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Capitulation – so this was what e had come for. This was the end of out two
years of training, of 13 weeks on board ship, to spend a few days in miserable
fighting, and give in. Of course, we’d known it had to come. That or death. As
we came down the gangplank we were told “We’re evacuating the mainland today”
and we said “Christ, have you never heard of Crete out here?” and stepped
ashore. But you shoved that out of your mind – you had to. You were no good to
anyone except the enemy if you went into a fight , knowing it was useless. And
now it was all over and no miracle had happened. It was Sunday, the 15th,
and in the garden there was warmth, and a stillness in the air.
“What
about getting away?” said Whiskers, and I looked at him, thinking we could do
with him. “Sandy and I are trying this evening; care to come?” “Sorry” he said,
“I can’t go, but it’s worth your trying”. And Hutch said, “I don’t think you’ll
find a boat, but good luck”. He was right, for we found no boat that we could
move, and we came back, crestfallen, in an awful anti-climax of failure,
frustration and bitter disappointment, mainly in ourselves.
The “Stay
where you are” order came with the “Cease fire”, and till the morning of the 17th
we stayed where we were, dully awaiting sentence. Then “Pack your kits, move to
Changi”. Newcomers, we looked at the map, and found Changi in the N.E. corner of
the Island. We were now on the west side of town. “March”. In to the town,
through the streets, deserted by natives as by Japanese, draped mournfully with
the desolate tram cables, here and there and overturned tram car, past the
sullen-faced houses, at which there already hung the miserable insurance of a
Jap flag, red blot upon a white field, and out on to Serangoon road. Fork right,
down Tampines road, straight and smooth across the swamps and through the trees.
And from here to the road’s end there was nothing but troops, troops and more
troops, marching to captivity. In step, out of step, columns, heaving, swaying,
khaki as far as the eye can see. Where have all these sprung from? How were we
defeated, and these still fit? And past them all, lorries career by, in defiance
of Jap orders, carrying stores, provisions and anything they can think will come
in handy.
Here and
there, Malays, still friendly, bring out a coconut and water, and men fall out
of line to get them – and we could still think of discipline. Three more miles
to go – we can’t make it. H.Q. personnel never marched in their life till now.
“Alright, sleep by the roadside”. More coconuts, lumpy slope, no rain, wake
stiff, half slept. Quill and I go on ahead to warn Stevie. Luckily pick up an
A.I.F. Lorry and reach our quarters.
Hungry,
tires, dispirited. Later in the morning have to dig our own latrines, the troops
are too exhausted. Archie B. digging, talking, “We are no more in prison now
than we have been for the last two years”.
Every
building overcrowded, except A Mess and ours and they bad enough. Soon more
buildings taken away to make Robert’s hospital. Tents go up on the Padang and on
the edge of the swamp, impromptu huts go up in the coconut grove. Fine
accommodation and later when they started a piggery they stipulated concrete
floors. Was our sense of proportion wrong?
It was
the 25th before the Nip administration was able to give us any food.
Some units had stocks enough to last out, others hadn’t. The R.A.S.C. tried to
organise something, withdrawing from the one to give to the other and build up
reserves. But self-forgetfulness was rare and few trusted the R.A.S.C.; after
all, everyone feels the same about food when they are hungry, and the R.A.S.C.
was not famed for slipping up on its opportunities. Somehow, everyone got some
food.
When the
rations arrived they were rice. Bags, and bags of it, and we looked dumbly at
each other and said “now what[?]”. For the next few months rice was the main
topic, all the jokes (not many) were about rice and when they weren’t they were
about that other complaint – the “trots” …
But rice
it had to be. Some said they were allergic to rice, and some were, and they
tried to do without it; they either learned better, or died. Twice a week we got
frozen met from the cold storage, and on the third day it was usually rice –
bus, as the troops said. Then if they weren’t ill, they were hungry, and if they
were ill, well, they were hungrier still when they became better.
…
We had
lost a part of our self-respect with the capitulation. The feeling that British
Arms had failed again, the disappointment, all the reaction to the surrender,
possibly deep down, the feeling of disgrace, brought about a break down of
discipline and a collapse of morale. Men, who had let down themselves, their
officers and their regiment, felt themselves let down, and were contrarily
self-assertive. Hunger added wings to a self-discipline already in flight, and
thieving of money and of food, became wide spread. Disobedience was common, and
mutiny not unknown.
…
The
working parties that began to leave Changi in greater and greater force, saw
more, much more of them [the Japanese]; but normally they had certain
counterbalancing advantages; they had for instance more food, and more
opportunities to buy goods in the town. At Changi things were improving slowly.
