The love of two people hiding a fascinating story

A love of two people hiding a fascinating story.

I was sitting at home slightly stressed out as I was waiting for my Sats results. I just heard on the radio it was going to be a hot day In Phoenix. I sat here thinking about what I was going to do on a hot day. It was the end of the school year and most of my friends had left for a holiday in a cooler climate. A holiday in France was planned for me and my dad but I had to wait a couple of days as he had something to finish at the office. In a lethargic and bored way I looked around the room. It certainly was not decorated in a typical American fashion. The room was dominated by a strong Japanese influence. My mother was Japanese. There was a side board showing many photos of my father and mother in Hawaii. I got up and went over to look at the photos. I had lived these photographs all my life but for some reason I wanted to take a closer look at my mother. I had always felt she struggled with life living in America. Most of her life was spent looking after my father and me. She was definitely a home bird. I picked up a few photographs.

Stories related by my father told me of how they met and fell in love. My father was a young lieutenant in the American Naval stationed in Pearl Harbor. He met my mother who at that time was working at a well known bar and restaurant frequented by American service men. She was a young woman in her late teens. Her parents had sent her to live with an aunt in Hawaii when Japan entered a war with China. They thought that as the American had a large naval base there she would be safe. My father soon became influenced by Japanese culture. He was captivated by their conception and understanding of the meaning of life. The first time he saw my mother she was working as the welcoming hostess at the restaurant. He was instantly attracted to her. In their respective free time they begin seeing a lot of each other with many meals at her Aunt’s house.

Then the horror of Pearl Harbour struck. At the time my father was not on his ship but on shore leave. For the next two years Hawaii’s peaceful existence was lost to sadness. Seeing my mother and eating at her Aunt’s house were very limited. War continued to rage in Europe and the far east. As life was slowly getting back to normal In Hawaii the next tragedy happened. Two Atomic bombs were fatally dropped……Herishima and Nagasaki. My mother’s family lived in Nagasaki. My father at the moment knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Marry my mother and take her away from all her misery and profound grief to America. When he told her she fell into his arms.Two years later they were back in America as man and wife. My father left the navy and took a job in Phoenix In a large transport company. Today he is the managing director.

As I put the photos back on the side board I tried to imagine my mothers view of her life in America. She seemed to worship my father as the savior that had come to her rescue after the annihilation of her family. Yes, I think the initial emotion of love had been replaced by worship. She was a wonderful mother, always present and comprehensive. Outside her immediate family I believe she found America confusing. The American lifestyle: The influence of money, the showing of raw emotions whether it be jealousy, envy, brutality or compassion. She felt there were very little nuances and delicateness in Americans' everyday life. She died two years ago. She never talked about revisiting Japan or talked about her family. There were few people at her funeral. She died as a person caught up in the horrors of war.

In a reflexive mood I picked up the wooden doll that had always remained on top of the small corner cupboard. Mother brought it with her few processions that followed her to America. It was a present as she was leaving for Hawaii from her father’s brother who told her to always keep it safe as someday it might come in handy. She never quite understood what he meant, but for her the doll represented a connection to her past. It was her most treasured possession. I took it down to examine it more closely. It was most beautifully made in some exotic wood. Standing up on its two wooden legs it measured about 50 center metres, both the legs and arms one could articulate like a human's. The doll was of a young girl with a charming Japanese face with a ponytail molded in wood. The artists had dressed her in western style with a wooden cap on her back decorated in many caved wooden flowers. She was a pleasure to hold and absently mindedly I started to play with her arms and legs. Suddenly a tiny block of wood shot out from the back of her cape. It revealed a small hole barely visible to the naked eye. I was intrigued. It appeared to be some sort of catch. I found a steel pin and pushed it down the hole. There was a click and the back of the doll opened up. In its body was hidden a beautiful Japanese silk scarf wrapping something with a note attached. The note was in Japanese. I took out the scarf and unwrapped it to see what was inside. There lying before me were twenty five magnificent diamonds. I now knew what I had to do today was to persuade dad to have lunch with me.

