Last Airlift Read online

  Last Airlift: A Vietnamese Orphan’s Rescue from War

  Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  Hardcover edition first published in the United States in 2012

  Text copyright © 2011 Marsha Skrypuch

  This edition copyright © 2011 Pajama Press Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright).

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  The publisher has made every reasonable effort to trace the persons depicted in photographs as well as the owners of copyrighted material. Any errors or omissions drawn to our attention will be gladly rectified in future editions.

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

  ePub ISBN 9781927485040

  PDF ISBN 9781927485217

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Skrypuch, Marsha Forchuk, 1954-

  Last airlift : a Vietnamese orphan’s rescue from war / Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch.

  ISBN 978-0-9869495-4-8 (bound).--ISBN 978-0-9869495-1-7 (pbk.)

  1. Son Thi Anh, Tuyet--Juvenile literature. 2. Orphans--Vietnam--Ho Chi Minh City--Biography--Juvenile literature. 3. Orphanages--Vietnam--Ho Chi Minh City--Juvenile literature. 4. Vietnam War, 1961-1975--Children--Biography--Juvenile literature. 5. Airlift, Military--Vietnam--History--20th century--Juvenile literature. 6. Vietnam War, 1961-1975--Participation, Canadian--Juvenile literature. 7. Adopted children--Canada--Biography--Juvenile literature. 8. Vietnamese Canadians--Biography--Juvenile literature. I. Title.

  DS559.8.C53S57 2011--- j959.704’3086914092 --- C2011-905422-1

  U.S. Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.)

  Forchuk Skrypuch, Marsha, 1954-

  Last airlift : a Vietnamese orphan’s rescue from war / Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch.

  [ ] p. : photos. ; cm.

  Includes index.

  Summary: The story of the last Canadian airlift rescue operation that left Saigon and arrived in Toronto on April 13, 1975. Son Thi Anh Tuyet was one of the 57 babies and children on that flight. Based on personal interviews and enhanced with archival photographs, Tuyet’s story of the Saigon orphanage and her flight to Canada is an emotional and suspenseful journey.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9869495-4-8 ISBN-13: 978-0-9869495-1-7 (pbk.)

  1. Son Thi Anh, Tuyet - Juvenile literature. 2. Orphans - Vietnam - Ho Chi Minh City - Biography - Juvenile literature. 3. Vietnam War, 1961-1975 - Children - Biography - Juvenile literature. 4. Airlift, Military - Vietnam--History - 20th century - Juvenile literature. 5. Vietnamese Canadians - Biography - Juvenile literature. I. Title.

  Cover and book design–Rebecca Buchanan

  eBook development by WildElement.ca

  Manufactured by Friesens in Altona, Manitoba, Canada in June 2012.

  Pajama Press Inc.

  469 Richmond St E, Toronto Ontario, Canada

  www.pajamapress.ca

  Photo Credits

  Cover: Rice terrace–Shutterstock/©Pattarawat Teparagul; Hercules 130, Major Cliff Zacharias–courtesy of Major (Retired) Cliff Zacharias; Tuyet arriving in Canada–Doug Griffin/Toronto Star; Tuyet passport photograph–courtesy of Dorothy Morris; 1-1: Birth certificate–courtesy of Dorothy Morris; 1-2: helicopters–Getty Images/Archive Holdings Inc.; 2-1: tanks in Saigon–© Jacques Pavlovsky/Sygma/CORBIS; 2-2: civilians flee–© Jacques Pavlovsky/Sygma/CORBIS; 2-3: Hercules 130–courtesty of Major (Retired) Cliff Zacharias; 3-1: boxed babies–courtesy of 426 Squadron, 8 Wing/Canadian Forces Base Trenton; 3-2: Major Cliff Zacharias–courtesy of Major (Retired) Cliff Zacharias; 4-1: aid workers assist children; 4-2: children on rescue flight; 4-3: aid workers in Hong Kong–426 Squadron, 8 Wing/Canadian Forces Base Trenton; 4-4: Tuyet arriving in Canada; 5-1: orphan with care worker; 5-2: medical staff examines baby; 5-3: toddler with new bear–Doug Griffin/Toronto Star/GetStock; 6-1: Adoption Order form–courtesy of Dorothy Morris; 6-2: Morris Family; 7-1: newspaper headline–Brantford Expositor; 8-1: Tuyet’s passport photos; 9-1: Tuyet’s Vietnamese handwriting; 10-1: Tuyet with Linh, 1975; 10-2: Tuyet and siblings–courtesy of Dorothy Morris; 11-1: Canadian Forces Base Trenton–courtesy of Major (Retired) Cliff Zacharias; 11-2: Corporal with 2 orphans–courtesty of 426 Squadron, 8 Wing/Canadian Forces Base Trenton; 11-3: Marsha and Tuyet–Brian Thompson