The days of hibiscus leaves (foully bitter) and of snails faded, as vegetables
began to come in on the ration, as stores became available for the canteen, and
as messing officers learned more and more ways of dealing with rice – tho’ they
were hard put to it when there arrived “Vitamin food” in the shape of vegetable
fertiliser, and we were told to eat that. Gradually in fact we were becoming
used to the food, to the surroundings and the natural urge to self adaptation
was forcing its way through the standardised veneer of normal life.
The
G.O.C., Major General M. Beckwith Smith, was doing his utmost to keep alive and
spread a corporate spirit within the Divisional Area, by encouragement of good
administration, of games, education and entertainment. He insisted we were still
part of the army, and that everything should be done army wise. I.e. that the
unit was responsible for the administration of its troops, but that the Brigade
and Division had definite responsibilities towards there sub units: that the
services should be employed as such, the R.A.S.C. dealing with rations, and,
when facilities were afforded, with canteen and local produce. While the R.E.
looked after the water supply, and the provision of construction works like
disinfectors, rice grinders and washing accommodation. R.A.O.C. ran the lighting
(and the wireless) the workshops, which helped in the educational scheme, and
the clothes and boots repairing service. But the army and army life were not
everything; and he forced education and outside interests down the throats of
Commanding Officers who thought they had no value. A Secondary School and a
University were opened, and encouragement given to all who wanted to attend.
Libraries popped up all over the place. The concert party that had started
through the keenness of few entertainers was given every encouragement. “The New
Windmill Theatre” was opened for stage shows, and the play “Dover Road” set the
ball rolling on “Becky’s” birthday. He’d go round the hospital, encouraging the
sick, seeing that they were not neglected by either the Hospital or their own
units; take a look in at the University, listen to the lectures that were being
given, and on his way past St George’s Church, have a word with the padre about
the services. Watch any games that were being played, and sometimes play himself
– one of the pitches for hockey or soccer, St George’s Church and the main
lecture rooms of the University all lay cheek by jowl. When he paid an official
visit to a unit, it was usually not so much of a bugbear as most General
Inspections are to the troops themselves, for though they still had a bit of
polishing up to do, the inspection was always in the early morning, before
breakfast, and he’d stay to see what sort of food they were getting. So, of
course, the Q.M. had to dig into whatever reserves he held, to put up a good
show. And that the troops loved, naturally. Due to him it was recognised that
the morale and discipline within the Division were better than elsewhere.
…
We had
lost our security, and had seen the fangs of the beast … the Commanding Officers
in Changi were ordered to watch at the outset of Selarang – 4 British Soldiers
had broken through the wire, and tried to escape. Recaptured, they were beaten
up, and put in prison. On this day, they were brought out, their hands tied, and
were blind-folded. The Senior Officers from each area in Changi were paraded as
spectators. Protests were unavailable. Sikh riflemen, who had joined the Indian
National Army, were lined up with their rifles. They were ordered by the
Japanese to shoot the four white prisoners under the eyes of white officers – a
pleasing symbol of the coming of the Greater East – and were disconcerted. Their
aim upset, one volley rang out, then another, and then sporadic shots, till all
four lay stretched in the sand before them. The moral was complete.
…
Shallow
latrines at Prai, with maggots seething, boiling, crawling here, there,
everywhere. Trainloads of men with the “trots” excreting on the grassy verge of
a trim railway station – any railway station. Public? What did the public matter
in the face of necessity? Bampong, 5th day, journey’s immediate end.
Rain, mud, mud, nothing but. Camp administration nil. Each party had to dig its
own latrines (public? Of course). Cookhouse swarming with flies. Hospital,
bamboo and attap, beds on raised bamboo slats, place flooded, water up to bed
level, floors swimming in excrement from flooded latrines. And the patients?
They either get better or die. Life is as simple as that.
…
Next day,
the officers were ordered out to work on the railway.
Rumours
had come up from Chungkai that this would happen, and there had been lots of
argument, about whether to obey or not. But most people were convinced that if a
direct order were given, the Japs would have no hesitation in seeing it carried
out. So after Swinton had established that a direct order was given, the
officers marched out to work. As they were leaving the parade ground on the way
to the railway, the special intimidation squad from Chungkai arrived on the
scene, thought there was a refusal to obey orders, and fired a warning volley
over the heads of the officers.
