大象传媒

WAR IN THE EAST
by Tom Simkins MBE Chief Radio Officer MV Pinna

Japan declared war on December 7/8th 1941, the exact date depending upon where one was situated at the time.
They did this by attacking the American Naval base, Pearl Harbour, at Hawaii at dawn with a massive air strike by carrier-born aircraft of the Japanese fleet. That attack was co-ordinated closely in time with bombing attacks on Hong Kong and Singapore, and amphibious landings on the north-east coast of Malaya, between Kota Baru and the border with Thailand. But of course I knew nothing of this at the time. The first inclination I had that something was amiss was actually being shaken awake personally in the early hours of the morning by Captain Thomas and being told to stand-by the radio. I wondered later how he could possibly have known about the attack at such an early hour, since the Americans themselves on the island were taken by surprise. History tells us now that they ought not to have been, for information had been available concerning the movements of the Japanese fleet, both in America and Britain.
Dawn in Hawaii would have been about 0300 on board the "Pinna" in our position, so no doubt the captain must have heard a news flash on his radio just before coming down and waking me
Although Japanese intervention had been a topic of conversation on board having seen an increasing Japanese presence as we sailed around, we had been of the opinion that they would not start anything until events showed a sure sign of an axis victory in Europe. So, I was quite perplexed as I went along to the radio room, wondering what the urgency was all about. The old man had disappeared without explaining and I was not prepared to go wandering up to the bridge accommodation when he had instructed me to go to the radio room. I was on friendly terms with him, but I did not feel that it was expedient to be as friendly as that under the circumstances.
It was 0500 in the morning and the deep indigo sky had paled towards sunrise in the east. It was a lovely early morning; cool and fresh on deck, the sort of morning that makes one wonder why early rising is not the norm for every day.
I need not have gone on watch, for as I would have expected at that hour, and still dark, my headphones were full of static roar. In addition, superimposed were electric stabs of lightning. This went on until daybreak making the reception of any signals, impossible.
Just before breakfast, around 0730, an American ship, the "Admiral Cole" started up with loud signals saying that she was being attacked by Japanese aircraft. After repeating the message, further signals said that the vessel had been bombed. After that, silence. Later we received official news, via Rugby radio and the 大象传媒, that we were now at war with Japan. Then later still, we received radio instructions to divert to Balikpapan in mid-east Borneo, one of our previous ports of call halfway up the Macacca Strait. We were three days out.
The position given by the American ship had been 4 degrees north and 124 degrees east, which placed it (if the transmission or reception was accurate) east of the north end of the Macassar Strait. By that evening we had heard of the wide areas covered by the attacking Japanese. Since aircraft carriers do not normally float about without accompanying naval support, we wondered where was the task force whose aircraft had bombed the "Admiral Cole" and which way were they heading the East coast of Borneo with its valuable oil supply terminal ports of Tarakan and Balikpapan? In view of our destination with respect to the "Admiral Cole" message and the Japanese demonstrated capability, I kept the phones glued to my ears all day. There could be another diversion message for us. Well there was not, and we duly arrived at Balik.

. . .

With reference to the diversion instructions referred to before, I should clarify here, that throughout the war period there was a strict radio silence at sea, except when attacked. Messages for ships were broadcast, and there were schedules of broadcasting times to which ships strictly adhered and listened out to without the need to reply themselves. Ship's call signs were broadcast first after which a ship called would copy the coded messages. The decoding books on board were of course sensitive documents to be ditched if circumstances demanded. In addition, throughout hostilities, the ship's position, correct to an hours sailing time, or sometimes half-an-hour, was always kept in the radio room, night and day.
In the event of a ship being attacked, the first information that the radio officer had to transmit, was the ship's position, before providing any other information which he might or might not be able to do, depending on circumstances.
Instead of the international signal, SOS, the nature of the attack was indicated in the address. If by a surface vessel, 鈥淩RR" was first transmitted three times, if by aircraft, "AAA" or by submarine, 鈥淪SS鈥�. A typical message would read,

"AAA AAA AAA鈥� - position of the ship - name of the ship".

With that message successfully transmitted, the captain would then initiate further helpful information. The use of those prefixes not only alerted authorities who might be able to counter-attack, but also alerted merchant ships in the vicinity to take "disappearing" action. It was perplexing to have received our first orders to proceed to Balik. It was even more perplexing after we had docked to learn that we were to go to Tarakan 450 miles north of Balik in the region 03掳 north, and after loading for Singapore proceed there via the NORTH of Borneo and NOT south!
In view of the attack on the "Admiral Cole" 04掳 north, and that possibly somewhere near that position and heading towards Tarakan, was the Japanese task force, with it's supporting aircraft, our instructions were difficult to swallow. The old man was not one to "lose his cool" but he was doing so with a few well chosen words, prior to saying,
"Follow me sparks and bring that bloody wireless log with you ..."
When he produced the information ashore about the "Admiral Cole" nobody locally seemed to know about it, but obviously somebody else did somewhere, for later the order was cancelled. Obviously the original one had been despatched before the Japanese hostilities.
Next day there were new orders. We were now to evacuate the residents of Balikpapan - 1200 Asians and 100 Europeans, and deposit them at Surabaya in Java, leaving a skeleton staff to carry out the demolition of the oil installation with the co-operation of the defending garrison, should it become necessary - and it did.
During the next day a bevy of American Naval craft arrived and anchored. Two cruisers, two or three destroyers and a small aircraft carrier. I thought at the time that they could be doing something useful like engaging that task-force, but they did not seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere, for they were still there a week later when we had departed. Hindsight tells me now, that a small force like this American one, would have been helpless against Japanese bombers operating from a carrier.
While we had been tied up at the wharf there had been plenty of activity on board. Shelters had been built on deck to accommodate the evacuees. Rows of cookhouse facilities and latrines were installed, also extra life rafts fitted and numerous amenities. It was a sad sight to see these bewildered looking parents and kids, or just mothers and kids and grandparents, carrying armfuls of belongings, climbing aboard, then looking around for a suitable spot on which to establish squatters rights on a patch of deck before spreading their pans and beds.
Looking over the ship' s side the scene below was one of a great sea of up-turned faces. I thought, surely they could not ALL get on board, well no, fortunately that was not their intention. Presumably they were friends and relations who had arrived to wave good-bye and who did not want to be evacuated.
In the end, the passenger count was now 900 ex-residents, six Europeans from the oil installation and three nurses. I looked hard among the gathering on and off the ship, but I did not see Elli, and because there had not been any shore leave, there had not been any visits to the "Golden Drake". I wondered since, if later she was serving "Shanghai Gestures" to the Japanese with her usual gusto, and I wonder if she had managed to protect her good girls?
Probably after the first official panic that the Japanese could be just over the horizon, and then after a week without any disturbing news of imminent invasion, a few minds had been changed about rushing off too quickly. We would most certainly have preferred to be on the move. The old man voiced his opinion on the matter quite loudly as our cargo of people settled down to a new life on board a ship ... tied up to the wharf!
Although there had not been any air-raids, there had been a number of alerts possibly because of reconnoitring aircraft sightings, but now, with this huge crowd on deck, and the patiently waiting crowd on the wharf below, it began to feel an uncomfortable situation. The Japanese might not want to wreck an oil installation, but a harbour full of ships could be a tempting alternative.
There was a strange lack of official information as to the local situation and one wonders if officialdom ashore knew anything about it, or if they were keeping quiet, or like us, listening to the 大象传媒 to find out.
There were now rumours that the Japanese had landed at Sarawak across the island on the west coast of Borneo, and if this were true, then aircraft could be operating from there very soon ...
So, it was with a sigh of relief that we eventually set sail on December 16th, and much to Captain Thomas's disgust (which he voiced loudly to departing officials) not one of the American ships accompanied us, notwithstanding renewed news of Japanese submarine activity in the Java Sea. The most dangerous weapons we had on board were my spears and bows and arrows acquired in Papua.
The voyage to Surabaya on the north coast of Java was uneventful. We sailed due south out of Balik, across the Java Sea, and then hugged the coast, passing on the inside of the island of Madura and finally docking at Surabaya on December 20th.
That evening after our passengers had all been landed, we sat on deck after dinner with the ship blacked-out, as too was the town, discussing and conjecturing as to our future movements. The area around us was aglow with numerous fireflies and now and again there were vivid lightning flashes across the sky that lit up the sea.
Just ahead of us (we had moved to an offshore anchorage) there was an American cargo ship and from it came strains of the piano accordion and singing. It sounded so nice as the sound floated across the water and roused quite a few nostalgic memories of family occasions at home and Scout campfires.
The radio that night gave more details of the Russian resistance to the German advance, and our own bombing raids on Germany. This better news of our increasing ability to fight back was upset by the disheartening report of the Japanese successes in the Pacific and their rapid advance down the Malayan peninsula, after landing on the North east coast. Also, that Penang, an undefended island on the west coast, had surrendered on December 18th after suffering quite unnecessary bombing attacks which had killed hundreds of civilians. The attacks had been made possibly after the Japanese had occupied the airfield at Kota Bharu 120 miles or so east.
"It was sad to think of pleasant dreamy little Penang being subjected to such carnage and subsequent Japanese occupation鈥� is what I wrote later, and also "I wonder if the Japanese are now relaxing in the E & O hotel lounge" where I had had many pleasant mornings with some of our 鈥淜istna鈥� passengers, enjoying chats and Singapore gin-slings.
Like the Sea view Hotel in Singapore, it too had a dome roof like a mini St Pauls, offering the same whispering gallery effect. Going ashore, I used to enjoy the quiet tranquillity that I did not experience in Singapore' s busy shopping area. I nursed happy memories of the island. To me, it had an atmosphere of serenity that prompted the thought, that here, time had found a place in which to rest undisturbed ... Alas it had not.
We were still swinging around at anchor the following evening without any knowledge of our next move. The steadily deteriorating news, since the old man had given me a shake that early morning, had not improved. Quite the opposite. The Japanese were reported to be still advancing at great speed southward down Malaya, with our forces in retreat, and there had been frequent bombing raids on Singapore and on shipping in that area.
The American naval base at Wake island had been taken and now we heard officially that the Japanese had actually landed in Sarawak at Miri (Northwest Borneo) on December 16th, so confirming the rumour heard in Balik. We heard for the first time the news of the disastrous loss of the battleship 鈥淧rince of Wales鈥� and the 鈥淩epulse鈥� sunk by enemy aircraft on December the 10th in the Gulf of Thailand.
So it was with mixed feelings the next day when orders were received to sail and that we were to proceed to Singapore taking a course that would eventually keep us close to the east coast of Sumatra. We assumed that this had something to do with the landings at Sarawak. That morning I heard signals from the tanker MV "Harper" she was being bombed west of Singapore. It was a shock because we knew her Captain and his bridge crew and we had met many times at Bukom.
Since there was plenty of time before sailing, it was decided to open our reserve stock of Christmas wine for lunch, as was voiced, "we might not get another chance" (alcohol was not on the menu at sea).
Later that day we received further instructions as to our route. We were to avoid the Java Sea because of reported submarines in the area, and take the longer route first east and then west via Bali and then southern Java. Later I heard a vessel being attacked north of Semarang in the Java Sea not far west from Surabaya. Well that again confirmed the reports of submarines in the Java Sea.
I reported this to the old man, who said,
"Keep it under your hat. There is no need to cause any further despondency, there is enough around already".
The voyage around the western tip of Java and past Bali was uneventful in nice comfortable sailing weather as we sailed up the south coast of Java, where Christmas lunch was enjoyed, if not celebrated. But we did have a scare just before levelling with the Sunda Strait at the north end of Java, but first I should explain the following.
The hostilities procedure when one vessel was challenging another at that time, was to signal WBA. This letter group represented a command "Stop your ship: do not use your radio: do not lower boats: do not scuttle: if you disobey, I will open fire". If the signal was not obeyed, action followed. This would be the case, if say a German naval or armed merchant vessel accosted one of our ships, when the first action that would take place would be to silence the radio, should it be used, to prevent the attacking vessel's position from being disclosed. This was not difficult since DF loops and aerial terminations indicated the position of the radio room on the merchant ship quite plainly.
Being so near the Java coast, I had been relieved of the continuous watch order and had reverted to the regulation two hours on and two off routine. It was breakfast time and I was in the saloon with the Captain, Chief Engineer and the second mate. The third mate was still on the bridge where he had been since 0400 and where he would normally remain until relieved by the second mate when he had finished his breakfast at 0830.
I think we had all more or less finished when the second mate received a message to go onto the bridge which was unusual, and which was indicated by his raised eyebrows. After a time lapse, equal for the time taken for the second mate to get onto the bridge and Shorty Armstrong, the cadet, to get down with a message, the old man left too. To me that departure indicated trouble so I hurried into the radio room leaving the perplexed chief engineer sitting at the table.
Upon arriving there, the first thing that confirmed that there was trouble, was cadet Armstrong, whom we nicknamed Shorty, falling over the door coaming with the ship's latest position, and then the brr-brring of the telephone. The old man said, "stand-by sparks" ... so I did, wondering ...
As I did not yet know, for what, I stood up and turned to Shorty but he had disappeared. However in doing so I had the shock of my life for I saw a tiny shape of a vessel in the far distance, it's signal lamp blinking WB8 at me through the porthole!
I started up the transmitter generator, more a reflex action and not a brave one, for in that instant I remembered tales of operators not getting enough time to send the last groups of their RRR鈥檚 messages. The thought that I might have to soon start pressing that transmitting key was a very nasty one as I hung on to the telephone and waited (鈥渢he coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man only once") I heard the clanking of the ship's telegraph to the engine room, then the change of motion of the ship. My immediate thought was 鈥淗ell's bells, we are making a run for it鈥� then brr-brr again. The old man said "It's OK sparks, we have just been challenged by a Dutch cruiser!"
When I look back on that incident I wonder now, and also wonder why I was not curious at the time, why it was that that Dutch cruiser was not seen before it became a shape on the skyline. Normally one sees another ship by the top of its mast or funnel or perhaps smoke before it becomes a complete recognisable ship. It had been a very sensitive situation ever since we had left port, so where were all the other lookouts? Well perhaps the cruiser came rapidly out of the morning haze.
Just before that incident I received confirming messages that the Japanese had landed at Sarawak and also on the west coast of Borneo, and that their aircraft could be now operating from occupied airfields there. I had received the same information when I went onto the bridge to receive the Aldis lamp signals from the cruiser, who also signalled,
"Important you keep west of Banka Island and report Naval Control at mouth of Musi" (the Palembang river).
We sailed through the Sunda Strait and towards Banka, passing the ex-crater of the volcano Krakatoa that did not look very much at all - just a small island with a crater-shaped hill rising out of it. When it erupted in 1883, it was, as far as records indicate the biggest bang the world had ever known since Santorini obliterated the civilisation of Crete. Following the eruption of Krakatoa that caused tidal waves and the deaths of thousands of coastal inhabitants, dust travelled right around the world causing spectacular sunsets for years afterwards. What I saw, was not what caused the devastation, but what meekly rose up out of the sea afterwards - Krakatoa.
We had not gone very far through the Sunda straits when I heard the "Harper" being attacked again in the Strait of Malacca, and also the 鈥淎ldegonda鈥�. They were being attacked by aircraft and sending out the regulation 鈥淎AA鈥� signals.
The remainder of the voyage was uneventful. We did not see the Naval Control at the mouth of Musi, so the old man pushed on regardless, but hugging the Sumatra coastline. We finally dropped anchor 25 miles south of Singapore, north of the Rhio islands as the sun set on December 31st.1941. The captain had been told, that in view of the now enforced precautions, arrival in the Singapore area at night might mean being shot at first and questions asked later.
We arrived at Pulau Bukom mid morning the next day. As already referred to, Bukom was one of the two oil installation islands for Singapore (the other one being Pulau Sambu a few miles further east) that provided wharfing and fuel handling facilities. I had enjoyed many social evenings at the island's club which sported a bar and a piano. It was a cool peaceful little island, probably half-a-mile wide and one-and-a-half miles long located south of Singapore Island, with a very frequent ferry service.
This time, the club was unusually packed with a motley crowd of sailors and soldiers, the former mostly survivors off the sunken battle ships "Repulse" and "Prince of Wales". There were also some of the crew off the "Harper" that I had heard being attacked a few days before our arrival. She was attacked and sunk later in the Rhio Strait on the 27th January, with the loss of a cargo of fuel destined for Batavia.
We were In Bukom for nine days, and during that time as far as air raids were concerned we had a peaceful time because all the aerial aggro was taking place over Singapore, of which we had a grandstand view. One might assume that an island like Bukum, loaded with fuel and all the facilities associated with it, would have been a prize for Japanese attacks. But not so. It was never attacked because I suppose, the Japanese needed the island intact for their own use after they had taken Singapore, of which, even at that early stage, they must have been so very confident.
From the idyllic untroubled existence that we had been enjoying slowly and surely that situation was deteriorating daily. I went across to Singapore by the ferry two or three times and I was quite surprised to see how little damage there was on the couple of visits, except for the first bomb which had hit Robinson鈥檚 department store in Raffles Place.
It seemed that most of the damage that had been done, which I saw later, was in the Chinese and Indian quarters. The docks at Keppel did not appear to have been damaged, although I did not manage to see much of that area at that time. I assumed that Keppel docks had been ignored by the Japanese for the same reasons that Bukom had not been attacked.
The Keppel harbour dock area ran for quite a distance along the south coast of Singapore Island sheltered on the seaward side by the long length of Blakang Mati Island (now renamed Santosa). It was on the summit and the seaward side of Blakang Mati which accommodated some of the much-talked about Singapore defences that looked out to sea.
If the Japanese had done what was expected of an attacking force approaching Singapore, they would have had a very warm welcome from Blakang Mati and all the other coastal guns. Instead, they arrived by the back door, so to speak, and there was little that Blakang Mati or any of the other coastal defences could about it to any great extent.
In the past, a lot of accent has been placed on those guns that looked out to sea, which could not look the other way. I have since read that that is only partly correct, applying only to large calibre guns. By turning through 180掳 they were deprived of remote control facility but not their ability to fire. If they did they still did not possess the correct shells for the annihilation of troops. The shells available, only in a very small quantity, the armour piercing type essentially for that purpose i.e. making holes in naval armour.
As I went about the city, it seamed to all outward appearances that Singapore life was continuing normally. The only thing that I noticed out of the ordinary was the digging up and the defacing of the sacred cricket ground. I thought that perhaps they were digging slit trenches, but at the same time, they looked sadly like graves. Mind you, if I had bothered to move further away centre at that time, as I did later, I would have had different thoughts on normality.
The second mate, John Wood and I, went to the 鈥淣ew World鈥� taxi-dancing 鈥渏oint鈥�, Raffles Hotel, and then shopping in Change Alley (the bargain-hunters mecca off Raffles Place) then, on Sunday, out to the Sea View Hotel just around the coast. Later, on several occasions this time alone, I went to the swimming club all day. I mention mundane items merely to bear out my remark, that if I had not known the Japanese were only a matter of 75 miles away and closing-in fast, I would have thought that what I was experiencing was the everyday life of the city hitherto enjoyed.
. . . .
We received our sailing orders on January 9th 1942 having taken on a half-cargo to be topped up with a load to be picked up at Pladjoe, en route to Balikpapan. That information was hard to swallow, since to get to Balik, it would have to be via the Java Sea! You will remember that on our voyage to Singapore from Surabaya after dropping off our 鈥渃argo鈥� of evacuees, we had been routed around southern Java in order to AVOID the Java Sea because of submarine activity.
Then, just before sailing, we took on additional petrol for Tarakan (about 450 miles north of Balikpapan). This last straw made the old man explode. It just did not make sense at all. Our humble surmise, which was emphasised loudly at dinner that night, was that before we had time to get anywhere near those parts, the Japs could have already arrived.
The interesting thing, that is if one could mildly call it interesting, was that we were being sent out alone with a volatile cargo, not to mention a valuable ship and crew, without any defensive support. I wonder if we would have felt any happier if someone had said "Sorry Captain, we can鈥檛 give you an escort because we just haven鈥檛 got a single ship to spare". Such was the plight of the siege of Singapore. A pitiful shortage of naval and airborne facilities.
Arthur Greene, the new 3rd engineer who had just joined us said 鈥淚t鈥檚 a pity we can鈥檛 swap our cargo for one of balloons - blown up ones"
Arthur was a great person and we got on very well together. He had been transferred to the "Pinna" from another tanker ship, the MV 鈥淭rocus鈥�. He told me that while crossing the Indian ocean they had picked up a raft full of 25 German sailors around November 20th (1941) and eventually landed them into the hands of the Authority in Freemantle. They turned out to be survivors of the German armed merchant cruiser 鈥淜ormoran鈥� a vessel of 9000 tons which had been responsible for the sinking of many thousands of tons of Allied merchant shipping.
From an entry in my diary, Arthur said, that according to the men they had picked up, The German ship had attacked and sunk the Australian Naval vessel "Sidney鈥�. The "Sidney" had signalled, and then approached to within three-quarters of a mile of the disguised German ship, to ascertain it's identity, which then opened fire with guns and torpedoes. However before the "Sidney" sank, she hit the German ship putting her partly out of action, but also setting her on fire to the extent, that the crew had eventually to abandon ship.
Two factors stand out in the case. About 300 survivors off the " Kormoran鈥� were eventually picked up, but not one single man from the "Sidney" was found by searching ships and our aircraft only one machine gun riddled life-raft. It was the recovery of the German survivors that sadly solved the riddle of the missing "Sidney"...
Forty years later and with the availability of Naval information, Michael Montgomery has written the book covering the incident, entitled "Who sank the Sidney".
The whole sad event is still clouded in mystery. Who helped the 鈥淜ormoran"? Who disposed of the "Sidney鈥檚鈥� survivors? Despite intensive investigation, the main facts known as I write these lines are still only as much as those Arthur conveyed to me in 1941.
We duly set sail from Bukom the following afternoon except for one "Stand-by sparks" as we negotiated the north end of the Rhio Straits when a bevy of aircraft was sighted, but who thankfully ignored us. We hugged the east coast of Sumatra southwards, and picked up the pilot at the mouth of the Musi River two days later on January 12th.
It was a pleasant repeat journey up the River Musi to Palembang. The deep channel was so narrow in places that it seemed that we would soon be pulling leaves off the trees as we sailed along with large areas of mango swamp on either side. The scent of the trees and the wet earth was delightful.
During the first few days that we were tied up at the Pladjoe oil installation, there were several air-raid alerts but nothing we could see or hear happened. We met up with the crew of the ship that had sailed up from the south. They said that a Dutch ship had recently been attacked by submarine in the Java Sea, after which, the escaping crew had been gunned. Only three remaining alive were picked up.
Well that confirmed reports about enemy activity in the Java Sea. About the same time, we received news that the Tarakan north Borneo oil installation had been destroyed, and the area evacuated as a result of the attack and landings by the Japanese troops on January 11th. The following day our cargo destined for Tarakan was off-loaded. Well that made sense after the previous nonsense!
That evening out on deck enjoying our after-dinner drink and chat which had become routine since there was no necessity for strict watches, we wondered about the news situation. Who was it, that was first waiting for news from the 大象传媒 before issuing orders? We hoped that the 大象传媒 would keep it up and whoever was waiting for the news, would keep his ears pinned back.
The following day, still without any further news as to our future movements, we moved from Pladjoe out to an anchorage downstream from Palambang, where we were still swinging around our anchor two weeks later!
Day after day, either from the 大象传媒 or Singapore radio broadcasts, usually the former, we listened dismally to the news of stepped-up air-raids on Singapore, one of which was 80 aircraft strong and the overnight withdrawal of troops down the Malay Peninsular to strategic defence positions. The latter piece of news we interpreted as being that our hard-pressed troops were being driven back by the highly organised and better-equipped mechanised Japanese.
The next withdrawal could very well be on to Singapore Island proper!
The war news from home still described the continuing bombing of our cities; the very little improvement in the Middle East situation, and the still recurring merchant shipping losses in the Atlantic. It was all very depressing.
In contrast nothing had happened or was happening to us on board, we were living a life of Riley compared to the others in the different war zones and on the home front. Our surroundings were idyllic with all the attributes of a pleasure cruise. Placid river, pleasant cool breezes, chairs on deck, sun bathing by day and watching the flashing of the millions of fire-flies at night as we chatted over drinks. We would go to bed with the croaking of bull frogs and the many sounds out of the jungle that echoed across the water, then wake up in the morning to the shrieking of birds and the chattering of monkeys.
We were still swinging at anchor on January 26th and just as we had begun to think that we really had been forgotten, the old man received instructions that we would soon be leaving the anchorage and returning to the wharf.
So, our idyllic holiday had really come to an end. I wondered what the 大象传媒 had heard?
While we had been at anchor during the last few days, there had been several air-raids on the airfield a few miles away, with the passing aircraft ignoring us and the Pladjoe oil installation - another Bukom? I wondered.
There had been news of attacks on shipping in the harbour at Balikpapan, and then the news that Balikpapan had been occupied and also ports on the Celebes across the Macassar strait. Well that would remove Balik from our ports-of-call along with Tarakan.
I learned later that the capture of the Borneo oil fields and the port of Balikpapan could provide the Japanese with over 50,000 barrels of oil a day, which more than fulfilled their requirements of petrol to continue the war in the East.
We had learned of our return to the wharf when the shipping agent boarded us. He said that he thought that now we would be going direct to Darwin, and that like another ship, we would be given a route via Banka, Sunda Strait and southern Java instead of the normal route via the Java and Flores seas. The old man rolled his eyes at this and suggested that there was nothing new about that, we had already done it - well, in reverse.
鈥淎nyway鈥� he said, "its bloody obvious now isn't it ... " He was not one to mince his words when the occasion demanded it.
After the agent had departed, leaving the instructions that we return to the wharf the next morning, I heard two more ships being bombed, the "Lamatang" and the 鈥淟arut鈥�. Then a short time later the call sign VSJB off the West Coast of Sumatra, then the "Van Himoff" - a submarine attack off southern Sumatra. The first three were in the region of the Rhio islands south of Singapore.
I was quite pleased about Darwin and the route there, but the later news of submarine activity around Banka Island area soured it somewhat. Perhaps the sub that had attacked the "Van Himoff" had come around the corner and through the Sunda Strait - or was there another one?
The old man's remark when I reported this to him was. "Does anyone know about all this?" 鈥淣o鈥� I said. "Then keep it that way,鈥� he said.
I found it very hard to be as cheerful as the others were at dinner that night, and later on deck, for the prospect of a safe get away at dawn to Darwin had gone down well. But as I saw it, there did not seem to be any safe alternative direction that we could now go, except for up or down, and they could hardly be called safe!

