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This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Chris Comer of Stockport Libraries on behalf of Arthur Lane and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.

Occasionally we hear about unexplained happenings in the past. Ships, aeroplanes, and people disappearing without trace or reason, and no one seems to be able to supply an answer. As a former prisoner of war of the Japanese, I can recall a similar happening and would appreciate help from anyone in trying to find an answer.

It was in the early summer when, with several other prisoners who had so far managed to survive the brutality of our taskmasters and the ravages of sickness and hunger, we were resting at Chungkai base camp, while waiting for our next labour detail. We already knew that we would probably be moved to one of the deserted camps further up river, where we would be required to repair the bomb damage inflicted by the Allied planes. Or we could be being transported to one of the other states or even countries to continue whatever task our guards had been ordered that we should be set. Everything depended on the whim of our Gunso (Sergeant) who was a demoted cavalry officer with a grudge even against life itself.

The building of the infamous Bangkok to Rangoon railway had long been completed, so it was necessary for our keepers and tormentors to select whatever menial and demeaning task they could find in order to continue their aggressive crusade against all western nationals. After having worked with the building gangs and rock blasting parties I had been assigned to work under the notorious Tanaka the mad engineer, who was noted for his detestation of anything resembling Christianity and for his method of disposing of those prisoners who had not complied with his bidding.

Finally we were informed that our task would be the repair of the railway line from our present position up to the Thanbazayat death camp which was just inside the Burma border. We arrived at this most notorious and dreaded camp after travelling for days through dense jungle where every known insect, snake or leech would be waiting to extract its quota of blood and nourishment from any unwary prisoner or even Japanese guard. The camp had been built along the 370 kilometre stretch of railway and was just inside the Burma border.

The Japanese had decided to rebuild the camp at Thambazayat to house their sick and wounded, and although the name means ‘little silver rest house’ to all those who had been unfortunate to have lived there during the building of the railway, it meant degradation, dehumanisation and death. Realising that we were about to enter a camp equivalent to Belsen, each man held a feeling of desperation and hopelessness.

The camp had been built during the Japanese speedo period, when everything had to be done at the double and the railway must be completed by the given finishing time despite the cost. Of the five thousand Allied prisoners of war who had built and lived in the camp, three thousand remained buried there, the remainder went on to die elsewhere. So that by the end of the war just sixty Allied prisoners of war remained alive to tell the tale and of these just twenty one returned home.

Two kilometres below the camp there was a further cemetery, which held the remains of more than three thousand Tamils and other Asian workers, with the ashes of a further two thousand Indian workers whose bodies were committed to fire in accordance with their religion. Mostly all had believed and had faith in the Japanese so-called Asian Co-prosperity sphere.

Looking round at the jungle vegetation with its multitude of coloured plants and flowers, topped by hundreds of butterflies, each brightly coloured and in various designs, one would have been excused for imagining that they were entering paradise. However behind this cascade of colour there was a black damp area of degradation and squalor. Here men had openly cried out for their mother, a friend or even to God, for some form of relief from the torture which they were expected to endure in the name of the British Empire and freedom.

There had been no one to answer their cries for help however, and here some men openly defied the Japanese guards, in the hope that they would be summarily executed on the spot, in order to relieve them of their pain and indignity. I felt humble as I walked the same paths that they had created. All that now remained of the camp was a few lengths of bamboo protruding from the ground, where probably several prisoners had taken shelter after completing their quota of work.

Our party of twenty men, mainly suffering from beri-beri or dysentery, had been instructed to clear all the area in order that we could find a place to build accommodation for ourselves and the Japanese. The specific task was to eliminate any sign of what had taken place in this area and collect the remains of those unfortunates who had not had the privilege of a proper burial let alone a funeral. Along with any other material evidence of Japanese sadism these remains had to be incinerated.

The jungle seemed to be littered with signs of the Japanese bestiality and in order
to do the job in a proper manner it was necessary to dig large pits and build large fires. Stretchers were built from bamboo on which to transport the remains of those who had been left to rot along with the pitiful pieces of what had once been their only personal possessions.

Being one of the fitter men, I was placed in charge of the party, this dubious honour meant that I was the one who would be kicked and beaten should anything go wrong. The jungle was damp, stinking and uninviting. The wet soil squelched beneath our feet as thousands of crickets, grasshoppers, bull frogs and other of natures creatures permeated the atmosphere with their screeching, which all but burst the ear drums with its intensity and showed defiance at our approach. Above them all could be heard the monkeys, squirrels and cockchaffer beetles beating a tattoo with their wings in unison with the rest of the jungle orchestra. The main camp had long since been demolished, leaving the jungle clawing relentlessly at the ground in an effort to recover that which it had lost.

Here and there were shafts of what had once been humanity protruding from the soil, lending an eerie atmosphere to their damp silent protests, as if trying to remind each of us that Gods children once walked where we now stood. At a point that had at one time been the furthermost extremity of the camp was an area which was covered in weeds and fungi. From these protruded the soggy remains of a cross, probably placed there at the risk of losing his own life by a devoted comrade, the marker depicting the grave of yet another unfortunate who fate had selected to protect the cause of the British Empire and freedom.

It was possible in one or two cases to make out the names of the poor unfortunate who now lay beneath the cross. Other markers which had been made of less adequate material were suffering the onslaught of time, lice, woodworm, slugs and other vermin which had eaten away the name thereon inscribed. Just outside this particular area, my eye was attracted to a rectangular piece of wood, which had at one time been secured to the stave from which it now dangled at a forty five degree angle.