There
followed a precipitate withdrawal by the Korean guards, and the Officer’s party,
back to the parade ground. Then the trinity of pariahs arrived, the engineer
officers, Taramato, Kidiama and Takizawa, to see how things were going.
Meanwhile the crowds of sick, wondering what was up had dashed to the edge of
the square, and were standing there, rubber necking. But Kidiama turned round,
saw them, and shouted “What the hell! Is that why we’re not getting enough
workers?” (or words to that effect!), and ordered all the sick on parade.
Frantic palavar, because the numbers did not tally with the figures. Then the
Japs raged up and down the lines of sick, beat three out of four, because they
said, they were fit to work, and just being idle: stormed at Swinton, the
British Commander, and the doctors, beat them all up for allowing such things,
and left the camp. Party over.
…
One
trouble was that sometimes the Japs were honest with their tasks, and if they
gave one task to be completed in 5 days, and it was completed in 4, the men got
the 5th day as a holiday: but not always, so there could be no trust,
and the officers had to arrange the work so that, if possible, the men would get
a few hours off on the last day. But inevitably the tasks were made harder.
…
“Four
fusiliers are going to make a break for it”. It’s impossible – tell them not to
be silly. It was no good, they made their break. Swinton managed to give them a
good 12 hours start, and that, in the absence of communications was enough for
the mere getaway. We reported it to Kokubo, who sent his guards scurrying here
and there, uselessly, gave us a cup of tea and biscuits, grinned amiably, bowed
politely, and, “We shall have to shoot them; and if they are not caught, we
shall have to shoot the commander of their Bn.”
They
managed to get 100 miles away, but were then caught, brought back to Chungkai
and shot.
…
Wampo –
Heat, and the beginning of Speedo. We arrived on the 9th March. The
railway trace here heads straight for the river bank and is stopped by a
limestone cliff-face that rises almost sheerly out of the water, to tower 400
feet above. Across this face the track has to be laid, by cutting and by
viaduct: and it has to be completed by the 15th April. Impossible, we
muttered, as we looked at the rock, that seems unscarred, although a IV Group
Camp has been here, working, for four months. There are 2000 men in our camp,
British and Dutch, part living on the other side, in huts – and they have to be
ferried across each day in barges – and part on this side, in tents upon the
shingle. Within a few days, 1,500 more arrive, fresh from Singapore, and another
bridge making battalion, 200 strong. The work is divided into three parts: a
cutting through earth and rock, at the south side, a cutting through the bulging
cliff face on the north, and in between, under the overhanging face, a viaduct
has to be raised. And the tools? Hammers and sharp steel rods for the rock,
picks, chunkels, and baskets for the rest, and for the timber, a few saws and
borers.
Here the
perpetual fetch and carry of the earth and rubble-filled baskets as the men dig
down into the cutting, and strew the waste rolling down the slope. There the
constant clink of steel on stone, as the pairs of hammermen (one holding, one
hitting) chisel out there metre-deep holes ready to take the blast charges. And
on both sides of the river, timbers are prepared for the viaduct; on this the
officers party bore the holes, and carry the huge beams to their assembly point,
while on the other, Chinese coolies trim the logs with adzes, bore them, and
have elephants to drag them down the water’s edge, from where they are floated –
so heavy that they half sink – across to the bridge side. There is no let up in
the work. To a Jap, none was working so hard that he could not work harder, and
“Speedo – hurriupoo” was their unchanging yell, so that a whole period of
especially hard work became known as a Speedo.
Work by
day, work by night. Day shifts, night shifts, no shifts at all. When they tried
to bring in the shift system, 3 shifts of 8 hours was suggested, approved, and
lasted 2 days. 8 hours was not enough work for a man. Then 2 12 hour shifts, and
then the system broke down and things became a scramble. But on the 16th
April, the viaduct was completed; and in the end, in the heat that was poured
off the rock face, the troops were set to metalling the South cutting. Starting
at the foot, they picked up a stone out of the heaps that had earlier been sent
tumbling down, slambered up the 15ft. slope, dumped their load and came down, to
go round and up again in a continuous ant like motion.
