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All these days it had rained without ceasing, so the Japs had been unable to take us out on working parties. I spent all one night on the latrine out in the rain, having picked up a bug that was going round the camp.

In the tropics under these conditions ‘squitters’ became part of our daily’ life. Next morning the Japs lined us up early and for the first time took us out to work. We found ourselves arriving at Alexandra Hospital, where we spent the day clearing away rubble.

There was a rubbish dump which our guards allowed us to look over; we found some rusty dixies, which we took back for our cookhouse, and trodden into the mud I found a mosquito net, which I carefully excavated. When we got back to camp, after I had cleaned and mended it, this net was to prove the most useful part of my kit during the coming years.

With my fair skin, I had proved very susceptible to mosquito bites and was already was suffering from an ulcer on my ankle where I had scratched one of them.

The next time we had a dry day, we started clearing native huts to make room, our guards told us, for new warehouses. These guards were friendly, and allowed those who had money to purchase food and tobacco from Chinese living a little way off. These had retained their faith in sterling, and exchanged our £1 notes at the rate of twenty Straits dollars to the £1. I had retained a few £ notes when captured.

Before we left Changi, two senior N.C.O.s had entrusted some of their money to me in the hope that I would be able to buy food here, and send it back to them. On this our first day, therefore, I exchanged my first £1 note, and was able to purchase two French loaves for thirty cents, six packets of ‘London’ cigarettes for a dollar, and a few tins of food to start building up a store in case I obtained an opportunity to send them back to Changi.

Back in camp I exchanged one loaf for a tin of milk, and dug a pit under my bed to bury the tins of food until the chance came to send them back. Until my squitters cleared up a week later, I was unable to eat much of the food we were able to buy, myself.

The second day out on this clearing work, a party working close by had a vicious guard; something displeased him and he hit one of the men with a heavy stick and broke his arm. The next day the Japs decided that only the N.C.O. in charge of each party was to be allowed to visit the Chinese, and he was to purchase food on behalf of his men. Accompanied by a guard, on that first occasion I bought two tins of food per man, having first collected fifty cents from each.

We had soon discovered that tinned fish and tinned milk were the best buys when it came to having something to mix with our plain rice, which was all we were getting in camp at that time. I found that one of those oval tins of fish in tomato sauce could be pounded into a paste, two tablespoonfuls of salt added, and then it would supplement my daily rice for four days.

I had to eke my cash out, as, unlike many of my comrades, I did not have much cash when taken prisoner, as I had arranged for most of my army pay to be sent home to my mother, who saved it for me.

Later, when my cash ran low and the price of tinned food had escalated to astronomical figures, I went over to a native food, the name of which sounded like ‘Ballachang’. It was made from the small sea creatures left in the fishermen’s nets which were otherwise unsaleable. It was pounded, with plenty of salt, into a paste, then instead of cooking it they buried it in the sand for a few weeks to mature.

The end product stank; it could be smelled from many yards away, and tasted something like rancid cod-liver-oil. Many were unable to face it, but since it was almost pure protein I managed to force it down, and eventually got used to it.

We now went to work daily, and the Camp Commandant allowed us to spend one day a week in camp to enable us to do our personal chores; this meant we could take a stand-up bath by queuing up at the only tap; as this was situated close to the wire and in full view of the houses across the water, our bathing was often accompanied by the giggles of Chinese girls.

On our eleventh day, we were marching to work as usual; a young Chinese woman stood at the roadside, a large basket of bread on one hip, a young child on the other. As we passed she called her wares; ‘One, fifteen cent.’ Although we were not allowed to purchase in this way, the guard following up the rear could not see us.

A few yards ahead of me two men left the column, one jumped on the woman’s back rolling her and her child over on the ground. The other man grabbed the basket and tipped the loaves out; before I could act they had all disappeared into haversacks. The woman picked up her child and ran off weeping. I still feel the shame that I felt on that day. POW life certainly brought out the worst as well as the best in us.

We gradually began to see each other more and more as we really were, as much of the veneer of civilization fell away. All races seem to have a similar amount of good and bad, often lurking just under the skin, whether that be black, white or yellow.

I was to see private soldiers, spirits unbroken after weeks of torture, refusing to give the names of those who had helped them in escape attempts. I saw one of our officers of field rank, in charge of one of our camps, who bowed to the ground every time a Jap called him, and they would shout his name just for the fun of seeing him tremble.

At work, we finished clearing the huts away, and started leveling the site. Our guards were lax, and during lunch-times I was able to explore the environment, including a rubbish dump a hundred yards away.

I found two note-pads, upon which I was to write most of my diary, a British gas-cape which I wore to keep the rain off, and some Dixie lids, which I took back to camp for the cooks to bake ‘doofers’ on. These were balls of cooked rice baked over the fire. Although only plain rice, they made a change, and were much in demand; I never learned the etymology of the name.

Visits to the dump became a daily event, and I acquired no end of good junk. The most valuable among these items were a piece of Dunlopillo foam out of a lorry seat, and an army blanket. These made my bed for the next three years or so. A set of webbing equipment with pouches and back-pack was also very useful in enabling me to carry my kit from camp to camp.