Chapter 17
OUR JOURNEY TO DISASTER

We duly tied up at the Pladjoe wharf the following morning, while the Japs were having another go at the RAF airfield. Several flights went over that morning but none was interested in shipping - just the airfield. We wondered from where they could be operating.
Shortly after arriving, three shiploads of RAF and RA troops arrived from Singapore. They had been bombed on route; they had made it, but with many casualties. They had been attacked twice, once 50 miles south of Singapore in the Ehio Straits and again near the mouth of the Palembang River. A ship that had passed us the previous day, going out, the 鈥淛uno鈥�, came limping back. She too had caught it upon reaching the river mouth. I had heard her 鈥淎AA鈥� signals but had not caught the name.
I have dealt with events described above in detail in order to convey how slowly, then at a quickening pace, the situation worsened from peacefully enjoyed existence, from songs of welcome and farewell from the islands, to the state now when we were virtually being hemmed in with problems.
It was fortunate for the crew they were not aware of information that the Captain and I had shared as to the deteriorating situation. The knowledge that we had gleaned from ships arriving, and from some of the RAF personnel, made them particularly happy that instead of Singapore the " Pinna" was now going in the opposite direction - to Australia.
The news from the 大象传媒 the next day was to the effect that last night all our troops had evacuated the mainland of Malaya and were now on the island and preparing for the defence of Singapore proper. The thought did cross my mind that we could be involved in the evacuation of Singapore, but I dismissed it as being just too preposterous. Singapore could not fall. .. It was too British!
There was further news that the causeway linking the island to the mainland had been blown-up, and I wondered just how much difference it would make to the extremely efficient Japanese campaign which had brought than so quickly down the Malay Peninsula.
Arthur Green and I spent the morning at Pladjoe swimming club where we stayed for a very large hot curry. Except for a few bangs that came from somewhere, we could have been on holiday.
Some of the chaps that I met expressed their opinions that everything coming in and out of Singapore was being attacked in the Rhio Straits area, and I wondered why so persistently Rhio?
In the afternoon, I accompanied the old man to the Naval Control. I do not know which bit of bad news should have come first, but anyway, the first was, that we were now to return north to Singapore taking with us 19000 tins of petrol that had just been loaded for the RAF base at Darwin. There, pick-up some special oil cargo that we were to have picked-up at Balik, had that port still been open to us, and then return south to Darwin via Banka and Sunda straits!
The second bit of news, delivered very much as matter-of-fact information, was that the Japanese were making regular aircraft attacks on shipping arriving at the river mouth after having left Palembang to catch the morning tide (it was at the river mouth that the 鈥淛uno鈥� was attacked before she limped back to Pladjoe).
Walking back to the ship the old man was quiet for quite a time and then he said,
"You know Sparks" (he always called me that, but when I was not around he would perhaps say to someone within ear shot "where is that sparking bugger" this was because an Aborigine pointing at me had once said 鈥淗ey im fella sparking bugger, what im do?鈥�)
"I have spent so many years out here among the islands and I could hang up my jacket on any one of them, but I have never felt so far from home as I do at this moment"
Although I recorded those words and the prevailing circumstances in my diary written at the time and from which I am now able to quote, I have no idea whether or not I replied to his remark. But what could I have said? If I had voiced any private thoughts, then they must surely have been the obvious ones. The old man had every reason to feel far from home, for, if we can believe that "coming events do cast a shadow before", his spoken words in reality were to take him even further away from home - as a prisoner of war in a Japanese hospital.
At dinner that night the topic of conversation was the obvious one. Who on earth could have conjured-up such mad instructions? It could only have been somebody so far away and out of touch with the real local critical situation as to risk a valuable ship and an equally valuable cargo not to mention the crew, in such a way.

鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌�.

It is interesting to conjecture on life's patterns and how things fit together. Could events really be pre-ordained? On February 9th, 150 carrier born Japanese Naval Aircraft attacked Darwin, killing 240 people and injuring many more. Eleven transport ships, a destroyer, and a number of merchant ships all sunk or disabled. If we had gone south, and not north to Singapore, we would have been in Darwin, that is assuming that we had not bumped into the Japanese Naval task force on the way there!
鈥�.

Interestingly enough, as we moved out onto the promenade deck after dinner with a bottle of brandy which had been saved for such an occasion as this, the subject was closed. There was no reference to the situation that surely must have been foremost in everyone' s mind.
By this time we had moved off from the wharf to our moorings downstream again in anticipation of our departure, and the pilot joining us the next morning. According to the notes I made at the time,
."... The river was placid although flowing quite rapidly; bringing with it large bunches of wild hyacinths that looked like small floating gardens. The sunset had been beautiful, leaving behind it, for a lingering 10 minutes, a golden, then deep red to purple hue, making the whole landscape of trees, huts and mirror reflections near the river bank where the water was still, look quite unreal ..." (Sunsets are rapid near the equator)."
... Later the near full moon was rising, but still quite low in the sky and looking like a large yellow-red paw-paw resting itself on top of the trees, and in the water, a long avenue of yellow juice. It seemed that we could be blissfully enjoying our surroundings with the war a long way off just as we had done six weeks before.
The following morning dawned in the same way as it had done on previous mornings heralded by the first muted sounds from the jungle; it filled the sky with purple, turning to pink. And then shafts of golden light elbowed their way through the trees. They then skated across the river this morning to meet the pilot launch head-on as it chugged it's way from Palambang pushing a white moustached bow wave ahead of it. . .

鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌�..

