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Woosung - We Didn’t
The following day, we were taken out to a lush grass lawn. It was sunny, and we sat down on the grass and were given a sumptuous meal, soon after which, a short Japanese soldier with Charlie Chaplin feet and a Hitler moustache came from the building carrying a big parcel, a wide grin on his face. He placed the bundle on the ground, opened it, then motioned that we help ourselves to the contents – cigarettes! We grabbed them and were soon puffing clouds of smoke into the air, and coughing like mad. Rested, hunger satisfied, an after-lunch smoke, we were content. Then they brought out the cameras and took photographs of our group, no doubt for propaganda purposes. A few days later we were brought back to reality – the army reclaimed us. Back we went to the slapping, punching and brutality, with a vengeance. We were taken to the mainland of China, to a place named Woosung, near Shanghai. There we found other POWs from the torpedoed ship, all in bad shape. We were soon put to work, first of all burying drums of aviation fuel for the Japanese air force. When this was finished, we were told that we would have to clean used artillery shells in order to remove cordite from them. Our Sergeant in charge, by the name of Dick Overy, a tough soldier and staunch patriot, ordered us not to clean the shells as it was war work, and as such, forbidden under the Geneva Treaty, to which the Japanese were not signatories. The Japanese Sergeant, who seemed to be Dick’s oriental counterpart, told him to order us to clean the shells. Dick Overy refused, whereupon the Jap slapped him around the face. We who knew Mr Overy of old awaited his reaction – it soon came – the veins in his neck became engorged with blood, his face reddened, the right fist clenched tightly and swung upwards, hitting the Jap smack on the button. He staggered back about ten yards, hit the side of a building and slowly sank to the ground. He looked at Overy, dazed, and with what seemed to me, a glint of admiration in his eyes. Meanwhile, the Japanese troops were making for our governor, intent on making him pay. Some of them had their bayonets fixed, but the Jap Sergeant waved them away, regained his feet and soundly slapped Dick Overy’s face. This time there was no retaliation. Whilst all this was going on, another squad of troops, fully armed, had marched round and stood facing us in line. The Japanese interpreter repeated the order “You clean shells? If not, you can be shot!” (Rhymes doesn’t it?) The answer was a unanimous “No” – hesitantly, I must admit. The interpreter reported our answer to the senior officer, who had just appeared on the scene and who incidentally, spoke the better English of the two. He shouted an order to the armed troops, on which they levelled their loaded rifles at us. We were standing against a whitewashed stone wall – an appropriate setting for an execution. I tightly shut my eyes, gripped the hands of the chaps on either side of me, and, with my heart thumping madly, awaited the impact of a bullet in the chest. Another order rang out, this was it! Nothing had happened, we were still alive. After what seemed an eternity, I opened the old blinkers; the troops had ordered their arms. The interpreter once again asked, “You clean shells?” Again a (not very convincing) “No!” Slaps all round, rifles raised again in our direct, the whole mixture as before, but the threat not carried out. This was repeated about four times, each time we grew less tense than before. Eventually the Japs gave up, giving more slaps all round and cutting our meagre food ration down still further. This affected the sick men amongst us, who were in a bad state already, so reluctantly Dick Overy said “Alright, clean their f------ shells, it is done under duress”. So, for the rest of our stay we cleaned their f------ shells.
As we have not heard of Micky lately, I must recount this story of his activities in this camp. When we arrived, we were given Japanese troop cast-offs as clothing and prison garb, tattered and torn. There was a contingent of United States marines already in the camp, US Peking legation guard, and as such were classed as non-combatants. They had arrived at the camp in full uniform, and as Peking is extremely cold in the winter, their clothing was suited to the conditions – fur hats, fur gloves, heavy boots, etc., Micky was not long in the camp before he wangled his way into a Yankee card school – I do not know how he got the entrance fee, but a short time later, Mick was going about in full U.S. army gear, much to our envy, and one yank in Japanese shoddy clothes, much to the irritation of his comrades. That was Private Michael Myles, 2nd Battalion, The Royal Scots (The Royal Regt.)
Towards the end of our stay in Woosung, there was an air raid by what we assumed to be carrier-based American P.51 fighter aircraft, and this indicated to us that the American fleet was in the vicinity. We had heard rumours that the Americans had taken several Japanese islands and won several strategic sea battles, and were island hopping, weakening the Japanese sea power. This gave us grounds for optimism. The Nips were infuriated by the air raid, threatening to shoot everybody in sight, with the usual slapping, punching etc., The capture of Japanese islands by the U.S. forces not only deprived the Japs of the islands, but gave the U.S.A. bases from which the allies could launch air attacks against Japan, and also indicated that the Yank navy had control of the Pacific.
The air raid was one of many; it appeared to us that the U.S. controlled the air also. Soon after the air raid by the P.51s, we were told that we were going to go to a new camp. We were very apprehensive about this, as there had been a rumour around the camp that if the allies landed troops in Japan, the Japs would kill all P.O.Ws. After our treatment by them, we were inclined to believe the rumour, especially after some of the Jap troops indicated to us, by signs, that we would be for the high jump, as they say. I have since been told, after our relief from captivity, that the rumours were prevalent in some of the other prison camps. Where there is smoke, there is fire.
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