Changes, Changes, Changes

Not too long after Shanghai was under Japanese Occupation, things changed quickly. 

My father was ordered to develop a sort of neighborhood watch system. Only it was not a regular neighborhood watch, but more like a civilian Sentinel. We were to have four sentry posts, one for each corner of our Longtang. All the able-bodied male age fourteen and up in the neighborhood had to take turns standing guard. Each person was to have a four-hour long duty. Father was to organize this and oversee the operation.
Well, since father had to go to work, mother became the real organizer and overseer. My brother, Fu, had to take his turn as a sentry. It kept my mother pretty busy. Sentry posts had to be filled no matter what. We did not want father to be charged for not following orders and suffer whatever consequences. Mother apparently did a good job. We had no troubles that I knew of. But I am sure mother had some terrible times trying to handle this unwelcome job. She had to do whatever to keep us safe. She had, at times, to stand in for the sentry, if there had a vacant spot to be filled. She had no choice.
So all over the city of Shanghai, we had civilian sentries.
Soon after, we had to have black curtains for our windows - we had blackouts because of fear of bombing.
There were no shelters for any of us. The best that my mother could do was to put some quilts on top of our very heavy rosewood tables downstairs, and we children would go under the table when the siren ran, warning us of possible bombing. The rest of the family took chances and hoped for the best.
I am sure mother knew that the quilts would not have helped us any if the bombs actually drop over our heads. It merely made her feel better knowing that she did the Best she could to protect us. 

With all the rations, we started having a few chickens in our courtyard, so that we could have a chicken for a meal once in a while. We city children thought it was fun, since we had no previous experiences in raising chicken. My brothers and I thought of the chickens as pets more than food. How ignorant we were?
We also had to keep coal in a heap in one corner of the courtyard. Mother would eyeball the heap to make sure that we had enough coal to last us through winter. It barely did.
I also remember that we would only have one electric light on downstairs and one electric light on upstairs in the evenings. We all huddled together in one room if we needed to have light, or we would have to be in the dark. 
We had a radio, but short-waved radio was not allowed. Newspapers did not tell us what was gong on in the city or in the world. Somehow, we, managed to hear something over the radio - not really enough information as how the war was getting on.

The Chinese government had moved its capital to the interior - the wartime capital of Chungking. The allies were aiding us. 

Survival was the foremost idea on everyone's mind. Laughter disappeared from every household. There was a constant sense of fear. 

One day mother said that she had to go to some place some miles away from home. She at first did not tell us what she had to do. Later on, we learned that she was ordered to move her father's grave and relocate the coffin to some place other than the cemetery, because the Japanese was going to build an airfield where the cemetery was. Mother had to ride a hired-rickshaw for the journey, which was long and rough. Mother was exhausted and utterly worn after the difficult journey, and later, she complained about her backache for a long while. She, however, never uttered a word about the ordeal.

So life went on  . . .