Ch 23 - Kawasaki - Nishin Flour Mill

CHAPTER 23

KAWASAKI

NISHIN FLOUR MILL

Together with our belongings, we were loaded aboard three open trucks equipped with benches along each side of the beds, and away we went. Those without seats stood in the center of the truck, holding on to the bars used for supporting the canvas covers now removed from the beds of the trucks. The trucks moved slowly through a maze of narrow streets for nearly an hour until the small convoy approached a huge array of grain silos! As we sat waiting for the trucks to move, I counted the huge silos and was amazed to find the silos were three wide, and twenty one in length! Sixty three enormous silos in all. It was an astounding sight, the silos were very large in diameter and all joined together to form an immense structure stretching off to our right.

The engines started and when I turned, I realized that a large gate had opened off to the left, revealing a compound containing numerous buildings, and encircled by a tall, wooden fence. The trucks slowly entered the compound and stopped. We dropped to the ground and stood waiting for instructions. To our right stood a large, two story building. The windows on the ground floor were boarded up. A Japanese man appeared from a low, single story building located directly across from the tall building and approached our gathering. The man was small, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and was dressed in dark garments. His blouse had a tall, tight collar. His shoes resembled black Chinese moccasins. He gestured toward the tall building to our right.

“Please take your things into that building. You will live there while you are here at the Nishin Flour Mill. More instructions will come later,” he said in excellent English.

I picked up my possessions and walked toward the open doorway leading into the building. Once inside, I found a wide aisle, with a raised platform built on each side of the aisle. On the platform were beds, side by side, a space of twenty four to thirty inches separating each gray colored pad which would serve as a mattress. I chose the right side of the aisle, the third ‘mattress’ from the door. Piling my things onto the bed I sat down on the edge of the platform.

Feeling the urge to find the ‘benjo’, I wandered through the door, passing the men still entering the building, and walked out into the wide, open area filling the space between the ‘barracks’ and the low structure across the way. I inquired the location of the ‘benjo’ from a man standing nearby, and he directed me to the right toward a small structure next to the barracks.

I completed my mission and was on my way back to the barrack when a voice called to me from my right. I turned, and found the Japanese man in the dark clothes who had addressed our group on our arrival.

“We must have three men to cook for all”, he said seriously. My mind snapped back to a similar situation at the Pasay School!

“I can cook rice,” I told him quickly.

“Do you know others?” he asked, and I shook my head.

“Come with me,” he gestured, and started off to our right. We walked past the ‘benjo’, turned left around the corner of another single storied building. He stopped at a door midway along the length of the structure and motioned for me to go inside. I noticed the upper part of the door was glassed in. Just inside, a four foot aisle ran the length of the building, parallel to the front. Another aisle led from the doorway back to the rear of the room. To my right was a table, ten to twelve feet long and three feet wide. Directly behind this was another the same size. To my left, and across the aisle from the end of the first table, was a structure built from ordinary bricks. The purpose for this creation was to support two very large cast iron kettles, or rice pots.

These two pots were totally different from the type usually seen that resembled inverted turtle shells. These were smaller in diameter, but much deeper. Halfway up the pots the diameter was greater than at the bottom, and then tapered to a smaller diameter at the top. The pots were supported around their circumference with the exception of the front where the fire box entry was located. I guessed eighteen inches of clearance was available under each pot to maintain the fire.

Behind the brick structure was a large open space that ran to the left wall. Another door was located on this side, apparently also leading to the outside. The open space continued back into a large alcove that appeared to be an extension to the back of the building. Another door could be seen in the far right wall of the main area of the kitchen, just beyond the end of the second long table.

“You will work here,” the black clad Japanese man said with a motion of his hand, “Now perhaps you will begin cleaning rice pots and utensils here, and I must go for more men to cook!”

The man quickly disappeared through the door, in search of more cooks!

A long, oval rack hung from the ceiling over the front table, and abundant ladles and dippers, and other kitchen articles hung from hooks on the rack. I certainly had yet to see such a well equipped kitchen in a prison camp! I suspected this kitchen had been used by others of a higher level in the Japanese hierarchy, however, I would be more than happy to work in such luxurious surroundings! When I envisioned the crude kitchen area at the Pasay School, the dirt floor and the entire front open to the dust and the flies, I would certainly be honored to spend my days in this fine kitchen!

My thoughts were interrupted when the door jerked open and a rather large man entered with the Japanese man who had escorted me close behind.

“You will work here,” he said to the other, and abruptly spun around and exited. The new entrant smiled at me and nodded.

“My name is Freddie Harris,” he said pleasantly. I introduced myself, and shook hands. He wanted to know if I had cooked rice before and I nodded, and was about to tell him of my previous ‘experience’ when the door jerked open once again, and I was in the presence of one James Mac K Sloan, the third party of our newly appointed kitchen crew. He slammed his heels together and offered his soon to be famous British salute! I would enjoy, and endure this salute often in the coming months! Jimmie Sloan was the epitome of all British soldiers! I can still hear the clickety-clack of his hob nailed boots as he performed the traditional British approach to salute. He would clack across the tiled kitchen floor, stop and stomp each boot, then snap into his British salute, right palm facing forward, snug against his right forehead. How I enjoyed James Mac K Sloan!

