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A GERMAN FAMILY IN THE FAR EAST

PART 1

We hear people say, "If only I could be young again…."not realising how very fortunate 'we oldies' really are! Having survived the Second World War alone gives us a treasure chest full of the most amazing memories. Each and every one of us has, at some point, recalled the happenings of years gone by. May I now share mine with you?

Let us go right back to the year 1923. My father (Hans Joachim Jenke), as a young boy, had resided in an officer's cadet school under the strict command of his own father, a Prussian officer. However, with the disbanding of this establishment near Kassel in Germany, the young man contacted his uncle living abroad for advice and help. This is how it all began. Instead of becoming an army officer, my father became the administrator of a tea and rubber plantation in the tropics. At the tender age of 19, he was in charge of around 1000 men and women in an area of 850 hectares (640 acres or 3.28 square miles). This was no mean task. He readily admitted to having made many mistakes. Luckily he was guided by his well-seasoned uncle living on the neighbouring plantation. Hard also, was the loneliness of life out in the bush for someone so young. Relationships with local beauties was frowned upon. Uncle advised him to bring back a bride after his two months vacation from Germany, but none of the young girls back home were willing to forsake the bright lights and lively social scene for life on an isolated plantation so far away from family and friends. One young lady did leave behind the country estate she knew as home to work as a nanny for a Dutch family in the East Indies. As youngster, Anneliese had attended the same school as father's sister, so it came as no surprise that the two met up and eventually got married out there in 1932. The joy of living a privileged colonial life was heightened by the birth of their first child, Liselotte, born in 1933. A year later, a son was born, called Peter. Peter added to their happiness but sadly, at the age of two, died in his nanny's arms as he choked on a peanut. Thankfully a daughter (Christine Jenke), born twelve months later, helped to lessen their grief. It was four years later that another daughter was born, named Karin.

In the year 1939, Karin was a few months old, and Hitler's troops had already invaded Poland. As we lived under the rule of the Dutch, my parents employed a Dutch tutor who took up residence in the guest bungalow once the clergyman had left. Speaking fluent Dutch, German and several Malay dialects (passed on to us by the servants), now my schooling started in earnest. These early school days were not to last for long. Nor our happy and tranquil lives on this remote plantation. Something was happening. The dark clouds of war were beginning to gather momentum. I was six years old, and remember so well the feeling of ill ease. Mealtimes were not the peaceful times we knew. Father ushered the dogs into another room, pulling the radio table right close to his side, listening stern-faced to the world news. Father exchanged heated discussions with mother. Something was definitely terribly wrong, affecting us two older girls. At bedtime, within our mosquito net enclosure, nanny 'Kia' came to show us the magic of glow-worms. We soon slept soundly. Hitler had marched into the Rhineland (a demilitarised zone), then into Austria and part of Czechoslovakia-the Sudetenland. Now, as the German troops had marched into Holland, bombing Rotterdam mercilessly, this was to affect us with a vengeance in May 1940. The surprise landing of a Japanese submarine was spotted on Java's coastline — claiming to have lost its way. According to father’s belief, it could well have been on a reconnaissance mission! The seriousness of the radio broadcast had fired our parents into action - gathering together all-important documents and burning some before the arrival of Dutch officials. They actually did arrive soon afterwards and took father away. He stepped aside to stroke his youngest child — a mere baby in arms, saying, "When I return, you will be learning to walk". Little did he know. The day after father's sudden departure into the unknown, a strange family drove up to take his place. To take over our home! Mother was ordered to put fresh linen on to the beds. Cook had to prepare a meal for the new Dutch administrator and his family. The plateau our home stood on, we now had to leave behind in exchange for a small, simple home, some distance away in the valley. Cook almost immediately fell ill. We were allowed to take along someone from the kitchen staff to lend mother a hand with her three young children, one being a mere babe in arms. The new master on the hill (in our home), kindly sent down a manservant with dinner wrapped in newspaper carrying headlines of disturbing news. A great war was imminent. "What will happen to us?" whispered mother. She decided at once to contact the assistant resident lord Mayor of 'Tasikmalaya', the nearest township some miles away. He promised to send out a car as soon as possible. Mother now frantically packed some suitcases, spilling open a container of porridge oats amongst the contents. We were driven to 'Bandung' to the house of some very good friends who kindly offered to put us up in their daughter's bedroom. The row of houses harbouring many more uprooted souls from outlying districts was aptly named the 'Siegfried Line' . Let good humour prevail. One morning while mother was in the kitchen heating milk for her baby, a soldier arrived ordering everyone to be ready in 2 hours time. Everybody! We were all taken by truckloads to a military hospital in "Tjimahi" into the now empty isolation plague wing. I remember ghastly and gloomy passages. Our bare concrete box room had a small barred window from where we could see the rifle tops of patrolling soldiers. Everywhere came the sound of so many fretful mothers and their whimpering children. I recall how traumatic it was amongst so many strange people and no Papa. Where are his dogs, our toys, my bed, and my horsehair filled flat pillow? (A feather-filled one would have been too hot in this tropical climate). No friendly wide windows with views of flowers and trees. Instead we ambled on concrete walkways beside open channels carrying waste water. We had buckled aluminium pots containing our daily food portions of a very rich, greasy substance, so horribly unsuitable for the very young. Karin promptly became desperately ill with a severe tummy bug. A collection was made and the doctor dutifully arrived to hand out some medicinal powers. In the stillness of night, many a child caused awful commotion by having fallen out of their narrow army camp beds onto the bare concrete floor. New orders came for us to pack up in haste. We were now transported to a more permanent ‘safe’ camp surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence and tightly locked iron gates.

