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I have very fair hair and now that my beard was beginning to grow was told that I was acquiring the look of a Western ‘Old Timer’, and was given the nick-name of ‘Zeke’ by my men.

Our first task in preparing for making sand-boxes was to be given a huge heap of second-hand timber, and told to pull out all the nails. There seemed to be no hurry in building these warehouses, and our guards knew no more about the way to set about the job than we did.

We had a very broad shouldered guard named Khano; he had gold teeth at the front and cavities at the back, a habit after meals of drawing back his lips in an ape-like grin, and sucking in air to dislodge food particles with a noise like a locomotive letting off steam. He loved to issue orders and to boast of his past exploits, but generally speaking we had found him to be pretty harmless.

One day, most of our guards had to attend a special duty, and to his delight, Khano found himself in charge of our work party. As we marched off, he condescendingly told me I might walk with him, sharing his glory in front of the column.

During our midday break, I was lying down resting, while a little way off Khano was showing off to a group of our lads. ‘Me, Khano, numbar one Judo man’ he began. Khano invariably flew into a rage if anyone contradicted him, and someone usually did just for fun. He continued, ‘Engerissoo soljah Judo no-goodenah; Engerissoo boxing O.K., Judo no-goodo?

Seeing me dormant on the ground, a wag replied ‘Gunzo numbar one Judo man,’ and then pointed to me. I heard the roar as Khano jumped up and came striding over to me. ‘So-ca, Pinesu’ (the nearest he could get to pronouncing my name) ‘Gunzo numbar one Judo eh?’ Remembering my recent bayonet fighting escapade I said, ‘Me no-good Judo man, Gunzo Judo dammi-dammi.’

Khano was delighted to hear that I was no good at wrestling, and danced with excitement as he ordered me to stand up and take my stance. I was, in fact, an unarmed combat instructor, and also quite a good wrestler. He did not even bother to remove his belt and bayonet as he pulled me to my feet.

We took up positions a couple of yards apart and I let Khano make the first move. With a bull-like roar he charged and he clearly knew nothing about wrestling, as after very brief contact I was able to convert his charge into flight through the air. The poor fellow’s bayonet scabbard touched the ground before he did, and the handle stuck into his ribs.

It was a very long time before he could speak, and I think he had broken a rib or two. He was not able to walk unaided, so I had to let him lean on me all the way back to camp that evening. He never again came out with us, I hope his commandant did not find out the truth, or he would probably have had a few more bones broken.

Some days later we started reinforcing the floor of a hut, so that cement could be stored on it. For the first time, our guards left us on our own while they went on a visit to some girls. While they were away a small pig escaped from a nearby Chinese smallholding, and attempted to run through our working party. It disappeared under a heap of our men, and someone emerged from the melee with the pig in his arms.

As we were not skilled butchers, someone produced a pocket knife and cut the animal’s head off; the remainder was quickly cut into small pieces, and we carried these back to camp that night to toast for our supper. The Japs loved pork, and would not have let us keep it had they known of its existence.

A Malay lorry passed our column on the way back to camp, and the driver threw me a pineapple, which I hid before the guard noticed it. This was the first time I had seen a friendly Malay; perhaps they were beginning to change their opinions.

Our guards were all replaced at this time by new men, and they were at first very strict, and held themselves aloof from us. However within a few days they melted somewhat and became more friendly. The old guards had been with us from the start; they had seen my white beard grow, and it never puzzled them. These newcomers had never seen the young face underneath my whiskers, and to the Japanese white hair signifies old age. The first day we paraded under them, having arrived at the site, their leader came up to me and in a voice tinged with respect he said, ‘You old man, no work, yasume (rest).’

I protested that I was only twenty-three (nee-jew san), but he refused to believe me. As the days went by, seeing me do my share of the work they must eventually have realized that I was not as old as they had thought.

The nineteenth of April was a red letter day for me, as I escaped the confines of our camp for the first time. I crawled through the barbed wire where the Jap lorries were parked at the far end of the camp. These hid the wire from the gaze of the camp patrols.

As I made my way down the road, making for the Chinese shopping precinct a hundred yards off, I saw in huge letters over an ornamental gateway, ‘THE GREAT WORLD’. This had been one of two permanent peace-time fairgrounds in Singapore. The other one was ‘THE HAPPY WORLD’, and both were at this time derelict.

The first open building I came to was a cafe, and I popped quickly inside. As I sat down at a table, not knowing whether the proprietor was a Jap collaborator, but aware that any of us caught outside the wire would be shot, my heart was beating faster than usual. From the table I had chosen at the back of the room, I saw that there were two other customers, one a dark, wavy-haired European, the other was Chinese.

Another Chinaman, evidently the owner, approached me from a room behind the cafe; winking at me he asked in English what I would like, so I asked for a cup of coffee, proffering a dollar bill. He quickly returned with this and my change, upon counting which, I found I had a dollar’s worth;looking up to tell him of his mistake, he winked again and raised a warning finger. My coffee was on the house.

Twenty minutes later I was safely back in camp. I had smelled the sweet smell of freedom, and could not wait for the chance to be out again.

Next day I repeated my adventure, and again went into the friendly cafe. The same European was there, and with trepidation I saw him get up from his seat and approach me; was he a German or other Japanese ally? To my relief he introduced himself in a friendly way. I was wearing a shirt carrying no sergeants’ stripes on purpose, but he seemed to know that I was from the POW camp.

Having observed that he had a slight foreign accent, but it was not German, when he asked me what things were like in the camp, I felt relieved. After giving him a brief run down, I asked him for his story. He was born a Greek, he told me, and although Greece was at war with both Italy and Germany, Japan had never declared war on her.

