大象传媒

Now war had come to Malaya. Friends from Kuala Lumpur, (to me Uncle Bunny and Auntie Kitten) had arrived, so now I slept under my parent's bed, a poor defence against bombs! Father wanted mother and child out, so reservations were made on a liner. Mama and I were on the quayside waiting to board when the Aussies marched up. Those useless mouths who were on board came back down the gangway and the Aussies marched up. . . I did think their hats were splendid!

It appeared our only hope was a plane. Raffles Hotel was used as an air-terminal, where we had to say our goodbyes, as for security, only those flying were allowed at the airport. Needing a 1oo (not that we ca11ed it that then) Mama wanted to take me. I was most
indignant, I was almost nine now. When doing what a lady had to do, and looking around the bathroom with interest, I realised I had returned to 鈥榦ur鈥� suite of the previous year. No one locked doors in those days, in home or hotel. As I washed my hands there was a loud explosion, and emerging to dusty confusion and frantic parents, I learned that the public toilets had been hit.

The airport was bombed quite heavily while we awaited for a 1ull for the plane to be able to take off. We learned that many of the explosions were the petrol tanks, and some were planes burning on the ground. Mother鈥檚 back was injured when a portion of ceiling fell on her as she lay on me. ( I was lying on my doll, and as it was a China doll, it was very uncomfortable).

As we walked down the huge concourse we looked up to see huge sheets of glass, libera11y criss-crossed with sticky tape, just hanging above our heads. The floors were strewn with shards of glass and rubble. Mama had obeyed the injunction that no jewellery was to be taken out of the country. The Japs were at the door, but there were the Customs officers. Our man looked at the labels on the two sma11 cases. 鈥淎nything to Hannigan of the Police?鈥� 鈥淪ister-in-1aw.鈥� Uncle Charles had been High Commissioner of Police for the Malay States. White chalk was applied to the cases. We could have had that jewellery!

Sma11 launches ferried mostly women and children out to the great sea-p1ane bobbing in the bay. All the upholstery had been stripped to lighten the 1oad, and take as many people as possible. It was painted so as to camouflage it from the air, and it flew low over the water to take advantage of all the smoke and flames from burning tanks and planes.

Three days flying it took to reach Durban, NW Australia. There were two overnight stops, Jakarta and Surabaya, I think. From Darwin into a tiny plane for a further three days, two night stops being in rather primitive hostels. In Perth we were made so welcome by a kind lady we had met on the long journey on the Port Huan. By helping with cleaning, cooking and gardening, Mama and I tried not to be too burdensome. We knew that many of the ex-pat ladies got themselves a bad name by expecting to be waited on by the hospitab1e Australians.

In Singapore Father heard of space on a boat. He had two hours to try to persuade Uncle Bunny and Auntie Kitten to join him, and go to the Godown to pick out three crates which he hoped would give us some chattels, should we ever get home. We were lucky that w e had not got the official house. Sadly our dear friends refused to leave. Mr. Churchill had promised that Singapore would not be allowed to fal1, and they were not the only ones who were so trusting. Uncle Bunny spent the next three and a half years in the notorious Changi Jail, and Auntie Kitten on one of the infamous long marches. Father left our car on the quayside. I t was used to ferry around a Jap General we learnt. The later compensation for the goods lost was 拢78:00, not even the price of the car!

Father鈥檚 boat had to hide among the myriad islands during the day and sail only at night to avoid Jap patrols. At last came the wonderful news that Father was alive and in Sydney, but how to get to the East coast with the Aussies in a spin, expecting it was 鈥榥ext stop Australia鈥� for the Japs to attack. Now it was trains which were required to move troops.

A kind rancher friend got us on to a troop train as 鈥榮it-ups鈥�, no food provided, but he did come to see us, off clutching a box of tinned foods. And, yes, he did forget the tin-opener! Luckily in our carriage was a lady with a little boy who tacked on to me. As she saw her duty as cheering the brave boys, she was only too happy to leave the laddie with us, but at least she was able to borrow a tin-opener from her new friends.

The dreadful, hot, dusty journey across the Nullabar Plain took five days and nights, the only relief being when the train stopped one day and we all piled out to see an Aborigine chief demonstrate his skills with his boomerang. Al1 around were his tribe so it was quite a gathering. First he collected money from his audience.
I think of him every time I hear Rolf Harris singing, 鈥楢nd his boomerang wouldn鈥檛 come back.鈥� Some people were cross, feeling cheated, but he had collected the cash in regardless.

In Sydney it never stopped raining, but at least part of our family was reunited. We headed out of the beautiful harbour, soon to pick up survivors from a torpedoed boat, and on to call in to Auckland. It was Easter, 1942. Shops were usually closed but they opened to let the shipwrecked get kitted out. Then it was on via the Panama canal to Southampton. The ship carried hundreds of soldiers, and a number of mothers found their children seemed to attach themselves to me, leaving them free to comfort our brave boys in uniform. My poor parents were angry and also anxious, as a call to boat stations could land me with as many as six stranded children. 0ne became like a 1itt1e brother, so there were lots of tears when we arrived at Southampton. But at least I was soon to be reunited with my rea1, beloved big brother.

Miraculously we had survived the Battle of Britain, war in the Atlantic, the Far East and the Pacific. Now back in London there were the incendiary bombs. Father insisted on doing his bit as a fire-watcher, in spite of being weak with the cancer which would kill him before the end of the war. Then came the Doodle-bugs, with their meteor tai1s, which at least announced their arrival before, stopping and dropping on you, unlike the rockets which descended out of nowhere, one killing my best friend from my new school, Kensington High School.

Today in Duchess of Bedford鈥檚 walk is an elegant block of f1ats, but then it was full of refugees. The children used to throw things out of the windows at us as we played in the school garden. The Helipad field to the north of Kensington Palace was used by Italian POWs playing footba11. They were housed in one of the splendid mansions nearby. And the north side of the Round Pond held another great attraction for us children . . . a barrage balloon station.

With only our tropical clothing the London of rationing food and clothing was a bitterly co1d, drear place. The American Red Cross kindly provided some 鈥榳oolies鈥� but they had mostly been so badly washed they were like fe1t, and their shoes did not fit.

Late in 1944 an unc1e, Dr. Irwin, knowing my beloved father was dying, offered the use of his weekend cottage. We were thankful at the ending of war in Europe, but could not celebrate as Father had died just before. Also we had too many friends who were POWs in Malaya, and especially a beloved cousin who was on the notorious Burma - Siam railway. Miraculously he survived to celebrate his Diamond Wedding!

So ends this condensed tale of one child's g1oba1 experience of World War Two, she who was a daughter of the (mini) Raj.

Deirdre Alexandra Hannigan
London, September 2005

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