With the pilot on board and pleasantries exchanged we duly weighed anchor and left the mooring for our several hours journey to the river mouth. It is just possible they were a bit slow in getting there which was fortunate for us, but not for the 鈥淜atong鈥� that had left before us or perhaps had stayed the night down river. With a cargo of volatile explosives stored she had received preferential treatment from Japanese aircraft, and it gave us our first sight of what war looked like. Survivors where being picked up by a BI. ship, the "Delaware"
This was for real, it was awful鈥�... I could not believe my eyes. I just couldn't believe it. didn't want to believe it ...
Half an hour later we were well and truly stuck on a mud-bank. The pilot who had so successfully beached us was all for leaving us with the promise of returning in time for the next tide. He had obviously not liked the sight of the ship going up when he was normally used to ships going forward or astern. It must have put him off his navigational stroke and hence our present predicament.
However the old man would not accept that arrangement and made him stay on board. For he said 鈥淚f that little man has friends up there then he can sit on this boat load of petrol and give them a wave when they come back"
I thought it rather a shame for the pilot was a nice little man (a Malay) and he was obviously very disturbed. I think the old man was too, for he was normally a placid and understanding person, always friendly and he never pulled "captain" on us. In fact, quite the reverse. Whenever he went ashore - that was usually the only tine he put on his uniform cap - he would frequently invite one of his officers to accompany him. Unlike one captain I once sailed with; he always put his cap on when he spoke to any of his crew, at any time.
I offered the suggestion that I could get a coded message off on short wave (note 5) which would be safe but the captain declined saying that the tide would get us floating before a tug could possibly arrive from Palembang.
From my diary. "...We sweated it out for the rest of the day, not only with apprehension, but also in the sizzling heat our position wasn't very far south of the equator. Unlike up-river there was just not the slightest breeze or movement of air at all. By lunchtime the ship was one great big iron oven. Numerous distant birds were mistaken for approaching aircraft such was the prevailing anticipation. But on thinking, what help could early warning of approaching aircraft be to us anyway? We could not fight back, and there was no air-raid shelter to run to ...鈥�
. . .
We duly lifted off the sandbank with the rising tide. Later as the ladder was dropped over the side and the pilot descended into his launch, the old man waved jovially and said jokingly,
"Tell them we couldn't wait" and he pointed skyward. The pilot smiled, waved, and gave a victory 'V' sign.
The next morning, as the sun rose above the horizon and was quickly delivering increasing heat, we were well on our way north to Singapore. There was not a cloud in the sky to take advantage of the mirror-like quality of the sea.
As we pressed on up the coast of Sumatra, the voyage was uneventful. A lot of tension had disappeared as though having avoided anticipated aggro whilst on the mud-bank, and after, we had left trouble behind and a relaxed atmosphere prevailed. I say relaxed collectively, but not so for me. I had been keeping continuous watch from, each daybreak and there had been numerous ships sending out their 鈥淎AA鈥� signals, sometimes, Singapore repeating them only to be interrupted by further 鈥淎AA鈥� signals. Sometimes a ship's position was included, sometimes chopped-off. The positions that I was able to log were generally north from our position.
Shortly after lunch I could hear the "Madura鈥� sending out AAA's and saying that she was being bombed, and then on top of those signals, the "Lochranza" which I lost because of interference from Singapore radio repeating the "Madura's" message with it's more powerful signal. Later the "Siperok" and then shortly afterwards the "Subidar"' giving her position which was in the region of one degree north. (She was lost later in the Banka Strait on February 13th) I checked our position chit on my desk, probably half-an-hour old ... A quick calculation - could that mean the 鈥淪ubidar" was 10 or 15 miles away? - two or three minutes away, perhaps less?
I rang the bridge and reported the message and position and continued listening and conjecturing. I was still engrossed in my conjecturing thoughts, with my ears listening to the Singapore radio calling the "Siperok鈥� and asking her to repeat her message, when suddenly,鈥�
Brr Brr Brr" of the bridge telephone.
It was the old man.
"Standby Sparks" and he rang-off. I started up the main transmitter generator and waited - still conjecturing, but now doing so worryingly. I felt the ship tremble and then lean over as I watched the curtains on either side of the porthole over my operating table begin to move out in sympathy.
Still standing-by as I was instructed, I stood up. Looking through the aft-looking porthole, I could see the foaming wake of the tight turn that we were making and then, through the porthole over my desk, I just caught sight and a glimpse of a Naval vessel before it disappeared from view, probably a mile away.
A Japanese? - It had not been visible long enough for confirmation but then the "stand-by" instruction was doing so in my head for a few seconds of uncertainty. I was tempted to send the "RRR" signals thinking, I suppose, that I might not get another chance, for my subconscious vision still had the last WBA message in it's store, with it's ominous portend, through that same porthole. But the old man had only said 鈥淪tand-by". And then Brr Brr Brr Brr again ... 鈥淪end it Sparks". I still had the Navel vessel in mind, so I said, "Send what?"
The old man snapped back "Aircraft". I had just tapped out my "AAA" signal and was halfway through the ship's position when it seemed that the whole radio room shook. Documents, books and bottles of ink launched themselves out into the room, and over my desk, and the draught caused by the radio room door slamming closed blew all the papers out of the basket and round about.
As I continued with my transmission, I could sense that there was something wrong. There was but I didn't know until later that the large output valve in the transmitter had broken.
As I started up the emergency transmitter and adjusted the aerial switch, I could hear engine noises and what seemed to be gunfire. Then another explosion as gallons of water sloshed through and over my operating desk, washing away everything on it. As I attempted to continue with my message, I realised again that there was still something that changing the aerials over again would not rectify.
Out on deck, I squinted up into the brightness of the sky and through voluminous clouds of thick black smoke to locate the aerials. In the far distance there were aircraft in a tight turn to starboard, and in the near distance, both aerials were down and lying across the bridge structure and the radio room. One end of the emergency aerial was still attached to the funnel amidships.
There were angry flames and black smoke, lots of the latter driving horizontally down the deck due to our forward speed.
Dropping down into the for'd well deck, I managed to find the end of the emergency aerial - it still had its lanyard and insulator attached - and eventually managed to reinstate and secure it. Not knowing what the future had in store for us, whether it was more bombs or a gunning run, or both, I was anxious to be anywhere other than where I was. The homing pigeon part of me wanted to get back in my 鈥渟afe鈥� radio room, while the ostrich in me was prepared to get underneath a newspaper or in a gunny sack, which ever came first! Climbing down to the deck it was impossible to see if the aerial downlead was clear because of the thick smoke that was being blown aft. For'd, it was an inferno of fire. Descending from the top of the radio room after freeing it, I could hear the telephone brr-brr-ing. I remember saying to myself, 鈥淗ell, not again".
The old man said "That you Sparks". I said, "Yes" (wondering who he thought it might be).
"Report bombed and on fire ..."
I then noticed that I had left both the transmitters running and their generators were whining away. I switched off the main, and tuned-up the emergency transmitter to suit the changed aerial conditions, and sent off the 鈥淎AA" signals again, this time successfully, and adding the Captain' s last instructions.
Singapore radio (call-sign VPS at that time) came back immediately with, " What ship" in plain language and not 鈥淨RA?鈥�
I had of course given him the ship's name but in my hurry I may have scrambled it a bit, so I repeated "Pinna".
Before I could receive his receipt, the 鈥淟ockranza鈥� came on giving 37" N 104掳 14" E, saying that she was beaching on Abang Island, Rhio Strait.
There were two more signals mixed up together which I couldn't read because of the noise that was going on. I wondered what was going on outside on deck, and how many more attacks there might be.
I called up VPS again giving him 鈥淨SL?鈥� He replied confirming that he had received my query, with 鈥淨SL鈥� 鈥淩鈥� and then carried on with other ships. He was having a busy tine.
I was desperately trying to deal with the log book I had retrieved from the pool of water on the deck, and having difficulties with the indelible blue pencil marks that were running down the page, when
鈥淏rrr-Brrr鈥� The old man said, 鈥渄id you get the message away?" Before I could answer he said "they're here again".
I sent off another string of "AAA"s and waited for acknowledgement. VPS came back "Repeat position and condition"
I did and added, 鈥渁ttack in progress". It was the old man's last remark that made me initiate it. It was during the interchange of signals I had to give "wait" while I dashed across to the door and closed it, because I couldn't breathe for all the smoke that was rolling in. I hardly had time to get back again when there was the 鈥渂rr-brr鈥� again.
The old man said, "It's OK. They've gone", then "did you get the messages away?" I said "Yes''. "Did they get them?" I said "Yes" again. 鈥淲ell tell them bombed and on fire, and we need some bloody help鈥�
I called VPS again and gave the Captain' s message, (modified) VPS came back 鈥淨RU" (I have nothing for you).
鈥淏rr-Brr鈥� again, "You alright down there Sparks?" I said I was but I wasn't sure. All in one piece, yes, but when someone has been dropping bombs on you, a situation so alien to one's normal peaceful life ... well ....
I wasn't surprised at VPS's "QRU鈥�. I had heard other ships asking for help and getting the same reply, or, as in one case, "no help available". I stood up, closed the portholes and put the deadlights over them - after the horse had left the stable - and switched on the lights.
If I could have experienced what people in London and other cities had done, during Hitler' s blitz I might have thought I had got off very lightly, and taken the incident in my stride. Instead, I felt distinctly unhappy ... unhappiness too is relative.
As you can guess, during the period described above, I was not sitting there writing up my diary as events occurred from which I am now able to repeat here. My diary ended in Palembang and was not resumed until I had time on my hands later hence my ability to describe events and names which I would have otherwise forgotten (albeit that there may be errors).
Contrasting with the quiet normality of the radio room, with the "Pinna" gently lolling in the sea-swell - engines stopped; out on deck there was chaos, the smell of explosion and burning. There was the angry noise of the flames plus lots of smoke and squirting water everywhere as Watts, the mate, (he always insisted he was that and not chief officer) urging the surviving deck crew to point their hoses in the right direction and to stop looking up.
The old man poked his head round the radio room door and indicated that I should leave my post and give a hand on deck, for he said 鈥淵ou will be more use out there than you can in here". He said that the bombs had also dropped right into the crew accommodation for'd, just fatefully timed as a number of the crew had gone in there to join others there off watch. He said that he thought there must be at least twenty dead in addition to injured ones outside. Pointing to the water on the deck he said, "Where did that come from?" (I wonder where he might have thought it did cone from?) I explained that I had only just closed the starboard porthole and he enlarged on that by describing how the same near miss had flooded the port side of the bridge too. He added that the RNVR boat (the one that I had seen through my porthole) had been attacked first etc , . . . He didn't know if it had any defensive armament but there certainly wasn't any retaliatory shooting on our behalf.
I thought it very surprising that it should disappear so smartly, leaving us alone with our problems. Not only could we be seen to be on fire, but also our radioed message for help could not have been missed at one-mile range!
In my diary I wrote "it was mid-afternoon when we were attacked, but by sunset, things were getting under control, although the fires were still burning. I noticed how the flat calm sea was reflecting a beautiful sunset ...鈥�
"Everyone had worked so hard trying to get crew members out of the wreckage and sorting out the dead from the injured, despite the heat, smoke and the threat of further combustion from our volatile cargo. Arthur Greene and Sniffy Wilson (third and fourth engineers) worked like beavers on the wounded, some so badly injured or burned as to be almost unrecognisable. One of, the engine room crew was only recognisable because of his bowlegs. Many were not, they had just been blown apart and pieces scattered about or lost in the fire.
There was so much to be done ... I worked mechanically ... there was so much disorder ... there seemed to be two of me, the other one leaning on the rail and watching the sunset, as I had done so many evenings before.
Up to that time I had lived a very unsophisticated life, and except for a minor problem with a rickshaw coolie in Singapore, a very peaceful one. Bombings, muggings and terrorists were commonplace news items of the future. There had not been any TV in my life depicting such violence that could have prepared me for that day's experience. I remember feeling very miserable, not so much because of the trouble around me, but I think, because of the bottled-up feelings of fear inside me that hadn't had the opportunity to get out - fear that anticipates the worst that could have happened, but didn't.
One of the crew, a Chinese, who had not seemed badly hurt at first had the back of his knee sticking out at the front and whatever had done it had also taken his trouser leg through it too. There wasn't any bleeding but he was in great pain. He died a short time later, perhaps from an undetected internal wound, or perhaps just fatalistically giving up - who knows?
He had been moved away and laid outside the bathroom door all night and the next morning I had to step over him so many times. I recall this minor incident from amongst the greater ones, because his half-open eyes seemed to stare at me so accusingly, making me feel guilty that I had survived. Others far more seriously ill were still alive next morning.
'... In our dirty state we were served with a scratch meal on deck of tea and sandwiches just around dusk. The sandwiches that were not eaten were so very conspicuous by their presence on the cargo hatch top that had remained intact so preventing flames reaching the volatile cargo beneath it.
The fire had been controlled but was still giving off acrid fumes and smoke. In the dimming light, the bare skeleton framework stood out in silhouette very grimly amongst the debris. There were still charred remains ... Nobody was hungry ...鈥�
We were all wet and filthy and it was concerning to see how the cheerful faces I knew could change into such looks of gravity and haggard lines appear so rapidly. By this time I felt ashamed of myself for actually feeling cheerful when I should have been unhappy because of such death and suffering around me. I suppose it was because of my feeling of sheer relief that I had come through the attack unscathed, for which I had experienced so much worrying anticipation. Had the bombs dropped more amidships and hence through the bridge structure and into the volatile cargo, it could have been catastrophic.
I really was tired. I had hardly slept since leaving the Palembang anchorage and had more or less kept a continuous radio-watch on the shipping bands, and also on Rugby radio, just in case there could be a broadcast message that might affect our situation鈥� There had not been. I could just as well have enjoyed my regulation rest periods.
Twice during my on-deck activities, the old man suggested that I call Singapore 鈥溾�榝or鈥� he said initially, 鈥測ou might as well use that bloody radio of yours, that鈥檚 what it鈥檚 there for鈥� the Japs know we are here anyway鈥� check if there is a message for us鈥�
Although the fire was now under control, I think that the old man was still harbouring the worry that the fire might still break through and into the for鈥檇 cargo hatch, in which case, it certainly would be 鈥榓bandon ship鈥�.
I had called VPS each time, and as expected, the reply was the same 鈥� 鈥榥il鈥�. (鈥淪orry nil鈥� might have helped a little).
Eventually a certain quietness prevailed. Crewmembers鈥� whose job it was to be on duty were; others had turned in leaving a few watchers over the still smouldering 鈥榮harp-end鈥�. The only sign of life amid ships was Sniffy Wilson wandering about.
I went along the deck for a shower and tripped over the body outside the door, and automatically said 鈥榮orry鈥�. Back in the radio room it was hot and stuffy and it reeked of trapped smoke, and occupying my settee was a casualty. So as not to disturb him I put the phones through the aft-looking port then went out on deck, then with them round my neck, I leaned on the rail. There was no need to put them on, for the static noise, as to be expected, was deafening.
I was letting my thoughts wander as I looked out across the calm still sea. They were not about the day鈥檚 activities, but far ahead to our arrival in Singapore and would repairs to the ship be possible, and about our return voyage, when Sniffy joined me. A lot of reaction had set in and he was now experiencing the trauma of his afternoon and evening work on the wounded.
"Behind us the gentle roll of the ship caused moon-inspired shadows to wander across the deck and up the vertical side of the bridge structure. For'd beyond the smouldering wreckage, the sea sparkled in bright moonlight, and in the far distance, against a backcloth of starlit sky - the nearest of the Rhio islands."
We talked for a while until he felt more relaxed and then I went to my cabin. I didn't feel like sharing it with another casualty who was in there - all the fo鈥檙d crew-accommodation having been destroyed - so I went into the saloon and stretched out there. But sleep would not come. Sniffy's melancholia had wiped off on me. I tried to think back to happier times - there were so many but it didn't work. Sleep still would not come. Instead my thoughts kept drifting back to the past few hours on deck, and ahead to an uncertain future. There was no escape in dreams.
After half-an-hour I arose and went on deck, and then decided to listen out on the HF bands which would be free of static. Out on deck again, Sniffy was still there where I had left him. He asked if I had any aspirin. I had, and he eventually disappeared.
Back in the radio room later, the casualty had gone, understandably so it was baking hot, the steel structure having soaked up all the day's heat was now behaving like a huge night storage heater. I had just switched back to 500 kc/s when the old man put his head round the door.
He said, 鈥淲hy don鈥檛 you get some rest Sparks, you can鈥檛 do any good with that bloody row going on" (actually it was my official on-watch period).
I agreed. He intimated that we would be moving off in three hours or so and that he would like me on watch then 鈥� noise or no noise.
After he departed, I went aft to my cabin collected a pillow switched on the electric fan in the radio room and lay down on the settee, I began to think about the aerials and my report to the Marconi Company office鈥�. then there was the ding-dong of the bridge telegraph the brr-ding initiated by the engine room in reply and then the steady vibration of our engine .It was nearly midnight 鈥鈥檇 been asleep for three hours.
So ended February 3rd 1942. The day my war broke out.
鈥︹赌︹�︹赌︹赌︹赌�.

By the next morning, as I went into breakfast we were well north of the Rhio strait and a half a days run from Singapore and our destination at the Pulau Bukum oil installation. In the bright morning light the scene on the deck for鈥檇 was one of disorder but by noon there was a bit less of it, but still the confusion of metal at the sharp end and bodies of crew. It was sad to see some of them being lowered over the side. I don鈥檛 know what sort of burial procedure the Chinese religion would have demanded but under the circumstances and with a temperature of over 100掳 F the mate, Watts and Shorty Armstrong the cadet were solving the problem in the only practical way
I watched one go over the side, stiff as a poker and looking like a revolving 鈥淴鈥� and then a large splash. Shorty was only 17. He had worked hard the day before and now here he was helping with the dead and with a smile on his face as I passed.
The mate, a quite person who seldom raised his voice or swore was saying what sounded like 鈥渢hat鈥檚 it Shorty the Gentlemen ashore can deal with the mess in the fo鈥檆鈥檚le鈥�. I learned later he too had been on watch all night and had his breakfast out of a glass.
Beyond the north end of the Rhio archipelago and the beginning of the wartime southern approach to Singapore, the boarding officer came on board off his launch. He told the captain that he would have to anchor because the port of Singapore was closed, and if we proceeded we were likely to be fired upon. He was terribly jumpy and very anxious to leave us - I suppose he didn't want to be on board such a prime target with aircraft flying about. There was no 鈥渨ee tot" in the Captain's cabin this time; he was on board and off again inside five minutes. He said that he was surprised to see us ... he hadn't been informed ... etc.
Presumably, whoever it was who had not informed him, must have thought that we had not survived yesterday 's aggro .The old man carried on, ignoring the order to anchor. If it had been possible to lower the anchor, we would not have been able to raise it again since all the steam pipes and winches had been destroyed. To be fired upon if we proceeded seemed to be a minor hazard.
The old man told the 3rd mate Sandy, to hoist identity flags, and me to keep a good listen-out (as if I needed telling) and to go up on the bridge if the phone rang. He was obviously anticipating Aldis lamp signals.
As we approached with Pulau Samboe appearing on our port bow, things didn't look at all good. There was a low dark smoke cloud over Singapore in the distance, with columns of smoke looking like black waterspouts. By this time, February 4th, the Japanese were in Johore, and facing our troops across the demolished causeway (narrow passage between Singapore and the "Mainland) prior to a grand assault on the island, but of course, we did not know that at the time.
It was 1.30 p.m. and I had just returned from the bridge, having deposited the code books for safe keeping in the captains safe. Two or three of us were chatting on deck; I had the phones hanging round my neck as I sat on the radio room door coaming. There was no way I could not hear VPS鈥橲 loud signals, or the telephone bell from the bridge. There had been a continuous drone of aircraft engines for some time but we had not been concerned about them, thinking (mistakenly) that they were RAF since we were now in home waters. Every now and then isolated aircraft approached overhead, flying in and out of the cloud.
The mate, John Watts had been expounding again on the wisdom of staying on board when we tied up at Bukom island and not to cross to Singapore because of the frequent air-raids on he city. Just before going up on to the bridge, he had been saying that he could not face going near the sharp end again, it was too sickening, he would let the shore people deal with the remains. The latest count had been eighteen dead, not by count but by their absence on the bridge or below.
Some of the aircraft that we had seen began to assemble in to threes They looked like silver birds in the sky, and as we looked up we agreed that they were Lockheed Hudson's by their twin engines and twin tail fins. I popped into the radio room and collected my binoculars and handed them to Arthur who was looking skyward. I don鈥檛 know if he used them, but seconds later he said
鈥淏loody Hell, they鈥檙e Japs鈥�
By then I could see that they had lined up in the distance and were making steep dives towards us. I shot into the radio room to start the transmitter (which was quite unnecessary in view of the ship's position) Sandy and Arthur falling in after me. By this time machine gun bullets were spatting and twanging all over the place.
I had just sat down and bent over my desk when life became a bit confused yet without taking in the explosion, which seemed seconds later. The room blacked out I thought it was my eyes but it was because the door had blown closed with the explosion and the only light available was that getting through the bullet holes. I fumbled to find the emergency lighting and shouted out (as if it would help the situation) "For God's stop that fan" A bullet must have gone through it and it was going clankerty clank etc. Arthur moved and switched it off and at the same time hurled himself on me in a kind of rugby tackle and shouted
"Hell Sparky, get down" right in my ear which sounded louder that the bomb. He proceeded to hug me in bear-like grip-then it happened again with eye gripping pain and shaking bulkhead. I was about to speak to Arthur when it happened again. This time the deck shot up hitting me in the middle against his pressing weight. The bulkhead hurled inwards throwing the MF transmitter on to my desk where I would have been leaning except for Arthur's rugby tackle, and the HF transmitter to lean out, defying gravity.
We eventually got up from the deck, and Sandy from the settee as though we had first-hand information that it was not going to happen again, but it was the sound of a hundred blowlamps or an express train hurling down the alleyway - on the other side of the door and the increasing black smoke that was driving in through the burst bulkhead making breathing difficult, that demanded instant attention.
I leaned on the MF transmitted feeling a bit surprised that I was all in one piece. I wrote later...
"Dense foul tasting black smoke was billowing into the room through the burst bulkhead nearly cancelling what bit of light that had been getting in through the bullet holes making it increasingly difficult to see and breath. In the darkness I could just see a shape at the door which turned out to be Arthur, he was trying to open the door without success. He shouted "the door's jammed . . .give me a push....you ok Sparky"
I shook off my temporary immobility to join him and fell over my up-turned chair en route. In my mind鈥檚 eye I can still see a still-frame picture of the three of us (two up and one down) smoke all around, and Sandy coughing loudly. I am sure that I speak for all of us when I say that in that short time we realised the seriousness of our situation.... and that our time was running out fast, emphasised by the noise outside and the heat and smoke inside.
.. ..........

As I realised the gravity of our situation imprisoned as we were, a thought, a vision, an echo of words, albeit only of a few seconds duration assailed my consciousness so vividly as to cut me off from reality. It dug itself out of my subconscious memory store where it had been locked up for twenty years or so and presented itself.
The family had just moved into the chip-shop, so it must have been around 1920-1922. I don't know where it came from but I had discovered quite a lot of old (then) cinematograph film, looking very much like the present day perforated 35mm camera film except, being that date, it was highly inflammable.
I had discovered, that by rolling up a strip of film in a piece of paper, resembling a cigarette shape, lighting one end, and then blowing out the flame, the device then continued to smoulder furiously, spurting out thick smelly black smoke at the other end. It made the ideal stink bomb. Alfie and I got up to quite a bit of mischief dropping our stink bombs through letterboxes, or in a shop, and then running. When my parents got to know about it, after complaints from irate customers, I was very much in the doghouse.
I must have been very much hooked on this stink-bomb activity, for some time later I was still at it when I was caught by my very angry mother.
I had caught some flies and had put them into a bottle and followed that, by inserting a stink bomb before corking it up - just as she arrived. She was furious, and lost for the appropriate words to suit the occasion, she concluded
鈥渁nd perhaps one of these days you will be trapped like that and it will teach you a lesson 鈥�.鈥� Probably those very words. She obviously didn鈥檛 really mean what she had said, but used those words in a way that would best sink into my head to suit the occasion.
I don鈥檛 recall even thinking or remembering about the incident in all the years that followed. I might never have remembered the occasion ever again, had it not popped out to grin at me in that smoke filled room
鈥︹赌�

