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Through the Eyes of a Woman
Chapter Two
I never saw Dad as a hero until I met his ‘Pommy’ POW mate, Joe in England in 1975. I remember standing in the phone box, as the only warm place to wait, while I looked for him. I didn’t know how I would know him but when he finally came around the corner I just did. He instantly knew me too. We clutched each other, hugged and cried as if we had known each other all our lives. I was treated like royalty, taken to his home where his whole family were anxiously waiting for me to appear. His wife, son, and grandchildren were all there waiting to see the daughter of his best friend.
Joe spoke so glowing of Dad’s heroic actions, how, if it were not for Dad, he would have been dead. His son and grandchildren pointed to the two most important objects of Joe’s, a quoit Dad had given him at the end of the war, and the OBE he was finally awarded in 1949 for his own heroic action of attending the cholera camps during the cholera outbreaks on the Thai/Burma Railway. I was speechless; I gaped, gasped and listened with amazement wondering ‘who is this man he is talking about?’ We met a couple more times before I left to return to Australia, our contact from then on was by phone. Dad died before they ever had their reunion; Joe and his wife soon followed two years after Dad, a lovely man that I still remember and miss to this day.
It was Joe who told me that after the capitulation of the Japanese in August 1945, they woke up one day, found the guards were gone; walked from their prison at Kranji in the north west of Singapore Island, down to the City, and were warmly welcomed by the locals; so they decided to stay. It was more than a day’s walk to go back and forth from this camp. The POW’s of the AIF at Changi where coming in everyday and no-one said a word about them as they were able to walk back to Changi gaol to spend the night. Not an option for Joe, Dad and their mates, so they just stayed thinking no one would care. When finally word reached them that their ships were in the harbour to take them home, off they went. Dad wanted Joe to come with him but of course Joe had a wife and son to return home to so they parted ways.
Joe said that the British Army declared him a deserter; he spent the journey back home in the ‘Brig’. This horrified me, “how could they do this to men who had suffered as they had? How officers, who had gone through this nightmare with the men, could consider locking him away again after all he had been through?” Unbelievable!
When I got home I told Dad what Joe said, and Dad replied, “Yep, they did that to me too”, my faith in the AIF hit rock bottom, it seems the AIF were just as big a mongrels as the British Army and did the same to Dad and his other mates for waiting in Singapore City for their Army to take them home. Dad’s ‘mate’ Ben told me only last year, “Yep, that’s right, we all smuggled food down to him several times a day to make sure he didn’t miss out on all the goodies being provided for us on the ride home”. It seems that making sure Dad had plenty to eat whilst in the Brig was NOT on the list of ‘needs’ in the minds of the officers who’d ordered his lock up either?
In his last year’s Dad and I spent a lot of time together, he confided in me as never before. He was very good to my daughter and spoiled her as he had not been able to spoil us. He talked a bit about his life before the war, his relationship with Mum, of his deep regret that he was not the husband or father he should have been and making us suffer along with him. It was a time of healing and I again found the father I knew as a very little girl.
1989, his personality changed completely, he became quiet, introspective and so compliant. No more rages or terrible tempers, no more drunken episodes, it was almost too sudden and certainly unbelievable. The change became very concerning when he started to have strange unaccountable accidents, my concerns increased but my mother refused to see as she finally had the lovely calm, kind husband she had always wanted.
When arising from his chair, Dad put his head forward, used his legs to thrust up except his head never came up; he just toppled over, landing flat on his face on the floor. He didn’t even put his hands out to save himself; he laughed and shrugged it off, but it wasn’t funny!
Then in October, after dropping my brother, Mark, off, he was driving home along Centre Rd, a much travelled route for Dad, he ran straight into the back of a parked truck. If Mark had still been in the car he would have been decapitated. Dad had been driving since he was fourteen years of age, on the farm, later in the Army and after as a taxi and bus driver. His skill behind the wheel was second to none. How could this have happened? Later he told me he could see himself doing these things but was powerless to stop it. He wanted to turn the wheel or stand up straight, was telling his body to do so but his body didn’t listen. He said he had never been more frightened in his life but was too scared to tell anyone.
Neither Dad nor Mum would acknowledge there was a problem, although Dad said he would talk to his doctor, who didn’t seem to find this a problem either. Concern and anxiety plagued us. When Mum went on holiday in December 1989, Dad stopped getting out of bed, no one could jolly him into getting up. His doctor refused to come to see what was going on, we couldn’t get him out of the bed either so we were stymied until Mum came home. Once Mum was back we pressured her to demand the doctor come which finally happened. The doctor was condescending, did nothing to relieve our anxieties but did order an MRI however as it was NOT urgent it would not happen for several weeks. This was not acceptable and after impressing on her the urgency and his DVA coverage there was NO excuse for such a delay. Sadly further threats were necessary before she finally agreed to bring the tests forward to two days hence. This was now January 1990.
