Seize the Day. A M (Jack) Harris
swans glided through water lilies while red and gold fish swum effortlessly beneath them. The huge walls beyond the moat were of fashioned blocks, all different in size but fitted together so cleverly they seemed to curve smoothly upward with effortless grace. There was such a singular beauty about the palace and the moat, with cherry blossom in bloom, and in the far distance the snow-covered crest of Mount Fuji. In a way the tranquillity I knew walking about the palace convinced me that all Japanese men could not be bad, and the women, or one of them at least, were of fine character.
In time Midori and I came to talk about marriage, as it seemed that her husband must be dead. Just then, however, there was a non-fraternisation ban in place, which meant that British and Australian soldiers could not marry Japanese women. The Americans had no such ban and it was hoped that later the British also would abandon their restriction. At that time, if it became known that I was cohabiting with Midori, I could face court martial. But our plans had to be abandoned when Midori was told by the Japanese government that her husband was being returned from Siberia. He was said to be very ill, psychologically scarred, and she was expected to care for him, to nurse him back to health.
On our last night together Midori lay beside me, weeping softly. When we parted we kissed, and for both of us the meeting of our lips meant more than the urgency our bodies had known in love, and more too than her room where we had so often slept close together. The kiss took in more than the exquisite garden outside her home with its bamboo and cypress which seemed to protect the Suimoto home. I felt abandoned, knowing that my cup of happiness my grandmother once talked about had been rudely tipped.
I was returned to my battalion in mid-1950. It had been re-named the Third Battalion, The Royal Australian Regiment 3RAR, just before it was ordered to Korea. Having requesting a reposting from the sedentary intelligence section, I was then a platoon sergeant with 9 Platoon C Company. Our battalion was to fight all the way to Chonju, a town about sixty miles from the Yalu River; it was there that I was wounded and our commanding officer Green was killed. Another accident in my life, which this time led to my return to Australia, a year’s study of Chinese, my re-posting back to Korea in early 1953 and now, my waiting for Pak and Chet to return from their mission behind the enemy lines in North Korea.
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