  With admiration,

  to Dorothy Morris

  and the late John Morris

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One—Early April 1975

  Chapter Two—When Things Changed

  April 11, 1975

  Chapter Three—The Airplane

  Chapter Four—Linh

  Chapter Five—Surrey Place

  Chapter Six—Tuyet’s Turn

  Chapter Seven—Home

  Chapter Eight—The Darkness

  Chapter Nine—Dad

  Chapter Ten—Joy

  Historical Note

  Further Resources for Parents and Teachers

  Author’s Note

  1-1 - Tuyet’s birth certificate

  Chapter One

  Early April, 1975

  Tuyet could not remember a time before the orphanage.

  She thought that all children lived together in a building with sleeping rooms, a play area, school, and chapel. She remembered sleeping together with the older girls on a wood-slat floor, without blankets or pillows. She would wake up each morning with marks from the wood slats on her cheek.

  Tuyet would clean her teeth using her finger and salt. Day and night she wore a pajama-like cotton top and drawstring pants. The nuns would give each child a newly laundered set of clothing every three days or so.

  In the morning, she would line up with the other girls. One of the nuns would rip bread from a giant loaf and give a piece to each child. Her meals consisted of fish, rice, plain water. There weren’t enough chopsticks to go around, so they used their hands.

  The orphanage included boys and younger children—and lots of babies. At the age of eight, Tuyet was one of the oldest. She was expected to help out with the younger ones without being asked. It was her duty, but she didn’t mind.

  Tuyet would see the older boys in class, when they played together in the indoor courtyard, and at chapel three times a day. The priest who said Mass was the only man she saw in the building, except for the soldiers.

  The children stayed inside at all times; it was not safe outside. Tuyet could not remember ever seeing the sky above her head.

  1-2 — Many helicopters were used in the Vietnam war

  When she heard the whop-whop-whop of helicopters, Tuyet would hide. She couldn’t remember exactly what it was that she was afraid of, but when she put her fingers to her scalp, she could feel dents. She had a large burn scar on her back and another long scar under her chin. She couldn’t remember when the injuries happened, but it must have been before the orphanage.

  Tuyet remembered the big door opening and American soldiers coming in with stuffed toys, spinning tops, and hard candy. The other children would crowd around the men, competing for attention and gifts. But Tuyet would hide. S
he wasn’t afraid of the Americans, but she had polio. Her left ankle was so weak that she walked on her heel. In order to move forward, she had to push her left knee with her left hand. She had calluses on her knee, because she pushed it so often. She was afraid that if the soldiers saw her foot and weak leg, they would take her to the hospital. And then the doctors would cut her foot open to try to fix it.

  Sometimes she played with the other children—simple games with elastics and chopsticks. The children also made a long skipping rope by joining together many elastics. With her weak foot, there was no way Tuyet would ever be able to join in such a game. She could only sit and watch as the others skipped rope.

  Some of the children were mean to Tuyet. One boy would crush lit cigarettes on her leg. But there was another boy who was friendly. They would play together as often as they could.

