It was another outing of the scout troop, and Mr. Van had led us off into some unfamiliar woods for a week end of compass navigation. He'd scouted the woods the week before, and liked the varied terrain to give us some obstacles to navigate around. Of course, this meant that we were to have all the ten essentials on us at all times. We'd sharpened up our scout knives, had full canteens, and fresh strike anywhere matches in our official scout match cases. It was early, and we were bunched together, talking and some scouts were gathered around this one kid, Billy, who had a new knife. His dad had given him a knife that he'd had around, and Billy was carrying it in addition to his official scout knife.
It was a nice looking knife, kind of plain, with some kind of light colored wood handles. The wood itself was almost a light tan, but with dark streaks of grain running through it. A single spear point blade was mounted in a handle that was an equal end bare head jack. The only bolsters were on the pivot end. We couldn't see any markings except for some strange characters at the base of the blade.
One scout was looking it over, and exclaimed, "I think that's Chinese or Japanese!"
Some general ribbing started over that, and the poor scout whose knife it was, was the butt of the ribbing. You have to understand, that at that time, in that post WW2 era, anything "Made in Japan" was considered pot metal junk. The export stuff shipped to America from the industry rising from the still smoking rubble, was pretty poor stuff. Names like Sony, Panasonic, let alone Toyota and Honda, had yet to come about. The scout who was the object of the ribbing got a little annoyed, and an argument broke out. The loud voices got the attention of Mr. Van, who was conferring with the assistant scout master.
"What the devil is going on here?" Mr. Van demanded in that Marine parade ground voice. It wasn't that Mr. Van shouted, he just spoke in a loud tone that carried well. I'm sure the squirrels in the farthest corner of the North American continent took notice when he spoke.
"Aw, they're just given' me hard time because my knife is made in Japan or somewhere out there!" said Billy.
"Really? Let me see this knife," said Mr. Van. Mr. Van was a knife knut, and any knife could interest him for a bit.
The knife was handed over, and Mr. Van looked it over carefully. He ran his thumb up and down the vividly grained handle, felt the edge on the gray patinaed carbon steel blade. He looked it over for quite a spell, unusually quiet. Then the ex marine did a strange thing. He sat down on a log, still closely examining the strange knife, a far away expression on his face. Finally he spoke.
"I've seen a knife like this before, a long time ago. It was the only one I remember like it, until now. Where did you get this knife, son?"
"My dad had it laying around. He was in the war, and he has a whole box of stuff from when he was there." replied Billy, "Where'd ya see the other knife like this one, Mr. Van."
"A place called Tarawa. A little island in the Pacific that was a bit of hell for a while." he said quietly.
Bobby Ryerson had to prod.
"How'd you see the other knife, Mr. Van?" he asked.
The silver haired old marine was quiet, he almost never talked about the war. We knew he'd been in the thick of things, and one time when we were on the river doing life saving lessons and Mr. Van was in swim trunks, we saw the three puckered holes where some bullets had went in and the three larger ugly puckered scars on his back, where they had exited. But he never really liked to talk about the war. Getting a war story out of Mr. Van was like pulling teeth on a duck.
"There was a Japanese officer among the dead after a battle. Some of the guys were going through his pockets, and one of them came up with a pocket knife very much like this one. Of course he kept it for a prize of war. Lot's of guys came home with souvenirs. Any way, this guy kept a hold of that knife, and used it a lot, living in the field like we were. It was a first class knife."
He was quiet again, maybe reflecting on the war in general, or some ugly part that was more up close and personal. Bobby broke the quiet.
"Gosh, I didn'think the japs could make something good!" he said.
Mr. Van came back from wherever he was for that moment, and his gray blue eyes took on that pale laser beam intensity as they bored into Bobby's soul.
"Don't call them that, Mr. Ryerson! They were the Japanese army, and they fought like badgers, making us pay in blood for every yard of ground we took. They were smart, skilled and determined fighters. They were soldiers doing what they thought was best for their country, just like we were. And they were a tough foe to meet on the battle field."
"But didn't you hate them, Mr. Van?" asked Bobby.
"No, not really." said Mr. Van, "They were just factory workers, farmers, normal people like us, just caught up in an insanity. We were just factory workers, farmers, and normal people serving our own country. And they had good stuff. Yes, some of the stuff we see now is junk, but keep one thing in mind. The Japanese had three levels of stuff. There's the made in Japan export stuff you see now, and that may well be junk. Then there's the stuff made for home consumption. That's very good stuff. Maybe as good as we get in our own stores. Then theres the stuff they make for the military. Also good stuff. And this knife, is home goods. It's a very good knife. Look how well the fit is between the lines and wood handles. Look how it's fitted."
And then Mr. Van did an amazing thing. Sitting there on that log, he unbuttoned the flap on his scout uniform shirt, and took out a small piece of sharpening stone. Mr. Van was famous for his little bit of stone he always carried, telling us that you never knew when you my have to sharpen a knife. Sometimes I think Mr. Van could have sharpened Paul Bunyan's giant axe with a pebble if he had a mind to. Sitting there in the shade in the woods with his scouts, he slowly worked the blade of the Japanese knife up and down on the tiny bit of carborundum stone. Moving in very small circles, he worked from kick to to tip, and then back again. When he was done with both sides of the blade, he crossed one leg over the other and stropped the blade on the top of his leather boot. He then took the knife and shaved a small bit of his arm clean and smooth. He held out the knife to Billy.
"Treat this knife well, son. It's a very good one and deserves respect. All good things deserve respect, no matter where they come from. Same thing for people as well." He said to Billy as the knife changed hands. Billy stared up at him in awe at Mr. Van's seriousness.