A day or so later we held a meeting to decide how to try to improve the camp food, which was atrocious. We decided to replace half the cooks, and to put Sgt. Gross in charge, as he was a Communist, and should in theory have stood for fair shares for all. In practice he proved to be even worse than his predecessor. Everyone believed that the cooks ate half the food themselves, but they actually had a thankless task.

In the evenings, we would wander around the camp chatting until dark, then sit on the ends of our beds, and those who felt like it would usually sing old nostalgic songs.

Sometimes, during a quiet spell a patrolling guard, rifle and bayonet in hand, would poke his head in the doorway and call out ‘More sing, Soljah’ The Aussies did not sing like our boys, and some of them told me that our arrival had quite changed the atmosphere of the camp during the long evenings.

Out on the working party, we finished leveling out the site, and on the twenty-ninth of March, the day the Spiritualist had predicted that we should be freed, the Japs brought along some of the little hand-carts which they had used to carry their equipment during the fighting, and told us that we were to make boxes to fit them, in order to convert them to carry sand.

After eating our midday rice that day, one of the more aggressive of our guards stalked up to me. ‘Gunzo (Sergeant), Nippon soldier numbar one bayonet fighter, yesu?’. Never having been over gifted with tact, and since most of our guards were friendly, I retorted, ‘English soldier number one, Japanese soldier number ten’.

For a few brief moments there was the silence of unbelief, then bedlam broke loose as all started to scream at once. Although arms waved all round me I remained calm and no blows were struck. They held a conference, and by the way heads kept turning in my direction I knew that my fate was being discussed.

At first, when we had heard the Japs talking we had thought them to be quarreling, so vehemently did they carry on, but we soon discovered that they always talked like this. They have one set of words to use to a superior in rank or social standing, and these are quite different from those used to an inferior person. Thus to an inferior ‘I’ is ‘boko’ and ‘you’ is ‘kimi’, but to a superior it had to be ‘watukushi’ and ‘anatah’.

To return to our story; the conference ended, and the senior guard came over to me, and sternly said ‘Nippon numbar one soljah.’ Discretion being the better part of valor, I had the sense to hold my tongue this time.

The atmosphere suddenly changed back to the relaxed mood of earlier on. Now these Japs were not front line soldiers, and carried captured ·303 short Lee-Enfield rifles and bayonets.

One of the guards (he had always been a friendly chap), now removed his bayonet and scabbard from his belt, fixed it on the rifle, and to our amazement he tossed it to me.

The big-mouthed Jap who had originally challenged me was now being harangued by the others who, it transpired, were trying to persuade him to put his bayonet fighting skill where his mouth was, and at last, very reluctantly, he put his scabbarded bayonet on his rifle. (Bayonet scabbards are left on during hand fighting training to prevent serious injury.)

‘Engerisso Gunzo bayonet fight,’ called out the friendly Jap who had lent me his rifle, and he indicated that our arena was to be a six foot wide corridor between two huts.

I had always been useless at grenade throwing,(shoulders messed up by my playing hooker at rugby), map-reading, and many other martial arts; but at bayonet fighting I excelled. And in my hand was my beloved Lee-Enfield. As my adversary approached I scowled, roared my war-cry and rushed him.

I saw fear in his face as he held out his weapon at arms length more like a fencing foil; it fell to the ground as I purposely narrowly missed his throat with the point of my bayonet scabbard; quickly I swung up my rifle butt to within an inch of his face, and again, slashed down the bayonet to graze his shoulder.

I had completely forgotten our circumstances as the pent-up feelings of the previous months found an outlet, but was quickly brought back to earth as I felt myself grabbed from behind by several pairs of Jap hands. ‘Dammi-dammi’ murmured our friendly guard. ‘No-good ennah!’ said his friend. They were relieved that no-one had been hurt; to have been would have taken a lot of explaining, had their superiors found out about it.

The next day was an important one, as we were lined up for the first pay parade of our captivity. I drew five dollars forty cents, about five shillings and sixpence. From that time forward the Japs paid wages to those of us who worked, and although it was only a pittance, it enabled us to buy the odd egg, sugar and cooking oil from time to time.

Since the woman who sold bread had been attacked and robbed, there had been no bread-seller on our route to work, but another one now made his appearance. This one was a young man, a cripple, and his disability had to be seen to be believed. Both bones in one shin had been broken and never set; he walked, one leg a great deal shorter than the other, on the broken end of his shin bone, the foot flopping about on the ground as he walked. He must have endured agony with every step.

He was unable to run when the Japs saw him, and they kicked his legs from under him and continued kicking him on the ground. They helped themselves to as much of the bread as they wanted, and threw the remainder to us. This time I am glad to say, many of our chaps refused to touch it.

The Japs seemed to hate the Chinese with a psychological hatred, whereas, although we were often ill-treated, I never had the impression that they really hated us. Later on, when the Koreans took over the task of guarding us, we did find out what it was like to be hated.

Chapter 15

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