Part of the wire that had once secured them together had been eaten away by rust. As I walked near I could just make out the name of one of the men buried beneath. Then moving closer I noted that there was more than one name on the board and also that the board was of a hardwood which someone had gone to a great deal of trouble in carving the names of each man.

It read ‘Here lie the remains of 3529270 Pte T Jackson Manch Reg. CQMS C Anderson FMSVF, A S H Justice USS Houston. 33271-- Pte Mar- here the letters had been eaten away. At the bottom of the board there were several more words which it was not possible to decipher but still discernible were the words ‘Executed 1/11/ 43’.

On the reverse, immaculately carved, were the remains of what had once been an Ouija board - one which I had seen so often in Chungkai base camp. At that time it had been highly polished and highly prized by the man who carved it. I pulled the board away from the stave and looked long and hard at their names and tried to make out those that had been eaten away. My eyes misted over as I tried to clean up the board and my mind went back to when I had last seen it in all its glory.

It had been in Chungkai base camp more than two years ago. Con Anderson a CQMS with the Federated Malay States Volunteer Forces had procured a bed head board from some where and using primitive tools he had designed and produced a highly polished Ouija board complete with all the markings of the zodiac, letters, dates, and other artistic figures.

There had never been any intention on his part to delve into spiritualism or any other occult. To him it had been something to do in his leisure time - what little there had been and it was something that he imagined would create an interest to take the men's minds of their daily predicament. I looked again at the names, and their faces came flooding back into my memory. There had been six names but now only three were discernible. In the back of my mind I knew the names of the others and as I read the names, their faces appeared, each one seemed to be asking the same question ‘Why?’

I continued to stare down at the board hoping that my eyes would develop some form of laser quality so that I might satisfy my curiosity. But the more I looked the more my eyes misted over, until I stood unashamedly weeping. I don't know if it was for their pitiful end, my present existence or maybe both. I felt that someone was watching my every move from the jungle, but it did nothing to stop my tears.

I had known all six as friends and at least two as comrades. The last time I had known about the board had been two years earlier. It was some time in March1943 when the Japanese were screaming out for more speed . It was also the time when they demonstrated their justice by executing three of my friends for trying to escape. It was also the time when ten thousand more prisoners were delivered to Chungkai to begin building the bridges and cuttings, using basic tools and their bare hands.

Chungkai camp was named after the village that the Japanese had taken over as a prisoner of war camp in August 1942. The tiny village then had a population of around two hundred most of whom were co-opted into the Japanese work force. They also taught the prisoners how to build their own accommodation from natures ample provision of bamboo. Each hut was built to house about two hundred and fifty men. Fifteen huts had been occupied by so-called fit men and a further ten huts had been built for the sick men. All the huts were contaminated by bed bugs and lice within two weeks of completion.

My duties at that time were that of night cook, daytime bugler at the cemetery and assistant at the crematorium which left me with just six hours for sleeping. Through my work in the cook house and the cemetery, I came into contact with a number of the Japanese and Korean guards which enabled me to learn a little of their language and customs. One or two of them actually boasted of being Christians. The huts in which we slept were identified by letters and were called battalions. A hut became A battalion, B hut B battalion and so on.

Erected close to the hospital cook-house was the hut housing G battalion and because of its close proximity I often walked over for a talk with anyone who happened to be around, while waiting for the rice to cook. Once the workday was completed, there was very little that anyone could do by way of amusement and day to day conversations invariably turned to either politics or religion.

It was because of this that Con Anderson of the FMSVF and one or two others decided to break the monotony by introducing a spot of spiritualism and Ouija dabbling. Con had in his possession part of an oak bed head, which he had scrounged while in Singapore. A portion of it he had already used to provide a marker for the grave of a close friend killed during the fighting. The portion still remaining measured about thirty by twenty four inches and it was on this portion that he had carved the letters of the alphabet, the Zodiac signs and numerals plus other bits and pieces for decorative purposes.

The carving had all been done with just a piece of wire and a pen knife. Once completed he had used what was left of a tin of Cherry Blossom boot polish and the sap from the Tualang trees, which brought out a very highly polished Ouija board. In the centre of the board and turned upside down he placed an empty Bovril bottle on which were painted Biblical signs.

It was not very long before nearly everyone in the camp had been made aware of this masterpiece and its probable use. On every occasion possible, the men would congregate around G hut, where they would watch and listen to the questions and answers passing between the operators of the board and the so called spirit guides. They hoped to learn the answers to such questions as ‘Who will win the war?’ ‘When will the war end?’ and similar questions which to anyone today would seem ridiculous but to doomed men it was a form of relief. These were men who just a short time later may be dead and the only straw to which they could cling was hope. These men had seen the Devil at his worst and anything that give them that hope was worth a try.

Obviously the large gatherings in and outside the hut soon came to the attention of the guards, who sent two of their number to find out what the gatherings were about. They observed for themselves the magic bottle that moved so mysteriously to various figures causing gasps of astonishment from the crowd gathered round. They then they hurried away to inform the Gunso (sergeant).

Two of the Korean guards who I knew quite well were Konimitzu, who was a senior guard. He was known to the prisoners as ‘YM’ - the initials for the YMCA where he had apparently been found abandoned by his mother in San Francisco. The other was Ushigawa, a big muscular man with prominent Mongolian features. Both guards had professed to be of the Christian faith. Ushigawa went a stage further in fact by stating that he was a devout Roman Catholic, I can remember however several instances where his deeds belied his assertions. I was accosted by both guards outside the cook-house one evening and asked questions concerning the goings on inside G hut, and I suggested that if they were so interested, why not go into the hut during their rest period and watch for themselves. The following evening both guards entered the hut.
To be continued...

The Ouija board at Chungkai Camp Part 2

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