Sergeant Alf Waterhouse

Railway of Death

Nicholas and myself sitting with our legs dangling out of the carriage door must  have had a very little space when passing through bridges. I did have some anxious thoughts about falling asleep, I could certainly move outwards, but I settled that as I jammed myself in, so I could not move.

The men were in despair position and curses rang out by unnecessary movement. Fortunately, the train moving did cause a whisper of draught. Many men had already eaten their two rice balls which was distributed before leaving Singapore, but we had no water. Many suffered from stomach ache and were unable to have a motion.

It was perhaps three hours before the train stopped and Japanese guards  Japs came alongside looking as if for any trouble. Then miraculously a wooden water bucket arrived and hand signals suggested we all filled water bottles. No food was issued but natives appeared selling pineapples and tropical fruit. Unfortunately, these were for sale, no money, no fruit. The Malay natives look at us questioningly, why no one buy? Personal possessions were then offered and excepted, so some fruit made its way into the carriage.

I now saw all along the roadside what appeared to be pits, all the same size, about 30 yards square, one yard deep. These had obviously been dug recently, but for what purpose? Maybe to collect water in the rainy season, but that did not seem right. The train started to move away, and I still had no answer to the dug holes. We were all feeling a deep hunger, surely they would feed us?

We arrived at the big modern rail station of Kuala Lumpar and were let out of the carriages, all making a rush for the toilets, but we got the shock of lives.  The natives had no idea what a modern lavatory was, the toilets had no flushes hence the toilets had overflowed, many many times. No effort had been made to clean up this mess and there was a horrible stink. Looking around there was a sort of small garden park next to the station, here we relieved ourselves, with no feeling of guilt.

This terrible journey lasted five days. How many to arrived at our destination  will never be known. We did receive further rice balls, but these did nothing to help us with the dreadful hunger.

Arriving at our supposed destination, in Thailand, we were paraded on some open ground. Natives again with tropical fruit tried selling us fruit I think we all looked in shocked surprise at the many natives, all had blood red mouths. One of the lads shouted,

“Bloody hell they’ve all got T.B”

At that no fruit was bought.

We were marched through a large village, swarming with life. The heat was beating down on us and sweat poured out of us. We were directed by bayonets and rifle butts down a rough cattle track and came across a wide muddy looking river. All sorts of native craft were visible and large rafts of bamboo. Youthful teenagers were splashing about and took no notice of us. Ignoring Japanese warning shouts, we ran for the cool water, even if it did looked dirty, it looked refreshing.

There was suddenly a scream and the lad was pulled out of the water. There was a large red patch now growing on his thigh, it looked savage, it looked like a bite. The chance of being bitten did not stop us, we carried on until we were forced out of the water, letting the hot sun dry us while we were marched away.

Many natives still tried to sell their fruit, which was now tropical bananas. The native women we passed wore a unusual cane or basket hat which was round like a cone, under the hat was a sort of frame. Many of the natives again had red lips, which we found was from them eating betel nut.

As we were marched, or perhaps herded, many yellow robed monks all with umbrellas, hurried past us as if we were not there.

After passing a large village we had the first sight of our camp, standing just off the badly made wide road. I am sure we all looked in some shock at the huts, we had never seen anything like them. They were just two sides leaning to each other making a pyramid, each perhaps one hundred yards long and fifteen foot wide, with an open front. Three large flaps were on  either side, now open and held open by bamboo rods, which gave light to the interior. Down either side of the hut there was a platform supported on short bamboo legs. Every six yards or so a tall bamboo pole supported the roof. These sides were covered with what appeared to be long dark brown dried leaves. Simply built, but strangely, as we were soon to find out, weatherproof.

We were marched in and made to sit down on the platform, making the space we sat on, our future bed. As more men tried to sit down, we moved down, and still moved down, until we were sitting tightly next to each other. None tried to find out if this makeshift bed was comfortable, we took in our new living accommodation. Down one side of the hut, the platform was the full length length of the hut but on the opposite side it ran still nearly full length with a short opening to the side, then it continued for about six more yards. What this side door opening for, we never found.

I was sitting on the end of this shorter platform and made up my mind that we still occupied this camped space but I would certainly lie on the floor.  I was hoping some men would be moved on and give us space, we hadn’t yet understood the Japanese mind and their attitude towards us.

Words were being spoken down the line.

”Food is ready, orderlies wanted”

I wonder why I volunteered, but I did and with two helpers, we were guided by another forsaken soul across the road and into a large building. About a quarter had been taken over by PoW cooks, the other part believe it or not was a slaughter house. If we thought that perhaps large piece of meat would find its way to our cooks we were sadly mistaken.

Whilst waiting and as always waiting for the the cooks, we heard a sudden downpour. Tropical rain fall has to be witnessed to be believed, it is like a  huge bucketful of water dropping, and keep dropping. The food was ready and our little group stepped out to find the road and everywhere was a mess of deep slippery mud, which was almost to the top of our boots, deep sucking mud. The three of us were conscious of a slip or fall delivering at least one bucket of tea or watery stew or rice into this sloppy mess. Balancing and fearful, we stepped out and within seconds we were sodden through. Someone had looked after us as we got back safely and the men had already started to queue by instinct. This was our introduction to Ban Pong, Thailand.

Over the past months we all believed that in the bottom of the bucket holding stew or whatever, there lurked a piece of meat, it could be large or small but it was there. The shouting heard each midday or evening was,

“Go to the bottom of the damn bucket, yer saving it for yerself”

The next week the orderlies took up this cry to the cooks,

“Get to the bottom”.

Very rarely a chap might get a morsel of meat, this created even more eager shouts.

Night had now come in with solid blackness. I knew I could not sleep on the ground so claimed a space on the platform next to Sergeant Japp. Feeling his body pressing against me caused a revulsion, which soon turned to physical sickness. I just could not stand his flesh against mine. I tried to move even further to the end of the platform, and he moved with me. With a form of telepathy, we decided to move head to foot, this gave a little more room, but not really noticeable, we were still cramped together. It came over me this was the final degradation, feeling life could not get lower. Waking every half hour or so cringing, trying to make myself smaller. 

Breakfast time came and accompanied by my two helpers, we again set off, through the thick mud, for the food and drink. The road had a steaming cover, but inside the shade made the heat durable.

After a parade, about half the men were marched off to work. I with others were left with nothing to do but feel sorry for ourselves. What did the future hold for us, obviously we were as nothing to these heathens. Most seemed to be of the lowest intelligence, who might be as civilians be damn rickshaw pullers.

The boredom did not last long as a quite young Nip came along he was of some rank as me, you could tell by a patch on his collar and single star.  Somehow, I managed to understand, he wanted a fence erected and wire down the side of one hut. No tools were provided but the wood posts and wire, and no wire to fasten the wire netting to the posts. By pointing and gestures to him, it didn’t get me anywhere. Eventually I got a lad to find some string, which on showing him, an actual glow came over his face and he nodded his head and grinned. He came back with a length of wire. Again trouble, how the hell were we to break it into small ties? but at least we might as well make a start by putting in the posts.

The posts were about four feet in length and the wire netting three feet, so we had about a foot to sink the stakes into the ground, but how could we fit the fencing as we had no hammer or mallet. One bright lad came along with a brick, this would have to do. As we started to hammer, or bricker, I was still wondering how we could cut the wire to make ties. The same bright lad said we could perhaps twist and turn wire and it would break. This seemed a brilliant idea when without thought I said

“Why the hell should we try and help this lot?

They certainly had no thought for us, so we just tried to complete the staking. Then the guard came along, saw the stakes and muttered something like ‘assi moto’, what he meant we did not know.

At lunch we were given some sloppy looking food but today it was entirely different. No stew or weak soup but a dried bit of what looked like wood, or a dried up middle finger. It was warm but hard, you had to chew it before swallowing. It tasted like dried fish and was in a way unpleasant.  Word got around true or otherwise, that this was old fish kept by Japanese in a certain way and could be very old.

Our guard came back and started shouting, which obviously meant ‘get started’.  I tried in pantomime arm movements to ask for cutting pliers, but it was not helpful, let him use his brain if he had one. I had noticed I couldn’t tell one Jap from the other, they were looked alike to us. Did we also give the same impression to him?  If that was the case, we could hide amongst other PoWs and not be picked out if need be.  After some time, stalemate, he grinned, walked away and came back with wire cutters.  Peace was maintained. The outside working party came back to camp, but no one bothered to ask what had been their work. Were we perhaps caught in our own world of problems.

After a sleepless night,  I believed the others must feel the same as me squashed together like sardines.  How long could we put up with this iniquity and horror, how long before something broke?  Quite unexpectedly, a number of men were removed and we could now settle down at night.

