They took my Pappie and Opa away. Mom won’t tell us where they’ve been taken, only that we will see them again. She’s a good Christian woman but today she told a lie—maybe even two. I don’t think we’ll see Pappie and Opa again, for one, and she also said that my older brother was only ten years old. He’s really twelve. Though I do think that God will forgive her because that lie allowed us to keep our brother home, it was still a lie. I don’t like what this war has done to all of us.

The Japanese soldier in charge said that we were not to leave our house. If we did they had the right to shoot us. I’m not quite sure who gave them that right but I believe they really will shoot us and without one feeling of guilt. So we are under house arrest, I think that’s what adults call it.

Most of the Dutch soldiers left before the Japanese soldiers came to Soerabaja. We could have used their help. Some of them stayed. Unfortunately most of them were captured and killed. I don’t understand all this killing. What is it we have done to make them so mad?

I learned in Sunday school that we are to love our enemies. This is hard to do for me, but I know I must try. Furthermore, it seems that if we are to get back to Sunday school we will have to break the new law—all Indonesian people must stay inside their homes. Like most kids, I thought it would be exciting to be known as a criminal, but it really isn’t fun at all. Let me explain.

A few days locked up in our house was enough to drive a normal person a little crazy, especially when you have to share everything with your sister and brothers. Mammie announced that this was the night we were going to leave the house for a few hours. “We’re going to church,” she said.

We were very happy, indeed, but we were ill prepared for what was coming.