From Tainan to Penghu

While we were living in Datong New Village in Tainan, when our son was one year and two months old, I became pregnant again.

At three months I caught a cold by mistake and went to hospital for medicine. I did not know I should tell the doctor I was pregnant. I brought home eight packets of medicine for two days.

I had only taken three packets when, early the next morning, as I was carrying a bucket of water home to cook breakfast, pains came in waves. I forced myself to cook the congee, fed my son until he was full, and could bear it no longer.

It was raining outside. I did not dare disturb the neighbours. I shut the door and drew the curtains. After one bout of pain I quickly caught the miscarried foetus in a basin, afraid and heartbroken.

I tidied myself as best I could, gave my son a toy to play with, and lay on the bed in grief.

It was after nine in the morning. The rain grew heavier and water came into the house. The child played in the water. Mrs Liu next door on the right was bailing water out of her room. She leaned over, saw my son playing in the water while I was still in bed, and asked, “What’s wrong? What happened?” At last the strong woman I was shed tears and told her, “I’ve miscarried.”

She was shocked. “Something this big—why didn’t you call us?” Mrs Lü on the left heard and hurried over. She had been a nurse at a field hospital in the north-east and was experienced. One look at what was in the basin under my bed told her it was indeed a foetus. She said, “Go to hospital at once for a check-up, or it could be dangerous.” I worried who would look after my son.

Just then Sister Wenlan heard the news and came too. Without a word she took what was under the bed away and disposed of it, came back, took my son, packed his clothes into a bundle, and told me, “Go to hospital with an easy mind. I’ll look after the child.” I was deeply moved. Though my husband was not with me, so many good neighbours were helping.

Someone went to the unit for a lorry and took me to the Tainan air force hospital. I stayed a week.

My husband received notice at Pingtung, completed his leave paperwork, came home, then came to the hospital to see me. By then I had only two days left before discharge.

Leave at most was five days; travel there and back used two, so he was truly home for only three days. The more he thought about it, the less at ease he felt. He wanted very much to live with his wife and child.

Later a superior suggested, “If you want to live with your dependants, the only way is to request a transfer to an offshore posting.”

In the 1950s Penghu counted as offshore.

The Gaoshan project had wound down by then. Squadrons were being set up one by one and my husband’s duties returned to normal, so he could apply to higher authority for a posting to Penghu.

From application to approval took half a year. In that time I regained my strength, learnt to knit sweaters for money, and bought my son a pair of leather shoes as a gift for his second birthday.

When the transfer orders to Magong came through, it was already the first month of 1953. Our family and Mr Wang’s family of four across the road went together to Kaohsiung to board the ferry to Magong. Mrs Wang was seven months pregnant.

In those days there were no civil flights between Penghu and Taiwan, only the ferry. It sailed three runs on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, rested Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, and did not sail on Sunday either. It was very inconvenient.

We waited all afternoon, ate simply at the pier, passengers trickled in before five, and the ship left on the dot at six.

The ferry was small. Crew and passengers numbered about a hundred. Inside the hold there were only tatami mats along both sides at the bottom of the cabin, with a walkway down the middle. Everyone lay on the mats.

The ship rolled violently. Many were sick enough to vomit into the walkway. The sour stench made those who had not been sick vomit too.

Only two passengers were bravest: Mr Wang and my son, who had just turned two. Neither was sick; they even ran out on deck for air and to watch the sea. I admired them.

After a whole night of misery we reached Magong at six in the morning.

Stepping off the ship and breathing fresh air, many feelings welled up. Penghu—we had come here; our family of three could at last live together.