Just after breakfast our sergeant came in with a Nip guard. He picked four men and myself and took us down the road for some distance carrying boxes of ammunition. On entering a dilapidated wooden hut, inside was a Japanese tank of unhappy memories. Sitting on a wooden box was a Japanese officer, rank not known, he had on his knee a little monkey about the size of a puppy. He had a razor and was cutting about an inch square from the poor little beasts skin and fur. It was shrieking and simultaneously we shouted,

“You lousy bloody bastard”

The word bastard had been adopted by all British POW a word not in common use, but the Australians had been calling us bastards which had caused many fights, until we realised, they used the word colloquially and not as insults.

The shells and  ammunition had to be unloaded, and we felt we should like to fire them at the Nip in the hut. The monkey’s shrieks were getting me down, something had to be done. Without thought I grabbed the little monkey who tried to bite me, that was gratitude for you. As soon as I had reacted, I thought the officer would start on me, but he just laughed and stalked out of the hut. Was he afraid of losing face? I cannot say, but I do know it as no act of bravery on my part. I had never seen such a look of amazement on our guard’s face he just stared at me as I released the monkey out of the door.

Tiffin time came and in the afternoon and we had no tasks to fulfil until sleep. The next week passed and nothing of note happened, except we finished the fence and the work party kept going out early morning.

This was soon to alter. After some ten days or so we were all marched to a high embankment, about eight feet high, and on top was a railway track. We later learnt that this was to be a line towards East Burma, but we never realised the oncoming nightmare existence this would bring us. Turning left down a fairly wide unmade road, we saw on our left side, what we later found out to be called, a padang, an area similar to a parade ground. Four empty, very well made wooded huts, these were standing on four foot high stumps with steps, with at one end to an open double door, showing they were empty. Just before we saw these buildings we had passed a high very old tree, which was indeed massive.

Going past the padang we turned right into a hillock, which again had a massive tree in the centre. At right angles to the railway line, the ground sloped gently and onto a large plain with no trees or anything, but tough looking grass. To the side of the railway embankment there was a small farm with chickens. Two native farmers stood there looking at us in wonder.

On the opposite side was a high bank, some four feet high, this sloped down until the bottom a small stream was seen with a boarded small bridge.  We were sent to the high soil embankment and given a two handed basket, oval shape, about two feet by one foot, with a bottom level of some ten inches. This was our first sight of a Gunkal, which had a long handle with a so called small steel spade at one end. This was a cheap simple tool, and with the basket were the main tools used to build the now infamous Thailand-Burma Death Railway.

The spade was dug into soil and pulled out with a spadeful of soil, which was emptied into the basket to be carried away. Thousands upon thousands tons of soil, rock, and sand were moved by the PoWs this way.

Later, an airfield was carved out of the jungle and bamboo forest and a  goods yard was started, this supplied everything wanted for the railway.

Nong Pladuk was the name of the village in which we built the service yard. At that time we had no idea of the thousands of men which would follow us in Work Parties building a 275 mile railway track from Nong Pladuk, Thailand to Thanbyuzayat, Burma, which supplied the Japanese troops fighting in Burma, but we are at the very beginning of this gigantic, horrific, journey.

We were marched about two miles out to work and given a Chunkal, I like others started swinging the blades into the ground and emptying the soil into a basket. There were some fifty men allocated to carrying the then  full baskets down to the small stream and emptying them.

After the  soft period in Birdwood I wondered if this was going to be our future work as PoWs?  It was very hard work, but also very boring. Whilst we were busy, I noticed that officers who had been marched out with us, were now lolling about under the tall tree. They must have been very hot and bored.

Tiffin time came with the welcome rest and a hand rolled a ‘The Making’ cigarette. The guards just stood around, I’m sure as bored as we were.  Marching back to the huts, things were to alter, it was as if a breeze had blown into our lives and it was not to us a favourable breeze.  Officially now, all ranks must now treat the all Japanese personnel, no matter how low, with a bow of 45 degrees, if not seen to do so, punishment would be given by the Japanese.

The reaction was not bloody likely, this soon changed when the first victim was given 25 press ups, on slowing up, the victim received a kick in the stomach and a further 15 press ups.

Now North Korean guards came onto the scene. They were all nearly six footers, unshaven and dirty looking. They gave the impression, soon believed, of being low mentality and intelligence. Being treated as underdogs by the Japanese, they soon realised the power they had over us the white European and this power they used to the full extent. Hard harsh punishment on the spot, the favourite was holding a large rock above your head, which normally was several bricks in size. As your arms began to tire and slaken, a kick on the shins was inflicted. You dare not drop the bloody rock as it would crash onto your head. I was caught bending a nail  by a Korean guard while hammering it in, and had a simple punishment of holding a pint size tin of paint in the palm of each outstretched hand. Very soon the tin seemed to be going through the skin with a feeling that both hands hands could be amputated.

We were also ordered that when marching out of the camp for work, the sergeant in charge would shout  ‘March to Attention’ as we passed the guards sitting in the open front guard house. The Sergeant then had to shout out in Japanese the number of men in your charge. The Sergeants were given one night to master one to twenty five in Japanese.

As a Sergeant, I very foolishly thought,  I’m not going to learn it. I will shout something they won’t ruddy well know. How daft can you get, The guard commander shouted something which certainly meant ‘Halt’. The men were sent on whilst I stayed getting a real mouthful. It seems all this lot adopted a scream, it was quite frightening thinking about what would come next. He decided that perhaps a good slapping on the face was warranted. POWs passing this spectacle inside the camp looked the other way, there was no other way. When punished, it was best to let the mind be elsewhere, I can assure you that is correct, it saves the humiliation and pain.

I had mislaid my bush hat and working in the sun without head protection was torture, as the sun burned into your unprotected head and neck, it was unbearable. A knack soon learnt was to keep turning your body so the sun heated a different spot, it helped. I would have to find something to cover my head or my brain would be roasted.

The Japanese Commandant, who we believed was a Colonel was well  educated, perhaps at University. He had brought from Singapore a bath complete with taps. As there was of course no running water here, he asked for a volunteer batman. A PoW, I didn’t know agreed, obviously thinking it would be a soft job with maybe advantages, and he was accepted. He was put in charge of the Commandants four pet pigs, which he was very fond of.  These pigs were smaller than an English pig, all black except their small pinkish legs. Proudly looking at his bath the Commandant produced a thermometer and pointed out the correct temperature he wanted. The poor batman was at a complete loss as he explained carefully the bath first would have to have water and also heating. He soon found out that the job of batman was no walk over. After the usual face slapping, the Commandant ordered a series of bamboo posts planted, the highest being at the water well, then each lower until they reached the wretched bath. Laid along the top a long bamboo, cut in half which acted as a trough. By pre-arranged signals, water was poured from the well into the trough until sufficient had been sent. The batman had now to heat the water to the temperature the Commandant had indicated using an open fire. Everyone was satisfied until a General was making an official visit. The pigs had to be groomed for presentation. Like pigs all over the world they spoiled everything by rolling about in mud. Unbelievable the pigs must be punished. The PoW and his pigs were placed standing, in front of the guard house with the sun on their necks for the full day, that will show those pigs to behave, said with a smile. I actually saw the pigs and man standing there and it was very hot, even in the shade.

One afternoon, I with others had been given a job of unloading long spars of wood about 4 x 4 inches and 12 feet long, when situation arose that had very serious consequences. Sergeant Bumgara was on top handing down the spars to us to store. I don’t know exactly what happened, but one man was being beaten by a Korean guard. Sergeant Bumgara in the best traditions of a British Sergeant went to rescue the man. Bumara jumped off right onto the Korean, knocking him to the ground. As from nowhere four Koreans arrived and started to belt into Bumgara. It was all over in seconds, or was it?

Back at the camp, Bumgara passed word along that we should remain standing still after morning parade, the men going on strike until these punishments were stopped. I thought this stupid, ill thought out, not practical in fact downright dangerous. The Japanese were our captors and had the strength in numbers to silence any disorder, our food alone could be stopped, they would win. Bumgara would not listen and the strike must go on. He started lecturing us and visited other huts, he was getting really dangerous.

After parade Bumgara shouted ‘Stand Fast’. Myself and about a dozen others were questioning this order, what should we do?  The guards looked confused they didn’t know what to do, there was stalemate. The Commandant soon came striding along and a strong voice in English boomed out, 

“All men will go to work and nothing will happen. I order you to go to work”

No one moved. The Commandants face was a picture before, he disappeared, leaving us standing there, should we go into the huts or not?

No one knew what to do, when a truck arrived and out jumped Japanese soldiers, with machine guns. They took up positions, guns trained on us.  The Commandant said,

“Men who wish to work stand over there”.

As he was speaking I saw our Major Gill approaching so I stayed put. I could not hear what the Major and the Commandant were saying but it was to no avail. Two husky Japanese seized Major Gill and roughly dragged him to a small hut which I had not noticed before. I was filled with horror and dismay, were they going to shoot him? I stepped over to the place indicated by the Commandant with about twenty men following me. I daren’t look back.