Joining Arthur and Sandy at the door, it didn't require any confirmation from me that it wouldn't open, despite our many repeated combined efforts. Stepping back from them, I stumbled over my chair again, which, gave me the thought of using it on the door, then that effort triggered off another one that had been slow in arriving. I鈥檇 known that there was something, but my brain was still sluggish the explosions and good thoughts were not forthcoming - then.
That was it ... The iron bar.
I had used it during yesterday's activities on deck, and on coming into the radio room, perhaps to satisfy the captain's request concerning the radio message, I had dropped it down - somewhere, but now, my brain knew exactly where it was to an inch.
With adrenaline assisted swipes soon the door was partly open and sagging on one hinge. It opened outwards, and so great was the pressure due to the chimney effect down the alleyway that Arthur had difficulty in pushing the door against it, and opening it enough for us to get through.
Although I have forgotten so many things and occurrences of that time, which I have also regrettably omitted from my diary, I do remember that treacly black smoke, mixed with orange flames hurtling down the alleyway and past the door.
Well once more, another door had opened, even though it was a squeeze to get through this one! It seemed that the only way to go where the fire was not, was aft, so I followed Arthur who was putting on his best speed down the prom' deck. I didn鈥檛 see in which direction. Sandy went although I found out later.
Three quarters of the way aft, I remembered my skin-out bag. This was an expression that young Shorty had used when describing the small-bag-cum-satchel that I always kept by me, containing important items like my diary, PMG certificate, some cash in different currencies and a few other important items suitably water-proofed. I also had a second less important duffel bag that I kept in my cabin aft. It was touch and go as to whether or not I would get back into the radio room, but the partly opened door fortunately helped as a screen. Inside the room seemed now pitch black and the thick smoke was being sucked out of the door. I didn鈥檛 need any light. I knew exactly where the bag was hanging, grabbed it, and shot out again and down the deck.
Getting to the end of the promenade deck, I could see down into the aft well-deck, and Arthur and someone, who later turned out to be Noel, the 2nd engineer, were down there on the starboard side, although I didn't know why they were there then. Being outside my cabin, I decided to go in and get my other bag that contained a few extra sensible Boy-Scout-be-prepared things.
It is plain that I just wasn't ticking on all cylinders, for there I was thinking of extra luggage and I didn't even know at that time how I was going to get off the ship!
With one leg halfway in the cabin, I remembered that the bag was not in there. Because of the injured man in my room my boy that morning had taken it into the radio room. So I hotfooted back again.
It is at this stage I seem to alternate between clear and dim thinking. I still had a problem. I remember getting near to the radio room and finding that the flames had driven right past it. Also at some time or other, going or returning, taking a dive behind the cover of a deck pump because I heard engines and I anticipated more gunning. Then attempting to get up and having a terrific pain in my middle presumably due to the deck hitting me as it had been heaved up by the explosion.
I must have crossed over to the starboard side for I remember quite vividly, the sea all alight due to the escaping petrol, but vague as to where I saw an overturned lifeboat. I do recall quite clearly passing the midships hatch that was belching out flames as I crossed back over to the port side, and then walking slowly aft down the promenade deck and past open toilet and cabin doors. Slowly, not because I didn鈥檛 think there was still an urgent situation to overcome, but because I was trying to get my head to tell me which was the best way to find a life-jacket. Mine was in the radio room.
Somehow it seemed that although thankfully I had an intact head on my shoulders, good answers were slow in forthcoming. I was jolted back into quick thinking action when a loud plop, which suppressed itself into a long hiss, made its presence known about a dozen yards behind me. It looked like a ball of fire wrapped up in black smoke.
I don鈥檛 think my feet touched the deck for the next two or three yards towards my cabin, and then a quick Charlie Chaplin turn to starboard brought me level with the companion ladder leading down to the well deck. As I turned and commenced to descend, I was looking right into my cabin. There was so much of me in there. It was like leaving home.
I climbed up and shot in with the thought to collect a few valuables. I grabbed some Niello work jewellery that I had bought in Bangkok to take home, some packets of correspondence and a few other items, then lacking any pocket-room, I stuffed them in my skin-out bag: a ring that dropped, I put on my little finger. In this bent position, the pain assailed me again and I sat on the high door-coaming and hugged my middle.
It is again interesting that I should give a few odds and ends priority over the more pressing need of self preservation.
I have only a vague recollection of what followed. Apparently, when I had seen Arthur and Noel in the well-deck, they were looking up at a raft lashed to the mast rigging, but were having difficulty in launching it, - it had jammed on its skids. Then later, just as I was joining them it suddenly plopped down into the sea, taking with it, the tether-line which should have kept it near the ship.
Arthur said later that before he had time to think he went in after it, perhaps with the subconscious thought of stopping the raft before it drifted away. In view of the fuel that was burning on top of the water and approaching down the length of the "Pinna" in a large arc, it was a very courageous thing to do. Arthur said, "it was a bloody daft thing to have done".
Many years later, Arthur was to receive the MBE for a similar unselfish act in descending into a gas filled chamber to rescue some workmen.
He had to duck and swim under the flames before reaching the raft then furiously paddling it to halt it Noel climbed on next after receiving a line from Arthur, and then after that, they both hauled me aboard.
My memory of that "first it's hot, then it's cold" swim to the raft has dimmed to oblivion like a dream upon awaking when the more one tries to remember and recall it, the more vague it becomes. It has been Arthur' s memory that has helped to record those last few minutes.
Paddling furiously to keep away from the ignited water surface, we picked up the boson, and looking beyond him, the "Pinna" was ablaze from for'd to midships with black smoke billowing up, and trailing horizontally. Then from high up on the stern of the "Pinna" came hoarse shouting. It was the 3rd mate Sandy Robertson, very recognisable by his untidy red beard. He had been responsible for the safe lowering of the only port side lifeboat that got away - in fact the only available lifeboat- after which Sandy had been left behind. Not only was he the last man to leave the ship, he was a very angry Scotsman.
What he had been doing in the interim period from the boat getting away to appearing on the stern, I never thought to ask, but now he was an even more angry Scot, for he thought that we were paddling away from him. We were not. Just the reverse. His coloured shouts were anything but complimentary ones. It was during this little drama that we had back-paddled to pick up the ship' s boson who was swimming pushing a life belt that was supporting him, and trying to dodge the surface flames that were spreading fast and which would soon be overtaking us
Having got the message into his head that we were trying to get near to him and not the reverse, we finally persuaded him to jump (it was a long way down to the water from where he was).
He made a very big splash and followed that with many expletives emphasising that he was done for. After catching the boson鈥檚 life jacket that Noel had thrown, we eventually got him onto the raft.
Paddling to and picking up Sandy could have been our undoing, for now, with so much weight on the raft (five of us) our efforts to paddle to safety could not compete with the capillary attraction of the "Pinna" and the advancing ignited water. We also had another worry, although unnecessary, thinking that the circling aircraft might start the aggro again. However on scanning around we spotted the lifeboat which hitherto had been obscured from our view by the "Pinna".
The captain in the lifeboat had not, as I learned later, purposely left Sandy behind. The lifeboat had been snatched away from the ship's side, and then Sandy had disappeared from view.
Our shouts to the Captain's lifeboat were not necessary. He had now seen us, and was rowing towards us and eventually towed the raft away.
Shortly afterwards, we were all picked up by the RNVR 鈥淏ulan", and then later transferred to its launch. I recall, upon boarding the 鈥淏ulan", having the contented feeling that my skin-out bag was still round my neck!
The Malay crew on the 鈥淏ulan鈥檚鈥� launch were very attentive, immediately providing the British comfort for all circumstances - tea. Most of us had got away with only minor burns, mine being somewhat self-inflicted by my return to the radio room, but Captain Thomas and the mate were in poor shape and needed more professional treatment than could be administered on the launch. That reason alone was as good as any for us to get away from the side of the 鈥淏ulan鈥�. With those aircraft around, it seemed a greater priority than drinking tea.
As we were being ferried across the two or three miles of water to Changi on the south eastern tip of Singapore island, the exhilaration that I was still alive and in one piece diminished as I looked out from the launch. Looking one way, Singapore lay beneath a canopy of black smoke with numerous funnels of smoke betwixt cloud and earth: looking the other way, the "Pinna" and the sea all around it was enveloped in flames and more black smoke contrasting vividly against a cloudless sky.
The feeling that I had in Palembang of being hemmed in now changed to being trapped in - of having sailed out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Chapter 18
IN BELEAGUERED SINGAPORE

The launch duly dropped us at the Changi barracks wharf. Changi was later to become infamous in its use as a prisoner of war camp where so many suffered as a result of inhuman treatment by the Japanese. Having established our identity, a lorry was organised to take us to the city and thence to the Seaman鈥檚 mission. The captain and mate John Watts and with three other crewmembers, were taken by car direct to the General hospital.
The ride from Changi along East Coast road to the outskirts of the city was not at all comforting and did nothing to amend my previous miserable thoughts, in fact just the opposite. The Kalang airfield was just a black shell sitting in smoke and surrounded by all sorts of debris. Right along the Beach road it was just one long sad sight of wrecked houses and shops. I learned later it was a result of a very recent air raid, the biggest so far when 380 people had been killed and 500 or so injured.
In the city centre things didn't look as bad as I was expecting, remembering all the black smoke I had seen earlier. It vas surprising to see so many people about, and things looking so very normal! Negotiating Fullerton road and Robinson road and finally Anson road junction we arrived at the mission about 4.00 p.m.
Our little party comprised the elderly Chief Engineer, 2nd and 3rd engineers Noel Green and Arthur Greene, 4th engineer "Sniffy" Wilson, 2nd and 3rd deck officers John Wood and Sandy Robertson, Shorty Armstrong, and of course, me. It didn't take long for us to decide that we had come to the wrong island. A nice big one like Australia would have been a better one'.
As a result of some of our party chatting with the crew of the "Bulan" and then the chaps at Changi later we learned that the aircraft that we had mistakenly taken for Lockheed Hudson, were actually Japanese Navy 96. (See note 9)
Seven had attacked us in two waves, approaching from fore and aft of the ship, gunning, then releasing their bombs. Several had landed just for'd of the bridge and had obviously penetrated the deck, and then exploded in the petrol cargo below (and hence why the radio room deck came up). As far as I remember, others landed for'd amidships and the sea around.
According to mate John Wood who was on the bridge with the Captain and Watts, they were both without jackets (because of the midday heat) and hence the reason for their extensive burns, but Wood himself, fully dressed, escaped with only a few minor burns beneath his burned uniform.
The few days that followed while resting at the mission could hardly be called restful. The rumblings of gunfire day and night, the frequent air raids and the disturbing reports of the approaching Japanese all contributed to the nasty feeling of being trapped. Not those official broadcasts said a great deal. It seemed that the emphasis was always on the way our troops had withdrawn to more defensive and strategic positions, than that the Japanese had advanced; and landings on the island were imminent. I didn't sleep too well at first. As an alternative to counting sheep I tried to tabulate in my mind, all the articles I had lost on the ship. My camera, radio, typewriter, brass-ware bought in Calcutta, jewellery from Thailand, and in particular, my numerous pen and ink sketches of parts of Singapore's shanty areas. But that didn't work. Instead I was assailed with mental pictures of fire, bombed out fo'c'sle charred bodies and magnified pictures of numerous things that never happened. The more I tried to shut them out, the more insistent they became.
At breakfast time, all was well, and the nice feeling of being all in one piece prevailed again.
A day or so later, after our arrival at the mission, ex-second mate John Wood and I went into the city centre, which was only a short walk from the mission. It was difficult to believe that such a grave situation existed, for it seemed that everywhere it was business as usual, just the same as on my previous visit. In fact, I don't think the situation was thought to be grave. Chatting to people here and there, it was a case of ..."Yes, the situation is rather sticky, but it will sort itself out". I doubt if it was ever anticipated then, that it would sort itself out the way that it did - well, not until a few days later.
The walk from Anson Road, along Robinson Road and past the Marconi office, across into Raffles Place, then down Change Alley, and on to Collyer Quay, Fullerton Road and then over the bridge to Raffles Hotel, was just like the walk I had done so many times before.
I saw practically no damage, Robinson's department store was flourishing (despite the bomb damage that had wrecked the restaurant a few weeks earlier) as too was Kelly and Walshe's bookshop and Maynards chemist etc. Change Alley was so packed that it was difficult to get along it. Elevenses at Raffles were very little different from the many previous visits I had made, and with exactly the same service. I learned later that it was practically impossible to get a table there in the evening unless reserved previously. Dan Hopkins band still played, and entry for "other ranks" was still prohibited. The only problem to an evening visit was the lack of taxis. They had stopped operating at night - not that either of us wanted an evening visit.
It was interesting to see the crowd that was going into the Alhambra theatre - it was showing, unless the poster was an old one, 鈥淭he Ziegfield girl". It was also amazing to think that the Japanese army was now less than 20 miles away and facing our troops across the demolished causeway prior to an invasion assault on the island proper.
Moving away from the city centre, like the scene I had witnessed along Beach Road after leaving Changi, it was a different situation of bombed streets and dwellings, and it seemed that it was the local population of Indians, Chinese and Malays who had suffered the most from the raids, with hundreds killed and maimed.
The sirens went while we were near Clifford pier and then a squadron of aircraft came over. Before we heard the multiple explosions, we could see bombs leave the aircraft simultaneously then lazily fall in the direction of Anson Road and Keppel docks. We decided it might be a good idea if we returned and checked if the mission was still there ...and standing.
Well it was, but not far down the road beyond it towards where the dock area and godowns began, huge flames and black smoke was shooting skywards with an accompanying stench of burning rubber.
Upon arriving back at the mission there was quite a little panic brewing, because apparently there had been a desperate need for a driver because promised transport had not turned up and there was no one around who could drive a car. The first words that greeted us were, "For God's sake can either of you drive a car? ..." I thought there must have been some casualties as a result of the bombing, so I said "Yes, I could", but all it was, was a bunch of people who had obtained tickets for a place on a ship that was due to leave that afternoon! Under the prevailing circumstances I would have dumped that bulky luggage and gone down the road at a steady trot until I arrived at one of the few ships that would be taking me home and away from the "Fortress and jewel of the east".
Somebody once said, ''as you go through life you should always be prepared to abandon your luggage ..." Here was an instance when it would have paid off. Anyway fate took a hand and placed me in the driving seat of an old - well old now, not then - Austin 16 with a gate change gearbox. The drive to the docks along Keppel harbour road wasn't exactly I nightmare quality, but as the saying goes, the thing that dreams are made of.
Having passed the still burning godown (docks warehouse), there were convoys of people carrying bags, soldiers travelling both ways. Air-raid sirens were whining repeatedly, and nearly every conceivable bit of space on footpaths and road filled with not just parked but abandoned cars, left haphazardly, as their owners had driven as far as they could and then left them without even bothering to close the doors.
What a treat if one could have kept the conditions yet changed the circumstances! Any car you want, complete with ignition keys absolutely free for the taking - provided of course you could get it out!
Partly along Keppel Road it was impossible to get past the congestion which was solved almost as soon as I arrived - a big army vehicle just bulldozed through several vehicles, leaving them blocking the approach road to the station instead. (I remember smoke billowing out over the station, but I'm not sure if it was on that occasion, or a later day).
Pausing on the roadside, it was an incredible sight to see Japanese aircraft lazily soaring about the sky unopposed while here below, luggage-laden and child carrying evacuees progressed toward their destination apparently resigned and unconcerned.
One of my passengers was an officer from the Empress of Asia that had been one of a convoy of ships comprising the "Felix Roussel", the "Gorgan" and perhaps two or three others. Being an old ship she had not been able to keep pace with the others bound for Singapore and had fallen behind after the Sunda Straits. She had survived earlier attacks but had finally been bombed and wrecked just short of Singapore Island then finally beached on Sulton Shoal and abandoned. I was to pass the burned out wreck of the "Empress" later.
Surveying the incredible sight of what appeared to be hundreds of abandoned cars, the officer said that while waiting at the mission, he had been told that there may be a problem getting along Keppel Harbour Road. The abandoned cars had been left mostly by the evacuees desperate to catch what was thought (but incorrectly at the time) to be the last ships likely to be leaving the harbour. One had been the "Westpoint鈥� and others the "Wakefield" "Duchess of Bedford鈥� and "Empress of Japan" which had left a short time before. The now bombed and wrecked "Empress of Asia" had been bringing a contingent of troops, their equipment and also much needed armament and supplies to Singapore. But instead, those supplies were lost, and the hundreds of survivors from the wreck had ended up as a negative fighting force and a liability on the island's survival and hospital facilities.
It is sad to reflect now, that instead of being a bolster to the hard pressed Singapore defenders, they were destined to join them as prisoners of war and on the notorious bridge and railway construction camps, where so many suffered and perished.
I dropped my passengers in the region of whatever number dock gate it was, where they joined what appeared to be an enormous stationary queue .It probably took me half-an-hour to turn the car round because of the many vehicles proceeding towards the city and hampered by the congestion. During that time it didn鈥檛 seem as though hat queue had moved more than a couple of yards!
On my way back, as I left the dock area and Keppel Road with an inward sigh of relief, a chap I recognised carrying a large parcel flagged me down, obviously requiring a lift. As I braked to stop, I was digging in my memory for his name. Climbing aboard he introduced himself. Hammond, - that was it.
I had a good reason for remembering him. He was on the staff of the "Tribune" newspaper. We had met several times at the Sea View Hotel, at least a year previously when he learnt I was on the "Kistna鈥� visiting Bangkok. He was interested in getting information from me, so much so, that later, he invited me out to lunch. We had a shell fish meal. A week later I was still getting over the effect of the fish poisoning!
Hammond said among other things, that the Tribune newspaper works, just off Anson Road (a little way off from the Mission) had received a direct hit and hence his presence on my route.
In response to my remarks about the waiting queue I had seen at the dock gate, he said that one of his colleagues had taken his wife to the dock to board an outward bound ship, and that there had been one man sitting down taking passes and writing down names laboriously, as if next week would do, and one soldier opening and shutting the dock gate for each entry.
I took the newspaperman and his parcel into the city centre and was glad to be returning to the Mission after the chaos along the Keppel Road. I had had expectations, fortunately not fulfilled, of those lazily circling aircraft suddenly doing a diving shoot-up along that straight length of road. It had been stiflingly hot too. I felt like a lump of lard.
Turning off the road into the Mission forecourt, I was dismayed to find yet another small bevy of hopeful passengers also waiting to get transport to the docks. Two of them were Marconi men, one I think was off the "Harper" that I had heard being attacked, and which later had been attacked again and sunk. The two were being repatriated and they wondered why I was not going with them - so did I. I decided that tomorrow I would be on the Marconi office doorstep at opening time. I had been there only that morning while out with John Wood, and was told that they were doing their best to get me repatriated.
Eight bodies eventually crammed themselves into the Austin - four of them, two of which were the Radio Officers, would not have any truck with the amount of luggage of the other four which was impeding entry, for there was no external luggage accommodation on the Austin. Typical of cars of that period, luggage extensions that could be fitted on the back of the cars were an optional extra. The four had their first lesson as to when it was expedient to abandon their surplus luggage. I felt for them, having just experienced my own loss.
There was no fuss, prudence triumphed over chattels. The party was already an hour late on the scheduled departure of the ship. I had said to them at first, that I wasn't prepared on this trip to go any further than the railway station, which was a quarter of the way along the dock area, having experienced my first journey. But I relented. I was niggled that they could be so stupid as to wait around for transport when they could have set off at that steady trot down Keppel Road. However, as I learned later from then en route, there had been long long queues and delays for berth passes, and they had only just arrived at the Mission a short time before my arrival.
I also learned later still, that they need not have been in such a hurry, for after all, the 鈥淔elix Roussel" did not sail until the following day anyway.
Whether because it was in my genes that we British didn't lose battles, I hadn't thought really seriously about Singapore actually giving up, not withstanding the obvious indications.
I think it was that second return trip from Keppel docks with the setting sun behind me accentuating the darker sky ahead with the huge black smoke drifting over the city that later gave me a very worried sleepless night. Sleepless because of the many explosions and the rumbling of guns becoming audible, indicative of the nearness of the Japanese - plus biting mosquitoes.
Sleepless also because of the now nagging worry (the way worries do nag in the small hours) as to how I was going to get out and away from Singapore. Most certainly I would be at the Marconi office pronto tomorrow, and to hell with "don't ring us, we'll ring you! ...鈥�
But in the morning light my attitude was softened. Mr. Robertson in the Marconi office was not in the position to offer me immediate transport home. There were waiting queue's, and anyway, he was not to know I was going to arrive out of the blue. Both he and Mr. Thompson in the office were in a worried tizzy themselves, for both their wives had caught a ship a few days ago, and they had had no news as to whether or not their ship had got through the airborne blockade.
I wonder how I would have reacted if I had been offered a passage on a ship going back the same way that we had arrived?
I learned later that those large ships full of evacuees did suffer bombing attacks but did get through safely. Mr. Pinto the Indian clerk, lived with his wife and family in the city. How any of the staff fared, regrettably now, I never bothered to find out.
For the next three days it seemed that I did little else but provide a taxi service which included making two more trips to the docks.
Arthur Greene had developed tonsillitis due to stress a couple of days after our arrival at the Mission, and had been received into the General hospital just off Outram Road. I don't actually remember taking him although I must have done so for it is unlikely that we would have walked. I did make several visits to the hospital at that time while I was ferrying with the Austin. I remember being there on February 6th because a bomb had just been dropped on the hospital and there was quite a pandemonium. When I replied to a query from the oil company's representative later, I said, "In accompanying Arthur Greene to the hospital, I also went to see Captain Thomas and Chief Officer Watts. They both appeared to be progressing satisfactorily".
I wasn't to know then that in ten days time they were to be still in hospital suffering from sceptic burns complications, and also as POW's. Although Arthur Greene escaped I learnt much later that Captain Thomas survived internment but that John Watts did not.
Sometime on, February 9th, I had taken one of the Mission staff to the Central Market - or it could have been the cold storage in Orchard Road for some urgently needed supplies which were getting increasingly difficult to obtain because of the run on commodities up to that time. As we were returning from the Orchard Road, Bridge Road area, which had just been at the receiving end of a bombing raid, we were flagged down by, two what must have been ARP chaps. There were casualties, water and debris everywhere. I was asked would I take some casualties to the General Hospital in Outram Road which was fortunately on our way back to the Mission anyway.
I was quite happy to co-operate, if it would get me moving from that spot, particularly as the chaps had said that long range shells from the Japanese artillery had been arriving spasmodically. But I did feel a bit ashamed as I observed those ARP people just pressing on, and appearing unperturbed.
Arriving at the hospital, which is why I recall this incident, it seemed to be in an even bigger state of untidiness since my previous visit. Further large areas of the once neat grounds had been dug up to provide more long communal graves and there were rows of bodies lying out and awaiting burial. The smell was awful
Somebody said that although they had not hit the hospital with shells, some had been falling in the grounds, but I wasn't interested in investigating for myself. The fact that the Japs were now near enough to be actually lobbing shells into the city, to say the least, was very disturbing. If I hadn't known how grave the situation was before I picked up the casualties, I certainly knew now. . . . .