“Harold is good to see you for lunch, but what’s so important.”

“I was playing with Mun’s Japanese doll and thinking about her when suddenly the doll showed me that there was a catch to open a space in her body. There I found this. I placed the diamond on the table. There are twenty four more of a similar size.”

“This is incredible. Tell me the whole story.” I did.

After a pleasant lunch with a limited discussion about my mother's family as my father had never met them or heard much about them. My father suggested he take the diamond and before he came back for dinner he would have found out its approximate value.

On entering their house the first thing he said.

“According to my experts this quality of diamond is worth 40,000 to 45,000 dollars. I have been thinking. Instead of going on a holiday to France, let's go to Japan and try and trace the uncle who gave my wife this gift”.

Three days later we were on a plane to Nagasaki. A city that had been completely destroyed by one of the most terrifying bombs. We had an odd feeling being in the city that today seemed full of life with people going about their business. It took a day to even speak about our plans to find the famous brother. The next day we went to the Atom Bomb Mansion and Museum. We found a record of my mothers parents' death. We then went to the Nagasaki Baptist Church and spent an hour thinking about my mother and praying for her parents. That night at dinner we talked about trying to find the brother of my mother’s father. The only thing my father vaguely remembers is that two years before Pearl Harbor he got married to an English woman. He remembered my mother was very sad not to be present at their wedding. He also remembers that through occasional correspondence with her parents the family had a long discussion about leaving Nagasaki. The brother was convinced the Americans would retaliate in some way for their losses at Pearl Harbor. He tried to persuade his brother to join him and his wife in the small country town where they were living. The question was where was the town?

Father had done some basic research on the British influence in Nagasaki. A hundred years ago it was quite important with a large British consulate, now defunct but one can still visit the building. There was also a large British trading company. The founder left his name on a place to visit called Glover Gardens. My father suggested we try there first. The next day we visited the gardens and talked to a couple British employees who introduced us to Elizabeth, a charming old woman that had been in the garden for some sixty years. When we questioned her she said she remembered her as in the days before Pearl Harbor she had married a Japanese man. It was a rare occasion in those days. The couple adored playing bridge. She told us to go to the local bridge club as she knew that they had been members.

The next day we had a meeting with an English man, president of the bridge club. After a preliminary conversation of who we were and that we were interested in meeting a member of our family. He gave us their address but told us two years ago the English woman had left her husband to return to England to look after her aging parents. In the manner of a true English gentleman he called the brother and arranged a meeting for us with him at his home for eleven the next day.

It was a short drive to a town called Togitsu north of Nagasaki. We were welcomed by an old distinguished looking man dressed in a kimono. He was of above average height with a shock of white hair. His large intently dark eyes gave me the impression of an owl. We sat drinking sake in a beautifully designed Japanese house in a room overlooking what looked like an extraordinary garden. In these surroundings I thought his way of living had a very superior quality. We talked about my mother and life in America. Finally my father broached the subject of the doll he had given her.

He looked at us. “Did she ever need my present”?

It was my father that replied. “No, but in her lifetime she never found the answer to your generous gift. It was my son who by chance opened the beautiful wooden doll and found the diamonds. Did you make the doll”?

“Yes I did. Over the course of a few years I made three dolls. The first to your future wife as she left for Hawaii. The second to my brother’s wife, unhappily lost on the 9th August 1945 and the third to my wife who left me to go back to England to look after her aging parents. Each was identical with the same present.”

He paused and for a reason only known to himself. His face lit up with a gorgeous smile and he started laughing.

“The diamonds in your possession are of exceptional quality. Diamonds I could never afford to buy. So I stole them. I must explain. I was in the diamond trade as a courier. Over the years I have been in front of many diamond displays of producers selling me their merchandise. Occasionally I swooped high quality fakes for one of two of these exceptional diamonds. I was very discerning. I am very good at sleight of hand. In all businesses there are good and bad traders. I enjoy the switch with the bad traders.”

My father and I just sat there dumbfounded.