We were marched off to work and halted by a long railway van with its double doors open showing 40 gallon drums, presumably filled with petrol. At the foot of the doors were several sandbags, each drum was then allowed to be dropped onto the sand bags to save damage. Then each one of us were made to roll these heavy drums to a square surrounded by barb wire. This proved difficult and sweating work and by tiffin time it seemed we had moved maybe half of them.

During this work my mind was on the more serious problem at the camp, how would it end?  Any thinking man knew the Japanese would win, even if it meant death to some or maybe many. How could the men not see this, behaving like a load of idiots, there was no sense in it whatsoever. I could do nothing of course, could anyone?

Returning to the camp, the men were still standing there with machine guns in position. Quite a few men had passed out and were put under the shade of the huts. As we entered our hut we were all distinctly worried, within two hours it would be pitch black. A small truck suddenly swung onto the padang and out jumped one of our sub lieutenants. He literally flew into the camp’s office. In less than five minutes he was out again addressing the men. 

“The Commandant has agreed to forgive you men on condition you return to work tomorrow and there is no more striking. How you can hope to win with such foolishness is beyond me. This was stupid, ridiculous and insane as you have put the Commandant in a position of losing face”

The men were allowed to return to their quarters and Major Gill was released from the small hut.

Just after breakfast, on parade and falling into four lines we were as usual counted by four Koreans. They were detailed to count each line, but they never agreed as to the exact number. We often did not help them as we played out a little joke, after each line count was counted, the men changed lines so the counts were not the same and they had to start again. This caused even more confusion and the Koreans argued and lost tempers to our great amusement. We were then set off in our usual number of twenty men and marched off. A man, who I did not personally know, played his cornet trumpet, a tune he had himself composed. It was a lovely tune, and perhaps someday he would have it credited to him. With future camp movements I lost contact with him, and am unaware of what became of him.

On this particular morning, after the counting, the Sergeant Major told me to go outside the camp office and I would be met with a Japanese and two men. We were to go on a special job to be carried out, he then remarked it would be up my street.

The Japanese I met was a fairly old man with no idea of the English language. I was rather disturbed to find my two helpers were burly Australians. They as usual looked at me, saying under their breath that I was ‘Jap Happy’.

Equipped with spades and a very long bamboo poles, we carried them with us to an open area which I had not seen before. In the area were dozens of Bamboo trees which grew together like a clump. They looked old with very thick stems, which no doubt were very tough. The old Japanese, foreman if you like, motioned me to help him stake out four corners, using a small 90 degree right angle. It seemed this was to be a small hut as at each corner as instructed by hand signals, we were to dig a hole. The ground was very hard and its difficult to dig to any depth with a common spade, so after about foot we had to scrape out the loose dirt. It was made worse by bamboo roots, thin but like wire and just as strong. When he was satisfied as to the depth, I was instructed by hand signals, to cut one of the long bamboo poles we had brought with us, into four sections. I was in trouble now as the Aussies made it plain that they were not touching the pole. I was given a saw and was shown it had to be cut in four equal lengths. The saw was different from ours and it would not cut. The old man seemed indifferent and not very helpful, but it still would not cut. Suddenly it came to me, why and how I don’t know, it worked exactly opposite to an English wood saw, like a metal saw, it cut when it was pulled towards you.

Now having four thick bamboo poles they were embedded in the four holes,  he then showed me how long he wanted them. I now noticed for the first time these poles had sharp long thorns which could open a serious cut, that is why the Aussies refused to touch the poles, of that there was no doubt. I pointed to these and seemingly from nowhere he produced a long hooked blade on a handle. He quickly shaved the thorns off and now the Aussies put the poles in the ground stamping the soil down tight.  There seemed to go to plan, as I was now instructed to make to size, four stretchers to go between the top of each pole in the ground. Leaving the stretchers lying between each ground pole, we were now ushered back to camp for the day, under instructions to the Aussies to be with me the next day.

Next day we were again at the partly built hut, thinking how do we fix these cross pieces. The foreman produced no nails, rope or string, he just stood there looking. One of the Aussies, who I could have hit, smirked.

“Say Pommie Sergeant, use some spit” 

Coming out of his trance or so it seemed, our foreman pointed to a large wooden bucket. Looking inside I saw coils of what looked like tree roots. We learned these were actually long trailing plants, they hung from trees in the jungle. They were very strong, and after ten minutes in water they became very pliant and soft. He cut many pieces for me and I then proceeded to try and fasten one to the other. Obviously there was a method of fastening which I didn’t know, a sailor or even a boy scout may have known not yours truly. The pieces would slip, breaking the knot apart anything but remain fastened. Seeing me struggling, the foreman seemed undisturbed in motioning me to keep trying. I had now got the pieces together, but nothing like a professional job, they were shaky. Perhaps when we got the end piece together and attached it would stand reasonably strong, so we proceeded. After much swearing and fiddling we stood back admiring the hut frame with an angled roof. there was nearby a pile of what we learned was called ‘Attap’.  These were ready made about one yard by two feet. They were made with sown on leaves with the usual trails, these were to be the roofing and sides. Strange to say when fitted they became completely rain proof.

With the Aussies finishing on the roof, I was admiring our handiwork when there was a rending noise, followed by a large cracking noise. I saw the whole roof falling to the earth together with the Aussies, the rest of the hut then caved in upon them. They got up looking annoyed and who can blame them. The hut was of course destroyed and the Japanese builder walked us back to the camp. I never heard any more or saw the Aussies again.

That afternoon I with others, went to the railway line and started to unload bales of British Army blankets. In true fashion Korean guards watched us, with fixed bayonets, hoist these bales on our backs and take them into the wooden huts. We were all impressed by a small party of PoWs, unseen on the other side of the unguarded track, carry away bales to the what we called Floggers Creek.

At this time in the camp, no bore holes had been dug, and there were no  latrines. At the far end of the camp was a small copse of banana trees and the men decided this was the area to use. At first it was rather embarrassing, crouching down with our shorts around our ankles, and on some occasions, a brown arm would appear and try to snatch away your shorts. These natives, or would be robbers, were useful to sell anything we pinched from the Japanese, nails, tools and almost anything not tied down. Floggers Creek was aptly named.

An old steam roller with an iron roller and two huge wheels at the rear was in daily use, driven by a Scots lad with red hair. He always had his pipe in his mouth, whether lit or not, when unlit the pipe was always upside down. It is hard to believe, but this is in fact true, each morning he went to the Japanese quarter masters store and collected a four gallon tin of petrol. These tins were Army issue, and were extremely valuable to us. When emptied we could collect water to swill ourselves down after work, or use the water to wash our clothing. What would have happened to him if the nips had found out, I shudder to think, but the  steam roller was coal driven and not petrol.

On our way back from work to the sullen looking hut, we passed the huge tree and sitting there was a very fat Thai woman with a small charcoal fire and a deep sided iron bowl. She was cooking banana strips dipped in oil.  The smell to me was something out of this world as we were starving with the same daily ration of dirty rotten rice. The smell from the Thai woman’s cooking floated it’s way across us, but her price of five cents was beyond me and the others. If I could steal a half dozen nails I could afford some of this mouth watering food.

It so happened a number of us were sent to construct an all wood building. The Japanese were the builders, we PoWs being just labourers. It was my first chance as it was left to us to nail the floor boards down. If we bent a nail, and this was not unusual, we received a good shouting at and a hefty face slap. I had noticed, not to far away from me, a few six each nails.  If I could pinch six and sell them in Floggers Creek, I would have a feast of those warm oil soaked bananas. It was not difficult to pinch these nails but hide them in my skimpy shorts was a problem. I thought of what happened to a fellow PoW. All Regiments have one who is not completely with it,  usually given mediocre jobs where thinking was not a problem. We had one, he was found having sex with a Thai girl and was carted into the Japanese offices. To be seen talking to a Thai was strict imprisonment in a Japanese Military Police prison which was a most dreaded sentence. To be caught having sex, could mean shooting and death. We knew, but did the Nips know he was mentally deficient. We PoWs were very concerned for his well-being, when to our amazement, within a short time, he walked out of the guardroom quite unconcerned and back into our hut. He never let us know what had happened.

After managing to hide six nails, we were taken off the wooden building for perhaps more essential work, hopefully this would give me just enough time to exchange the nails for the fried bananas.

Going past the Thai woman I darted out and bought, along with the fantastic smell, the so fragrant fries. Back in line I looked, anticipating the delight from that fruity smell and took a large bite. A sort of scream erupted from me as I spat out the banana slice. The taste was past horror, she was cooking the bananas in oil, which must have been, from the taste, old used engine oil. The lads were vastly amused but none took my offer of a gifted banana slice.

