It is difficult to write about such a tumultuous time from the vantage point of a seven year old. The wagon trains crossing the plains to California faced many trials and hardships. The adults suffered the toil and responsibilities with full awareness. Young children and the elderly often died on the way. The happiest travelers were the seven to ten year olds, too young to be be burdened with heavy duties, too young to worry about what might befall, but able and aware enough enjoy the excitement of the journey.
So it was that I, hungry for new adventure, found the prospect of traveling across an ocean pleasurable and exciting.
It was not as if we didn't know a war was coming. When I was five Chamberlain had declared his famous 'peace in our time' report to the British people. No one wanted war of course. Everyone wanted to just wish it away.
Besides Chamberlain, my parents discussed Hitler and Mussolini. They were bad people. There were other strangely named people we should hate; Hirohito, Tojo, Yamamoto, Goebbels, Schicklgruber, (Hitler's father's name until he changed it to Hitler). My father, would do an admirable impersonation of Hitler. He would rumple up his dark hair, place something black under his nose to represent a mustache, and fulminate in tolerable German.
The declaration of War by Britain and France in September 1939 was endlessly discussed by my parents and their British friends. Evacuations were begun in Britain. We had relatives in Liverpool, my father's sisters, Elizabeth and Isobel (Bess and Belle), his nephew David, my grandmother and uncle Norman and his wife and cousin Susan. As I have mentioned, in the summer of 1940 we tried to sail across the Atlantic to see them. We were turned back.
So now in the early months of the year my parents made preparations for us to evacuate Japan. For some reason my father was not allowed to leave, but 'women and children' were given a chance. Somehow passage was arranged for my mother and I on the last ship leaving the port of Yokohama. It was the Hiye Maru a Japanese ship with a Japanese Captain. We were allowed fifty pounds of baggage each. We left in the company of another family, the Robertsons, Mrs. Robinson, my friend Irene, and her older sister Betty. It was March of 1941.
I remember how the ship looked, tied at the Yokohama dock. We boarded, and stood at the rail from the first class deck and helping ourselves to rolls of paper streamers passed around by the crew. When the "All Ashore" was called visitors went down the gangplank back to the dock and mingled with the crowd that had gathered to see us depart. My father was down there somewhere. I could not see him. We threw streamers down, holding one end as the roll unfurled, hopefully to be seized by a loved one on the pier. A tangle of colored paper ribbons bound us to the shore. The ship's lines were loosed, and the ship slowly began to inch forward. The ribbons parted, a few at first, then more and more until no ties to the land remained. My mother and I went to our cabin. My mother was in tears. Thoroughly alarmed, for I had never seen her cry, I said the stupid sort of thing that comes to a seven year old's mind.
"Don't be a baby!"
"I'm not a baby," said my mother.
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