God Sister Teresa

‘You died in misery, often in agony, upon no bed, with nothing but a sack to cover you…’ These words are from a prayer by Father Malcolm Cowin, in memory of those members of the forces who died in Japanese prisoner-of-war or internment camps between 1939 and 1945. They often came to mind when I was in hospital having a painful knee replacement.

The Roman Catholic church in Wymondham, near Norwich, was built in 1952 under the auspices of Father Cowin, who had been a military chaplain in the Far East. It stands as a permanent memorial to those killed in South-east Asia during the Second World War: in the church are many beautifully bound volumes containing, in fine calligraphy, the names of those who perished in the grimmest of circumstances; a service is held in Wymondham every May in memory of them.

The books containing the roll of honour were beginning to be damaged by exposure to sunlight, and an embroidered cover was needed to protect them. A nice young man, whose knowledge of the war in the Far East was encyclopedic, was delegated by the parish to deal with me; between us we were expected to come up with a satisfactory design.

I fear that the maxim ‘the customer is always right’ receded as we argued about the artwork. He was at first adamant that a map of the terrible Death Railway framed in coils of barbed wire would be ideal. This seemed to me to be too ugly and with no hint of consolation or of reconciliation. Anyway, it was the wrong shape; so we argued.

Fortunately, we ended up with an image satisfactory to us both: the combined national flowers of Singapore, Malaysia and Burma (orchids) and Japan (chrysanthemums ), with bamboo to represent the Far East in general.

In the days before Google, I had (and still have) a dictionary of symbols which is worth its weight in gold. It included the notion that sparrows perching in bamboo were an emblem of friendship. I was keen to leave out the barbed wire and was cross when my client insisted on it. He wanted some indication of the suffering that had taken place. He was right: barbed wire turned out to be an embroiderer’s dream and uncannily realistic, even though it was soft and silky to the touch, and it spoke volumes about what imprisonment actually means.

I had spotted a small, scruffy piece of typing among my client’s documents and asked, idly, what it was. He handed me Father Cowin’s prayer, spoken at the dedication of the church. It seemed to say everything that needed to be said. With this prayer at its heart, both physically and spiritually, the design was complete.

‘You died in misery, often in agony, upon no bed, with nothing but a sack to cover you, in squalor unbelievable. Here is the symbol of things you never knew in your last days, of peace, and quiet, and the cool, soft air of prayer, in the abiding presence of Him whose suffering was greatest of all.’