On leaving our new quarters the next day, we stood waiting for our masters to take charge of us. Twenty Japanese were receiving their orders, we looked on wondering what today would bring. It so  happened that several of them were not too bad, the others were certainly bullies and their modes completely unpredictable. One Nip Sergeant Major was instantly unliked, he couldn’t help but the lobes of his ears were pointed giving him a devilish look. We wondered if this had made him into a devil incarnate.

The afternoon was very hot on the rail track which was being repaired. One POW asked innocently if he could to go the bucket and take a drink of water. The Sergeant Major went one better, he grabbed the man’s beaker and personally walked over to the bucket, filling  the beaker. On returning he poured the water over the waiting PoW’s head. The PoW to our horror dropped his shorts and drew on the sandy floor a square with a round circle in the centre, it was obviously the Japanese flag. The PoW was making it obvious that he was going to empty his bowels. We all expected some roar and retribution, perhaps worse but nothing happened, except our roar of laughter. I could never understand these people.

The railway line, or Singapore Express as we now named it, was looking good as the embankment was built and a new railway line was laid, it was stretching well ahead. On the new line stood three long railway trucks, each loaded with heavy wood sleepers, our job was not only to unload them, but carry them away, two men to each sleeper, carrying them on your shoulder. The distance to carry them was not too far, but obviously as we piled one lot we had to travel further.

My job was to stand on top of the sleepers on the truck and with another man, we prised apart the sleepers, letting them fall off the truck to the ground. They were then carried away to the service yard. We stopped as we heard the ‘Singapore Express’ coming and turned to watch it pass. As it past there seemed to be a lot of well dressed Thais on board, sitting in which seemed to be a dining car. To our great surprise a Thai threw half a packet of cigarettes out through an open window. Sharing out alike was a problem, so I confess, I kept one for myself and let the rest squabble over the remainder.

It took us three days to finish unloading and stacking the sleepers, in that time we often had cigarettes thrown out to us which gave me a good feeling, someone cared.

After the sleepers were stacked, with chunkel and baskets we were digging from a large square and heaping the soil alongside it, to make an embankment, levelling it to a given height. The embankments direction was towards an open space near a large building. The sleepers, we had unloaded, were now laid at right angles across the top of the embankment at a given distance apart.

The other open trucks appeared, the rail lines had arrived and had to be unloaded. They were very heavy so we leaned them at an angle from the loaded truck and slid down a ramp made of large tins filled with used thick oil, also using some of this oil on the tin ramp to help the rails slide down.  Twelve men picked up the rail and staggered to the now laid sleepers. After the Japanese engineers, using a special plank of wood, made sure a parallel rail was level and spaced correctly, spikes were used to fasten the rails to the sleepers. Very simple it may sound, but having not having used a long handled sledgehammer before, missing or causing the spike to go in crooked, not straight, meant a sharp face slap or kick on the shins.

On eventually finishing the branch line, Japanese rail engineers put in place a special curve line allowing passage from the main line to our branch line.  I knew this was for our enemies, but we could not have fudged it, as they watched our every step.

It was now we looked at what was now achieved, they now had the means of locomotion to move reasonable weights from the main line to this open square. All four wheels had been taken off a truck and it was sat on the rails with its four wheel drive brake drums on the railway line. These were ordinary motor trucks, cabin and flat loading bay with boarded moveable sides. Within reason quite heavy loads could be driven on both our line and the main line to the empty large space near the large building.

Now it came to me what the big dug out squares alongside the railway line were when we travelled towards Ban Pong. They were diggings which were used to make the levelled railway embankments.

I am glad we were not made aware of what we were now making with chunkel and baskets and the deaths involved in its making.   

The trunk line we had constructed, ran to the entrance of the large building, and we were now given the task of digging a large circular hole, about 10 feet across. On the third day, and now about four feet deep, water was coming in about six inches in depth.  Ladling out the heavy wet sand to the men above was tiring and boring as the hole never seemed to get any deeper. We carried on but it was a waste of time as the  water was sweeping in all the time. On the now third day trying to dig out the wet sand in the hole, the Japanese Engineer gave up and we started on smaller diggings. On finished digging the smaller holes, they were filled with concrete and a huge machine was railed in and with others we managed to get this enormous machine in place and on the level.  It turned out to be a drop hammer machine. Other smaller machines were arriving, nearly all of them seemed to be for wood working. We smiled to ourselves, as all these were electric driven, so where would the necessary electricity be found?  We were in the middle of nowhere, on a large open plain, empty of everything except the large house. A new large hole was now ordered to be dug at the rear of the large building, the building now being called a workshop. Would this be the foundation for a generator to supply power for the machines?  We worked in silence keeping our thoughts to ourselves,. each day was exactly the same. There was absolutely nothing to take away  the boredom of digging these holes, our brains were not being used. Every day was monotonous, using a chunkel and filling baskets, we were being used as automatised dummies.

At last after months, the holes were dug and the machines were in place. Train loads of heavy teak sleepers arrived, so it was back to unloading and storing them in the open space. We were carrying these now a fair distance as the area was becoming filled, it was becoming a storage yard.

Without us actually knowing large wooden huts which had been built, were now for us and our few belongings were moved into them. In the evenings after work one could hear conversations with an occasional laugh, which had not been heard since we arrived. Morale was now rising, as we were away from those horrible leafy long huts.

Rising one morning I reached for my sand bag which I used as a towel, when I was struck with an almighty pain that paralysed me. I don’t know for how long I just stood there slowly getting the use of my limbs back, but the pain was still fresh in my mind. Taking down my ‘towel’ I saw the cause of the pain, a scorpion. The bite was in my right thumb and I wasn’t sure whether I had five minutes or twenty four hours to live.

After a while I was still in pain so I went to see the Camp M.O.  He looked at the red mark on the ball of my thumb and agreed it was indeed a scorpion, but it was not fatal, it would however be extremely painful. He refused giving me morphine saying  was too valuable.

Being available to work, three of us were sent on a job which I found at the start interesting. In front of us was a high mound of thick tree trunks and branches. Our job was to split the logs in two and pile them. I was axing away, when for some reason, the others started playing around with the wood building four walls and a doorway. Without any warning my mind went into a sort of spin, and I fell down aching and knowing that I had malaria again. Standing, I dragged myself onto the walling for support, and once more I couldn’t stop shivering although I was boiling hot. Wondering what the Korean guard would do, but frankly I could not care less. It must have been mid afternoon when he allowed me to camp. With help some how I got back to the hut. The M.O did not make visits or calls you had to get to him somehow. This next morning I got to his surgery, he took one look said,

“Hospital, make your way there”.

On entering the smaller wooden hut, there were several men laid out on the floor, some groaning, among them I could see amputees. The male nurse looked at me and pointed to a bed space, so thankfully I laid down. Some fourteen days later and feeling quite well, I went back to to my hut knowing I would be given a weeks convalescence. During that time I was visited by patients I made friends with at the hospital,an amputee, malaria victim and lastly a badly ulcerated leg. Somewhere a pack of playing cards was found and we played bridge and the time passed quickly and pleasantly. I wanted the toilet so whilst my partner was playing my hand I slipped out. Not bothering to put on my boots and to my surprise, the surface of the padang was red hot, my feet were burning. I gave it thought, it was right, you could poach an egg in this heat.

Some bright spark thought of the whirly jig. You would have thought amongst us there would be no more takers, but there was always one who knew it all. It would start just after tiffin, in the half hour before we started back to work, when we would be sitting and laying around, when quite innocently a soft voice would say

“I just don’t believe it”.

The voice would carry on “A one man band, just isn’t possible”

Without fail some mutt could be heard to say with clarity.

“Oh yes I’ve seen it quite a few times back home”

“Maybe you believe it, but its not impossible, one man can not make a complete band”

“Its true I tell you” warming to his task.

“Alright tell us clever dick”

“Well, he has a sort of fixture to his neck and it fits short of his mouth, and there is a mouth organ and he’s playing it”

With all round laughter from us

“He’s hanging himself playing the mouth organ”

“No, his head is moving right to left as he plays the mouth organ. On his back is a large, big drum, and fastened to his elbows are the drumsticks”

Now comes the amusing part, the poor lad is waving his head and his arms are beating the big drum in pantomime.

“Round his knees he has a cymbal”

“No bells?”

Everyone is laughing their socks off (if they had any). Even in our bad situation, I have seen this done many times. It never fails for a know all to start a laugh.

Another but confirmed argument, but it helped to pass a weary hour before afternoon work. The prime debater in this ‘whirly jig’ debate was a man from Kensington, London. I think honours were left as equal.

One day twenty of us were sent by bus to an area called Yu So Ann. Our job was to build three attap huts for men later coming up to the railway from Singapore. All men were now quite expert at building these huts and enjoyed the work, and when roofing you were away from the guards.