  Before school started, Tuyet and the girls would line up. The boys would line up, too. There were even some children from outside the orphanage who came to their school.

  Tuyet would sit at her desk, fascinated by the inkwell and fountain pen. She would draw patterns with the ink on paper. Like the other children, Tuyet also had chalk and a slate. She could draw or write something with the chalk, then make it disappear by rubbing it with her hand or a piece of cloth. She vividly remembered using the Vietnamese alphabet, although she couldn’t remember what else she learned. When she did well in her lessons, the teacher would paste a small gold star onto her work.

  In another room, Tuyet and the other children would gather around the nun who sat in a chair. They would sit on the floor and memorize Bible verses.

  The nuns were not always kind. Once, during naptime, Tuyet’s eyes were still open as she played with a lock of her hair. A nun came by and told Tuyet to close her eyes and sleep. Then the nun hit her on the fingers, hard, with a bamboo stick.

  The nuns would play the piano and they would sing. Tuyet loved that. She remembered one particular night they called “Christmas Eve.” She didn’t understand what Christmas was, but the nuns gave each child a bowl of special soup instead of their usual meal. The children were allowed to stay up late. The nuns set up a screen and showed them an American movie. It was in English and the children didn’t understand the words. But in one scene, a white man and woman kissed each other, and Tuyet and the others giggled in embarrassment.

  Another year on that special night, each child was given an orange.

  Today, there isn’t much more that Tuyet can remember about the orphanage before her life changed forever. And although she cannot remember where she came from, Tuyet does recall two visitors from outside.

  “A woman would come to see me. She would bring a young boy. I would sit on her lap for a while and then they would leave. Maybe that was my mother. Maybe the boy was my brother.

  “After a while, they stopped coming.”

  Chapter Two

  When Things Changed

  April 11, 1975

  Tuyet didn’t know about the world beyond her building. But she could hear the soldiers, helicopters, gunfire, and explosions. She had always lived with those sounds in the background.

  On the day her life changed, the doors of the orphanage were opened, but instead of soldiers with candy, the children saw a white Volkswagen van screeching to a halt. A man jumped out. He wasn’t a soldier or a priest, and he didn’t look Vietnamese. He called out to the nuns in a language Tuyet did not understand. Beyond the van, the streets were full of people running. Many carried suitcases; others carried children. Some of the people were weeping while others were screaming.

  The man helped the nuns rush around, packing diapers, formula, water, and bedding. Everything was placed by the door. Tuyet and the older children stared in confusion as the adults gathered boxes and lined them up at the entrance. The nuns carried the babies from their sleeping area and bundled them in blankets. Then each baby was placed in a box. Some boxes were big enough for two babies.

  The man had a handful of plastic straps. He read aloud the name printed on each strap, and then a nun would find the right baby and attach the strap to the baby’s wrist.

  “Son Thi Anh Tuyet,” said the man.

  Tuyet looked up in surprise. Why was he calling her name? She wasn’t a baby. One of the nuns walked up to her. “Let me have your arm,” she said. “You’ll be going, too.”

  2-1 — North Vietnamese tanks enter Saigon

  Tuyet rubbed the snug plastic wristband as the adults loaded the boxes of babies into the back of the van. Suddenly, the man lifted Tuyet into his arms and carried her to the van. Tuyet looked back over his shoulder at the other children—the girls she had slept with for as long as she could remember, that one special boy who had played with her. They all stood huddled together, round-eyed with fear. Was it better to go or stay behind?

  As the man set her down on the floor of the van, Tuyet’s special friend rushed forward and thrust a small package into her hand.

  The back of the van was hot and stuffy, and it was packed so tightly with the boxes of babies that the corner of one box jabbed painfully into Tuyet’s hip. But she sat obediently where she had been put. Her left foot and leg hurt most of the time anyway, and she had learned to suffer in silence.

  The man climbed into the driver’s seat. Tuyet leaned over to get a view of the passenger seat. A frail newborn had been strapped carefully in place beside him.