He had been working in Malaya, but had joined the local equivalent of our territorials, the F.M.S.V.P. at the beginning of the emergency. At the fall of Singapore he went back into civilian clothes, and, Greek passport in pocket, he was living a life of leisure until his money ran out.

I asked him if there was a safe shop where I could purchase food, and he took me to an open stall off the main road, where I obtained three small tins of cream and two packets of sugar. We called at the cafe again on the way back, and my new friend bought me a very tasty dish of a sort of Chinese spaghetti. After having safely returned to camp again, I was feeling very elated.

We all, at this time, paid ten cents each pay day to a central fund established to supplement our rice ration. That evening we held one of our regular mess meetings, and it was decided to buy some cooking oil if possible. I volunteered to try to obtain some via my contact outside the wire, and was given the cash to purchase four gallons if I could.

Out through the wire I went again, into my friendly cafe. I asked the proprietor where I could get the oil. and he told me that it was almost unobtainable. The plants which made cooking oil had all closed down, and the Japs bought all they could lay their hands on for their own use. Nevertheless, he said he would see what he could do for me and went off, leaving his wife in charge of the cafe.

A few minutes later, to my profound dismay, two Jap soldiers walked into the cafe, and, with sinking heart, I saw them walk in my direction. They were not coming for me however, and sat down at the next table, one facing me and one with his back to me. The former caught my eye and nodded politely, so I nodded back. Although I was terribly nervous, with my life hanging by a thread, my beard spared my blushes. The two took no more notice of me; they could not have come from our camp, as I was a well-known figure among the Jap guards.

By the time the proprietor returned with a well-dressed young friend, the soldiers had left. Speaking in good English, the young man told me there was no good oil available, but offered a four-gallon tin of coconut oil for six dollars. I ordered a tin, and he promised to have it ready for me on the morrow, and told me how sorry he was for the plight of the prisoners.

He also gave me some cheering news of the progress of the war to pass on to my friends, but this proved to be only wishful thinking made up on the spur of the moment for our encouragement. Still feeling on edge after the incident with the soldiers, I breathed a sigh of relief when I reached the safety of our camp.

The next day that young man was as good as his word, and I collected the oil without trouble. I gave him fifty cents for himself, and when he asked if I needed any more, I ordered another tin for the following day. Our cooks had also asked me to try and by some ‘Bisto’ or other gravy salt, but the Chinese had never heard of such a thing.

As soon as the young man left, a Chinese lady, neatly dressed in the manner of her race, came over and sat at my table, breathing a few words in her own tongue as she did so. She was bird-like in her movements, and very neat in appearance. With a sweet smile she pulled a parcel from under her garments, and handed it to me. Thanking her, I made a movement to untie the tape, but she raised a hand to stop me, and without a word, moved out of the room as unobtrusively as she had entered it.

Back in camp, I dropped the oil at the cookhouse, and took the parcel up to my bed-space to open. It contained a vest, Chinese dressing-gown, safety razor, a tin of pâté de foie gras, a tin of bamboo shoots and one of an unrecognized Chinese food. I kept the vest and a tin of food, and gave the remainder away.

Her little gift gave me more pleasure than double rations for a week would have done. It was satisfying to know that there was a reservoir of good will in the hearts of the Chinese all around us.

The next time I went out of the wire, I progressed further afield, and found an Indian café, where two Indians did their cooking on the pavement outside, tossing their chappaties up in the air and clapping them between their hands. A European in civilian clothes stopped to speak to me; he told me he was a British soldier, and that after the capitulation a Chinese family had hidden him in their house. When he realized they were risking their lives in concealing him he came out of hiding, and, pretending to be a Greek, had got himself a job working for a Chinese firm; he said he was getting on very well there.

Hastily telling me that it was to risky to remain where we were, I made a rendezvous for the next day at the friendly café, but never saw him again. I collected the cooking oil and returned to camp, where I heard that we were to make high-speed extensions to our hut as another party was expected to come in from Changi.

They arrived in the pouring rain before we were half ready for them, and at their head were the two Colour Sergeants who had provided me with £3 cash to buy food for them to send back to Changi. No opportunity had yet arisen to send food back, and I had it buried under the floor, all purchased at half its present value.

I went up to greet the two men, and ignoring me one said to the other something like ‘Well if it ain’t the bugger we trusted with our three quid; scoffed the lot himself I suppose.’ I was just about broke myself, and was tempted to justify their lack of trust. However, I dug up the sack of tins and dropping it beside them, handed over ten dollars change.

I received no word of thanks or apology, as they pawed over their loot while completely ignoring me. That night I walked round the hut extension which now housed the newcomers. A piece of sacking was draped across one corner, and I could see the glimmer of a home-made lamp shining out. The two colour sergeants had been behind there for the last hour I was told, stuffing themselves. None of their neighbors had been offered a bit.

The latest intake of men were not all from our regiment, but included fifty Royal Artillery gunners. Goodness knows why they had been brought to this grossly overcrowded camp, as there had clearly, up to the present, been insufficient work for us; and now we had to spend even longer queuing for water at our solitary camp tap.

Among the fresh faces to arrive had been my old friend Len Dudley. When he heard that I made sorties outside the wire, he told me that as he still had cash, he would like me to buy some tinned food for him, and on my next expedition I was able to get him what he asked for.

Our cooks had told me that food cooked in the oil I had purchased tasted rancid and uneatable, so I called in the cafe and asked the proptietor how to overcome the problem. He went off to ask his mother. On his return, he told me it was necessary to heat the oil until it smoked, and then to drop a vegetable into it. When I told the cooks, they said the problem was that shortage of firewood might make that impossible.

While I was eating my plain rice that evening, Len brought me half the tin of fish he had just opened. Since he was as thin as a rake I tried to refuse, but he insisted upon me having it. My faith in human nature was restored.

Chapter 16

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