It was about this time Captain Hilton, who in civvy life was a solicitor, approached in confidence about the men being bored and fed up, and he was frightened one or two may prove rebellious. Would it be in order to occupy their spare time in forming a concert group?

I must have looked at him in some amazement, we had nothing but what we stood in and that was little enough, we hadn’t even a mouth organ.

He certainly was a cunning devil.

“Come along sergeant I’ve known you for a long time even in civvy street.  Think and think hard you’ll find something”

I thought flatterer, but he was quite right of course, a concert group would bring the men together and something to look forward to. Then I remembered seeing Captain Hilton at the Palace in a variety show.

Sitting the men down I had a captive audience. Taking my place at the end of the padang between two rubber trees, and pretending to place my none existence gloves on a none existence table. I took centre stage adopted a goalkeepers upright stance, ready and waiting. The men immediately understood and watched, I pretended that the opposition were approaching my goal and were ready to strike. During this next fifteen minutes intro, what I hoped for came into action. They cheered when I saved a certain goal from a corner, and then many saves, dives, jumping and running out that I could remember. They showed their approval and perhaps for a little time they enjoyed themselves. The clapping and shouting gave me a deep feeling of a job well done, the men could laugh and give applause to rookie comedian, we could do this.

The applause had sounded sincere enough, and somehow I enjoyed it. Could I think of another small act or smutty tale, it seemed possible. So I found Captain Hilton and he agreed we should go ahead.  Perhaps he was only too glad someone was at least trying to do something to help the men through camp life.

So next day, again with the men seated, I took centre stage, I heard one or two saying, watch this chap’s good for a laugh. Such unsought praise gave me further courage to act, so I started.

Billy was a young man of about twenty, but was mentally deficient. This night in the pub, someone put a dead mouse in his pint, and a snigger went around the pub when it was whispered around.

Billy also had no roof in his mouth, so his voice was muffled

I now altered my voice to Billy’s muffled voice.

  Billy suddenly yelped “There’s a dead mouse in me beer.  His look of horror and his queer voice brought out laughs. A wit shouted “only one ? Yer must ‘ave supped one, we put two in”.

Poor Billy was crying “I’m poisoned and going to die and he started sobbing.

I must have been playing the part well as the men were falling over laughing. Encouraged with the laughter, I continued,

 Just then the landlord voice broke in.

Here Billy lad, take these three Beecham Pills they’ll shift anything in half an hour.

Billy sat moaning and grieving. Then suddenly he sat up,

“They’re working” and he rushed to the privy.

 One man was already sitting there. and poor Bill was crying

“Hurry up, hurry up”

  After some minutes Billy took his place in the privy, but in his haste he forgot to close the door and espied near the opposite wall a cat sitting, he shouted out,

“Hey clear off, buggar off, the bloody thing won’t come out whilst you’re sat there”

At this point I had lowered my shorts and crouched down.

The applause was thunderous. I had acted as well as I could, and no doubt the little story had been well received, but this excessive laughter was not really warranted. Getting up from my crouching position with my shorts still around my ankles, I then noticed a bevy of giggling, dusky skin young girls watching and wondering whatever I was doing. The men had seen this and the joke was on me. Hence the thunder of clapping and my ego instantly went flat.

The next day I was struck with what I knew was dysentery. I placed my stool on a rubber plant leaf and went to see the M.O. One look and again it was,

“Hospital for you and no food of any description until I say so. Now off you go”

The hospital had now been enlarged, the long, open fronted leaf hut, having several dozen men lying there. I managed to get a bed space right at the front, so I could watch the men passing by. There was of course no bed pans, you had to try and get to the bore holes some distance away. The record held by one man with this painful and disagreeable illness was eighty four times in a day. I think from memory my best total was forty four.  For the first two days it was agony and food the last thing I wanted, but the pain then began to go away and after six days my appetite returned. I was looking with envy at those in the ward eating the rice and perhaps a sardine.

Shortly after we had moved into the large wooden huts, with a large pond of dirty water in the padang centre, I had a frightening incident. It so happened that as I was marching my squad in after a late afternoon and was taken a short cut over the Singapore railway line, when I was suddenly gripped with stomach ache, not dysentery again I hoped, but I told the men to continue I would find a place to relieve myself. After returning from doing my business, I was refused entry to the camp.  The guard had counted my squad and did not know of my absence. As far as they were concerned the whole work party was in camp. I was filled with fright, being found outside the camp could look as though I was escaping, and we were told all escapees would be shot when found. Peter Noble saw the incident and he tried to get me in, but to no avail. Captain Hilton then past by the guards post and shouting, asked why was I out there. I made my excuses and Captain Hilton instructed the guard to allow me in , to my great relief.

Peter Noble, who had tried to intervene at the gate to the camp, was six footer, and extremely smart, had found himself a cosy little job. He was to be found daily just outside the main gate. He couldn’t stop anyone coming or going, as the Japanese guards would deal with that, and he did not have much joy helping me. This made me think, what were his duties at the gate? Standing at the gate all day seemed a waste of time, but what a lucky man, he did no hard graft. It was now I found out what his duty was.

It was known, or we thought that, the Japanese guards in charge of us were poorly paid, and in civvy street were low paid coolies. They certainly could not afford to buy a wrist watch, so if we had a watch could sell, through an intermediary, Peter had set himself up as a broker, an in between with us and the Japanese. He would take a watch and sell same and we had to accept what he said was the selling price. How the transaction was done he never did explain.

Even a gold watch when sold bought very little, but for a few days you had some small luxuries, a bottle of tomato ketchup (Malayan Ketchup), two  or three duck eggs, six biscuits or a coconut. One gold watch, yet it gave a  PoW their wish for a taste of something of other than rice.  Considering their future as they knew it, the watch deal was a drop in the ocean.

Some twelve months after the gate incident Peter Noble died.

About this time we had not been long back at work when thirty of us including a more senior sergeant were told to climb aboard an open truck with our belongings. All we were told was that we would be away for several days and a cook with cooking facilities was following. Sitting in the open truck we stopped at Nong Pladuk railway station and entrained again in an open railway truck along newly laid track going to Burma. We were all at a complete loss, were we going to join the rail laying track?

Quite suddenly we left the main track and for perhaps ten miles we sped on. On stopping the guard ordered us off and we then saw to our astonishment a single span steel railway bridge was loaded on two long railway wagons. Just ahead of the loaded bridge was a small river perhaps, fifteen yards wide, and on the other side were rail tracks. We looked at our Japanese guard and we understood was to be our work, we couldn’t believe that we were meant to unload the sections of  bridge, span them across this river, and connect the railway lines.

From the most intelligent to the dimmest soldier, we knew that their railway construction work was helping the Japanese in the fight against our lads in India. This bridge would take Japanese troops to their front line, with food, ammunition and goodness what else, we were caught in helping the Japanese against our own troops. We were in a position we could not say no, so we had to carry on regardless. Our party knew that we could not move the bridge, no matter how hard we may try.  I believe our Japanese engineer also knew.  However we tried men on either side, but it didn’t move one inch, and we collapsed breathless. Some men were then instructed to  cut down some teak trees, while we were stuck with the lifting. Trying to lift one end of that damn bridge by muscle only was useless but the engineer produced a strong lever and a prop, and with them we got the thing off. How the Japanese had organised this feat, I’ll never know. This happened so often, having no language or spoken understanding, but somehow we managed. Now for fun and games, how do we carry this thing and place it into position. As we saw it, the only possible way was a crane, which we had not got, but then the fallen trees were placed as a roller from the truck to the side of the stream, and used them as rollers and although the rain was heavy it worked. We didn’t leave the bridge site until around eight o’clock, we hadn’t eaten since our flimsy breakfast. Now leaving in the truck we were uncomfortably wet through, tired and hungry. Sitting in the corner of the open truck was an obvious Asian. His look was of utter misery, he was shaking and I think he had vomited. We could do nothing.  In total darkness uncomfortable.

When back at camp, Captain Hilton asked me to do something. In a temper, which was unusual for me, I turned on him saying

“For God’s sake Captain get off my back”“

Some time later I realised I had acted most unreasonable and insulted a man who had become a friend.

Having now got back for some unknown reason the guard made us spend the night in a deep ditch surrounding the camp and wait until daylight and the guard seen us.

A few days on our return, I with two others, gave thought to concert party of acting only. We cudgelled our brains about some film we may have seen, but came out with nothing, until one of the lads hit on a silly idea. When we put it together, it gave much appreciated laughter and applause. This was briefly the sketch.

Two men standing in a bar in their club when I joined them, it was well known to all that on the word brush, it had effect on me, down I would go into paroxysm falling down in an excited frenzy.

