With loud pounding, Nakamura and the guards waked us in the darkness, tacking a huge sign on the tree in front of barracks—headed by “NEWS” in big black and red letters, “Singapore FELL on Feb. 15 at 7:50 P.M.”
At roll call, we were given a number to sew on ourselves. I can now write to mother and sign it “Your loving daughter No. 87” if and when we are allowed to write. Neither can I be shot for looting, being identified as
a camp member. I sewed 88 on June and 89 on Bedie’s sweater.
Leung Nang and other Chinese were ordered to dig a hole out front; a tall thin pine stripped of branches was brought to it, and Dr. Dean stamped and pounded the base in. From the guardhouse came forth a white cloth with large Rising Sun which was tied to the top of the tree post. Nakamura, Sergeant and six privates lined up, took off bayonets from sheath at waist, put on gun, faced left and back twice, Sergeant in front, Nakamura in line,
all shouting three times what sounded like “tag” as the flag was pulled to the top.
Men and women can join on the tennis court till 7 but must talk only family affairs, nothing about “soldiers.”