3000 men
milling around on a 300 yard stretch of line, and the Japs still asking for
more. “Why are there so many men still in the camp?” asked the Engineer one day
of the Korean in charge of the north camp. And he, to justify himself, called
everybody still in the camp on parade, and because there were more than he had
expected (he had not looked at the sick figures, nor at the figures for those
working in camp) thought he had lost face, and lost with that, his temper. As
the men came hurrying out of the tents – to a Jap, a thing had to be done, had
to be done hurriedly, – he laid into them, left, right, left, right, great
swinging blows, and was the more pleased that these tents were in the officers’
lines. Then he chanced with one blow to fell a man to his knees, and his anger
evaporated, satisfied, so that the play was over. The novelty of beatings up had
not at that stage worn off, and I well remember the passion of cold rage that
seethed within me, and the feeling of helpless degradation, at a mere cuff. But
here too we were to change, and by and by, a beating became part of the day’s
work. Avoid it, of course, if you could: but if you couldn’t, well get it over
and done with. Better that way than the tortured waiting for something to happen
that the Jap liked, cat-like, to inflict.
…
Rumours
filtered through from Tak-a-nun of Cholera. And even then the men were weary,
anaemic, and dejected. On the other side of the river the monkeys hooted up –
and down – endlessly, and they said the day would be fine. The work was putting
a cutting through the rock face, and building several bridges and culverts, and
they had elephants to help remove the larger rocks, and bring the felled trees
to a convenient dump – how wonderful the elephants were, can only be realised by
those, on occasion, to understudy them. (The scale was, one elephant, or ten
other ranks, or 6 officers). And the rice grew short, and the Japs said the sick
could only have 1/3 of the rice the fit men got, and the fit men didn’t get
much. It didn’t help the sick man get better, although the cookhouse tried to
equalise as much as they could.
Then came
the first cholera case. The Japs cleared out of the camp at once, built
themselves another camp, and would not come into our camp, except to the
guardroom at the gate. They allotted a new area as the Cholera Area, split the
old area into 3 – the fit area, the malaria and sores area, and the dysentery
area. They put all the fit men in the dirty areas in which the cholera had
started, and were surprised when the cholera spread. In that first wave, never
very fast, it began by ones and twos, mounted slowly, and then within the month,
subsided again…
The dead
were burnt now, outside the camp, in the jungle, and a small, friendless service
held over their ashes, confined for their short eternity in a bamboo casket.
Lonely, without comfort of human kindness, five to a shallow grave – where was
the labour to dig any customly honoured grave in that earth which so soon after
we had passed would show no traces of our eternity – seeming transience? When we
came by that way again, not many months thereafter, there was naught that we
could recognise, nor was there how we might distinguish what had before been
camp, and what the grasping jungle.
…
on the 12th
July, our working figures were again cut, and I became a member of the Officers’
working party, which on high days totalled about 20. I did only 3 days work on
the railway, on the cutting. The hours were long, merely because we had to be
there for about 12 hours a day, but the work done was not terrific, we could
have done it in half the time, were it not for the deadening fact of clock time
… The last day was the nearest to a physical hell of helplessness, that I have
ever been; clearing up the work site, where work was now ended. Ordered here,
kura’d there, carrying ropes, hawsers, tools and then 12 men to carry 2 great
donkey winches a distance of about a mile over rough ground and track. I felt
such a draining of muscular energy, that, no matter what came, not one further
ounce of power could I exert. And in the end of the day, we had to sweep and
clean up round the Jap privates’ quarters.
…
“You are
soldiers” shouted Fumimoto at them one morning. “You must die at your posts”.
Useless to tell him, “if they are sick, they work badly: if you let them get
better they will work more”. He was not allowed to think that. His orders were
“you are a fit party; there will be no sick”, and he had to carry his orders out
– blindly, unreasoningly. That was discipline in the Jap army. If an officer
told him to do the impossible, he had to do it. No argument, obedience was his
pride, and death in his obedience was his glory. So he said. You could forgive
that; but what you could not forget was his lack of humanity. He insisted on the
sick working on their staying out at the work during a Malarial rigor, even
though the Engineers in charge of the job allowed them to come in to rest. He
was ruthless. He set a maximum to the number of sick we might have – 5 out of
120. No more. There was never any question of less.
…
Breakfast, pap rice, a thin rice soup; tiffin, dry boiled rice, with a morsel of
fish, and the fish water poured over; supper, dry boiled rice, with a stew of
potatoes, and a shred of pumpkin, and of meat if you were unlucky. Every third
day, a fried rissole, flavoured with fish or sugar.
…
Yet one
thing we were spared – cholera. That would have been the end. But how we avoided
it, I do not know. For now the coolies had started to arrive, to pass through us
towards Concrita, and with the collies went cholera. Tamils, Malays, Chinese, a
jumble of miserable humanity, journeying with their goods upon their heads, upon
their shoulders, oftentimes with their wives and their small children, going
they knew not where at the command of the dominant race, whom they did not like,
but dared not defy. Defy their masters, and they were starved into submission.
