February 6, 1942

Peg washed my hair in a fire-bucket. Mrs. Dawson would have set it in waves, but the straight-back effect plaited into a pigtail every morning by June seems more suited to the simple life we live on a mattress surrounded by bags of leather and paper. June has knitted a red and blue tie for my pigtail, which has been dressed this way ever since we entered camp. June says I look young and like a little girl in my round-neck Christmas sweater. My state of mind has no time for waves, rouge, or lipstick. I cannot read or play cards when I am living this hard and I do feel it is a real experience, not a drop of which should be wasted or missed.

The berries from an unknown giver were consumed, It is a job to wash them without too much gazing and we hate to eat in front of people who have no extras. Everyone who has anything eats behind the hand, or bent down over it.

Our camp is lucky to have the beauty of pines, blue sky, clouds, mountains. We could not be detained in a lovelier place. I have not been conscious of being a prisoner yet, do not notice the barbed wire, fence or guards, bayonets or guns. Even the machine gun trained on us for two days, covered with canvas, made little impression. For a while it was touch and go, so [no doubt should have had more fear and perhaps did, subconsciously, Most of us can walk on the path right at a soldier coming forward with bayonet held out and remain unmoved. Are we too tired or have we had too much taken away to be bothered by small things? Have nothing left to worry about, only to be concerned for our lives?

Perhaps being stripped of possessions clears out worry, makes for peace of mind. It may be only simple living
from one meal to another that makes us adjust. We don’t do much head work.

Share on facebook
Share on twitter
Share on linkedin