CHAPTER 24 #2
The doctor led her into his consulting room.
He was thinner than when Dorothy had last seen him and, despite his usual cheery smile and manner, she could tell he was exhausted.
He had always been so smart at the hospital, but his hair was long and shaggier now and his beard had grown out, making him look older.
But one thing had not changed: his calm, caring manner and the sense of peace that Dorothy felt when she was around him.
And she needed that now, more than ever.
Dr Archie ushered Dorothy into a chair and took the baby from her. Noel seemed fascinated by the new, bearded face and the distraction seemed to have calmed him. ‘Now, tell me,’ the doctor asked with a smile, ‘who’s this handsome little chap?’
And so it all came out. Everything that had happened since Dorothy had said goodbye to Dr Archie some months earlier.
He had left the Alexandra Military Hospital back in January, when he’d been called up to accompany a medical team caring for retreating troops in Malaya.
But the mission had ended in disaster, with the entire party being captured by the Japanese and marched off to the prisoner-of-war camp.
Never would Dorothy have dreamed of sharing her personal affairs with Dr Archie when they had worked together at the hospital, but everything had changed.
She had held it all together for so long, but now it all poured out.
She told him all about her husband’s infidelity, her miscarriages, Douglas’s death, her botched escape from Singapore, surviving on Pom Pong Island and, lastly, the promise she had made to take care of Douglas’s child.
Dr Archie listened carefully, all the while tending to the baby.
He sat him in a small metal basin on the consultation bed and washed him, wiping him down gently with wet flannels that had seen better days.
There was a small electric fan in the room and the soft breeze it created, combined with the water, cooled and calmed Noel.
More compliant now, it was easier for Dr Archie to lie him down on the bed and examine him.
‘So there we have it,’ Dorothy concluded her story with a sad smile. ‘Quite alone in the world and stuck here for goodness knows how long, failing miserably at taking care of this poor little chap.’ Tears formed in her eyes and Dr Archie came straight over. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
‘It is a fine thing you have done, Dorothy. A very fine thing, indeed. I don’t know many women who could have done what you have.
And . . . ’ He paused. ‘Please know this,’ he continued more softly.
‘You are not on your own. Not anymore.’ He squeezed her shoulder, then cleared his voice a little awkwardly.
‘Anyway, it’s good news for this young man; nothing too serious,’ he smiled reassuringly at Dorothy, ‘Poor little mite was overheating and terribly dehydrated. We just need to keep him cool and make sure he gets plenty of water.’
Dorothy hadn’t realised that she was holding her breath until she released it now in a long sigh.
She watched as Dr Archie took a bundle of white rags from a box in the corner of the room, tore off a triangle and expertly fashioned a clean nappy for the baby.
Then he picked him up and sat him on his knee.
He held out the little boy’s hand and drew gentle circles on his palm with his finger.
‘Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, One step, two step; tickle you under there!’
The little boy smiled as the doctor went through the actions of the nursery rhyme, finishing off with a gentle tickle under his armpit. The feeling of relief that he was going to be alright flowed through Dorothy and made her smile, too.
A brief tap on the door and a nurse appeared. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Dr Archie, but you’re needed in the ward. Six more have come in and we’re running out of beds. I don’t know what we’re going to do.’
The doctor nodded calmly and told her that he’d be right there.
‘No rest for the wicked!’ he said with a wry smile, once the nurse had left.
‘We are so short staffed here; two of the other doctors are down with malaria and our nurses are dropping like flies, too. I just hope to goodness that it isn’t dysentery, as that will spread like wildfire and we’ve precious little in the way of medication. ’
‘Let me help!’ The words tumbled out of Dorothy’s mouth before she’d had time to think. ‘I mean, I can help you. I’m a nurse. I want to help you. And I need to keep busy. Please say I can?’
His smile was all the confirmation she needed.
A few days later, once baby Noel was well enough to be left in the care of one of the other mothers, Dorothy made her way to the hospital for her first shift. The pitiful conditions and lack of resources made the work extremely challenging, but it felt good to be useful and to help where she could.
Dysentery had, indeed, started to spread and the ward was overflowing with the pale, gaunt figures of the afflicted prisoners.
After months of forced labour, deprivation and malnutrition, they were too weak to fight the disease and many died.
With so few medical supplies available, treatment was limited and rudimentary.
All they could do was isolate the sick and rehydrate them as best they could with the clean water available.
If they were lucky, they would administer quinine which the Red Cross had sent in.
Those who were able to eat were fed watery rice and powdered charcoal in a bid to build up their strength.
It was dangerous work, surrounded by highly contagious patients, yet Dorothy found herself looking forward to her shifts.
In the prison, she was only allowed to mix with other women and she now enjoyed some male company again.
She especially enjoyed working alongside Dr Archie.
He had always been such a kind and calm presence in the British Military Hospital and remained so now, even in the face of the horrors they witnessed on a daily basis.
He remained cheerful, often daydreaming aloud of a future beyond the camp, back home in England.
He told Dorothy all about the place where he had grown up, and where he hoped, one day, to return.
He painted the picture of a rural idyll and described it in such detail that when Dorothy closed her eyes she could picture it.
Not that she stayed awake long enough to daydream. Every night, Dorothy fell into bed physically and emotionally exhausted, but it did her good to regain some sense of normality and routine from her work.
Months passed, eventually turning into years.
The war rumbled on and life in the camp maintained a strict and predictable routine.
To keep their minds occupied and their spirits up, volunteers organised all sorts of social groups – subject, of course, to the approval of the strict prison guards.
Sewing bees, singing groups and even musical and dramatic performances took place.
The sense of camaraderie was strong. In the face of an uncertain future, everyone pulled together to boost morale wherever they could.
For several months, a group of skilled craftsmen had been working together on the construction of a chapel.
Exhausted, malnourished and seriously lacking in materials, it was a testament to their resourcefulness and sheer determination when Changi Chapel eventually opened.
It was a symbol of hope and courage in the face of adversity, not to mention a place of worship and solace.
Everyone was welcome, regardless of their faith or lack of, subject only to the whims of the Japanese guards.
On Christmas Eve 1943, Noel’s second birthday, Dorothy sat in a pew at the back of the Chapel with the child on her lap.
A familiar introduction started on the piano and she joined her fellow women prisoners in a rendition of ‘Silent Night’.
She snuggled Noel close to her and kissed the top of his dark head, closing her eyes as she enjoyed the beautiful harmonies of some of the more tuneful singers.
The Christmas carol took her back to her life in Fulham, before the war. In her mind, she was sitting next to Daisy’s piano, singing with both their families as Daisy entertained them with festive tunes. How things had changed in just a few short years.
‘Happy birthday, little man,’ she whispered to Noel as tears started to blur her vision. Noel looked up at her, distracted from the toy rabbit she had clumsily fashioned out of an old sock for his gift, and beamed at her. ‘Mama! Sing, Mama!’
She smiled through her tears as a wave of bittersweet emotion swept over her.
She was his mama. And he was her son. What would happen if – or rather when – they were released from the camp?
What would happen to Noel? She would have to take him to his grandparents in Wiltshire, as promised.
Wouldn’t she? The thought of separation from the child – her child – after all this time together felt like a knife through her heart.