大象传媒

Part 5 continued. When it was over we stepped out into a moonlight night and made our way home along the Stamford canal.As we walked and chatted about the film I caught a glimpse of light from the tall grass on the canal bank. A second look gave me quite a fright because what I had seen was the reflection of the moonlight off a long bayonet in the grass. Then L. and I saw the helmets of several soldiers watching us. We quickened our pace but when we approached the junction at Hill Street and Victoria Street we heard shouting and pleas for mercy in Malay, the word 鈥淭olong鈥�. In an instant we ran into a pitch-dark lane which we knew very well as a shortcut behind our apartments, bypassing the commotion taking place. I led the dash with Lincoln behind and a clanking noise from his pocket which had a small tin box containing a key. Suddenly out of the darkness there was a loud shriek of the familiar word 鈥淜urrah鈥�, which stopped me in my tracks and when I saw this Jap soldier charging us with fixed bayonet I froze with my hands up. As he approached me at speed I could hear his studded boots skidding on the tarmac surface and when he stopped with the tip of his bayonet just lifting my rib, I thought my end had come. Spinning me around with his rifle he marched us out into Hill Street to join the throng of people in the queue for interrogation. We were trembling with fright as we watched those in front being beaten with rifle butts and crying out 鈥淭olong鈥� the word we had heard earlier. Fortunately by this time having attended Japanese school, we were able to explain in Japanese to the officer who had a drawn pistol in his hand that we were just schoolboys going home. We were searched, L鈥檚 noisy tin opened and we were allowed to go home. We never did find out what it was all about but as the war went on, these spot checks became more frequent. It was a frightful experience I shall never forget and we were very lucky to have got off so lightly. I鈥檓 sure speaking a little Japanese was our salvation. The Japs began recruiting locals, mainly Malays into an army they called the 鈥淕unpo鈥�. They were used as guards and were clones of the Japs. Speaking fluent Japanese with shaven heads, they wore the same uniforms and were as aggressive too. We had such a shock one day when Tony Gillespie the young Italian lad we had helped during the bombing, dropped in on us out of the blue. Dressed in the uniform of a Japanese officer complete with shaven head and sword he was every bit the part. The poor chap had nowhere to go, so threw in his lot with the enemy. We never saw him again.The ex-Raffles鈥� girl school between Queen Street and Victoria road was now converted into a barracks and like all military buildings, camouflaged black and brown. It was guarded by the 鈥淕unpo鈥� at the entrance on Queen Street. This was the road we took to school or church passing St. Joseph鈥檚 school football pitch. Half the pitch was now a conglomeration of wooden huts housing the women soldiers of the Indian National Army or INA. Followers of Chandra Bose an Indian politician who advocated liberating India by force, they marched around chanting his name whilst carrying ex. British .303 rifles. They looked tiny with those rifles but took their crusade very seriously. Most of the INA were Indian POWs who changed sides, throwing in their lot with the Japs fighting in Burma to liberate India. The other half of the football pitch was used by the Japs for military training, which was fascinating to watch. Armed with bamboo swords and long wooden rifles they fought each other viciously with loud screams. Although they wore some padding I鈥檓 sure they must have hurt each other. They also played baseball so there was always some sort of entertainment whenever we passed by. Returning home one day I met Dad looking very distressed. He had just witnessed something quite horrible and was shaking when he related to me what had just happened. Two young Chinese boys had been caught stealing from the barrack cookhouse on Queen street and were handed over to the 鈥淕unpo鈥� guard. Not sure what to do with the boys, he took them across the road to the Japs playing baseball, interrupting their game. The batsman forced one of the boys down on his knees and then struck him a mighty blow on the skull with his bat. Dad said he heard the impact of the bat on the boy鈥檚 head, whereupon he crawled a bit then died. The cries of the other boy brought out Father Bonamy the parish priest who lived opposite the pitch next to the Cathedral. His pleas for mercy for the terrified boy fortunately were successful. All this was over a tin of condensed milk. Play was resumed after this short interval. As one year of occupation went into another we noticed the desperate situation all around us. Working parties of British POWs were no longer to be seen except on their way to the railway station en route to the infamous camps in Burma. I watched these miserable columns of men dressed in rags marching carrying with all their belongings in total silence, accompanied by their short guards carrying rifles with bayonets attached. Our eyes never met as we always looked away from each other. There was no singing or whistling as shown in the films I have seen after the war. Some wore skimpy pink shorts which I was told were from Red Cross parcels. It always seemed to be raining, adding to their misery. In contrast there were also many columns of Jap troops carrying all their heavy equipment to the docks en route to the many theatres of war in the Pacific. They too marched in silence sweating under the hot sun. We kept out of their way in case the Kempeitai suspected us of spying. It had been known of bystanders being arrested or beaten. With a complete blackout of world news we were ignorant of the major battles taking place in the many Islands around the Pacific and also at sea. There were whispered rumours about the war amongst friends, which leads me to another story. Dad knew