大象传媒

Life in Motoyama POW camp comprised of near starvation, an ongoing aching gut and ten hour shifts doen the nearby coal mine. To get a month working in the camp was paradise and such was my luck in August Forty Five. On the fifth day of my 'holiday,' whilst raking the stones around the guard hut I heard the sound, of a highflying aeroplane. Some days past an American bomber had attacked a string of barges using the inland sea. Whilst the attack boosted our morale, our dreams of freedom recieved no such lift. However, events about to occur on that cloudless sunny day, held an unimaginable significance.
THe bombers engine noise grew louder, curious I looked upwards, but the fierce sunlight blinded me. Lowering my gaze, I looked for the bomber's target, but the sea held no craft. As I bent to continue raking, a horrendous roaring and rumbling sound, the like of which I had never heard before, assailed my ears. It seemed unending and I gazed in wonder at the far shore looking for the source of that hellish cacophony. My mind was in a whirl, surely such devastationg explosions were the result of an attack by a number of bombers not just one. I stood motionless and gripped by a fearful curiosity watched a wide column of dark cloud climbing ever higher.
Whatever the cause of that horrendous happening, I was certain that in that column seethed a maelstrom of human agony. Elation at this blow to the enemy's much vaunted invincibility filled my breast, follwed by concern at possible reprisals on us. Only months later did I learn of atomic bombs and wondered if what I had witnessed could have been such an attack. As always I pondered on the destruction we humans wreak upon each other when in dispute.
Forty-eight hours later a kindly Korean guard told me it was Sensoo Owarri (the war was over). Oh! How I longed to believe him and told my fellow sweeper of Happy's words urging him not to tell our mates on their return from the mine. Rumours of freedom by the thousand, all unfounded, had plagued our lives for years and this one had a definite source, me. He told everyone thus condenming me to a night of terror for if Happy were mistaken; I would face a very uncertain future. In the event the following morning having eaten breakfast we awaited orders to march off to work. With a crash of doors the interpreter, accompanied by two armed guards, entered the hut, mounted the dias and informed us that there was to be no work that day. Furthermore, he contined, we were on holiday for a few days. His words lost in the Bedlam that reigned, the interpreter and his guards made a hurried exit from the hut. Day merged into night and still we celebrated noisily, especially when we realised that the Japanese guards had vanished, the camp was ours.
Freedom! A mixture of emotions swirled within me, I struggled to resist an urge to cry, forced back a bursting desire to shout and scream that my torment was over and I would be going home at last. In the weeks following events moved with bewildering and confusing rapidity. Within a matter of hours we recieved a message, via tha national radio network, from Gen. MacArthur. It promised an early return to civilisation and a plea for us to be patient, conduct ourselves with dignity and await contact by his staff.

This story was submitted to a volunteer of the Stoke CSV Action Desk on behalf of Arthur Lowe and was submitted with his permssion. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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