These are the words of my uncle:
At dawn on Monday December 8, 1941 Hong Kong time, Japan launched a surprise attack simultaneously on Pearl Harbor, Manila, Singapore and Hong Kong. That was the beginning of World War II (1941-1945). It began to wreck the whole world and shatter our lives.
At the time, my mother, my sister and I were in Hong Kong. We resided at 49 Waterloo Road, 2nd Floor, Kowloon in a rented room. I was attending Pui Ching Middle School in the 11th grade. My sister was attending an elementary school around the corner at Nathan Road. My father and brother were in the U.S.A. They worked at Jim Kee Laundry, 138 West 49th Street, New York, NY in a small basement, and resided at 126 West 49th Street in a second floor apartment.
In a few days, British garrison abandoned Kowloon. For one whole day and one whole night prior to the Japanese marching in, bad guys ruled the street. They organized into small bands, called "union." Waving guns, knives and crowbars, they robbed houses at will. They raced up and down the street on open trucks, shouting, "Victory, victory!" One band came to knock at our door. The landlord happened to be an opium addict and had contacts with the underworld. He flashed his "union card" to them. They spared us.
On Christmas Day, Hong Kong surrendered.
Under the brutal Japanese occupation, we heard gunshots every night. We saw people slowly starving to death on the sidewalk. We saw truckloads of corpses removed from the street every day. We were half starved. I was selling bread on the street with a junior partner, earning four little buns all day for two of us. Curfews were imposed without warning. Suddenly trucks loaded with Japanese soldiers appeared on the crowded street. They immediately jumped off, rifle-bayonets ready, and cleared everyone and everything from the street. At the sight of those trucks, people ran in all directions for home, otherwise they were herded onto the sidewalk to sit. Within minutes, all movements and noises were halted, till the curfew was lifted. A curfew could last for hours or even overnight. I sat among those sidewalk crowds more than once. One time, from the sidewalk, I saw the Japanese soldiers in line formation, being lectured to by a captain. A man wandered too close to that captain. That captain drew a pistol and shot him. He fell to the ground, then quickly struggled up, dragging his bleeding leg, and crawled to the sidewalk. He happened to sit near me. I never could forget his horrified face. Another time while I was running for home, a Japanese soldier chased me. I heard his shouting and felt his bayonet poking at my buttock. I was caught, frightened. He was furious. I thought, God, rape of Nanking again, my turn. He slapped my face very hard, gestured me to sit down, then moved away. Hours later, that curfew was lifted. I got home. Mother was waiting at the door, trembling. She discovered a fresh cut on my topcoat, at the rear. I discovered my pants were wet. Thank God, it was my own urine, not blood.
In May 1942, we boarded a single-sailed sampan boat and left Hong Kong, as soon as thousands and thousands of people were allowed to evacuate. We were heading for our native place. Yes, indeed, our native place.
In Chinese tradition, our native place means our origin and our root, not necessarily our place of birth. At times of desperation or retirement, the one ultimate place we would return to was our native place. Our native place is Na Looi Village, Na Tai Bo, Taishan County, Guangdung Province.
Aboard that frail little wooden boat were about thirty people, packed on deck like sardines. Luggage and bags were hidden under the deck. Somehow we managed to sail across the rough water of Pearl River, then thread through the maze of waterways. The first night we were intercepted and robbed by a band of Japanese soldiers. No one was hurt. The second night we reached the Free Territory. The following day we walked on foot all day and finally arrived at our village and our old house.
My comments:
Your history books will tell you that Japanese aggression against China leading into World War II had actually been going on since 1937 (the second Sino-Japan War). Many of our relatives even now encourage others to remember the tragic Nanking massacre (1937-1938) where thousands of Chinese civilians suffered horrible atrocities at the hands of the Japanese. At times you might wonder why Chinese (and Koreans), especially the older ones, at times seem "prejudiced" against the Japanese. This is why. Just as the Jews will never forget the Holocaust, the Chinese will not forget the rape of Nanking.
Some family background:
My mother's mother: Moy King Hugh
My mother's father: Chai Joon Hugh, American name Doo Chong Hugh
My uncle: Mee Sem Lai, American name Sam Lai
My other uncle: Chi-Chao Chiu
My mother: Shun Ying Yau, American name Julia Yau, Julia Bock (married name)
No comments:
Post a Comment