“James Mac K Sloan reporting for duty!” he snapped, standing at attention. I looked at Freddie, and he shrugged.

“We’ll have to take him,” Freddie says, “It’s difficult to find good help these days!” We all burst out laughing and a solid friendship was to exist among the three of us!

We pooled our knowledge on the art of cooking rice, then together, we inventoried the kitchen, cleaned the rice pots thoroughly, cleaned all of the utensils, the large tables, and finally the floor. The Jap interpreter entered as we were cleaning the place, and seeing our efforts, he nodded jerkily, apparently approving. While he was still there, the door opened and a very short, and very stocky Japanese man entered the kitchen. The interpreter told the three of us this was Matsumoto, and we would see Matsumoto quite often. He said Matsumoto would accompany us when we went for supplies, and he would guard us against any attacks by the people outside. Matsumoto stood erect, all five feet of him, seemingly aware the other Jap was talking about him. Matsumoto would certainly prove to be quite a character.

After the two Japs had exited our workplace, we talked of our existence before coming here. Both of these men were captured at Hong Kong, and both had resided at Omori for a very long time. They were eager to hear anything of the progress of the war I might be aware of. Apparently, these men had received some news of the war, but little of the action in the Pacific. They explained that information entered Omori from the German Embassy! A Scottish sea Captain at Omori apparently had an old friend assigned to the embassy, and in some manner, the German could occasionally pass along information to this Captain. I related to them many bits of info that been passed along from the Filipino shopkeepers along the boulevard enroute to Nichols Field. All of this was new to Fred and Jimmie, kept ignorant of any news of the Pacific war for such a long time.

The door again swung open and a youngish, pleasant looking man entered. He introduced himself as Johnny Kelly, and explained that he would be the “dog robber” for the Jap Officer, or Officers, and he would be working out of the galley, or kitchen along with us. He was a cheerful young man, and I took an immediate liking to him.

As the four of us compared notes, I learned Freddie Harris hailed from Australia, and James Mac K Sloan and John Kelly were Scottish. As time rolled on, I was to learn much of Scotland from Jimmie Sloan. He was a true Scot! Every bone, and each drop of blood within his body was Scottish! How I enjoyed hearing him speak his brogue. Freddie Harris was from Sydney, Australia, and from Freddie I learned that girls were not girls, they were sheila’s!

We existed within a tiny, but separate universe. There was no resemblance to the Philippine prison camps. Here it was clean, less violent, and most enjoyed a more favorable physical condition. Gone was the plague of flies and filth, the absence of food and water. These were plentiful here in this camp.

“You know, we’re right on the edge of Tokyo Bay just as we were at the Omori Camp,” Jimmie Sloan announced, “and there’s even a bloody wharf out there!” Jimmie declared pointing.

“You know James, might even be a chance we could go fishing,” Freddie Harris suggested, “we might even catch a ride on one of those Yank submarines that are probably cruising about in the bay.”

Jimmie Sloan and I howled at that one!

The next morning a new participant entered our kitchen. He was a small, pleasant Japanese man, and his name was Takabyashi. He would prepare food for the Japanese, the Officer in charge, Lt. Sato, and the enlisted men, all whom lived in the building next to the kitchen, and across from our living quarters. Apparently, John Kelly would work with Takabyashi. After the entrance of Takabyashi, the small Jap interpreter came through the door and called we three ‘cooks’ together.

“Now, two of you must go with Matsumoto to the market! You will get food to cook for the workers. Please come out and I will explain.”

Once outside, he told us that two men would go whenever rice is needed. He pointed out Freddie and myself to make the first trip to the ‘market’. He led us around the corner of the building to a small building between the kitchen and the Japanese quarters. Opening the door he pointed at two large, woven bags.

“The rice is there in bags,” he said, then motioned at some heavy shelving on the left side of the small room, “the vegetables are there. When you go to market, you will bring everything here to this place, and put in this room.”

The vegetables mentioned, appeared to be huge, white radishes! I could not see what some boxes on the shelves contained, but probably would find out later. We then walked back to the kitchen.

Freddy Harris and I prepared to go to the market, where ever that was. Matsumoto motioned for us to follow him outside. There before us stood two strange looking bicycles! Each was equipped with a two wheeled trailer! He motioned for us to get on the bikes. His bike, minus a trailer, was leaning against the building. “Matsie”, as we began to call him, led us to the gate where the guard checked us out, then opened one half of the gate and we pushed our bikes out into the street and climbed on. I found the bike pedaled rather easily, despite the two-wheeled trailer. We traveled along the narrow street northward for about a quarter of a mile where Matsumoto turned left, then crossed a bridge over a canal. We pedaled along for some time until houses and small buildings appeared on both sides of the street.

