A Twist in the Tale

“He’s coming to the phone, sir,” the secretary said nervously. The Colonel walked over to the phone and waited. He found himself standing to attention when he heard the gentle, cultivated voice ask, “Is that you, Colonel?” It took Richard Moore less than ten minutes to explain the problem he faced and obtain the authority he needed.

Immediately he had completed his conversation he returned to the tribunal headquarters. He marched straight back into the conference room just as General Tomkins was settling down in his chair to start the afternoon proceedings.

The Colonel was the first to rise from his place when the General declared the tribunal to be in session. “I wonder if I might be allowed to open with a statement?” he requested.

“Be my guest,” said Tomkins. “But make it brief. We’ve got a lot more of these Japs to get through yet.”

Colonel Moore looked around the table at the other eleven men.

“Gentlemen,” he began. “I hereby resign my position as the British representative on this commission.”

General Tomkins was unable to stifle a smile.

“I do it,” the Colonel continued, “reluctantly, but with the backing of my Prime Minister, to whom I spoke only a few moments ago.” At this piece of information Tomkins’ smile was replaced by a frown. “I shall be returning to England in order to make a full report to Mr. Attlee and the British Cabinet on the manner in which this tribunal is being conducted.”

“Now look here, sonny,” began the General. “You can’t—”

“I can, sir, and I will. Unlike you, I am unwilling to have the blood of innocent soldiers on my hands for the rest of my life.”

“Now look here, sonny,” the General repeated. “Let’s at least talk this through before you do anything you might regret.”

There was no break for the rest of the day, and by late afternoon Major Sakata, Sergeant Akida and Corporal Sushi had had their sentences commuted to life imprisonment.

Within a month, General Tomkins had been recalled by the Pentagon to be replaced by a distinguished American marine who had been decorated in combat during the First World War.

In the weeks that followed the new appointment the death sentences of two hundred and twenty-nine Japanese prisoners of war were commuted.

Colonel Moore returned to Lincolnshire on November 11, 1948, having had enough of the realities of war and the hypocrisies of peace.

* * *

Just under four years later Richard Moore took holy orders and became a parish priest in the sleepy hamlet of Weddlebeach, in Suffolk. He enjoyed his calling and he rarely mentioned his wartime experiences to his parishioners, although his thoughts often returned to his days in Japan.

“Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall…” the vicar began his sermon from the pulpit one Palm Sunday morning in the early 1960s, but he failed to complete the sentence.

His parishioners looked up anxiously only to see that a broad smile had spread across the vicar’s face as he gazed down at someone seated in the third row.

The man he was staring at bowed his head in embarrassment and the vicar quickly continued with his sermon.

When the service was over Richard Moore waited by the east door to be sure his eyes had not deceived him. When they met face to face for the first time in fifteen years both men bowed and then shook hands.

The priest was delighted to learn over lunch that day back at the vicarage that Chopsticks Sakata had been released from prison after only five years, following the Allies’ agreement with the newly installed Japanese government to release all prisoners who had not committed capital crimes. When the Colonel inquired after “Sweet and Sour Pork” the Major admitted that he had lost touch with Sergeant Akida (Sweet) but that Corporal Sushi (Sour) and he were working for the same electronics company. “And whenever we meet,” he assured the priest, “we talk of the honorable man who saved our lives, ‘the British Bullfrog.’”

* * *

Over the years, the priest and his Japanese friend progressed in their chosen professions and regularly corresponded with each other. In 1971 Ari Sakata was put in charge of a large electronics factory in Osaka while eighteen months later Richard Moore became the Very Reverend Richard Moore, Dean of Lincoln Cathedral.

“I read in the London Times that your cathedral is appealing for a new roof,” wrote Sakata from his homeland in 1975.

“Nothing unusual about that,” the Dean explained in his letter of reply. “There isn’t a cathedral in England that doesn’t suffer from dry rot or bomb damage. The former I fear is terminal; the latter at least now has the chance of a cure.”

A few weeks later the Dean received a check for ten thousand pounds from a not-unknown Japanese electronics company.

When in 1979 the Very Reverend Richard Moore was appointed to the bishopric of Taunton, the new managing director of the largest electronics company in Japan flew over to attend his enthronement.

“I see you have another roof problem,” commented Ari Sakata as he gazed up at the scaffolding surrounding the pulpit “How much will it cost this time?”

“At least twenty-five thousand pounds a year,” replied the Bishop without thought. “Just to make sure the roof doesn’t fall in on the congregation during my sterner sermons.” He sighed as he passed the evidence of reconstruction all around him. “As soon as I’ve settled into my new job I intend to launch a proper appeal to ensure my successor doesn’t have to worry about the roof ever again.”