Also living at the Seaman鈥檚 Mission, which by the way, was an exceptionally nice place with every "mod cons鈥� and not the sort of establishment that the title "Mission" might convey, was a chap whose name was Moss. I had seen him before and recognised his happy looking round face. To all around he was known as "Mossie" and a very nice character too, probably about 35 years old and was the Captain of a small refuelling vessel of about 75 tons called the MV "Kulit".
The "Kulit鈥� was one of a small fleet of similar vessels owned by the Oil Company. He had been living at the Mission for ten days or so because his Chinese crew (deck hand and engine room man) had decided to go AWL and he was awaiting instructions.
When we first arrived at the Mission, it was Mossie's smiling face that greeted us, and he gave us his ear while we unwound from our respective experiences. Later on he confessed that while he would not have wished on us the circumstances that had brought us to the Mission, he looked upon our arrival as "Manna from heaven" and he lost no time in presenting himself to the marine superintendent. From the Super' he learned that the company had been desperately trying to get their small craft operating. There had been the need, not only for additional refuelling service to ships alongside and in the Roads (offshore anchorage), but also to comply with a request from the Military to assist in running fuel and supplies to the fighting units on the West side of the island.
Apparently hitherto, supplies had been amassed on the East Side of the island where it was expected that a main Japanese assault would occur. Unfortunately this had taken place on the West Side, and now there was a panic to get supplies transferred back again to where the Australian troops needed them.
Hindsight tells us now, that by the time that February 9th had dawned, it was far too late anyway. Was the Super aware of that then? The outcome of Mossie's visit to the office resulted in a request that we "Pinna" survivors attend a meeting there and so we presented ourselves. The superintendent asked if we would be prepared to volunteer for work on, and manning, some of the Company's small craft although he had already put the wheels in action for our speedy evacuation on the grounds that we were technicians who would qualify for early evacuation.
For my money and from my very recent observations we didn't have a thing to lose. If we had to wait our turn for evacuation permits, and boat tickets, then far better to be on something mobile that floated rather than an island that wasn't and didn't!
We had quite a long and convincing sales talk from the Super' of the importance of getting the small craft operative and seaworthy for the important and strategic work already specified. "And" he said, "the Company will not forget your co-operation", and then "this applies to you Sparks". For as you appreciate I didn't actually work for the oil Company, and hence that remark.
His chosen remarks were so convincing, inspired no doubt from an understandable personal motive, that sitting there at the meeting, I was fully convinced that our contribution to this last ditch stand in the defence of the island would be a turning point in the war, and that Britain would emerge victorious in winning the battle that she always won - the last one!
I lost some of his final remarks because my fantasising thoughts had our little vessel nosing its way up some jungle creek with Japs firing at us from behind every tree - missing us of course. If I had thought about it at the time I could have added to those fantasising thoughts, remembering Jimmy Bloodso (Appendix Two) and in the epic poem of the Prairie Bell ... "I'll drive her nozzle agin the bank until the last soul gets ashore ...鈥� we would discharge what was left of our cargo fuel in the waiting Sherman tanks that would drive the Japanese back into the sea from whence they came.
But such fanciful thoughts would soon have been nipped in the bud had I known, that our harassed and exhausted defending army, was not only lacking in adequate air power, but also that it did not possess a single Sherman tank anyway.
As my thoughts came back to the present, the Super' was really putting it across with his final rhetoric, very much condensed here, but clear in its meaning. 鈥淢ossie, you and your little band of volunteers are the only chance that I and the rest of the office staff have in getting clear of this mess. I know it might be exceedingly difficult for you but your presence at Keppel Harbour, wharf 50, at the right time, would be very much appreciated". Then, "If we get away safely, I shall see to it personally, that you all get a square deal ...鈥� With a final dramatic gesture he said, "or I will resign".
I wondered if we should all have stood up and tossed our toupees in the air and cheered!
Later at the Mission, with the first part of the Superintendents message of the afternoon still aglow in my bosom and the last part fraught with thoughts of disaster, I wondered, as did we all, how was anyone going to know in advance that escape was necessary before it was too late to do so? And why the Super's opening gambit in view of his closing one?
The small craft that we had to locate, and make seaworthy, were scattered about. Chatting amongst ourselves, we wondered just how were we to be contacted, carrier pigeon, rocket flares or a relay of runners? (The last one from necessity in view of our likely location being a good swimmer.)
When Mossie joined us he said that he was clear as to where to find the small craft, but not where we were to operate with them when made seaworthy. Well he hadn't missed the information - it wasn't given. The answer to that question was shrouded in the portent of the Superintendents' remarks -and wharf 50.
Towards midday on February 9th, after a previous disturbed noisy night, and my return from the cold storage and the hospital visit, I joined Mossie and the others - well, except for the Chief Engineer and Shorty Armstrong who had already fixed themselves up as crew members with Les Clayton. He was Captain of another similar small craft, the MV 鈥淩ibot鈥�. Les had already received his instructions and was to stand by at Bukom with a view to evacuating the staff there should it become necessary. By 12.30 we had all caught the ferry, doing so between air raids, and were on board the MV 鈥淜ulit鈥� where she was tied up at the oil installation wharf at Bukom.
To make our presence legal, Noel, (Pinna's ex 2nd engineer), Sandy Robertson and I were duly signed on as engineering and deck officers. If the worst happened, and deep down, we still didn't think it would, we could demand officer status if we became Prisoners of War ...
We, and the world, had yet to learn how the Japanese treated their prisoners, no matter what their status.
After we had fuelled and watered-up the 鈥淜ulit鈥�, and Noel, in his role of Chief Engineer, had familiarised himself with the mysteries of the "Kulit's" diesel engine and ancillary machinery, we set off for an anchorage at Tanjorg Rhu. My feelings were that we were setting off into the unknown from peaceful Bukom (well, peaceful except for the noise across the water from Singapore).
Tanjong Rhu was a small creek mooring and wharfing facility about 1陆 miles east from the city centre, and probably about four miles by sea from Bukom via Keppel harbour. There, we were to locate the MV 鈥淜epah".
Like the MV 鈥淜ulit鈥� and the "Ribot鈥�, it was also a small tanker vessel about 50 ft long with fuel tanks for'd and a tiny bridge structure aft, with engine room beneath. When it was made seaworthy ex "Pinna鈥� 2nd Officer John Wood would become Captain with Sniffy Wilson and George Robinson as his crew. George had been 2nd engineer on the "Pinna鈥� on a previous voyage. He had been waiting for another appointment that had not materialised, and had joined us that morning, a very welcome addition to our mini task force.
The view across the two to three miles stretch of water in the direction of Singapore Island as we made our way across, was not a happy one. The sight of several waves of aircraft prompted Mossie to take shelter beneath the steep overhanging side of the 鈥淧lioden" wreck, referred to as the 鈥渉ulk", which was beached beneath the seaward side of the island of Blakang Mati. There were anxious moments as aircraft circled above us, and the guns on the summit of Blakang Mati blazed away, making a frightful din without any end product. Then a more deafening noise as the aircraft dived over us to attack the defences.
Leaving the doubtful security of the hulk when things quietened down, Mossie put on his best speed of 8 knots and sped round the western corner of the island, and then east along the channel between the Keppel docks and Blakang Mati. Passing on the inside of Pulau Brani, an island at the eastern end of the docks, avoiding two Chinese junks, one listing steeply and one on fire, we hugged the coastline past Telok Ayer basin, the city water front Raffles quay and Collyer quay and headed for Tanjong Rhu a little further east.
I do not recalled much (nor does my diary help) about that outward journey but I do remember in response to Mossie's "quick Sparky grab this wheel" I was fully occupied at 鈥淜ulit's" helm. He dashed off to do whatever it was leaving me wishing that one of the other sailors had been there - I didn't consider that I was one. I was out of my element steering a boat. (It had been Mossie's wish that I remained there with him in case of possible visual signals addressed to us.) Instead the hairs on the back of my neck seemed to be curling not being able to see what might be coming from my rear while my eyes wanted to see what was going on around me and not the direction of "Kulit's" bow.
When Mossie returned with John and took over, John and I then stationed ourselves on either side of the wheelhouse in the tiny bridge wings as lookouts - for what it was worth. Meanwhile Noel and George were in the engine room, Sniffy and Sandy in the tiny galley below the bridge making a meal.
There were fires burning on the Fullerton Road as we passed Jardine steps and way beyond shells or bombs could be seen exploding in the direction of Orchard Road, or probably Fort Canning area. We did not know at that time that the Japanese were spreading across the island having successfully crossed from the mainland on the night and day of February 8/9th.
We duly arrived at Tanjong Rhu, and after locating the "Kepah" at her anchorage, we then towed her and made fast alongside the 鈥淜ulit鈥�. We then spent the rest of the day baling out, retrieving her little lifeboat from its stowage on the wharf, securing it on board, pumping fuel and water and numerous other necessary tasks. It was gaspingly hot work, slowed down too because of the need to keep taking cover against low flying attacking aircraft - not on us, but on what appeared to be a very knocked about and abandoned Kalang airfield behind us and a bit too near for comfort.
But despite a lot of coaxing and the pumping-up of compressed air bottles used for starting we finally had to accept that "Kepahs鈥欌�� engine was not going to start. I say 鈥渨e鈥� collectively, for I personally was not involved in the operation of actually starting the brute.
With the approach of sunset, and the very rapid transition from light to dark in that latitude there was no alternative but to cease our labours and stay where we were for the night and a very disturbed one too! Disturbed not only because of the noise of distant guns that seemed to be getting noisier, the huge canopy of red sky above us, and mosquitoes by the million, but because we had no knowledge of the form the Japanese advances had taken beyond what we could hear. We did not have a radio on the 鈥淜ulit鈥� and portable transistor radios had not yet been invented.
Mossie said that before we left Bukom, he had heard 鈥� from where I don't know because useful news didn't come over the radio, even if you had one - that the Japanese had also landed at Changi on 7/8th February, having previously occupied Pulau Ubin island in the mouth of the Johore strait (between Malaya and Changi).
It was with this information in mind plus the fact that the East Coast road from Changi ran directly past the Kalang basin and the Tanjong Rhu wharfs, a mere distance of 10 miles, that we felt that some precaution was necessary.
If the Japs could move at speed all those miles right dawn the Malayan peninsula, what was a mere l0 miles! So, before sunset, we changed places with the "Kepah鈥�, leaving her against the wharf and us, in the 鈥淜ulit鈥�, on her starboard side, thus facilitating our quick getaway should it be necessary. Added to that precaution, we split up the night hours into watches.
Consequently, that night, on or off watch, my wakeful hours envisaged hordes of Japanese hotfooting it along the coast road in our direction.
So it was with relief when morning came, that there was no change in our immediate surroundings from the previous night. Here at Tanjong Rhu, we seemed to be so much part of the war, while at Bukom we enjoyed the role of spectators.
After renewed efforts to start the "Kepah's" engine without success, we had downed tools and were preparing for a quick get-away and a dash back to base, when Mossie said, "Right lads, get the tow-line fixed and we will tow her back to Bukom. I for one couldn't believe my ears. It seemed such a ludicrous suggestion ... . It spoke well for the feeling of well being that existed because the morning had only brought a hot sun, that there was not a single word of protest from anybody.
After a delayed decision as to when it was expedient to depart, because of air raids and minor problems with 鈥淜ulits鈥� compressor that had worked overtime charging up bottles for the "Kepah", we eventually left at midday with John at "Kepah's鈥� helm. His only deck crew, Sandy, was at her bow taking care of the tow-line betwixt the two vessels, 鈥淜epah鈥� was pulled along at our best speed of something like walking pace. Had "Kepah" had brakes like a car, the task would have been less eventful.
As it was, Sandy stationed on our stern, was kept busy protecting 鈥淜ulits' propeller from the repeated slackening of the tow-line, due to hazards ahead.
The journey back past the city waterfront again was as depressing as our pace was worryingly slow, and I felt so naked out there on 鈥淜ulit's鈥� tiny bridge wing. I don't know why I was out there other than as look-out for Mossie, but thinking about it, I don't suppose it would have mattered where any of us were on that small craft if we had been attacked. Nevertheless, I envied George and Sniffy Wilson on the 鈥淜epah鈥� as they disappeared from view down into the comparative but doubtful safety of the tiny engine room, and Noel into ours. Yet, at the same time there was Sandy looking quite unconcerned at 鈥淜ulit's鈥� stern and John giving me a wave from "Kepah鈥檚鈥� helm and pointing to some activity ashore.
We turned the corner past Pulau Brani Island and heading up the Keppel docks "straight", only to be looking skyward at stick of bombs falling towards us. It was either a wide miss on Blakang Mati or a near miss on the dock, and the "Empire Star" that was taking on evacuees, but whatever it plopped into the channel just 100 yards ahead of us with a huge plume of white water. The shock wave and the swell that ensued seemed destined to separate us from our tow as both vessels bobbed 鈥測ukked and yawed鈥� alarmingly.
Behind us a huge fire was blazing from a recent attack on a docks godown, and there were dozens of helmeted figures scurrying about. Through the wheelhouse doorway Mossie blew out his cheeks and then followed that up with an eyebrow wipe.
After making fast beneath the comparative safety of the hulk, it was Mossie's decision that we rest awhile instead of continuing on at our snail-pace across the piece of open water between the hulk and Bukom. Not that continuing would be any less hazardous than hitherto, but somehow that open stretch of water looked uninviting.
The decision was accepted with enthusiasm, although it was open to conjecture whether or not it would be safer at that moment, or later.
But hardly had the conjecture been put into words, when the only two small craft in the immediate vicinity, less than a mile away, were attacked. One remained floating and one left burning fiercely.
The decision was immediate. We would stay where we were and think about it!
Later that night as Mossie's whisky helped down the tea, and what food there was left over from the day before, it became quite noisy again as what sounded like depressed ack-ack guns blazed away over us and across the water to what appeared to be an enemy landing on the coast of Pasir Panjang, 3 miles or so west from our position.
There was some light relief as George produced the wind-up gramophone he had found on the "Kepah" which wasn't easy to hear with the noise that was going on. It is just possible that our whisky intake made us appreciate one of the three records found. It was, "oh what a wonderful night we've had tonight".
Although we tried to pass away the dark hours cheerfully, it didn't cancel the thoughts that there could be other landings which led to another sleepless night. Although on and off watches were arranged, nobody really slept beyond frequent awakened dozes.
鈥︹赌︹�︹赌�

As the angry red reflected in the black smoke-laden sky over the city and beyond, paled with the advent of dawn light, fate that had been cussed with us at Tanjong Rhu surprised us. The 鈥淜epah's" engine burst into life and sticking out of the engine hatch was George with a self-satisfied grin all over his face.
The rest of that day at Bukom was a busy one, which to a certain extent kept us from brooding too much on the activity, above and across the water. All the contaminated fuel was drained from the "Kepah's" fuel tank, the water tank was drained and then filled with fresh water, then its only lifeboat re-slung more ship-shape and numerous other chores dealt with.
While Noel and Sniffy Wilson worked on the 鈥淜ulit鈥檚鈥� malfunctioning compressor, the rest of us set about provisioning both vessels. From the Bukom club we "acquired" dozens of tins of fruit and veg, numerous large hard plain biscuits, evaporated milk, and various utensils, and distributed them between the two vessels. In the past, we had enjoyed some very jolly times at the club, including singsongs around the piano, enjoyed by all. (Incidentally a pastime not often enjoyed by the young today.) Now the empty clubroom and bar looked forlorn.
In the mid-afternoon, Mossie returned from telephoning. He had not had any success in raising the chaps at the Marconi office for me, or the hospital concerning Captain Thomas, Watts and Arthur Greene. He intimated (but in my words now and not his) that there were not going to be any 鈥淛immy Bloodso鈥� heroics; the situation was far too grave and without a doubt, the vessels would not be required for running supplies. I learned later, that the idea had been abandoned as far back as February 4th. Whether the Super' had been made aware of this date before he delivered his pep talk and that what we had been doing to date was quietly preparing the vessels for an evacuation purpose without causing alarm and despondency, is more than likely. Hence the intimation we had grasped from his delivered rhetoric.
We were all very hot, tired and sitting down for a rest, suffering, I rather think, from dehydration and loss of sleep. In particular, because of our hitherto sedentary existence, we were very much out of condition which prompted John Wood to say that we would "all be as fit as a bag full of fleas when this lot is over ..."
Up to the moment of Mossie's return, we had still been harbouring thoughts that what we were doing was going to be operationally useful. But with the increasing assault activity going on, and the previous night's experience while at the hulk common sense now prevailed and any lingering thoughts about the "last battles" were as dead as a dodo. Since there was no official information and particularly at our location we were completely in the dark as to the overall situation and whether or not hoards of reinforcements were due. Hence our future action had to be, from necessity, a matter of using our heads and playing it by ear.
There had been a bevy of aircraft around and shrapnel had been descending from the spent ack-ack fire. Obviously what goes up must come down. After one lump had plopped down not very far from Shorty (who had just joined us) making a hole in an oil container as big as an apple, we were prompted to sit down under cover. It was Mossie's return that broke up our conversation which was mostly to do with 鈥渨hen do we start packing our grips and getting out of here....鈥�
Our last task had been to get a small launch, the "Makota" ready. New batteries had been fitted, fuelled and provisioned, and she was as seaworthy as whatever sea she might be in would permit. We now assumed that that was our very last task, so it was with surprise that we heard Mossie say,
"Right, there's now the 鈥淕ewang" ..." This was another similar vessel to the "Kulit" and tied up at the far end of Bukom鈥檚 wharf.
Mossie wasn't too popular for a few moments for we just couldn't see any sense in any renewed activity in view of his earlier information. But as he pointed out, not only had we promised to get ALL these vessels seaworthy, but also he said, "We now won't be the only ones needing a boat" - a typically Mossie altruistic remark that we couldn't argue about.
After hauling the 鈥淕ewang鈥� from one end of the wharf, Volga boatman fashion to where the amenities were, she too reacted in the sane way as the "Kepah" at Tanjong Rhu. She refused to start, so we shelved that problem temporarily.
Like the remark I made about brakes on the towed 鈥淜epah鈥�, the starting of those engines might have been easier if we could have tow-started like a car instead of fiddling about and exhausting air-bottles.
As Confucius might have said, "Chinese men better at starting diesels than clever British engineers" which more or less would have confirmed Mossie's remark when he said that, "If only Chung fu" (or whatever his Chinese engineer was called) "had been here, we wouldn't have had all this trouble ..鈥�
Just after sunset, Mossie said,
"Okay chaps, let's go".
I for one had a lovely thought, but a selfish one, forgetting momentarily about Arthur and the others in the hospital, and the office staff who were no doubt relying upon our assistance.
But what he meant was, let's go across to the hulk for the night. Earlier there had been several low flying aircraft nosing around the island and in Mossie's mind, as he explained, was the thought that the Japs may do something to prevent any demolition work on the installation. For now, in the distance, Pulau Samboe was on fire and filling the sky with black smoke that was drifting over and joining that over the city. Soon it would be Bukom's fate.
It must have been the looks on our faces that prompted Mossie to give a fine portrayal of "Any more for the Skylark. Nice trips round the hulk ...鈥�
It had been Mossie's cheerful face and his refusal to show concern in some of our sticky or exasperating moments that had really kept us going in reasonable spirits. He was a great person and a perfect example of loyalty to a cause, yet ever kind and understanding to those around. It is with sadness that I recall now, that due to prevailing circumstances later, I wasn't able to say good-bye, (nor do I remember being concerned at the time as to where he was).
We lay alongside the hulk together with the launch "Makota" that had followed in our wake. Counting the " Kepah鈥�, "Gewang鈥� (whose engines we assumed would be made to operate when fresh air bottle supplies were applied) and the 鈥淩ibot鈥� with Les Clayton, Shorty Armstrong and our elderly chief engineer off the "Pinna" aboard, we were four vessels strong (plus the 鈥淜ulit鈥�) all fuelled up and supplies aboard ready for - what? . ..when? and who? . .
Les Clayton with the 鈥淩ibot鈥� and his crew were standing by ready to evacuate the Bukom installation staff and the demolition party just as soon as the "scorched earth" policy was completed. This duly took place the following day.
We tucked in to our first meal since the previous day. Like a blind date in the darkness, we just opened tins and hoped for the best. This turned out to be an amazingly tasty soup of tomatoes, potatoes, sardines, peas and different sorts of fruit backed up with hard biscuits. We couldn't have enjoyed it more had we been at the Ritz. What it lacked, tea laced with whisky that Mossie had acquired from the club, helped considerably. So much so that notwithstanding the anxious situation of the previous night, between watches, we managed to get some sleep.
Whether it was actually a quieter night, or whether the whisky made it seem so, I don't know. The last thing I remember as I lay on the deck was seeing the red sky above me and wondering if there had been as many mosquitoes the previous night.