Be submissive, and they were driven like cattle to work, cursed, beaten,
cudjelled, and in the end, were tumbled into the common pit that was dug for
them. It was small wonder they lived without hope, and hopelessly laid
themselves down to die. “Master” said one, “May I come into your tent, so that I
may die?” Out of every four that went up the river, only one came back.
…
Not long
after that … we moved down 2 km to a new camp … The worst was over. The
Engineers were on the whole good, as Nips go. They helped us build the camp, and
the work they gave the men was never excessive …
Part of
the fitness [we then attained] I put down to the feeding - a Dutch advance
party came up at the end of August to build the main camp just below us. They
fed with us, and supplied some cooks – and they showed us how to cook chillies,
and oil and what to do with dried potatoes. A bit suspicious at first, the men
soon came to like the new style, and Nazi Goreng
became a favourite. Had we known in the beginning what to do, I think there
might have been a few more men … still fit.
…
Then they
held their Funeral Ceremony and doubtless thought themselves sincere. Trim and
flowered cemetery, and a massed parade of Prisoners, British and Dutch, of
Japanese and Korean guards; the wreath, taking 2 Koreans to carry, and too big
for its appointed place at the foot of the cross, so it’s set up as on an easel
in a different spot – sacred to the Memory of those (Nom they don’t say it, they
don’t oddly, even think it), we have killed on this railway.
…
I shall
always remember a scene at Kreuing Krai, a fresh party of Duth were coming into
camp. They had been building a road on the other side of the river. Their job
finished, they were joining up with us. It was a bright sunny day when the party
marched in, in the afternoon. At their head marched a little Dutch captain, with
white hair, goldrimmed spectacles, pink cheeks and a white moustache that
extended a good four inches on either side of his face. We smiled, when we saw
him, and straight away dubbed him “The Burgomaster”. He looked the part. He had
marched every step of the way, had, with a fatherly kindness and dignity, looked
after his troops, most of whom were black, and none of whom he had seen before
the accident of captivity and the Japs had thrown them together. And he was 63
years old.
…
On the
musical side, there were two outstanding people. Norman Smith, whose Brusque
good nature and common sense smoothed many a situation, and who had an unusual
felicity for light and dance music; and Eric Cliffe, who saved the captivity for
classical musicians. The orchestra had been increasing steadily, and the latest
acquisition was a double bass. Mandolins and ukuleles had always been moderately
easy to make; but this bass – the work of the Camp Carpenter, Sgt. Horrocks of
the Suffolk Rgt. was regarded with pride and admiration. It was made out of ply
wood, with a red wood neck, strut, scroll and bridge. To make the glue strong
enough for it, a dark Dutchman had to keep the cow hooves brewing for seven
whole days. A slap bass, the strings were made from old signal cable, and in the
playing, its notes could be heard when all the other instruments had faded in
the distance, yet near at hand, it nicely added the bass to the otherwise
unbalanced ensemble … The band, at its fullest, totalled 19, made up of 6
violins, 2 accordions, 2 guitars, 2 clarinets, 1 trumpet, 3 cornets, 2 drums
(home made) and the Bass … All music had to be remembered or composed, arranged
and written out on bits of paper – the light by Norman, the Classical by Eric.
As samples of the classical – Finlandia, the 1st movement of the
Unfinished Symphony, 3 of the Enigma Variations. Peer Gynt Suite, Eine Kleine
Nachtmusik without the wind, the slow movement of the Mendelssohn Violin
Concerto and some Handel, Purcell and others, all of which sounded tolerably
like the original.
…
On 15th
August, the 6th party (out of 8) left the camp. It was the hospital
party. They marched or were carried to the railway line, and there while
awaiting the train, observed the strangle behaviour of the Thais. For the Thais,
standing at a distance, kept nodding their heads eagerly up and down, and
grinning widely. Then a certain Nai Pong, well-known to our people for the good
he had done to all the camps on the river, cycled up the road, smiled at those
he knew, and said “Peace to-day”. The camp, already alive with rumours, now
seethed with them. Betting and speculation went on, on all sides. That evening
we sat and talked on the parade ground. And no “lights out” was blown. Then from
the first hut we heard three cheers; and from the second and so on right down
the line, like an echo caught in a vista of mirrors. Then there arose the
strains of “God Save the King”, slow and dignifiedly beautiful, rising out of
the dark night on a thousand voices. There followed the Star Spangled Banner and
the Wilhelmus. We were free.
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