The two men were talking about a holiday when one said without thinking,

“God, that reminds me to get a new tooth brush”

At this I went into excited waving of my arms, making funny noises and the captive audience loved it.  They started shouting REPEAT, AGAIN REPEAT.

It was shortly after this and just after our evening meal and in semi darkness the Japanese Camp Commandant called a meeting. This was the first time I had seen this one, he was short and tubby with a falsetto voice.

“You are lazy thieving lot. No thank you for Japanese good food, good lodgings. Now you will pay. From tomorrow all Japanese will see you work speedo. Any man found not working at speedo will suffer. Also in one week all men will have hair shaved, head, and under arms. This will continue all time. Remember speedo”

The Japanese were delighted and took every excuse no matter how flimsy, face slapping, and shouting, ‘Speedo’. We had two trained hairdressers, but only one razor, so men like myself who had sharpened table knives to razor sharpness, helped out. With no soap as we had not seen soap since capitulation, and cold water, it was a difficult time with the scraping of the scalp and arm pits, the skin ended up red raw. We thought things could not get worse, we were wrong.

For the next few days it rained and rained. There was of course no sheltering while we worked. The padang road and the stock yard became just swampy, each footstep had slimy mud over your ankles, and to get the foot clear was such a big effort. In fact the soles of our boots were sucked off by this mud, from now until release most men were bare footed, and  trying to be taken off work with sore feet, was dismissed. The mental state of the men should have been considered, but it seemed we were in a twilight world, with no consideration. 

This situation brought back a downcast mood and the camp suffered. Whilst  men were friendly and helpful, no one had a special friend. One could make the day out  at work, but the men who slept beside delivered no ‘Goodnight’ or ‘Good morning’.

It is hard to explain this independence, we were all friends but did not expect or give that special bond found in normal conditions. To better understand this:-

A younger prisoner, younger than myself, but an old boy of the same school and a sergeant. Before capitulation we were retreating after some skirmish with the enemy, and he was reported ‘Missing’.  No one seemed to know if he had made it back to his battalion. It was some two months before he surfaced. He was led by another POW into our sergeant’s mess at Birdwood. We were all shocked at his apparent blindness, but his close friend made him comfortable and at home. Apart from the terrible disability his father was a Chartered  Accountant and he had been hoping to qualify.

He said that his gun tower and his crew had been hit with a direct shell and he had been in hospital for his blindness, but no cure was found. In my innocence I asked if he knew how long before the end of hostilities?  He replied he thought ten days.

During that night I was unable to sleep. I didn’t like the way my thoughts were going, but there it was. As a blind soldier he would have, with others, been evacuated. What had he done?  Surely he hadn’t tried to spoof his way home, and the doctors were not fooled. He wouldn’t try that would he?  Over a few weeks he began to see and within a month was in full sight. I will leave any conclusions to the reader.

A position arrived at which amused everyone. The Japanese Commandant, always when issuing written orders, gave a rubber stamp which it was presumed were his personal initials. He issued an order that owing to the fact more money was being spent at our dismal canteen than any money paid to his prisoners. He came to the conclusion that it must be due to thieving Japanese tools and selling them. In future payment to the prisoners would be a piece of cardboard bearing his initials.

Within weeks counterfeit cardboard was found, he stopped using Japanese money and went back to Thai money. With the speedo now in full use, he was feeling more happy, and gave way on a few simple matters, but the carrying of soil in a single basket was now a one man unly job, not two. Walking to dump the soil in pairs, conversation was almost non-existent as there was nothing to talk about.

We did hear through a bore hole rumour that a great naval battle had taken place and the Japanese had lost heavily. This somehow ran true.  This made us feel the world had not forgotten us.

One task we had to undertake when not working on the railway was to work in the semi jungle, gathering fallen wood. Tree trunks, long branches, anything, this was necessary for the cooks who without wood could not cook the rice.

Some guards would taunt us that their Air Force was bombing London, and there were deaths among POW’s families. somehow we knew better, the distance to London was not possible for Japanese planes. They would forget the position we all were in and give us a cigarette.

It happened one day, that  the saistic bully took me into a private clearing where stood a wooden hut, for what for I never found out. I came to understand that he wanted a rainwater drain digging round the outside of the clearing and left me to it, for which I was grateful. I had visions of all sorts going on in this deserted area. I made up my mind that he would see marvellous trench, the sides smooth and straight, the bottom smooth, but I took a great risk, but I thought it was a risk worth taking. Having now completed the four sides, I made a trench going up hill so water would drain from it downhill. I thought being a rough unintelligent brute with nothing in his head he would not realise what I had done. He had come back several times grunted his approval I am afraid I got carried away with myself and started the following,

“Gunsa (sergeant) some nights ago the Nippon dropped bombs on London”

I used my arms as aeroplane wings, with a sound of falling bombs and then ‘whoosh’, exclaiming,

“Taxen number (many bombs)”

I knew he was impressed and he replied,

“Taxen bombs eh”

“Me ten children”,  This was a great exaggeration but this would please this chump.  He almost  clapped his hands in joy. He again said,

“Texen children eh”

I nodded warming to my theme.

“Yes texen bombs”  I again whooshed with my arms.  Texen dead, and I clasped my hands in a prayer position.

“Aaaaaaa----------H”

It paid I got a cigarette, and his face now gleamed in delight.

With a question on his face ?

“Wifeo, childreno?”

Shaking my head and wiping away a tear.

“Ah so ka”  he replied, whatever that  meant.

It is incredible but they had no idea of the size of London, indeed where we were in Thailand London meant very little to them. To speak of daily news again gave no surprise. I felt that I had done enough about bombing and death, and to go on would make him suspicious, but the thought of yet another cigarette made me change the subject. They all liked you to believe they not only drove motor cars but owned one. So I altered my sails, and asked him,

“You Tokyo auto”.

I put my hands on non-existent driving wheel and ‘honked, honked’. He did not understand as he looked puzzled, so I again asked,

“You Tokyo drive Auto yes ?”

His face lightened

“Ah, you London boxer ?”

This was new one on me, if he wanted to say boxer instead of driver ok with me. He disappeared to my disappointment, but  then reappeared with the tallest Japanese I had ever seen. This monster looked at me smiling, always distrust a smiling Nip. He advanced with an outstretched fighting stance, and grinning.

“You boxer London ?”

I knew straight away I was in mortal danger, and I was stuttering,

“No, no”

I saw it coming a fist like a York ham. When I came round, how long I don’t know, my boxing friend had gone. The Nip, I now know was called ‘Bullet’, was looking at me as if I had betrayed him, and was saying,

“Nan-da”

This brings to mind a situation regarding distance.  Quite a few of us were sitting on a rail line eating our tiffin when on the other line a train appeared and stopped.  It looked like a larger version of the trucks we travelled up from Singapore in. Jammed in tight were numerous Japanese soldiers going to Burma and fighting, we knew that as they were shouting Burma, Burma. We shouted obscenities back at them like ‘slit eyed bloody bastards, your mother’s a whooer’ and such like,

Suddenly a voice came from inside the wagon.

“What you jerks beefing about”.  He told us he was a New York taxi driver on holiday in Tokyo when the war broke out he ended with,

“Finished with this bloody lot, going to live and die with em”

We fell silent what a way to live and perhaps die,

Our next job was to widen a cart track and I was carrying the carrying soil in baskets with me was Johnnie Stevenson, in civvy street he was a school teacher. Walking each way we started talking, mostly it was nonsense about what we thought about American cowboys. Somehow it shortened our day. Without speaking about it, we decided a few days later to  have an answer and question. One asked a question if the other did not know the answer, the one who asked had to give the correct answer. Silly but It passed away the time.

One late afternoon an aircraft was heard, it was the first we had heard since captivity. On looking up, to our surprise, it was an English bomber. The Japanese started firing, but that was useless as it was far too high. As we watched, everyone with his own thoughts, we saw something falling in fact a large number of articles. We realised, as they neared the ground  they were bundles of pamphlets. Unfortunately they were falling too far away from us. Some of the  Korean guards ran to the dropping site and gathered them in. I well remember one of the lads saying.

“The pilot was very close and most likely was eating Cadbury’s Milk chocolates.” This somehow lifted us.

Everyone back at the camp was excitingly asking if anyone had got one of the leaflets. No one had except our mentally retarded friend who admitted finding an unopened bundle saying,

“I got one and buried it, as I didn’t want the Japs to get it”.

Oh dear, he was told to get the bundle next day and bring one of the pamphlets back to the camp for us to read it. Next day, a setback, he couldn’t remember where he had hidden the bundle. We never knew what the pamphlet was about.

Another great disappointment now occurred. A large box made of three-ply was brought into the camp, the sender again we never knew.  Inside was 24 large costly books which contained photographs of ancient and modern buildings, cenotaphs, castles, cathedrals and public schools. The information was printed on heavy costly paper, too thick to use as cigarettes. Unfortunately, these were not good reading for us starved PoWs.  Worse much worse was to follow. The books were packed into the box with yards of paper, punched with hundred of holes.