Chapter l9
ESCAPE TO SEA

When morning came, it did so commencing with the same dull red sky brightening from the east and contrasting vividly with the black smoke billowing from the Pulau Samboe installation.
Until Mossie reminded us, we had forgotten all about the arrangement concerning the office staff ashore. Unless one of them was that swimmer referred to earlier, we were not likely to learn of any staff pick-up by skulking around the hulk.
Discussing the situation over breakfast tea and whatever we had, Mossie said that he had been prepared to go to Keppel wharf and wait, and if possible, telephone from there hoping that the telephone lines were still functional. But after what we had witnessed the night before the last and not knowing anything about the situation ashore, the Japanese could be sitting on the wharf. After all, it was only three or four miles from Pasir Panjang and the landings we had seen two nights ago.
But there was one certainty-Bukom. A trip across would resolve the situation. The telephone may be working or there could be a message. Mossie said he would take the "Kulit"-the "Makota" to stay at the hulk. Noel said he would rather go to Bukom than sit and listen to Blakang Mati's guns, although at that moment all the noise was due to the guns at the harbour entrance near the brickwork鈥檚. I decided to go too though I preferred to stay behind with the others, but I had left my skin-out bag and a few other items, and I was also anxious to try and raise the hospital and the staff at the Marconi office. At Bukom, after returning from telephoning and not getting a reply. Noel and I spent some time transferring food from the now non-starting- "Gewang" on to the "Kulit鈥� and leaving the starting of the "Kepah" in the hands of the "Pinna's鈥� chief engineer and Shorty - now Les Clayton's crew on the MV 鈥淩ibot鈥�
While Noel had a bath under a tap, I retrieved my "luggage" which included three bottles of whisky acquired from the now abandoned and deserted club, nicely portable in an also acquired, small duffel-bag. I had just returned, when so did Mossie. He had also tried to telephone the hospital for me. Although he had heard the dialling tone, there had not been any answering reply. Whether he had managed to contact the Oil Company or whether it was a result of a message left for him, I didn鈥檛 ask, for I was far to concerned about his news.
He said "The balloon's not going up, its gone up....鈥� and 鈥渋t seems that it is wharf 50 now, or else.." and a few other remarks appropriate to the occasion which included the absence of any known problem at Keppel. He had brought along a couple of small axes and gave one to me saying, 鈥渉ang on to that" and to Noel, "start her up engine-man, and top gear as soon as you like".
After Mossie had conveyed the information to Les about the current situation and the course that we were going to take after picking up our passengers, we set off. I was sorry to leave Shorty, and also the chief engineer with whom I had had so little contact since leaving Changi. Shorty's usual grin didn鈥檛 indicate whether he was concerned at being left behind, or not.
The trip back to the hulk was only two miles or so but we seemed to be taking so long to get there. There was intermittent arial activity - all of the Japanese kind. We hadn't seen a single RAF machine since leaving Palembang. We were not to know then, that the RAF had been forced to abandon the Kallang and Tengah airfields because of the constant air attacks and the advancing Japanese, and transfer to Sumatra. A pitiful few aircraft and pilots had been left behind to operate from Kallang (the airfield behind Taffjong. Rhu where we had located the "Kepah" before towing her back to Bukom).
Despite the valiant efforts of those few, the hard-pressed defending troops and those involved in sea borne operations were effectively without air cover. Neither did we know at the time, that the gaggle of aircraft - Vilderbeasts, Brewster Buffaloes and probably two or three Hurricanes that we had seen leaving Kallang and flying south on February 9th or l0th, was the evacuation of the RAF from the island.
Although the defenders of the island had out-numbered the enemy by something like a ratio of 9-l, an army operating without adequate air cover or ground mobile armament, against an enemy that had both, greatly increased the odds for defeat. There has been much controversy concerning the pro's and con's, particularly concerning defensive and campaign errors, and what has been blamed, as the British Government's appalling lack of preparation against an invasion of the island. This has been dealt with elsewhere and is not part of my story.
Nearing the hulk we were startled to see lines of white splashes commencing just ahead of the "Kulit" and stitching their way ahead on to and over the hulk. It was only after did we find ourselves ducking at the roar of diving aircraft from behind us which then disappeared over Blakang Mati and then numerous explosions. The chaps on the "Makota" saw nothing of this, tucked away as they were, but as was said later, they shared our fright as bullets, cannon shells, or whatever they were, twanged across the decks of the hulk
Each time something like that happened, whether it was bombs or bullets, it brought the same exclamation from one of us- "it cannot last", meaning of course, our luck.
Leaving the hulk- the "Makota鈥� tagging behind, we duly arrived at Keppel. It was a very noisy time waiting at wharf 50 at the extreme end of the dock area, with no sign of our passenger鈥檚 only smoke and activity in the distance. We were all feeling the suspense of the situation for we had no information as to what was happening, how far the Japanese had advanced, or if our would-be passengers would ever arrive. Mossie and I found a telephone in one of the godowns offices but although it seemed as though it was working, with a ringing tone, there were no spoken replies.
Walking up to the dock gate that opened out on to Keppel road and where I had driven down when ferrying my passengers in the Austin, the state of disorder did nothing to dispel my worry about our uncertain situation, for the harbour road was in a far worse state than when I had driven down it. Vehicles were mixed up with debris as far as the eye could see, overlooked by drunken telephone or power lines, bending every which way in drifting smoke, and now, albeit temporary an uncanny quietness. It was so contrary to what we had expected. No hordes of people fighting for access which was Mossie's reason for handing me the axe. Not that I was likely to have hit anyone with it, but as Mossie said, "it might be useful as a deterrent against undesirable boarders and with one of his grins 鈥減rovided that they are not armed to the teeth".
It was quite a topsy-turvy situation. We had arrived at the wharf at about noon expecting to find a band of hot anxious passengers who had been waiting and wondering if we were ever going to turn up. Instead, we had found an empty wharf. Two hours later, it was still an empty wharf with us being the hot and anxious ones, wondering where they could be and if ever they would turn up. In addition, we had the recurring worry about those landings at Pasa Panjang. As we saw it, the Japs could, although late, be heading our way or coming through those dock gates at any moment. We would have had one less worry if we had known that such an event was 48 hours into the future.
What we did not know then, was that the Japanese advance had been delayed by the valiant action of the Malay Brigade outside Pasa Panjang, but by Friday l3th they had been defeated and the Japanese poured through, although they were 'not to actually to enter the city until later. Noel Barber, in his book, "Sinister Twilight", published in 1987, describes how, after they sped through from Pasa Panjang, one of the first things encountered was the Alexandra hospital. Here they perpetrated vile atrocities, killing patients in their beds, and staff.
Fortunately, the infiltration stopped there, and there was no repetition at the General Hospital nearer to the city centre in Ootram Road where we had left the Captain, the Mate Watts and Arthur Greene. In fact, I learned later that the General did not see a single Japanese until the second day after the surrender on February l4th.
It was on the previous day, a fateful Friday l3th; hundreds of desperate people had fled to the docks and city waterfronts. The ones that were fortunate in getting away in one of the 40 or so small craft were lucky. But that was where their luck ended. When they set off, they were not to know that a small Japanese Naval fleet under the command of Admiral Ozawa was waiting for just such an evacuation via Rhio and the Banka Strait - the reverse course to that of the "Pinna" on her last voyage.
The sad irony of their fate is also revealed in Noel Barber's book. Before the small boats sailed, the Dutch in Sumatra had learned of the presence of this fleet and frantically tapped out messages to Singapore. The messages were received, but alas, the man who could have decoded them had gone, and the code books with him.
鈥�...Ozawa launched his first attack at dawn with cruisers, destroyers and aircraft and blew the defenceless vessels out of the water. Out of 44 small craft that left Singapore under Admiral Spooner鈥檚 official evacuation on the fateful black Friday, 40 were sunk. Scores of other vessels including a small flotilla that had left the previous day (Feb.l2th) suffered a similar fate.."
From my diary I read, "we were fairly busy with one thing or another most of the time, if only to combat the suspense of waiting and our ignorance of the overall situation. It was stiflingly hot and our tin hats seemed to weigh a ton, but it was not wise to remove them with so much rubbish falling鈥�
At first, when things hotted up, we all descended into "Kulit's鈥� little engine room. There, although a trap in itself, we thought, rightly or wrongly, it was the best thing to do since below the water line there would little blast in the event of a near miss. Plus the fact that the wharf itself on one side of us would also provide us with some protection. Not that a near miss would be very pleasant or safe for that matter, but at the best, it was safer than on deck, in the wheelhouse, or on the wharf. In the event of a direct hit, well it wouldn鈥檛 matter where we were. After a time, it became noisier and noisier until we couldn鈥檛 hear aircraft coming anyway and numerous times we were taken by surprise as sweeps of aircraft roared down to attack nearby targets, when the overshooting sticks of bombs fell uncomfortably near. It also seemed that much heavier guns were firing over us and not just the irritating staccato of ack-ack at attacking aircraft.
Sometime after 2.l5, John Wood and I found another telephone in one of the dock buildings. I was surprised to find it actually working in view of the tangle of wires and poles along Keppel road. John's call to the Marine office drew a blank, either because the particular lines were down, or they were not there -we didn't know either way and it didn't help a bit, but my call was more successful. The answer I received was that Mr. Greene was not in the hospital. I tried to ask about the Captain and Watts, but the noise of aircraft and explosions prevented me, and when the noise abated the other end had rung off. I tried again, but this time there was no reply, and I wondered at the time if perhaps all three had been picked up. There was no dialling tone and consequently no reply from the Marconi office after several attempts.
On the way back, we had to drop hurriedly behind a toppled crane as more aircraft swept over, which more or less added weight to our interrupted conversation as to what was the point in hanging about any longer, and if we lost the "Kulit" then what would we do. Then in the distance we could see a thin line of people carrying bags. The time was 2.30. Five minutes later, several small parties carrying an unbelievable amount of luggage arrived. It was ridiculous to think, that there we were, risking our safety just to stand on deck sliding luggage down into the empty fuel tank space. I think we had reached saturation point to the effect that, what did it all matter anyway
The reason why our passengers had been so delayed was not only the problem of sheltering from numerous air-raids, and the congestion on roads, but also, the organised confusion of groups of people waiting in the wrong place for the promised transport that would bring them to the docks. Then finally, when those problems had been solved, there was the inability of their transport to get along the Keppel road. This meant that they had to walk the remainder of the way to the wharf.
At that time, I just could not understand why they had bothered to lumber themselves with so much luggage. But on reflection now, I wonder if most of them thought that they were joining a neat little passenger ship with all mod cons? If so, then it must have been quite a shock when they saw the "Kulit鈥� and a bigger one when they climbed aboard. Two in the party wanted to go back down Keppel Road and retrieve some luggage that they had been unable to carry. They changed their minds when Mossie said that we had waited long enough. They need not have been concerned for they would have lost it later anyway.
The first twelve or so passengers to arrive were helped down the jetty wall and into the 鈥淢akota" and they went off with Sandy to the hulk, and out of the way of some of the danger. During the next fifteen minutes, after what would have been the arrival of the last few stragglers, I could see that Mossie was ignoring us. He knew what our hard looks in his direction meant. In words, they would have been "For God's sake Mossie, enough is enough, very soon we will have been here three hours".
But it was thanks to him, when ten minutes later, the last if they were the last six arrivals climbed aboard for we did not have room for more
At exactly 3 p.m., Mossie said "quick, axe those springs (steel rope-like cables holding "Kulit" to the wharf). It was as though he had said earlier, "I'll wait ten more minutes and then that's it" I could see what he meant, for the springs were as tight as bow strings and would have been difficult to get the bight over and off the bollard. It surprised me how easily that little axe sliced through the steel-wire cables, and how quickly the "Kulit" moved away from the wharf and nearly left Sniffy and me standing on it.
John Wood swung the "Kulit" round into the current and then round again with it as though he had been handling "Kulit's" helm all his life. Having sat around for three hours, it seemed ridiculous that we should now be in such a hurry. We arrived at the hulk and joined Sandy, with nothing more catastrophic happening than a passenger losing his spectacles over the side. It was nice to be at the receiving end of "Blessed is he who expects everything but gets nothing"...
Tied up as we were beneath the steep sloping side of the hulk, it was a tempting thought to linger there. Mossie had suggested earlier that we should move from the hulk just after 6pm which would be a safe time since it would be too dark for any aerial activity - taking a chance on the curfew. But now he was getting more worried by the minute, and more so our passengers. He had insisted, against much opposition that they all went down into the storage tanks and out of sight as we moved off from the wharf. That is what he and George were enforcing as we left. He didn't want the "Kulit" to look like a military evacuation and thereby attract undesirable aerial attention.
Now, safely tucked away behind the hulk as we were, they were all out on deck including the ones from the launch. They looked a very hot crowd, well the ones who had been in the tank, for it must have been very uncomfortable down there. Our full compliment was 34, including the six ladies.
When to move became a worrying decision, and looking at Mossie, it seemed that he was shouldering the responsibility for the safety of us all....he looked very strained. It was so exasperatingly noisy making it difficult to think let alone converse. The desire to move away was as tempting was the urge to stay hiding there. When it was possible to talk, the pro's and con's were tossed around as to when we should set off.
Mossie agreed that he had previously suggested 6pm, but he was now having second thoughts about it. Since we had no information on the situation, we could be trapped if we delayed moving from the hulk should the Japanese Navy come round the corner, or shot at if we moved at night. The watchers manning the defences could be very trigger happy about craft moving on water in the dark, as we had witnessed two nights ago. But if we ignored that contingency and departed when it was dark we might not be able to negotiate our way past the many shoals and small islands safely if we were to avoid the minefield area. There certainly would not be any navigational aids to help us.
It had already been decided which route we would take. It was our decision, and nothing to do with our passengers who were not aware of any additional problems beyond the ones they were just leaving behind. Most certainly that route would not be south via Rhio. Mossie had been happy to accept the ex-"Pinna's" crew's feelings about that one which he had passed on to Les Clayton on the "Ribot" before leaving Bukom. We would sail Northwest up the Malacca Strait. The fact that we would be sailing near, and parallel to, the enemy held coast of Malaya was dismissed, the Japanese would be too busy elsewhere. That just left the hazard of aircraft which was a matter of swapping one hazard for another.
It was just 3.45pm when the decision was made to move. The "Pinna鈥檚" high-diving Sandy would stay with the "Makota" and its passengers, George Robinson assisting him, and they would tag along behind the "Kulit". Mossie suggested that Sandy should keep at least half-a-mile away so as not to attract undue attention and also keep to port or starboard of "Kulit's" wake. The reason for this seemed a feasible precaution at the time so that an attacking aircraft would not have two targets .in line. A final "order of the day", was that everyone should be out of sight and off the deck until sunset.
We set off at 4pm into rolling banks of nasty evil smelling black smoke the result of the demolition of the several oil installations, and Singapore. The "Ribot" was standing by ready to pick up and evacuate the demolition party from Bukom 鈥� Without stopping we sailed across the half mile of water that separated us and headed north west in the direction of the Malacca Strait. I wrote later "....looking back towards the city there were drifting clouds of dense smoke from many sources and angry noises echoing across the water. I saw a stick of bombs drop in a line about l00 yards short of the hulk, then beyond it, and then further still to land near the brick works and the harbour entrance: a replica of what we had experienced when in that area. But viewed from a distance, it looked very dangerous. I looked across at John through the doorway of the tiny wheelhouse and we exchanged glances, would our luck last?....
During the period after first setting off, John and I had taken up our positions on either side of the wheelhouse as lookouts again, Mossie, of course, at the helm, Noel and Sniffy down in the engine compartment. Out on deck there was not a soul to be seen. Occasional aircraft passed over us from different directions and we pessimistically expected a downward swoop from any one of them.
Mossie was worried because, due to the protruding end of the wheelhouse deck head, his angle of vision, ahead and skywards was restricted. This meant that he would not be able to see a diving aircraft in order to make the necessary evasive turn at the right moment. John said "Ok, but what about one diving from aft or abeam?" Mossie slapped his forehead in self-criticism and said 鈥淩ight, you two watch out and shout out NOW if you see one of the sods lining up on us and I鈥檒l turn. John, tell Sniffy to keep an eye on those hatches, I don't want a single eye-ball visible topside鈥�
Well, I suppose Mossie鈥檚 tactic idea was feasible since a small craft like the 鈥淜ulit鈥� could change course more easily than a diving aircraft but I would like to have had a dummy run with friendly aircraft first to prove it. Looking aft the "Makota鈥� was bobbing along behind us about a mile away and I wondered if Sandy was having the same logical thoughts.
From my diary
". ...The next hour and a half of daylight that followed seemed endless as I kept looking at the wheelhouse clock the sky abeam and astern then the retreating coastline of Singapore and Malaya and I wondered what each few minutes would bring.
About a mile away a small Naval vessel was bombed. I watched transfixed, willing the bombs to miss as they left the aircraft and descended. Then the aircraft flew past our stern between us and the 鈥淢akota鈥� towards the coast, leaving the vessel burning. Beyond it there was the burned out half sunken wreck of the 鈥淓mpress of Asia" that had been bombed previously (chapter l8). A second small Naval vessel passed us en route to help the other one that had launched a lifeboat. The figures on the deck were waving and pointing and indicating that we should turn back, then making descending arm movements and pointing ahead - meaning dive bombers. We assumed that they were warning us of the dive-bombers operating from the now occupied airfield ahead in Malaya. We indicated NO with crossed horizontal arm movements and carried on. Some of the figures on deck were giving victory-V signs. John and I returned them without any enthusiasm.
It was with mixed feelings that we looked back a mile later to see our advisers being attacked themselves with gunfire by an aircraft that had passed right over us to do so. It was a fighter aircraft flying so low that we could see the pilot's head - and he didn't even look down at us
Grave though the situation was, it was made to feel more so because all the time we were anticipating something might not happen, but I for one was so very tired that my mind was prepared to anticipate anything including a tropical snowstorm. It felt as though there were hundreds of binoculared Japanese eyes all watching us from the Malayan coast which was so much in view, and that every aircraft that might be taking off was doing so especially for our non-benefit. Looking astern through still drifting smoke haze I could just see the little bobbing dot of the 鈥淢akota" and I wondered how those on board had felt, being so near to that aggro.....鈥�
Mossie had carried on in his usual quiet way, and whenever I caught his eye, he always produced a smile, but now a worried one. I felt for him for I am sure that he was still accepting responsibility for our safety by his accurate navigation, and also for his ability to cope with the unknown. Whether he was aware of the position of the minefield area with any accuracy, and just keeping his fingers crossed, or if he were taking the decided upon diversion, I don鈥檛 think I wanted to know.
When I idly dropped that iron bar where I did on the "Pinna" that later got the three of us out of the radio room, I gave a passing thought to Providence. When we missed that increased activity at Keppel harbour by the skin of our teeth and then were ignored by those passing aircraft a short time ago, I had a similar thought, but when just before dusk set in (when it was expected that aircraft activity would cease) a typical tropical rain squall set in, obscuring us from land sea and air, I was convinced of Providence, and that someone somewhere was batting on our side. I stood out in the lashing cold rain - it was great. I would like to have cheered.
With everyone on deck looking very wet but certainly happier than they had been in the different hiding places, particularly those out of the tanks, I joined them and had my first meal since the night before.....Was it only last night that we were tied up beneath the hulk? It felt like last week!
鈥︹赌︹��..