a Eurasian man called Van C. who once owned a wireless business and was now listening to the Allied news broadcast on his clandestine radio set. Unfortunately he passed on some of the news to Dad. One day we got a tip-off from another Eurasian man working at a police station. He had seen Dads name on a list of people to be interrogated after Van C. had been arrested and tortured by the Kempeitai. Dad was in a state of shock, wondering what to do and so were we all. After pacing about all night he took the last two aspirins I mentioned earlier. They came for him and we all waited anxiously for his return, if ever. He came home all quiet and subdued after his ordeal. Being forewarned he immediately admitted hearing the news reports but dismissed them as just rumours and denied knowledge of the radio set. They roughed him up a bit but he didn鈥檛 want to talk about it. Van C. survived the war but suffered badly from the electrical torture. On an errand to collect our wild boar meat ration at the Beach road market, I parked my clapped out bicycle outside, but before going in my attention was drawn to the plight of a basket of young chickens. Seated on a stool beside the coop a Chinese woman was stuffing soft black mud from a tin, down their throats with her finger until their food pouches resembled tiny balls. They kept opening their beaks trying to retch but in vane. This cruel act was done to increase their weight for profit, but it was a fortunate diversion for me because suddenly an open truck full of soldiers drew up nearby. They all leapt out at speed and began encircling the market with a long thick rope. Mounted in the truck was a manned machine gun. I mounted my bike and rode off as fast as I could pedal. This was one of the many ways the Japs got young men for their forced labour camps. On another occasion the Japs put on a 鈥淗ollywood鈥� cowboy film at the nearby Capitol cinema, which drew huge crowds as we were starved of entertainment. This attracted many young Malay men as they always loved cowboy films, but unfortunately after the show was over, instead of 鈥淭axis鈥� there were many trucks waiting to whisk them off to oblivion. Every scrap of metal was taken by the authorities for their war effort, including our security bars on our window by the front door. The church railings and the metal posts supporting the overhead tram wires went too, so there were no more trams. The Chinese developed an ingenious method of propelling their lorries and buses. It was a contraption fitted at the rear of the vehicle fuelled by charcoal, which seemed to work well, but every now and then the driver would have to stop to crank a handle in order to boost the fire. Although they were against the Japs, I did notice small shops making the fins for bombs presumably under contract to the army.I happened to be in China town on the day when the Chinese declared a strike over something I didn鈥檛 know about, so as I went I noticed all the shops closed with those stout wooden bars across their front doors. Then a lorry arrived with some soldiers and an officer with a red sash across his chest. They banged on the front door of the first shop on the street. A sleepy looking Chinese shopkeeper removed the wooden bar and put his head through, at which point the officer slapped him and started shouting. In no time the strike was over and all the shops open. Self-sufficiency was the order of the day not only in growing our own food but also in making things last by endless repairs. I used to love to watch the Chinese cobblers repairing worn out shoes with scraps of old car tires and the sewing machines patching rags. I too,ended up wearing clothes made from curtains and wore wooden clogs. Nothing was discarded and I remember how precious our hacksaw blades were at school fretwork, as there were no replacements. To snap one of these blades was a catastrophe indeed. I made a plywood toy, a walking chicken, painted it colourfully and presented it to a child living in a catholic refugee house near the church. They were a Eurasian family called 鈥淓veradhs鈥�, all living in one room in dire circumstances. We got to know the older boys because they too were servers at the Cathedral. It was much appreciated especially as it was Christmas. All this has made me an expert at repairing anything and everything today. We eventually left school and I was about twelve or just thirteen years old. One of Dad鈥檚 luncheon customers was Mrs. Sarkis, an Armenian woman who worked in the office of the ex 鈥淏ata鈥� shoe company nearby on North Bridge road. It was an Army boot factory now and anyone who worked for the 鈥淕unseikanbu鈥� or military qualified for an extra rice ration. She put in a good word for us, so Lincoln and I started work there. As it was my first job and as I was now bringing home precious rice, I felt quite proud of myself. We were issued a small metal badge to wear at all times, to show that we were now working for the Military, which was useful at any road check point. I also had a wooden stamp or 鈥淐hop鈥� to use instead of a signature. It had my name in Japanese characters and I would use it on the form at the monthly rice ration. I will admit I felt ever so proud to have these items and still treasure them to this day. The main 鈥淏ata鈥� shoe company was a tall building housing the office staff and there were some show rooms on the ground floor containing beautiful officer鈥檚 jackboots, both black and brown. We used the lifts to transport the finished boots on trolleys to the various floors. Our assembly place was at the top of the building on the open flat roof. There, once a month we lined up in neat rows to hear our Boss call out 鈥淭enno Hei Ka鈥�, meaning the Emperor. Facing
Northeast and at the command 鈥淪y-ka-rae鈥�, we would all bow with hands placed on the fronts of our thighs. After a speech from him standing on a wooden plinth about working hard etc. we were dismissed.

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