On the padang, the box now opened, stood beside a large bag with the Commandant standing over it. In a fierce voice he let rip,

“Do you people think the Japanese army idiots, You may keep the books  packed in the box but not the taped messages”.

He kicked the large bag, which he told us contained letters from home.

“As a punishment of trying to give messages in secret code, your letters will be burnt”.

He spoke to a guard and the bag was set alight.

We all watched in horror, our first letters going up in smoke. Silence fell over the men, were so shocked. Letting go of our feelings, what good would had it done ?  Later we found twelve letters intact. A youngest lad in our hut had got one. After he read it he kindly let us all read his letter. His mother, who had a boarding house in Albert Road, Blackpool took in British servicemen, around twenty RAF lads. She wrote how she enjoyed being mother to the lads, and on a Sunday would make a special effort to give them extra food. You may realise how we felt as there was nothing about life in England, costs, rationing etc.  Had she been warned about what to say. The recipient of the letter saying

“Bloody Brylcreem Boys”

Another who received a letter nearly exploded,

“My wife writes that she will never forgive me as I didn’t send our 5 year old son a Birthday Card. Does she think there’s a bloody Woolworths at the street corner”.

With speedo it was now necessary to produce, of what we called, a chitty. To get a ‘chitty’ from the M.O. was difficult, a cut with flowing blood usually got one produced which got us off a work party. The M.Os had difficult decisions to make, but manage they did.

On one work party  we were sent to a huge pile like a pyramid of long telegraph poles, looking longer when laid out on the ground. Our job was to dislodge them and cart away. I went aloft with a long steel rod and started to prise the upper ones apart. Suddenly there was movement. Having dislodged one I had started the top layers to come crashing down, me with them. One POW said afterwards, as I was falling I was shouting “CHITTY”.

It was now reaching a crisis point with the medical people. Any bindings had been used as bandages, bit was getting impossible to find more.  Medical orderlies were always telling us to use our old bandage, washed if possible and then after, save it. I personally saw men with leg ulcers queuing for medical attention, trying to hold a dry cloth on their gaping wounds, visibly attracting flies. On doctors’ orders, the men with these terrible ulcers were told to go to the dug out latrines and put their leg into the hole, letting the huge slugs eat the rotting skin. This would clean out these terrible raw wounds. If that did not help as there were no surgical instruments, a spoon was used to scrap out the puss and with no pain relief, the poor man was told to grin and bear it.

A small mosquito bite below the knee and the itch being scratched, within three days leg ulcer.  In a month amputation, no repatriation.   Myself I was indeed fortunate I had two small ulcers on my right ankle size about sixpence.  With walking as little as possible they cleared.

Another nuisance if not worse, were bugs. These blood sucking insects  could be seen coming out through the cracks on the floorboards, soon to be swollen with our blood, and the itch. Old time soldiers who had served in India told of similar trouble, they found even cleaning with modern detergents, no way was found to get rid of these pests.

We finally got permission to lift the floor boards and pass them through a large fire. Unfortunately, within weeks they were back. Some men managed to collect some and put them in the Camp Commandant’s bungalow.

I had the pleasure one day on walking past the Commandant’s bungalow to see a Sergeant Major of the Gordon Highlanders. As I approached he was busy sweeping the yard. Suddenly a Nip soldier charged at him with his rifle, bayonet fixed. Quickly into a combat position, the S.M unarmed the Nip with his yard brush, the Nip’s rifle and bayonet flying through the air.  I hadn’t noticed a Nip officer watching, and possibly to show his soldier how to take on an enemy, he in turn charged. Again the rifle went flying.  Damn good show Gordon. I think this must have been a Nip practice as no retribution came from this.

Soon after this a situation arose that I shall never forget. I went into Hell for an hour. This took place, no exaggeration, this is a true episode in the life of a PoW.

I was resting prior to going to bed, lying on my straw mat, when a PoW from another hut, known only slightly to me, asked me to help about twelve men who were suffering from cholera, as they will be dead by tomorrow. Having seen my attempts at entertaining the men on the padang, he wanted me to talk to them and make them laugh before their end.

Cholera was sweeping through the camp, the doctors seemed to be unable to stop this frightening illness. The dead were taken to a long hollow just outside camp and their bodies were cremated in fires, using  teak wood and bamboo. We could see these huge fires from the camp, making the night turn into daylight.

I was startled and more than surprised,  to suggest that I could make men laugh at deaths door, I thought it to be impossible. I was caught between two chairs and liable to fall, but I couldn’t refuse.

We made our way in the velvet blackness and entered a small bell tent which was set aside from the camp. I don’t know what I had expected but I recoiled at this Dante’s Inferno. The tent was lit by four coconut half shells, with a little coconut oil, and a minute strip of cloth. In the flickering light showing about halfway up the tent, I could just see 24 eyes looking at me. These were lurid red, and they looked ghastly, with a go away leave us to die message. Their shaven heads looked like skulls, their faces drawn and thin. Some were lying on the beds but managed to raise themselves, they were skeletons.

Whilst coming to their tent I had been thinking what to say and how to say it.  Now what could I say but offer my deepest sympathy, no they did not want any pity and then to my surprise I started.

 “I’m here to try and make you laugh for an hour or so”

I saw some turn over, with the general idea ‘CLEAR OFF’.  Damn they were going to laugh.  Suddenly I knew and said with a smile.

This is about Joe Ramsbottom, a commercial traveller in Women’s Wear

It is about the trials and worries in his work. This is somehow how it started.

He had gone to many shops that morning, but no one wanted to look at his samples.  Now in some dilemma he asked, well just look at my samples.

“No thank you” the customer answered

 Oh well do you mind if I look ?

I felt a murmur was it a slight laugh ?

I then started repeating in my mind risqué jokes I hadn’t used for the past ten to 20 years or more, but I had them now, they were laughing away, as I was furiously trying to remember more. Somehow, I arranged the joke as part of his continuing work of Joe Ramsbottom, who was a quiet unassuming little man.  Much later I tried to remember many of these unmentionable jokes and occurrences, but I could not, it all came together at that moment.

I was with them for about one and half hours. I had to stop, as I had no more. I bid them Good Night and God Bless being satisfied that I had fulfilled a little happiness for these lads, so many having died without that.

Somehow this became a thinking point, could I do the same for the chaps in my hut, but on different lines. Experiences, amusing auction room antidotes, the Fire Brigade, a canal holiday. Part of making an amateur acting company. Carrying the soil in the basket, I thought up an amusing hour or so to enlighten the dreary life in which we lived. In all I made two talks to our hut, which it seemed they enjoyed.

While out of the hut I was surprised when a POW stopped me, saying,

 “I hear you tell a good story about being a fireman, our hut would like to hear it”

So began going to the three other huts I told my tales.

Sometime before this, my friend Staff Sergeant Ted Little, who was from the beginning in the Territorial Army and  the Gas Officer became seriously ill. Poor Ted was excused all duties, how he spent his time I don’t know. During our time in action he had been at Headquarters, I doubt he heard a bomb or shell drop.  He didn’t know a rifle from top to bottom and an artillery piece could have been a cream maker to Ted.

Each night coming in from work I visited Ted laying on his stretcher in the hospital. He never complained or spoke of any pain but just told me he was weak and strained, he could not even walk. We talked about, life but like everyone else, we never mentioned home but often asked for ‘THAT BLOODY BOAT TO ARRIVE”

We did talk about the borehole rumours but there was one which sounded like the truth, Rommel had been thrown out of Egypt and Italy was about to be attacked. One evening I called and he had thrown off his blanket. I was taken back, he was a living skeleton.  Every bone was seen, it was just flesh over his bones. I knew now that he had little time, next night when I went I saw him, his stretcher was empty, but no Ted. My friend was no more.

One morning Captain Hilton dished out to each man a postcard to complete and send home.  A copy of what we may write was produced. This said we could send our love to anyone, including (believe it or not) Bessie your favourite cow.  This gave me an idea, as my wife . knew Ted Little’s wife. So I concocted the following.

‘AM IN GOOD HEALTH LOVE TO YOU ANN AND GRANDFATHER TED AND SPOTTIE’

I was hoping that as Grandfathers were dead and my dog Spottie was also dead they would understand Ted Little was dead. I was to learn years later this message was never understood.