After consuming about a pint of tea, all I wanted to do was to sleep, but that wasn't to be. We had lost the "Makota" as the squall had started and the sky darkened, and we were now rolling about alarmingly with the engine stopped and all hands peering out into the darkness. At last she turned up only to be lost again. By this time it was so dark it was impossible to see such a small craft even a dozen yards away. It was very eerie in the darkness and too risky to flash a light, although perhaps it wouldn鈥檛 have mattered if we had switched on our navigational lights and waited for Sandy to turn up. Mossie was worried in case the little "Makota" had been swamped by the same swell that had rolled the "Kulit" about so much. As the sky cleared a little, giving a little more light on the water, he took the boat round in wide sweeping circles, but to no avail. He decided to resume our original course and press on, for as he said he could not jeopardise the safety of all those on board any more for the few on the "Makota" who might be perfectly alright anyway. The important thing now was to clear the Malayan coast and to be as far away from it as possible by first light.
As we increased speed back on course the two little lifeboats that were strung out on either side of the bridge structure were swinging out and in with great crashing sounds which didn't help to reduce the generally tense atmosphere on board. They had been left unlashed in case they should be needed in a hurry. With the help of one of the passengers, I tried to get a lashing round the boat on my side while John on the port side did likewise. With only the flat piece of deck to stand on, where the lifeboat normally rested and no handrail or coaming to hang on to, all there was to stop either of us from plopping into the sea as the 鈥淜ulit" rolled was the lifeboat itself. When it swung in there was not enough time to get a lashing round it before it swung out again and out of reach over the sea, leaving us hanging on to the davit until it came back again. The problem was solved by my helper bravely leaping into the boat on its inward swing.
Sometime later I asked Mossie the question that had been on the tip of my tongue for quite a long time, and that was, why had he bothered about having the "Makota鈥� come with us in the first place? There was no point in her tagging along behind us when there was room to spare on the "Kulit", to which he replied, with his usual grin, "I thought it would lower the odds. We only have room for four in each of our lifeboats".
While all the look-outs, posted around the decks stared ahead and abeam for any dark shape silhouetted against the dark skyline, Mossie maintained a North Westerly course, keeping the diminishing red glow in the sky directly astern. His theory was that while it might appear too late if a vessel that could be a Japanese one were sighted, possibly with our low profile, we could be invisible to watchers on deck. Depending on the sighting, he would either stop-engine, or change course. That voiced theory of Mossie's was in response to a complaining passenger, who did so loudly, saying, "What the hell is the use of keeping look-outs we can't run".
As I watched Mossie's face reflecting the dim light from the binnacle, I envied his apparent inner calm feelings which contrasted so much with my own which I felt could be seen glowing visibly a mile away....

"...My last vision of Singapore as it had faded away behind us, had been that of a huge blanket of smoke hanging in a darkening sky, flat at the bottom and billowing at the top. Beneath it, the darker line of land was spotted with stabs of bright red. I wondered under what circumstances I would see the island again if ever..."
I learned later that the surrender terms were handed to General Percival on February l4th, and their acceptance was inevitable. It didn't require any superior military wisdom to acknowledge that Singapore had been lost for days, and was, in Winston Churchill鈥檚 words,
"The worst disaster and the largest capitulation in British history".
History confirms now, that we had the men, and they far out-numbered the Japanese. While our troops were burying surplus ammunition, the Japanese were desperately running short of theirs. But we did not have sufficient air power or mobile ground armament, while the Japanese had plenty of both.
As it was, we lost Singapore, "Europe's gateway to the East" , the impregnable fortress, with all its big guns, probably the largest in the world at that time and never used in anger for the purpose for which they were originally installed. However as was pointed out by Noel Barber in his book "Sinister Twilight" ...we lost more than an island, we lost face in the East. The Japanese, with an inferior force in numbers to our own, but employing superior tactics and armament were instrumental in destroying for ever, the white man's domination which was a contributory factor which lead to independence throughout Asia.
Although we did return eventually as liberators, things were never to be the same again. The magic, mystique, or whatever it may be called that had cloaked the Tuan Basar for so long disappeared like the smoke that was now rising from the city.
Today the opulent port of Singapore can be more accurately and reciprocally called instead the 鈥淕ateway to the West鈥�

Chapter 20
THE ROAD TO PALEMBANG

Next morning as the dawn broke red and gold behind us; the coast of Sumatra was silhouetted against a darker sky.
It could be argued that there should have been a cast-iron plan before we left Singapore. After all, we had had plenty of time during our long waits at the hulk at Bukom and while at wharf 50, to talk it over. I suppose we all thought that since Mossie had been the organiser so far, he would have a plan in mind. Well he hadn't. As he now said, except for heading in a direction away from Singapore on the agreed heading which would be northward and not southward, he had not given a destination any priority. The prevailing one that suppresses all other thoughts in that tense noisy existence, was a successful escape from Keppel. He would consider number two priority, and where we should go, after the successful accomplishment of number one.
Now, in the dim morning light, Mossie confessed that he had not dared think of the future with so much of the present around the previous day. If we had cleared Singapore and the tip of Malaya safely, he would make for the coast of Sumatra and continue Northeast. What he had not given a thought to, was whether or not the Japs may be crossing the Strait of Malacca since they now held Penang and all the coast-line south. The Strait could be unhealthily congested.
In the long watch through the night hours, the situation as to what to do became obvious. To travel any further on our present course with the Japanese still within flying-time and with possible sea patrols out from the coast, would be pushing our luck too far. We might have put 85 miles and Singapore behind us, but the enemy-held coast of Malaya was still only 40 miles away.
At the same time as the sun was lighting up the east behind us, it was with relief we could see the "Makota" happily bobbing along less than a mile away. We had slowed down considerably as the sea calmed about an hour before dawn and Sandy had kept pace with the "Kulit" He said later that the small launch had taken the sea very well. What the "Kulit had ploughed through, the "Makota" had just gone up and down with it and not a drop of water in-board, although it was a bit uncomfortable at times. When we had parted during the night, Sandy said that he had taken note of our course, and since he knew that Mossie would stick to his, he wasn't a bit worried. As the sky had lightened, he had seen our larger silhouette long before we saw his.
By the time that the "Makota" was sighted, and I had recovered from the inevitable sea-sickness that had assailed me through those rolling night hours, number two priority was being discussed. With the sky brightening rapidly and every one on deck where they had been since the rainsquall, there could still be the likelihood of reconnoitring aircraft spotting us.
So a decision was made. We would head west and make for the coast of Sumatra, now clearly visible, sail up the nearest river as far as we could, then make plans depending on circumstances. Sumatra was not so backward and there was bound to be some sort of transport that would take us somewhere. The port of Padang on the West Coast was a possibility. We would just have to hope that the Japanese had not already arrived.
After the sun rose and the morning progressed with Sandy and company following behind us, we pressed on in an inland direction via a wide river mouth and as the land on each side of us started to narrow, there was a general feeling of relaxation. Without a chart of the area we had no knowledge of how the river might snake about, so it was quite perplexing as the morning wore on, that our course was so constantly north and not westerly.
By mid-afternoon, the river had not narrowed as would be expected, in fact, quite the reverse, and we were still heading north! We had passed a settlement a short time before on our starboard side, and now it seemed that we were going out to sea again-and we were! Turning about, Mossie re-traced our wake back towards the settlement or village that was tucked away behind the greenery. By the time we reached it, Mossie and John between them with heads together had decided what we had done.
The land on the starboard side just before we had turned about just had to be Benkalis Island, and the habitation we had seen was Benkalis itself. Instead of a river we had been sailing between the coast of Sumatra and the island and then heading out to sea again. This was soon verified.
Transferring the passengers from the "Makota" to the "Kulit", Sandy, having sailed the "Makota" safely through the night, decided that he would stay on board and take her in alone and ascertain who was in charge, the Dutch or the Japanese - a very brave mission. Sandy disappeared from view as we lay a distance away.
Five minutes passed, then ten, and then ten lengthened to half an- hour as we all waited anxiously...then "Burp burp burp on "Makota's" groggy hooter as she came round the bend and into sight. All was well. The Dutch Resident was at home, and we were invited to come alongside.
I don鈥檛 remember any of us slapping our brave envoy on the back. It was not a task that I would have enjoyed undertaking. Sandy said afterwards,
"Och, it wa nothin, I did'na think the Japs wa there or I would'na gone"
Mind you, what we would have done if they had been there is debatable. We would not have got very far if they had. But we could not have been using our heads, for surely, if the Japanese had arrived by crossing the Malacca Strait which been in our thoughts during the night, they had would not have been just sitting around waiting for visitors, what is more, there would have been transport around.
Our navigational error was confirmed by the Dutch Resident Officer for Bengkalis. What we now had to do was to re-trace our steps and he showed Mossie the mouth of the river Siak on a wall map. The river would be navigable up to Pekam Baru, which was a small town in the centre of Sumatra. On arrival we could make arrangements with the Resident there concerning our next move. He suggested that perhaps Padang, a port on the West Coast could be best for us provided of course that transport could be arranged.
There were no plaintive songs of farewell as we left this island and I don鈥檛 think that I would have noticed if there had, been I was more than anxious to keep moving. The Resident did say that he was not aware of any Japanese landings in the area, but he did confess that because of recent reconnoitring aircraft, he had been expecting visitors for several days.
It was late in the afternoon when we set off with the descending sun on our estimated 75-mile journey up-river to Pekam. Later as we pressed on into the darkening evening, there was a relaxed comfortable feeling on board as the river, this time, did narrow from the mouth and the jungle on either side snuggled up, wrapping us in anonymity
That night beneath the brightness of a million stars, we had a delightfully restful trip up the winding river, following a silver road in a tunnel of blackness - John relieving Mossie at the helm to enable him to catch up on a bit of well earned rest.
I found sleep very hard to achieve at first....I had been on the go for so long that I was all wound up and finding it hard to wind down again. As I lay down on the deck, looking up at the stars, I could not help but reflect on our last 24 hours activities, from the anxious hours at the Keppel harbour wharf and our departure west, when we wondered where the next bombs would fall or what the next aircraft would do. We had worried ourselves stiff, probably grown a few grey hairs, searched the sky and horizons, imagined all sorts of catastrophic situations, and what had happened to us? Absolutely nothing! Surely there must be a moral somewhere. Perhaps there is sense in what a certain learned gentleman said - although his name escapes me, "There is no need to worry until you have to worry"
Obviously I did sleep otherwise I could not have awakened to the sound of birds, the loud chatter of monkeys and a conglomeration of noises (contrasting so much with those of the last few days) as the beat of our engine exhaust disturbed the early morning. It was delightful to stand up on deck and enjoy the lovely freshness of the morning air, and the thankful feeling that we now had a more than fifty fifty chance of survival, and what was more, we were on our way with a determined plan.
There was still one slight worry - if it could be called slight, as I learned later. Mossie said that upon leaving Bengkalis, the Resident had added that the airfield at Pekam Baru had had several reconnoitring sorties by Japanese aircraft. Because of the airstrip, it pointed to a possible landing by airborne troops. We should approach with caution.
We arrived at Pekam Baru in the early afternoon of the 14th February. The number of small craft on the river and, the happy salutes of the occupants, told its own tale. Notwithstanding our relief at having arrived, it would have been much more of a relief if this had been the end of the road, and not another beginning.....
What next? ..If we were to keep ahead of circumstances, most certainly we would have to keep to our slogan "keep moving", and without delay but how now that the river seemed to have healed up at Pekam?
As Mossie and several others set off to seek help from the Resident officer, we who were left on board anxiously awaited their return. Now that we had stopped moving, the urge to continue doing so was strong. I wondered how far it was to Padang and how long would it take to walk, and conjectured on the adage. "He who travels fast travels alone"
As a few of us returned from a much needed river bath following Noel's remark to John "if we are going anywhere, we might as well set off clean"-so did George with a small consignment of beer he had purchased 鈥渇rom the off licence wigwam down the road鈥�. A few minutes later Mossie and company returned bearing the awaited news.
The Resident had said that to attempt to take the mountainous route to Padang would not be wise because of the uncertainty of shipping calling there. If we did arrive there, so might the Japanese at an early date (well not exactly in those words) He had an alternative suggestion which he considered safer for us. It was that he would provide transport for us to proceed to Palembang in the south of the island. At Palembang, trains would be running from the railhead there that would take us to Oosthave (Telok Betong) and from there a ferry across the Sunda Strait to Java. The Resident's offer was accepted with enthusiasm, despite the long road journey involved, but with the bonus that we would be travelling fast in the right direction. Furthermore, according to the Resident, in a recent 大象传媒 broadcast message, Mr. Churchill had emphasised that reinforcements were available and that Java would be held at all costs
- - -

Our two vessels were formally handed over with an exchange of documents, and we were provided with an ancient looking bus vehicle complete with driver. What I liked about the idea was that even if Jap infiltration behind us was imminent, we were bound to travel faster.
I didn't need to pack, I just grabbed the small duffel bag that I had acquired at Bukom containing essentially my skin-out bag, diary, and three bottles of whisky, I was ready for the road for I was as anxious as anyone to "keep moving".
By 11pm that night we had covered 80 miles when we drew into a village, possibly Taluk - after we had negotiated a fast flowing river via a man-powered pontoon raft. It had been an eerie and hazardous operation, getting our vehicle on board, secured and transported, but we were successful. We spent the night in a Sumatran longhouse with a rush floor which we shared with families of creepy-crawlies, and above, a vicious brand of mosquito with stings like spears. I had a couple of burra pegs of whisky to keep them away, and as I wondered why I had not stayed in the bus, it was suddenly morning.
By 5.30am we were away, (scratching our bites and discussing the possibility of malaria) bouncing along a dirt track road at break-neck speed - well perhaps more correct, rattling and bumping, for the springs on our vehicle had experienced better days. Our driver must have been taught at the same school as the Sikh driver who had driven me down the mountainside from Darjeeling. We spent the day hardly reducing speed for hairpin bends and various other obstacles. If he had been told that we were in a hurry, then he was certainly doing his best to oblige.
As we sped along, the terrain varied from drab to beautiful, flat to undulating ragged to desolate but mostly jungle and dense vegetation. It was such a pity that we were in hurry. Such a pity that I was not interested in where we were, but where I hoped we would be eventually. It was very hot and uncomfortable, and we were all suffering the discomfort of the journey. Nevertheless, nobody was in favour of slackening our pace, or stopping to rest, so it was with a mixture of relief and then consternation that, upon arriving at a small village, our driver disappeared. He was eventually tracked down in the village-eating house, and he was adamant.
"No more driving today Tuan. Tomorrow, early, yes. Today, no"
A few of us were not bothered anyway, but there was plenty of opposition. It did seem to me, that if the Japs had landed in Sumatra -a thought that had bugged us in the Malacca Strait- and were behind us, then they would have to put their skates on to beat our mileage so far. Despite the road conditions and our rather senile vehicle, we had clocked up 200 miles since leaving Pekam Baru. Who could blame the driver for stopping? He had driven for nine hours.
By 3pm we were on our way, wined well beered-and dined and hastened on our way by a very wet tropical storm. The Malay driver had been amply awarded with Malay money to relinquish his status and become a passenger; drivers in our party would take over his job and drive through the night thus avoiding further delay.
For the next few hours or so it rained real stair-rods. The road surface that had been steadily getting worse was getting narrower and steeper. In fact, at times, ridiculously so for a main road to Djambi and Palembang. Eventually, just before dusk, the weather cleared revealing a reddened after-sunset sky, which after while prompted a voice from the back of the bus to exclaim, "Hey, that's a hell of a funny place for a sunset". The voice had a good point, for, despite the many twisting around deep ravines, it was obvious that we had been generally moving westward. As was to be confirmed later, we had been climbing the Barison mountains that ran north and south down Sumatra hence the indication that the road was "healing up". Our route should have been generally southward, parallel to and not over the steep areas. We had, at some stage in the poor visibility, taken the wrong turn. A lot of valuable time was lost before we were able to turn ourselves round, including a nasty bogging down due to a mini-landslide.
At last we hit the main road to Djambi which made it seem so ridiculous that we had ever missed it in the first place. We now pointed southward into clearer weather and sky. In the darkness later, except for our sidelights and the stars that were now visible between large gaps in the clouds, we feasted on sardines and dry biscuits softened with beer - the latter as result of stocking up at our last stop, confirming that Sumatra wasn't so primitive. There were nostalgic remarks as the labels on the bottles indicated Singapore Tiger beer.
Notwithstanding our tiring experiences so far, and the few grumblers who were prepared to complain about anything that came in the way of our forward progress (well, understandably so) the atmosphere was that of a jolly barbecue to the accompaniment of croaking frogs. For most of us, with so many miles between us and the unknown hazard behind it was probably a matter of working off a bit of tension. There was a slight rocking of the boat as laments were voiced about the luggage left behind, but this was turned to laughter as one of the party slipped backwards into the mud and emptied beer over his face.
Because our resting driver thought that there were about 250 miles to go before reaching Palembang there was a general approval that that we should press on and stop when we got to Djambi later in the morning. It was then just after 1 am
Contented chatterers were wondering if there would be first or second class carriages on the train; would it go right on to the ferry, or would they have to walk and would there be toilets on the train, and so on. Then silence prevailed except for the roar of the engine as we rolled on through the night, stopping only occasionally to replenish water or fuel from our spare tins, and attend to the calls of nature. Then off again following the miles of empty road beneath an amazingly bright starlit sky, before the first tints of dawn coloured it. Then there was the occasional passing vehicle, then two's and three's with the friendly flashing of lights as from one lone traveller to another.
We made poor time on this last leg of the journey - no doubt due to the changing of drivers while our local driver still rested - so, as we rolled into Djambi, contrary to our instructions at Pekam that we should contact the Resident, it was decided that we skip this one and not waste time stopping and resting. So we bowled along through and out of Djambi, like, as somebody said "schoolboys twagging it from school"
As we ate up some of the remaining miles southward towards Palembang, we came increasingly aware of the volume of travellers, varying in size and shape which was quite noticeable after the many miles of deserted road, but particularly since they were going North. Then as we progressed South they were replaced by pedestrians and handcarts, then later still, quiet deserted roads again and we wondered why? . .
One of the Malay speaking passengers said that while we were stopped some miles back to fill our petrol and water cans, the man serving had said to him "Why you not go north Tuan?鈥� He didn鈥檛 say why he terminated the chat without pursuing the reason for the question. We were not to be kept waiting for long for as we rolled down a steep hill we could see a lone car coming down the opposite slope. By the time that we reached the bottom of the hill it was stationary and a Chinese lady was beckoning us to stop.
As our driver leaned out through his window she said, "You must turn round and go back, the Japanese captured Palembang on Saturday".
As this information was relayed down the bus the atmosphere in it became electric and there was silence for quite a few seconds as though the occupants were having difficulty in believing what they had just heard. By the time that our driver had explained where we had come from and why we were speeding towards Palembang, passengers from the front of the bus had alighted; those from the rear had crowded forward so as not to miss a word.
Although shaking her head as though not agreeing with what had just been said, she did supply a slightly encouraging alternative. It would be very dangerous, but if we could get to Lubic Lengau little north of Palembang, -by turning west there was a railway station there where trains called after leaving Palembang on their way to Oosthaven. She said that the road we were on was the only road in and out of I Palembang. It would be dangerous for us to carry on. "You should turn round and follow me to Padang where I will catch a ship".
The lady was duly thanked for bothering to stop and warn us and her concern for our safety, and in return it was pointed out to her that she could bump into the Japanese who may have landed in the north and already be at Padang.
She looked a very aristocratic lady, ageless features that could have just left Shangri-La. Departing, she said, "The Japanese killed my parents in Tiensin, if they see a Chinese lady, they will not be very kind". As her car disappeared northward, Sandy, who had been the last to get down from the bus, said "Hey. did ya no see that bloody great banger she had on her front seat?" . Apparently her travelling companion had been an army type revolver.
鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌︹赌�.

