Free Forgiveness by Mark Sakamoto Page B

from the Magdalen Islands, the next three weeks would be the closest to royal treatment they would ever experience. They were billeted in the Shamshuipo barracks, which was right next to the dockyard. Constructed for the British troops in 1927, it had an air of empire to it. The grounds were orderly, with green grass growing in the well-maintained courtyard. Chinese boys scuttled to and fro as servants, helping the men with their gear, asking to clean their shoes, cook them some meat. Mosquito nets hung over every standard-issue and precisely made bed. The concrete floors were swept clean, the bedding neatly tucked in. Everything seemed in order.
    Ralph found his assigned bunk, unloaded his gear, and walked the perimeter of the camp to get his bearings. The camp sat atop steep cliffs that looked out over the harbour. It was a beautiful, expansive view. The Chinese junks with their large painted sails, which ferried goods and people across the harbour, looked like they were from another time. From these peaks, he could see Hong Kong Island. It, too, seemed a bustling place. Ringing the north side of the camp was a long, winding road that hugged the coast. The road led to downtown Kowloon, where a group of men headed just as soon as their commanding officers let them.
    Major MacAuley gathered all the men in the centre courtyard. The excited group stood at attention with the greatest of difficulty. They were, after all, just boys. Most had never ventured out of theirprovince before enlisting. The foreign sights and smells outside the camp walls enticed their imagination. Now, halfway around the world, they were eager to soak up the sun and see what kind of fun they could find. The major reminded the boys of their obligation to their regiment and their country. NO funny business.
    Ralph and Deighton met up with a crew that had already grouped together by the camp’s main gate. They left camp as quickly as the major’s words left their minds. In Kowloon, they first hit an open market. Food was prepared on the street, and fine silks in every colour hung from the vendors’ stalls.
    “Ralphie, look at this place! Look at these prices! We’re going to live like kings.”
    Deighton was right. The conversion rate was six Hong Kong dollars for every Canadian one. Even after the twenty-dollars-per-month that went to his mother, Ralph had about $130 Hong Kong dollars to spend on anything he wanted. It went a long way, and he came back from his first venture with some silk for baby Alayne. He also bought his mother a teapot; she was so fond of a good cup of tea. He told himself that he’d mail it as soon as he could. He would never get the chance.
    By the time Ralph and Deighton made it back to camp, some soldiers had already hired local Chinese boys as personal servants to shave them, shine their shoes, and wash and press their clothes. Some men really lived it up from day one. The company’s shoemaker lost no time and promptly moved off base with a Chinese woman. Ralph could not let himself part with his money so easily. He would shave himself, thank you very much. He was determined not to get too carried away in this new world.
    The first night ended with a big feast put on by many of the local folks to welcome their new Canadian guardians. There was beef, rice, shrimp dumplings, green tea, and, of course, a good amount of beer. Ralph went to bed with a full belly and a smile on his face. Things were looking up for him and his pals. This was going to be a breeze. For the next three weeks the men spent their days lazilypreparing the camp and their nights taking the rickshaws into town to hit the SunSun Café. They fraternized with the locals, playing ball with the local Portuguese ball team and getting into the odd brawl with their British comrades. The only enemy was the daily hangover.
    Nothing lasts forever. Not with fifty thousand hardened Japanese troops coming at you with all their might.
    December 7, 1941, started out like