“So gentleman, I am taking you for lunch to a typical Japanese restaurant. To close the book on the diamonds. The gift is my pleasure, but be careful when you sell them, do it one or two at a time.”

As we were finishing with coffee our host addressed us with a favor

“ When you go back to America would you do me a favor and pass by London. My wife is living with her aged parents in Knightsbridge, central London. You could tell her you saw me and I was interested to know when she was coming back. I miss her. Frankly I don’t think she ever will. You might also find out what she has done with the doll. I suspect nothing as she was not very pleased I made her take it with her. If I were you two I would buy it off her. She might be delighted. Thank you for coming. It was a delightful surprise. I am glad to see my brother's daughter marry a good man.

The meal and the company would be by far my most memorable event in Japan. We discussed it over dinner in Nagasaki. It will always remain for me a vision of an elegant and cultured Japanese man surrounded by a beautiful home and garden. I was grateful to have known him. The surprise about the stolen diamonds added a mysterious side to his character. We decided to spend another five days in Japan and then go back home via London and meet the wife of the brother.

We had received an invitation for tea at 4.30 from the wife of my mother’s father’s brother. As we rang her door bell we imagined these apartments would be large as the entrance hall was vast with a resident concierge. The door was opened by an elderly woman that resembled a character out of an Agathe Criste novel. She was of medium height with white hair tied up in an elegant bun on the top of her head.. Extremely well dressed in what I would imagine was a designer's suit. Her face was a picture of serenity with large blue eyes that appeared to be smiling with delight.

“Welcome, I will introduce you to my mother. My poor and beloved father died a year ago.

We were led into a large drawing room with her mother sitting in front of a tea tray. She was a very old woman. The whole atmosphere of the room was how I imagined the English upclass lived. Well chosen furniture, the sofas were not very comfortable but of antique standard. Golden framed pictures of the country scenes. A sideboard littered with photographs of her time in Japan with her husband. The conversation soon turned to our visit in Japan and my father’s wife. In between I noticed our hostess was constantly helping and assisting her mother. After about an hour of back and forth questions with a few periods of story telling we realized it was time to leave. Before we did, my father brought up the question of the doll.

“When we were with your husband we asked him if he made any more of those beautiful dolls. We thought our doll deserved a friend. He said no. He went on to say he only made three and it took many hours. He gave one to my wife. I told him it was her greatest treasure and was always on display in our house. He said he gave a doll to his brother that was lost in 1945 and the other was given to you when you left Japan. He told us at the time you were not very pleased at taking it with you. He suggested if we were interested in acquiring a second doll, we should ask if you would sell yours to us.

“My husband was correct, I did not want to take it. Leaving Japan was painful enough. Carrying a Japanese doll in my luggage was a burden I did not want. Today it is hidden in a bedroom drawer but to be truthful it does have a small sentimental value. It is beautifully made, but then my husband is a frustrated artist. I suppose if the price is right I would sell it to you.”

“What price are you thinking about?”

“ 750 pounds”

“That seems a very expensive price for a wooden doll made by an unknown artist and not in the category of antiquity. I agree it is beautiful. Made with exotic woods.

As it will remain in the family and that you are kind enough to consider to sell it to us would you take 700 pounds

“You are a hard man., but yes.”

“How do you want me to pay, bank transfer.?”

“As I trust you completely bank transfer when you get back to your hotel.”

As she closed the apartment door after giving us both a hug I took my father's hand.

‘Dad that was brillant”

We left London in a cloud of happiness after three days of site seeing. For me it had been a wonderful holiday visiting the most interesting places and meeting part of my mothers family. As we pack our bags my father suggested we put the doll in the suit case as opposed to our hand luggage. He remarked we certainly don’t want to be accused of diamond smuggling. Back home once we had settled in, I took the doll and tried to open its back. It took me over an hour to find the right combination for the tiny piece of wood to pop out. I called my father.

“Now for the truth.” The diamonds were no longer there, only a piece of paper that read.

To whom it may concern.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

Marilyn Monroe

David Nutt September 2025