During working days perhaps once, sometimes more, the camp bugler would sound the dreaded call on parade. All men able to walk, which included convalescent in the hospital and office staff would make a double column on each side of the patang leading from the hospital to the gate.  Standing to attention the burial party would pass. The party was usually an officer, padre and three close friends of the dead man. He was wheeled on a cart, similar to that of a window cleaner carrying his ladders. Two large wheels and a very narrow cart. This day I with two others took our friend to his last place. A dreary looking piece of waste ground with  nothing growing except the many crude crosses. Wrapped in an old rice bag and covered by a union Jack , Ted was laid to rest, ‘God Bless Him’

Word had been passed down the workings of a certain Colonel Toosie who stood up the Japs, and even got a few concessions, he was coming to our camp, to take over our interests. He eventually arrived and I was surprised what a little man he was, but only in stature, he was a man who commanded respect. He had us all on parade to address us at the padang,

“The Japs sometimes let out bits of news, and from these let me say that the British are taking on the Japanese in Burma and having some success.  Now don’t forget you may be a prisoner of war, but you are still British, let these Bloody Japs know it”.

On leaving the padang I am sure all of us felt stronger in ourselves. It so happened he sought me out saying that he heard I organised entertainment. He thought this was the most important work which not everyone could do.  He asked if I would try to again put something on. Frankly he admitted he had asked his fellow officers to try, and he himself had to admit they could think of nothing.

Being in a way a ‘Royal Command’, I asked my partners to help me give it a go. We tried to think of Music Hall acts but that did not go anywhere. A silly one came to me which required no costumes just some clever acting between two men. This was agreed and Sergeant Japp, always a skinny looking man and John Fellows even now a burly man, were my two men. They had to act as two world boxers with no boxing gloves, as we had none. They had to rehearse without hitting each other, which required a lot of practice. Now ready we got the men to sit around an imaginary boxing ring, asking them to shout encouragement, even if it was not earned, audience participation was a must. In the third round of this World Boxing Championship, Sergeant Japp would beat his big opponent but this ending was NOT to be  disclosed.

The Boxing Championship took place with hardly star quality acting, but they did their best without hitting each other. The crowded men shouted and in a way enjoyed themselves. Now the crunch lines, in a well-rehearsed act Sergeant Japp hit his opponent with an upper cut after chasing the big man round the ring. Now knocked out, a figure appeared running through the crowd. A woman wearing a rice sack skirt shrieking,

“You big bully hitting and hurting my husband”

She or he was waving a small side pack, hoping it looked like a handbag.

It was well received and a bow was taken.

During a very hot afternoon we were heaving and loading teak railway sleepers, and as was the custom,  at around say 3pm, we were allowed to queue and get our cup filled with hot water. This was usually handed out by a PoW keeping the fire lit under a large iron basin. As I was nearly the last in the queue, I saw in the bottom there were perhaps several cupfuls left.  Having drunk mine up quickly I decided to get another, so I held out my cup, to my astonishment, I was head butted by the POW in charge. I staggered backwards and fell to the ground. It took me some little time to get to my feet and the head banger was just leaving. A fellow PoW told me not to mess as he was a street fighter from Glasgow.  All my teeth felt loose and so I took myself to the camp dentist. He told me not to worry as in three weeks  time they will be stiff again and he was right.  If this had occurred in England the man would have been court martialled for striking a sergeant, but not here.  I never knew why he hit me, but it certainly was certainly a rough ‘no to a refill’.

Some days later Colonel Toosie again approached, informing me that he had decided that if two or more acts could be arranged he would run a talent contest, giving six Singapore dollars to the winner. The winner to be decided by the audience applause. My friend and I decided we would do the cat and mouse scene.

We had heard that a small Australian detachment were rehearsing so we had competition, but we had idea what they had in mind. The evening of the talent competition arrived and the men were eagerly waiting in anticipation. The Aussies did their act first and without sounding bitchy I knew ours was better, but with the Australians usual boisterous nature they shouted, clapped and stamped at the slightest humour, it was deafening. When we finished our act, the clapping and whistling was, after the Aussies, very poor. Colonel Toosie had to give them the six dollars. He came to me, afterwards saying,

“I am sorry, your little act was far superior but you were against the Australian audience as you no doubt know. I am afraid, I could not give you the six dollars but please accept this one dollar”

I knew this was perhaps the last of his money and felt a deep sorrow, but at least our act was appreciated.

We were now working at erecting a wooden hoarding at the rear of the camp. The hoarding was to be about seven foot high, the inside would not be visible. On the third week we saw a Battery of Sikh gunners with anti-aircraft guns using it. They had with them Cock Hens spurred and fighting.  It was not a pleasant sight to watch.

I don’t know why but I had amongst my pathetic few belongings,  a quarter page of the Pictorial News. It had a photograph of eight ordinary housewives, in their working clothes, and standing in a road, each with a bucket and waiting to be filled from a water hydrant. In the side ground was plainly seen semi detached houses. I treasured this little bit of England, and spent many hours just looking at it, naming all in the photo, husbands wives and children. I went to tea in their houses, speaking  to the husbands about football matches. This ridiculous charade kept many a lonely half hour bearable.

At this time I went down yet again with malaria, but this time I was in a small room in a wooden hut, the only other occupant was a patient with malaria.  We did not speak to each other as we had nothing to say.My fever had gone and I expected in about five days to be dismissed.

One morning just before dawn, I was waken by almighty bangs of exploding bombs, and the Anti Aircraft Guns were also adding to the noise.  I realised there was no point in leaving the hut, where could I go?  I certainly heard one coming, the whistle and shriek all too familiar.  I knew this was going to be very close. The explosion seemed at my very feet.  The hut shuddered and the sound of metal falling through thin roof.  I shook the lad next to me, thinking how could he sleep through this racket. I must get out as the falling metal was too dangerous. I stepped out onto the hut steps, and the steps not being there, I fell into the bomb crater which was still mighty hot and smoking. I could still hear the falling bombs, ‘Hells, Bells’ this was a real raid by many planes.

Men were going hither and thither in the camp, not knowing what to do.  Two buildings were burning and as there was no fire brigade or anyone in charge, we were in serious trouble. Just after dawn I went back to my bed space in the sick hut, the other occupant was still asleep. How the devil could he have slept through that night?  I went over to him and recoiled, half his head had gone. Looking away I saw his head, or the remains, plastered on the wood panelling. I stooped to pick up my hat which I had left on the bed, it was stuck fast with a long piece of steel, perhaps a foot long. It took me sometime to loosen this ghastly bomb splinter, I would say my cap was less than six inches from my sleeping head.

We set about cleaning up, counting the dead and preparing the burials. I was helping to clear away bamboo timber from an attap hut with another sergeant, when he yelped “bloody hell” and fell in a dead faint. Looking over I saw that he pulled out, what he hoped was a body, it was a man’s foot. Now we were getting the camp back to normal, we had eighty-eight dead, I don’t know the number of wounded. One lad I knew and liked, he was a sensitive soldier, being employed pre war in the British Museum Library section. I enquired from our M.O how he had died and was told he had two puncture entries to his stomach. There was no reason why he should have died, the shrapnel had not touched any vital organ.

Nearing the end of the railway I was working down line. The Japanese had in the way of the line a cliff face about 500 feet high. To allow the railway line to be laid, around this obstacle we built under their tuition a lean-to obstacle, about 25 feet wide at the base. Its own weight held it to the cliff face. The heavy beams were cut from the nearby jungle by our lads. Many trees picked were deceased and woodworm, they were added to those to be used, as far as I know the Japs never noticed.

Coming into camp for our Tiffin we looked in horror,  Oh my God! there they were chained to each other and sitting in front of the Guards hut, escapees. They were just looking at us, and by the look in their eyes they knew what fate awaited them. What in heavens name had persuaded them to try, there was one thousand miles of Thai jungle, mountains, wide rivers with torrents of waters, blasting heat, no food or medicine, dangerous insects, man eating plants, snakes and tigers. These to mention the conditions, but they knew, when caught it was death by shooting or the sword, after digging their own  graves.

To eat food was nauseous, within hours they would have been shot.  No time was wasted as an officer  appealed but it was a waste of time. Going back to work after tiffin we had to pass them again many of us  were in tears.

Why in Heaven’s name had they tried this escape, we knew on our return the space they occupied would be empty and so it was. In the camp men said the escapees had been taken away in an open truck, which was followed by another truck with armed Japanese soldiers. 

For some weeks we were on shunting duties and somehow I enjoyed this work. An open railway truck empty of course, with five men on either side.  We started by walking, then trotting, and then a bump as it shunted into a single railway truck, sending both running forward. 

September, 1944 we were on our way back to Singapore.

--------------------------

Notes:-

As a PoW Alf was Hospitalised eleven times, mostly with Malaria

After the ‘No Escape’ documents were signed, in late August, 1942, the  Japanese organised Japanese Index Cards for each prisoner. They then had a list of Names, Ranks and Regiments. This helped the Japanese keep an eye on the prisoners whereabouts so they knew where the prisoners should be, they were now aware of escapes

This is Side One of Alf’s Japanese Index Card.

This is Side Two of Alf’s Japanese Index Card.

 

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