On arrival we had to hand over any German books, musical instruments, food, cigarettes and all our money. There were all together 42 women and 28 children. To start with, it was strictly forbidden to step through the gates. However, came August, permission was granted to go for a walk-about beyond the gates only between the hours f 4 to 6! On no account, were we to mix with the locals. Two months later the purchase of newspapers was granted. The grownups occupied their time knitting, painting, doing needlework, with games or crafts. I will always treasure the few buttons, a buckle and an ashtray they made out of coconut shells, all these years ago, lovingly carved and polished. Some ladies made beautiful soft toys. Mine, a long-legged brown deer gave me great comfort while ill. Little white daisies on the material gave it a cheerful touch. Mother being already in a fretful state and now with a sick child on her hands, created such a furore, that the camp commandant promptly send a soldier to search the room in case the fuss was over something more sinister. All he confiscated was a bottle of malaria pills. A Malay cobbler with a big sack slung over his shoulder was allowed in to collect shoes in need of repair. Through this ever-smiling kind man, mother was able to smuggle baby food into camp. She would also steal up to the fence softly calling to passers-by, asking them to get the things she needed rather than having to go to the dragon camp commandant.

Every morning at 5.30 am prompt, the first wake up bell sounded and good coffee was available (encouraging an early start!). An hour later the bell was rung again, but only a small cup of inferior brew was served. Children's breakfast time was served at 6.45 am. Consisting of a plate full of rice pudding with brown palm sugar, 'Gula Java.' This stodge tasted like glue and was followed by 1-2 slices of bread with jam or palm sugar, also one cup of milk. At 7.30 am the adults received their 2 slices of bread with margarine thinly scraped on. An urn of tea stood on the table. There was one long table for the children, 4 smaller ones seating 10 or 11 women; the sister and housekeeper sat at the top table keeping a strict eye on us all. Afterwards was a time to clean the rooms, do the washing and ironing. Mothers with many children could not get the help of a local servant girl. Sister arranged for the older daughters in camp to lend a hand. This meant one mother with 5 children had to loan out 3 of her daughters in this way and then having to manage the laundry of 6 people all by herself. The other older girls had to give school lessons (Dutch only) to the younger ones. Swimming time was one hour. Lunch was served at 12 for the children. We had rice 5 days running. The other 2 were potato days. Sometimes it was only 1 potato day in the week. The food at first was very meagre. Prepared under dirty conditions, then slapped luke-warm onto our plates. Later on, the adults were allowed to ladle it out of large containers themselves. To begin with we had to drink tepid water, as it had to be boiled because of its poor quality. A fridge improved things greatly at a later stage. Even though, meat portions were sparse at the best of times, Friday was strictly a meat free day. Fruit rations consisted of 2 bananas or 2 slices of pineapple or one piece of papaya. Siesta time was between 1.30 pm and 3.30 pm when everyone had to be in their rooms. The teapot on the table was self-service. From 3.30 pm to 6 pm was the time to stroll in the grounds or sit in the shade with needlework. Suppertime for the young was on the dot of 6 pm. Again 2 slices of bread with corned beef, very rarely a slice of tasty salami. Some months into our stay we served up warmed snacks. At 7.30 pm the same food was available for the adults. Afterwards, the longed-for newspapers were handed out. Letters were received after lunch. For economic reasons, no lights on in the bedrooms! How much many would have preferred a little time in their own 4 walls instead of the noise in the reception rooms! By 10 pm all lights had to be switched off. This was how one day followed another. Not a single day passed by without some sort of nasty trick being dished out by the sister in charge or the dragon!!! They tried their best to make our lives as unbearable as possible in so many little ways

