Page 10 of Sisters Under The Rising Sun

Nesta shakily gets to her feet, all four foot, ten inches of her, and she strides towards the building. She finds the door and knocks.

Slowly, it creaks open and two local Malayan men peer at her.

‘Please, can I come in?’ she asks.

Their perplexed looks tell her they have not understood her. She pushes gently on the door, and they step aside. Nesta scans the small room. There is a bed, table and two chairs, and a bench laden with rudimentary kitchen equipment.

‘English?’ she says.

‘A little,’ one of the men responds.

‘You live here?’

The men exchange glances and words in Malay.

‘Dutch man lived here, he’s gone.’

‘Water? Can I have some water, please?’

Before they can respond, the door bursts open and two Japanese soldiers storm inside. The Malayan men flinch. Surprised to see Nesta, the soldiers raise their rifles, bayonets drawn, inches from her stomach. She doesn’t flinch.

One of the soldiers lowers his rifle and walks around Nesta slowly, looking her up and down. Nesta puts her right hand into her uniform pocket and feels the money, the one hundred pounds, still in place, wet but intact. The soldier notices this movement and jerks her hand free. Turning her around to face the wall, they stand back, chattering and jeering. Nesta doesn’t see them leave, but one of the Malays turns her around.

‘Gone. You go too,’ he says.

‘Water, please.’

‘You go, go now.’

The men give her some water, which she gulps down before she is ushered out of the door.

Nesta leaves the lighthouse, walking slowly away. She heads to where beach meets jungle and drops down by a large tree. Hidden here, in the dark, she waits for the sun to rise and give her a new day.

‘This oil just won’t wash off,’ Norah complains, rubbing at her skin.

As the sun comes up, Norah, Ena, John and June struggle, with the others on their raft, for a comfortable position. The chill morning air is soon warmed by a searing sun. Too soon, they are burning up. They take turns to lower themselves into the cool water, all the while clinging on to the raft. They are desperately thirsty.

‘Maybe there’s a hot shower or a bath waiting for us, with good soap and thick towels when we find land.’ Ena manages a joke, but no one is smiling.

‘How are your hands?’ John asks them.

The sisters hold out their torn and weeping hands for inspection.

‘Oh, my goodness, I had no idea you were injured,’ one of the women says. ‘You should have said something.’

‘We’ll be fine once we can get ashore and hopefully find some of the nurses who were on board with us,’ Ena replies.

They watch the sun pass the midpoint in the sky.

‘We have been in the water for over twenty-four hours,’ a man says. ‘And not a drop to drink.’

A silence falls over the group.

They hear the engine before they see the launch heading towards them. Not knowing who is on board, several of the men and women slide off the raft into the water.

Cutting its engines, the launch pulls alongside the bobbing raft. Two airmen are on board; one so young he still looks like a child, the other John’s age.

‘Hello! Hello! It’s great to find you. We’re RAF. How about we get you aboard?’