The buildings grew in number and a few two story structures became apparent. One such building on our left side was a movie theater! The face of the building was right on the sidewalk, and posters of Japanese movies were pasted up on the front windows! Naturally, we came to a screeching halt! This did not please Matsumoto one bit, but by the time he was able to stop his bicycle, Freddie and I were off our bikes and standing before the theater posters, pointing and jabbering about the girls in the photo’s. The fact the girls were attired in kimono’s and clogs failed to dim our enthusiasm, and Matsie became quite excited and began waving his arms to catch our attention. Obviously, we ignored him until he became rather frantic and began stomping his feet!

Reluctantly, we mounted our four wheeled vehicles and pedaled onward to our next adventure. Shortly, we crossed a wider canal, turned to the left onto a rather wide street, and moved along for about a mile to a scattering of low buildings and open stalls where clusters of people were milling about with woven baskets and bags. It was a market of sorts, with piles of the huge, white radishes, bins of greens, and huge stacks of woven bags, obviously full of grain since small piles of rice and some kind of red grain could be seen at the corners of the bags. Matsumoto approached another short Japanese man holding a sheaf of papers and jabbered, pointing at the two of us and our bikes. The man nodded and motioned at one of the stacks. We were instructed to load one of the bags into each of the bike trailers. We quickly found the sacks to be quite heavy. Next we were rationed out bundles of the huge radishes, and several bundles of large greens. I wondered to myself whether I could pedal the bike with such a load, but after Matsumoto signed for the supplies, I found once I managed to get the bike in motion, I was able to roll along without too much trouble. Hopefully, Matsie would return to the camp by the same route, which was flat.

After arriving at the camp, Freddie and I unloaded the supplies and then entered the kitchen to relate our adventures to Jimmie Sloan. When we described the movie house, our friend Jimmie beamed all over and fired one question after another. Needless to say, Freddie and I expanded the little episode into a mind boggling, earth shaking experience! By this time, our friend Sloan could hardly wait to see the small, wooden theater that in his mind’s eye equaled in magnificence the finest theater in all of Edinburgh.

We fell into a daily routine, far more pleasant than any I had experienced previously as a guest of the Emperor! I enjoyed the camaraderie shared by the three of us in the galley. We were each bestowed with a much needed sense of humor, we had gained weight since we no longer were required to scratch for food. The two British soldiers, (I referred to them as the two cockneys, which brought much wrath upon me,) were happy with an ample supply of tea which was supplied to us for all to enjoy. The men liked the tea, the British because it was tea, the Americans because it was closer to coffee than water.

On another sunny, quiet morning, Jimmy and I, accompanied by our constant traveling companion, Matsumoto, pedaled off to the market for supplies. Matsie directed us on a slightly different routing than our usual one on this occasion, and we were all eyes when we crossed the canal and made our way along a street bordered by wooden buildings on both sides. Some of the structures, marked by signs, appeared to be small businesses, others were diminutive homes with vegetable gardens covering most of the small yards. As we passed one building, James Mac K Sloan stopped very quickly and stood staring up at a building on our right which had a high porch across the front, with wide, wooden steps leading up to the porch. The building was perhaps forty feet wide, and across the entire front appeared to be folding doors, drawn back on each side, and the front was open for all to see. Jimmy was not looking at the porch, or the doors, he was staring at what the open doors revealed!

Numerous Japanese girls and women in various stages of undress were entering or leaving the large bath which was emitting clouds of steam caused by the cool, morning air colliding with the hot air arising from the bath! Jimmy’s mouth hung open, Matsie was thunderstruck, and I just stared!

The females could be heard giggling as they held articles of cloth up to shield themselves from our view. Of course, some of them did not shield themselves, either because they were startled, or because they were used to being seen. Matsumoto suddenly awoke to the situation and waved his wooden saber and demanded we move on. He was forced to poke Jimmy a few times for results, but finally managed to get us moving! What a rewarding experience! Jimmy pedaled along with a great smile on his face, thinking no doubt of ways to describe this startling event to Freddie, who had after all, missed one of the great peep shows of all time!

“Now, Alf,” he says, “we must paint a splendid picture for our friends Freddie and John Kelly! Do you not agree? They will be fighting to join us on our next expedition to the market! Cannae ye nae see them, frothing at the mouth?” Jimmy had me in stitches as we pedaled along the street, alert for new adventures!

“James Mac K Sloan,” I says as I managed to avoid some sizeable rocks in my path, “I am sure you will indeed deliver a glowing description of that stable of voluptuous beauties as they bodily attacked us as we attempted to escape them and forge onward to the market!”

“Now Alf, I dinnae plan to carry my story quite that far, old man!”

“James, old boy, I wouldn’t miss hearing your depiction of our great adventure for a hundred yen!” I says. He looks at me.

“A hundred....yen?” he says, “Why you’re daft man, that’s a mere pittance! Why, my story will be worth millions, even thousands!” And we laughed as we pedaled onward.

CHAPTER 24

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