On 23 September we read in the newspaper that anybody able to pay the fare could leave the Dutch East Indies for Japan. For the many, who had lost everything, the state would pay. Our mother, ignoring the house rules of lights out by 10pm, darkened the small window of our door and set to, knitting frantically late into the night, with her brood all around her sleeping peacefully under mosquito netting. We were bound for colder climes! It was by now the year of 1941 and followed the occupation of the Dutch in the East Indies by Japan. Already 6 women who could afford it had departed for Germany the previous year. Another two followed later. The voyage took them via Korea, Manchuria, Siberia and Russia. As we later heard, it was not as bad as at first we feared. In fact the greatest part took them past pleasant regions and it lasted only 14 days. Germany and the Soviet Union were now locked in conflict, making it impossible for us to take the same route. We had to wait until the Japanese made available ships to take us as far as Japan. Many a document was signed with the promise of imminent departure, but to no avail. The waiting and hoping continued. Our father had already been transferred to somewhere unknown. When would we ever see papa again? If at all! When would it be our turn to get out of this camp?!! The crossing to Japan for the first batch of women was on a dirty Japanese cargo ship. Now came the date for us to pack up in haste once more.

Our first encounter with the Japanese was on the steam ship 'Haruna Maru'. The Japanese are noted as great lovers of children and played with us on deck. No doubt giving mother a well deserved rest. Second-class cabins and a daily diet of healthy fish dishes made it a pleasant voyage. Some were lucky enough to enjoy the luxury of first class cabins. In the hands of our allies, we were now steaming towards Kobe, in the land of the rising sun. It was June 1942, cold, wet and windy…the start of the monsoon, with sudden changes of temperatures that caused many a child to go down with an illness. Christine suffered with a severe ear infection. I went down with influenza. Poor mother! On the whole we were met with support and great kindness by the ex-pats of Kobe. From the German Government we now received an allowance, which seemed just about sufficient, but it became more difficult as the years went by.

Our first decent accommodation was two small rooms in the Jamato hotel where we had to climb over cases, bags and bundles to get into bed. Here mice joined us at breakfast time, nibbling crumbs under the rickety table. From my sick bed in the dark, I watched them preening themselves in the glow of a rusty electric fire. Mother then gladly accepted the offer of staying during the hot summer months at a spa town in the cool of the mountains. The town was called Arima and with its healthy climate and warm sulphur springs did us all the world of good. She fed me on raw eggs beaten in milk. When the acacias glowed in their autumn finery, we had to return to the city and the good news of temporary upstairs rooms of a house provided by courtesy of the Japanese (presumably paid for by the German Government). We had wonderful views and downstairs German children to play with in the large garden. This certainly improved our lot, especially as we knew each other from the year or so spent together at the Trianon Hotel camp. Then even better news was to come our way with the offer of a delightful, typically Japanese style wooden house raised upon stone pillars standing within a walled garden with flowers, bushes, trees and stone lanterns. It had a balcony along the whole frontage; paper covered sliding doors and fitted 'tatima' matting sections on the bedroom floors. In the alcove, as the norm, reserved for a shrine with religious artefacts, or artistic flower arrangements, now stood Karin's' little bed.

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