"Yes sir." was all he said.
Mr. Van stood up.
"All right scouts, take your compass and…"
It was a long day of learning to navigate over land by compass, but like always with Mr. Van, the lessons we learned were many.
Dedicated for texasboy and the United States Marines. God Bless them.
It was a nice looking knife, kind of plain, with some kind of light colored wood handles. The wood itself was almost a light tan, but with dark streaks of grain running through it. A single spear point blade was mounted in a handle that was an equal end bare head jack. The only bolsters were on the pivot end. We couldn't see any markings except for some strange characters at the base of the blade.
One scout was looking it over, and exclaimed, "I think that's Chinese or Japanese!"
Some general ribbing started over that, and the poor scout whose knife it was, was the butt of the ribbing. You have to understand, that at that time, in that post WW2 era, anything "Made in Japan" was considered pot metal junk. The export stuff shipped to America from the industry rising from the still smoking rubble, was pretty poor stuff. Names like Sony, Panasonic, let alone Toyota and Honda, had yet to come about. The scout who was the object of the ribbing got a little annoyed, and an argument broke out. The loud voices got the attention of Mr. Van, who was conferring with the assistant scout master.
"What the devil is going on here?" Mr. Van demanded in that Marine parade ground voice. It wasn't that Mr. Van shouted, he just spoke in a loud tone that carried well. I'm sure the squirrels in the farthest corner of the North American continent took notice when he spoke.
"Aw, they're just given' me hard time because my knife is made in Japan or somewhere out there!" said Billy.
"Really? Let me see this knife," said Mr. Van. Mr. Van was a knife knut, and any knife could interest him for a bit.
The knife was handed over, and Mr. Van looked it over carefully. He ran his thumb up and down the vividly grained handle, felt the edge on the gray patinaed carbon steel blade. He looked it over for quite a spell, unusually quiet. Then the ex marine did a strange thing. He sat down on a log, still closely examining the strange knife, a far away expression on his face. Finally he spoke.
"I've seen a knife like this before, a long time ago. It was the only one I remember like it, until now. Where did you get this knife, son?"
"My dad had it laying around. He was in the war, and he has a whole box of stuff from when he was there." replied Billy, "Where'd ya see the other knife like this one, Mr. Van."
"A place called Tarawa. A little island in the Pacific that was a bit of hell for a while." he said quietly.
Bobby Ryerson had to prod.
"How'd you see the other knife, Mr. Van?" he asked.
The silver haired old marine was quiet, he almost never talked about the war. We knew he'd been in the thick of things, and one time when we were on the river doing life saving lessons and Mr. Van was in swim trunks, we saw the three puckered holes where some bullets had went in and the three larger ugly puckered scars on his back, where they had exited. But he never really liked to talk about the war. Getting a war story out of Mr. Van was like pulling teeth on a duck.
"There was a Japanese officer among the dead after a battle. Some of the guys were going through his pockets, and one of them came up with a pocket knife very much like this one. Of course he kept it for a prize of war. Lot's of guys came home with souvenirs. Any way, this guy kept a hold of that knife, and used it a lot, living in the field like we were. It was a first class knife."
He was quiet again, maybe reflecting on the war in general, or some ugly part that was more up close and personal. Bobby broke the quiet.
"Gosh, I didn'think the japs could make something good!" he said.
Mr. Van came back from wherever he was for that moment, and his gray blue eyes took on that pale laser beam intensity as they bored into Bobby's soul.
"Don't call them that, Mr. Ryerson! They were the Japanese army, and they fought like badgers, making us pay in blood for every yard of ground we took. They were smart, skilled and determined fighters. They were soldiers doing what they thought was best for their country, just like we were. And they were a tough foe to meet on the battle field."
"But didn't you hate them, Mr. Van?" asked Bobby.
"No, not really." said Mr. Van, "They were just factory workers, farmers, normal people like us, just caught up in an insanity. We were just factory workers, farmers, and normal people serving our own country. And they had good stuff. Yes, some of the stuff we see now is junk, but keep one thing in mind. The Japanese had three levels of stuff. There's the made in Japan export stuff you see now, and that may well be junk. Then there's the stuff made for home consumption. That's very good stuff. Maybe as good as we get in our own stores. Then theres the stuff they make for the military. Also good stuff. And this knife, is home goods. It's a very good knife. Look how well the fit is between the lines and wood handles. Look how it's fitted."
And then Mr. Van did an amazing thing. Sitting there on that log, he unbuttoned the flap on his scout uniform shirt, and took out a small piece of sharpening stone. Mr. Van was famous for his little bit of stone he always carried, telling us that you never knew when you my have to sharpen a knife. Sometimes I think Mr. Van could have sharpened Paul Bunyan's giant axe with a pebble if he had a mind to. Sitting there in the shade in the woods with his scouts, he slowly worked the blade of the Japanese knife up and down on the tiny bit of carborundum stone. Moving in very small circles, he worked from kick to to tip, and then back again. When he was done with both sides of the blade, he crossed one leg over the other and stropped the blade on the top of his leather boot. He then took the knife and shaved a small bit of his arm clean and smooth. He held out the knife to Billy.
"Treat this knife well, son. It's a very good one and deserves respect. All good things deserve respect, no matter where they come from. Same thing for people as well." He said to Billy as the knife changed hands. Billy stared up at him in awe at Mr. Van's seriousness.
"Yes sir." was all he said.
Mr. Van stood up.
"All right scouts, take your compass and…"
It was a long day of learning to navigate over land by compass, but like always with Mr. Van, the lessons we learned were many.
Dedicated for texasboy and the United States Marines. God Bless them.
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