  The van jerked forward. Tuyet turned to stare out the back window as the van slowly pulled away from the orphanage and into the road thick with people and cars. She waved goodbye to her special friend, the nuns, and the other children. She tried to watch them for as long as she could, but the van rounded a corner and the nuns and children disappeared.

  Tuyet looked down at the small package she held in her hand, and opened it. Inside was a rosary—a necklace to use for counting prayers—made with pale coral and crystal beads. It sparkled like the gold stars the nuns would award for good work. Tuyet could feel the tears well up in her eyes. Would she ever see that boy again? She let the cool beads slip through her fingers and, for a moment, she thought of nothing but the boy’s face. She would try to remember him always. She slipped the shiny beads back into their package and tucked it deep into the pocket of her pants.

  Tuyet was jolted out of her thoughts when the van lurched sideways. She gazed out the window at the tangle of traffic and frantic people. In the distance, flames licked up the sides of buildings and smoke billowed high above. Although the sound of gunfire was everywhere, Tuyet felt safe in the van. But she was hot and her hip was sore. She shifted her position so the box wouldn’t jab into her so much.

  2-2 — South Vietnamese civilians flee as Saigon falls to North Vietnamese forces

  Some of the babies began to wail. The toddlers squirmed and tried to get out of the boxes, but they were packed in so tightly that there was no place to squirm to. The driver was concentrating on the road; there was no one but Tuyet to help the children and babies. She tried to calm them by singing softly and caressing the tear-streaked cheeks closest to her. But they were as hot as she felt. Probably they were as thirsty as she was, too.

  Tuyet looked back out the window and marveled at the variety of people in the street. Most of the women in the orphanage had been nuns, with their starched white habits and clinking beads. The priest was always in robes and the other men were in their American uniforms. But here, the Vietnamese men wore white shirts and dark pants. The women were in long baggy trousers and pastel-colored tops, and their lush black hair hung down their backs. Some wore conical bamboo hats. Wherever they were going, the way was clogged with others going in the same direction.

  It seemed like hours, but finally the driver sighed with relief and said something Tuyet couldn’t understand. He pointed out the front window.

  In front of them stood tall fences topped with barbed wire. Pe
ople crowded around, trying to push their way through the gate. The soldiers pushed back with their guns. Many of the people reached for the tall wire. One man threw his suitcase all the way over the fence. He clutched onto the wire and pulled himself up. He was almost at the top when a soldier caught him and dragged him down. All of the people appeared frantic to get to the other side.

  The van pulled up to a locked gate. Soldiers held back the crowd and the van inched forward. The driver rolled down his window and showed a piece of paper to one of the soldiers. That soldier pushed through the crowd and unlocked the gate, sliding it back just far enough for the van to drive through. The van swayed as people jumped on top of it. Some pounded on the window, and Tuyet hid her face in her hands. Finally, the van was on the other side of the gate. Tuyet looked back to see a soldier pull the fence closed again as another held back the crowd.

  Without all the people, it seemed suddenly still. The noise from the outside was gone, making Tuyet more aware of the babies and toddlers in the boxes.

  “It’s all right,” Tuyet said in a cooing voice, hoping to comfort the hot and frightened infants. But she had no idea if it was all right.

  The van drove across a wide empty space and pulled up in front of a strange winged building with a huge door that yawned wide. Many foreign-looking adults scurried about, some carrying toddlers or boxes of babies, others standing by, hands on hips.

  Their uniforms made the American soldiers look alike. But Tuyet had noticed before how different their skin looked. Some were pale pink or almost white; others were brown and black. Few were golden like her. And they were always men.

  The foreign adults were mostly female. They had pale skin splotched with pink and pale wispy hair in different hues—yellow, orange, brown, and white. Instead of uniforms, they wore complicated clothing, like flowered skirts and pastel dresses with straps, buckles, and ribbons. But their faces still looked the same to Tuyet.