Perhaps that is why he seemed afraid, suddenly, when I asked to see him alone in his hotel room in Tokyo, where we were staying prior to our return to Britain. Days before, I had worked out what to do. I had decided to give him a piece of paper which I thought would meet both our needs, and had planned to give it to him in Kyoto; he had wanted very much to show me the great temples of the ancient former capital of Japan,
It rained heavily on the morning of our planned visit to Kyoto, and Nagase felt unwell, so we went with Yoshiko to that extraordinary place. In the rain, the glitter of the Golden Pavilion was softened, its image in the lake blurred. We walked around the stark, simple gardens and looked at everything we could, but I was worried about Nagase’s brush with his old cardiac trouble and anxious now to make our final peace.
Looking out the window of our room in the nondescript, modern Tokyo hotel, I could see through a gap created by a building site the coming and going of trains in the huge Tokyo railway station. I sat waiting for Patti and Yoshiko to go out. My request to see Nagase on his own must have carried a charge of electricity, for it disturbed Yoshiko and she said to Patti, with a worried look on her face, ‘Heart’, and glanced pleadingly at me. I said that it would be all right, but she could not hide her distress.
After they had gone I went next door. There in that quiet room, with the faint noise of trains and the city streets rising up to us, I gave Mr Nagase the forgiveness he desired.
I read my short letter out to him, stopping and checking that he understood each paragraph. I felt he deserved this careful formality. In the letter I said that the war had been over for almost fifty years; that I had suffered much; and that I knew that although he too had suffered throughout this time, he had been most courageous and brave in arguing against militarism and working for reconciliation. I told him that while I could not forget what happened in Kanburi in 1943, I assured him of my total forgiveness.
He was overcome with emotion again, and we spent some time in his room talking quietly and without haste.
* * *
The next morning we saw Nagase and Yoshiko to their train back to Kurashiki. He phoned us from there that evening to make sure that we were all right. I thought that I had seen him for the last time, perhaps for the last time in our lives. The following day we ourselves made our way to the train for Osaka, from where we would fly to Britain. When after a journey of three hours, the train drew to a halt in Osaka, we stepped on to the platform. At the exact spot where our carriage door opened there was my friend Nagase standing with Yoshiko, smiling and bowing. They knew exactly which coach we were in, and they were like excited children, so pleased to have tricked us; it was good to see them.
They took us to the airport and we left Japan. As the plane tilted us over the bay of Osaka, I held my wife’s hand. I felt that I had accomplished more than I could ever have dreamed of. Meeting Nagase has turned him from a hated enemy, with whom friendship would have been unthinkable, into a blood-brother. If I’d never been able to put a name to the face of one of the men who had harmed me, and never discovered that behind that face there was also a damaged life, the nightmares would always have come from a past without meaning. And I had proved for myself that remembering is not enough, if it simply hardens hate.
Back in Thailand, at the Chungkai War Cemetery, when Patti and I walked off on our own, she had had a moment of doubt as she looked at the rows and rows of graves, and wondered whether we were doing the right thing after all. It was only a moment, for we both knew we should be there. I said then: ‘Sometime the hating has to stop.’
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I acknowledge with gratitude the work of my literary agent, Hilary Rubinstein, whose experience, wisdom and kindness have contributed so much to the completion of this work.
Two members of the staff of the Imperial War Museum, Roderick Suddaby, Keeper of the Department of Documents, and Dr Christopher Dowling, Keeper of the Department of Museum Services, must also be given special thanks for encouragement and help over a long period of time.
I also owe a special debt to Mike Finlason, film producer and director, for his belief in the special nature of the story, for organising the filming of the unique events in Kanchanaburi in 1993 and for making the documentary Enemy My Friend, first shown publicly in South Africa.
I am also grateful for support from Jonathan Uzzell.
From Jonathan Cape, I would like to thank Jenny Cottom for her editorial care and the clear design of the book; and Kirsty Dunseath for her much appreciated hard work.
Nothing could have been achieved without the help of three ladies in Berwick-upon-Tweed. First, Julie Wastling helped at the start of the project; Joan Scott later undertook the processing of most of the pre-war part of the book. Sabina Maule worked on the extensive wartime and post-war section, much of which was revised constantly, and produced faultless typescripts at top speed, often despite personal and domestic commitments.
To Helen Bamber, Director of the Medical Foundation for the Care of Victims of Torture, I extend my deepest thanks for compassion, advice and encouragement, despite the claims of an exceptionally busy working life and the demands of the organisation of which she was a co-founder.
To my dear wife Patti, special acknowledgment must be made for her constant trust, devotion and support through both difficult times and good times.
Eric Lomax
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Copyright © Eric Lomax 1995
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First published in Great Britain by
Jonathan Cape Ltd, 1995
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ISBN 0099582317
Eric Lomax, The Railway Man
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