We were returning from the hospital after having just had the tests and were walking in the door to be greeted by the ringing phone. It was the doctor apologising profusely asking for forgiveness and telling us to get Dad back to hospital immediately.
He had a brain tumour so large it was almost as big as his brain, although we didn’t know it then; it had pushed his brain into the back left hand side of his head. We were so shocked but I was not surprised as it was like he had a lobotomy and we had said as much to his doctor on her visit on Wednesday. Running into the doctor later at the hospital she had the good grace to blush and apologised profusely again.
It was almost too late! Dad thought a lot of this young woman so it was nice of her to visit and as he was happy I didn’t say all that was on my mind.
Dad was so out of it by this time, he thought he was back in Changi and kept trying to escape by climbing up the end of another badly damaged patient in the general ward.
The man’s head was in a spiked cage, his legs in raised pulleys and his arms in plaster. There didn’t seem to be a part of him that was not injured. The panic on this poor man’s face thinking Dad would fall on him! You could hear him screaming a mile away. We were busy trying to pull Dad back and get help. It was bedlam! We all thought, ‘Thank God the operation was only a two days away’. For his long recuperation period of several weeks and two operations to remove the entire tumour he had a private room. Whilst the operation was experimental and the prognosis was unknown, at least he had more time because if the operation had not been done he would have been dead within the week.
Dad was a terrible patient, so we set up rosters; Wayne took the early morning shift at 7am, taking in the morning paper for Dad and would stay until Judith went in at around 11am. With two little ones it was hard for her to do long periods at a time. My shift was noon until 6pm; Wayne would then come in with Mark. With the tumour removed his erratic temperament returned so it was best Mum was not alone with him just in case. We felt this step was necessary as on previous hospital stays he had alienated medical staff who didn’t understand. One hospital even threatened to kick him out because he used anger to cover his fears.
Anger brought on by fear was not recognised back then as a consequence of his POW days so with no understanding or help Dad was on his own.
On-going radiation would treat any residue tumour in the brain, the left hemisphere seemed untouched but the right hemisphere was decimated, believing, as we were told, it would be contained to the brain and not travel to the rest of the body; we were upset when he developed lumps in the throat lymph glands.
Peter McCallum took over treatment, on admission we asked the doctor about this, he confirmed it was unusual for brain tumours to travel to any other part of the body. When asked how often did he see that it did travel, he said “oh, all the time”! The lumps were threatening to choke him so radiation was necessary to shrink them; sadly the burns killed his taste buds and never returned.
By November 1990 he stopped eating and in January 1991 the wonderful district nurses said it was time he went into palliative care. How wonderful was the care and support they gave; they jollied Dad into taking his medication, having showers etc. We took their advice as it was plain that we would be burying our mother as well if he remained at home. Sadly his homecare time had run out.
Dad’s last days at Bethlehem Palliative Care were a horror for him that no-one could have imagined. The nursing staff were amazing, caring for Dad who never let a morsel of food pass his lips again, he finally died on 3rd April 1991, his body shrunk to the size of a nine year old child, his face sunken, not a hair on his head, he was unrecognisable as the man he had been. Despite my best efforts he died alone, he had always said “I was born alone and I will die alone” when he was in the midst of his pain.
He fell into a coma and I slept on the floor of his room, as we were told it wouldn’t be long. The first day as he was having the death rattles, I grabbed his hand and said “It’s alright Dad I’m here, you can go now.” But no! His breathing returned to normal and he rallied! The staff kindly said “Sometimes they don’t like to be touched.” So I determined I wouldn’t touch him next time. Next time came, I just stood there and said, “It’s OK Dad I’m here,” only to have the same thing happen. Again the lovely palliative nurse said kindly that sometimes they don’t like it when you talk to them. So I thought Ok – I will remember that for next time. Next time came, I raced into the room having been called from the toilet this time, to quietly stand next to his bed and say nothing. But no, upon my entry the death rattles stopped again and again he rallied. All through this he never regained consciousness, whenever I left the room a palliative care nurse would always be in attendance until I got back. On the third day, he finally slipped away, when I had gone home with Mum to have tea. The palliative care nurse had stepped out of the room for something, then and only then did he peacefully pass away, on his own, as he always said he would.
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