We now had a problem: those of the party who had been speculating on such things as trains with first and second class compartments possibly with toilets were jolted back into harsh reality. Blame for our predicament was freely apportioned. Those who had been quite content not to stop at Djambi now complained we would have known the situation 50 miles back had we done so. Standing outside the bus in the baking heat arguing which way to go was an incongruous situation. Some gave up and sat down in what ever shade they could find as the pros and cons continued.
My mind was in turmoil. Going back seemed no better than going forward and the recurring pain in my middle as a result of that blow I received on the "Pinna" was voting not go anywhere.
If the Japanese track record were anything to go by, then once established in the Palembang area with all its available facilities they would not lose any time in expanding and occupying available ports and railheads. Somebody reasoned the Japs were not magicians. The initial spearhead invasion would need backup support and most of all, transport. At the moment it was more than likely that they were consolidating their positions around the reason they were there - to ensure oil and airfield facilities for their further expansions.
Mossie was in favour of setting off for Lubic Lengau and not wasting any more valuable time. He emphasised his point by kicking a stone a dozen yards. That stopped a lot of chatter "I think we ought to take a chance and set off for Lubic NOW. What the hell have we to lose?"
So finally there was a general agreement - what had we to lose. Mossie had ignored a small voice from someone, "perhaps the Japanese are already on the way to Lubic" as we all headed For the bus. Climbing into it - another step into the unknown- the
heat was almost unbearable until we started to move. I started to count the days since leaving Keppel. Saturday in Pekam Baru was February 14th. Today was the 16th; the Japanese had been in Palembang area for two days. (I learned later that the Japanese had dropped a large force of paratroopers on the 14th and by the 15th they had completely occupied Palembang the oil installations at Pladjoe and the RAF airfield.)

For the next 25 miles or so we were driving along the only road into, and out of, Palembang. According to the Malay driver who had now taken over his driving role again, there would be a right turn road junction, probably at Kluang or Betoeong, he wasn't sure, and this would lead us to Sekaju where we could get more petrol, and then continue on to Lubic Lengau. After the turn off we would then be going west and away from Palembang.
As our ageing and uncomfortable bus ate up the miles and every mile was taking us nearer and nearer to Palembang it was very depressing in fact, down right worrying, for the road that had had the occasional vehicle or pedestrians loaded with bundles going northward, was now empty.
The atmosphere in the bus was silently loaded with apprehension. This apprehension was one kind when we were going pell-mell south and away from possible danger behind us but another kind now that we were speeding towards it.
One could almost hear the intake of breath as we rounded each sharp bend, then the sighing out as the road was seen to be clear ahead. The deserted road had that eerie feeling like walking through a graveyard or a haunted house at night.
One of the last vehicles we had seen was an RAF one loaded with personnel and we wondered where they were going without so much as stopping or waving. What extra did they know that we didn't? Just before they passed us, we were advised by some passing pedestrians, that if we were going to Lubic then we should hurry, for pontoons and bridges were being wrecked to impede Japanese movements.
I began to have the nasty little worry...Perhaps that luck that we had enjoyed so far was about to run out? . . Had we been given all the signs and not heeded them? .. Perhaps we should have gone straight to Padang from Pekam after we had abandoned the boats? .. Perhaps there had not been any Japanese landings in the north. Oh well, it was too late to conjecture now. All would be revealed one way or another.
At last we reached the turn-off road junction and headed west, and then for the next few hours, having left the road that went to Palembang, we breathed more freely. Except for several rivers that had to be crossed and the men in charge of the pontoons who so leisurely pushed us across, the journey was uneventful- well that is, ignoring the heat and the reckless pace of our driver as he sped towards Lubic.
We stopped at Sekaju and bought petrol patronised the Sumatrian version of a loo dined and generally relaxed in of the shade after the mid-afternoon heat. Once again, tension had diminished and there were further chats as to the facilities expected on the train at Lubic Lengua, and if they ran overnight. The children who gathered around us couldn鈥檛 have been more entertained at our presence had we been a travelling circus!
鈥︹赌︹��

We were not very far from Lubic- probably 50 miles. We had been driving into the sun which was now descending down into the western sky ahead (this time it was in the right place) and enjoying at last the coolness of the late afternoon. The terrain which had been flat was now undulating and broken up by rugged areas as it stretched itself ahead into the start of the southern end of the Barison mountain range, when suddenly...Brrr brrr bang!
Our vehicle screeched to a stop as our driver stamped his foot on the brake pedal, and another vehicle which seemed to have joined us from nowhere, hit our rear with a metal bending ker-rump. Just visible ahead around the bend that we were negotiating, matching the dappled light and shade as the last of the sun's rays shone through the trees, was a single figure dressed in camouflage complete with the automatic weapon that had caused the noise.
Then, almost simultaneously from the grassy banks on either side of us, there poured 20 or 30 or so similarly dressed figures, all armed to the teeth. From the crashes on the side of the bus, it was obvious that we were expected to get out - which we did, quickly. By the time that a second single figure had arrived who had approached very leisurely down the road, we were all lined up hands high in the air looking down the barrels of too many automatic weapons.
A film hero may look very heroic and lantern jawed under such circumstances, but in reality would probably have felt stupid, I did. But that doesn't mean that I didn't feel scared too. Hell's bloody bells, I did, right up to my back teeth!
With the arrival of what turned out to be a Dutch army officer, all was revealed. He was in charge of a platoon of local military who had become a guerrilla group since they had left Palembang upon the arrival of the Japanese. He had given orders to his men to stop and examine every vehicle that came from the direction of Palembang. We just experienced them doing that very thing to the letter. The officer was very apologetic in delightful English.
From him we learned that trains had been running from Lubic station up to the previous day, but he was dubious about connections with the ferry at Oostaven. There had been a Japanese task force of naval vessels through the Sunda Strait and they had been operating in the region of Banka.
He went on to say that he had just received (I wondered how?) information to the effect that many people escaping from Singapore had been killed south of Rhio and Lingga islands, and that many small boats had been blown to pieces by gunfire and bombs. "How very fortunate for you that you chose this route instead of the sea route to Java" he said.
He saluted and wished us a safe journey then joined his soldiers who disappeared into the trees as magically as they had arrived. It was many years before I learned more of the awful truth of what he had said.
It seems as though from that moment a curtain of secrecy came down over the sad plight of the citizens of Singapore. Men women children and army personnel found themselves trapped between an enemy occupied island behind, them and an ocean in front over which the enemy had complete control.
In contrast there had not been any secrecy concerning the wonderful evacuations of our armed forces and civilians from Dunkirk twenty months earlier. The English shores were forty miles away with sea and air protection and organised welcome.
Alas, from Singapore to temporary safety was five hundred miles away with constant air attacks. Many died in the sea and on uninhabited islands from wounds, starvation or caught and murdered by the Japanese. Many found help and transport on the Sumatran Island only to be caught later and interned.
The sad story of the fall of Singapore, the plight of the people and the thousands of troops who were interned has now been well documented and readily available.
We all climbed back into the bus, feeling better than when we climbed down from it and set off. The party of four, probably local people out of the car behind us, we left standing on the roadside by their car. We waved, but it seemed that they had not yet got over the shock sufficiently to lift an arm in reply. Three hours later we rolled into Lubic in the evening darkness to learn that the last train to the coast had left at noon that day, and now, the railhead was closed and deserted.
Chapter 21
BENKULEN THE BOTTLE NECK

I did not record, nor do I remember now, anything about that evening in Lubic Lengau. Most certainly there must have been quite a lot of worried talk, for this predicament was a new one. Hitherto we had moved from one situation to hopefully a better one. This one was different. At that moment there was nowhere else we could go, and further more, we could not go back even if we decided to do so.
Where most of the party went to in that mini mini-town, besides the ones that stayed with me in the bus, I don鈥檛 know. Despite the grim situation, it didn't cause me a sleepless night - not because I wasn't worried, but I think I was becoming adjusted to "first the good news then the bad news". I offered my whisky to whoever it was who was next to me, but he refused it. Taking a liberal dose myself to keep off the mosquitoes again, the very next thing was,
"Wake up you lot, we are going to Benkulen.."
The voice and its cheerful intonation were backed up by Mossie's wide grin always guaranteed to chase away the blues. At that moment I hadn't a clue where Benkulen was, and I wasn't the only one, for a waking-up voice said,
"Where the hell is that?"
It was revealed later, that Mossie and two others had been to see the Resident the night before and had been told of this small port on the west coast about 85 miles away on the other side of the mountain range. Although the resident had mentioned Benkulen's existence, and yes, it was possible for our vehicle to get there, he said he would not advise it, and was very pessimistic about any ship calling at the tiny port. In addition, since the para-troop landings on February 14th, he had now heard that a large Japanese force had sailed up the Husi River and had arrived at Palembang. He also said that he did not expect it would be very long before their vehicles arrived in Lubic. Consequently it would be declared an open town. Enlarging on the brief notes I made later, the Resident's gloomy opinion was that he expected the Japanese in Lubic because of its railway station, probably in two or three days, then probably Benkulen because of its port facilities.
After listening to Mossie's description of our experiences, our escape from Singapore and subsequent journey that had brought us to Lubic, the Resident was surprised that we had not taken the shorter route to Padang initially. It was the only port with shipping facilities now available. There was nothing at Benkulen. We should go north immediately by taking the narrow road north out of Lubic and join the main road near Djambi. One of the party voiced the query as to possibility of bridges and pontoons being destroyed that would prevent us from doing so. I don鈥檛 know what the answer was to that query, but later events did prove it to be a valid one.
After everyone had been rounded up, the situation was discussed at length and decided upon, on the lines that, nobody was in favour of a wearying and uncomfortable 400 miles journey to Padang - a matter of driving north towards the very hazard that we had just been moving pell mell away from. If we were lucky enough not to encounter the problems of destroyed bridges and pontoons, what did Padang have to offer was it a tiny port? nobody knew and neither could they know what the situation would be like in two or three days time. Since we were not going north, and we couldn't go south, and in view of the Resident's remark, we couldn't stay in Lubic, then it just had to be Benkulen, which substantiated Mossie's early morning remark. At least, going west we would be gaining time.... and there was hope.
---

We eventually set off at 9am that morning. It was the 17th February. We had been itching to get moving much earlier, but there had been a problem with one of the wheels and then some time was wasted finding the man who operated the petrol pump. It was hard to believe, that only five days ago, less a few hours, we been waiting at wharf 50 wondering who would come first, the Japanese or our passengers.
The journey to Benkulen was to have been 85 miles if we could have gone straight there but by the time we had climbed through a considerable part of the 6000 feet high Barison mountain range of steep inclines, hairpin bends, and varied surfaces it seemed much more. It was a long laborious haul and the bus whined miserably and boiled away gallons of water. It was fortunate that we had plenty of spare cans and plenty of water in the form of rivers and waterfalls
It must have been a very scenic trip, but I did not record any detail. I do remember, that just as I was beginning to think that we would never see the end of all those bends, there ahead, for a few brief moments 20 miles away, was the line of the Indian ocean sparkling in the late afternoon sun. Then later, as we freewheeled down the mountain side for the next few miles, Benkulen could be seen occasionally, a tiny cluster of dwellings nestling on the coastline.
It was a very emotional moment, as the small town became recognisable as such, far below. Instead of being a last ditch, it was as though we had set off from Pekam Baru, 500 miles ago to get there, and that we were arriving at our holiday destination. I turned to speak to the chap next to me, but changed my mind. He was gazing into the distance and his eyes were moist with emotion. I could have joined him for I did have a sort of tightness in my chest, but real emotion on my part had already been frozen up inside me on that other evening in that bombed wrecked bow of the "Pinna".
We rolled into Benkulen in the dimming light of the late afternoon. The setting sun was falling visibly, leaving behind an orange and purple sky. Under different circumstances the situation would have looked enchanting in the tinted half light, a variety of buildings stretching out from the town square and a tiny Old World wharf. There were the remains of a Marlborough fort, a relic of Admiral, Lord or whatever he was when he visited the area and occupied it in the name of Britain in the 1800's. The secretary of the town Resident-cum-mayor lived in a house, or more accurately, a re-built dwelling on the site of the Marlborough temporary home. I didn't glean that information until later for there was an obelisk and plaque near the wharf, informing posterity of Marlborough's arrival and claim. However, if I had, I do not think I would have been interested, for what was decidedly more interesting and urgent, was how do we "keep moving" having arrived in this bottleneck mini-town?
When our party representatives presented themselves to the Resident, he said that the Singapore party was not the only one to arrive in Benkulen as escapees. A party of Dutchmen from the Palembang oil installation at Pladjoe had arrived the day before, having escaped when the Japanese over-ran the area. Once again, there was the same advice that the party should "go north to Padang". That advice was getting to be quite a gramophone record.
It was the wrong time for him to tell us that, even if we had never heard of the suggestion before. We were travel-weary, disconsolate and in need of a wash and food. Despite his argument of the unlikelyhood of any ship calling at this tiny port, here we were, and here we were going to stay.....well, one way or another.
The Resident was quite helpful, and caring for the predicament in which we now found ourselves after the experiences so far. He found accommodation for us at a sort of hotel called the "Oranji", and that night we fed sumptuously, actually sitting down at a table. Then later the delightful extra comfort was a bath and hot water too. After the discomforts of the journey, even the mattress on the floor later was a luxury.
We ex-"Pinna" band and Mossie had a long chat before retiring for the night, essentially, I think, to convince ourselves now that we were feeling better, that the decision we had made was the right one, not withstanding that it was still a worrying one. We reasoned in the end that it just had to be the right one. With all that sea out there, we didn't have to be trapped, and anyway, what about all those likely blown up bridges? Tomorrow would be February 19th.The Japs had dropped in on Palembang on the 14th and that evening we had confirming news that troops and transport had arrived there. We didn't think - remembering the Resident's remarks at Lubic - that we had any more than two or three days, perhaps four, before there could be unwelcome arrivals following our wheel marks down that mountain road. We took those thoughts to bed with us...
It was after doing so that a few hours later there was quite a to-do going on outside in the town. Loud explosions and all sorts of movements, sounds of vehicles and shouting. My immediate waking thought was "Oh no, not so soon" which was matched by various waking remarks around the room. Tension soon subsided as we learned that there was no panic just a scorched earth policy being put into practice, and the commotion outside was the sounds of it taking place.
Later the oil storage tanks were set on fire, and there was an exodus of cars from the town and those left behind were broken up in the town square. I have wondered since, where were the drivers and passengers going to that could be better and safer than Benkulen in the long term? At the time I wondered what urgent news had been received that had triggered off the activities. How bad was it, and where did it come from?
A few of us did a recce鈥� in the morning light and a smoke laden atmosphere. The ravages of last night鈥檚 activities were all around. The smashed vehicles in the square were certainly of no use to anybody now. We looked for our bus, but there was no sign of it anywhere. Although the town was very much at a standstill, I did manage to do what I had set out for which was to buy clothes, and not just curiosity. I returned looking quite respectable, plus a topee. I was glad to get out of the rather dirty boiler suit that I had been wearing since Bukom.
Later that morning, Sandy and John Wood returned from where they had been doing their recce鈥檌ng on the beach. They had seen on the deserted shoreline, a native wooden prauw not dissimilar to a Chinese junk boat. It was listing and stuck on a sandbank, just a hundred yards or so from the beach. Noel, whose tubby six-foot frame never hurried teasingly tapped me on the head and said "Come along sonny, I'll take you to the seaside", and he was nearly out of sight before I could join him. By the time the others arrived, I was already at sea in the balloon pictures over my head. The state of the prauw, which we called 鈥楶row鈥� was very off-putting but the longer I gazed at it. - with more balloon pictures of hotfooted Japanese coming down that mountain road. -the more a God-given escape vehicle the prauw became.
It was quite a large vessel, probably 30-feet long, heavily constructed with a deep hull of stout timbers, but alas, apart from being badly holed below deck, its hold was full of sea-soaked bags of tapioca. A measure of its condition, listing on a sandbank and partly submerged, was Mossie's lack of enthusiasm, back up by several others of the group who were eyeing the wreck. Eventually with everyone presumably succumbing to the same picture thoughts that I had, there was general agreement. The prauw was repairable.
Two or three of the group lost no time in seeking out the Malayan harbourmaster, who, in turn, referred them to the Resident. The upshot was, permission was given to commandeer and the operation to be treated as salvage.
Meanwhile the Dutch party referred to by the Resident upon our arrival had gone across to the "Oranji鈥� to find us, and by the time that everyone had arrived there, the following enlightening information had been gleaned. Seeing the prauw upon their arrival, the Dutchmen had started negotiations with the owner of the prauw with a view to sailing with him, or acquiring the vessel by means of barter with their car topped up with cash notwithstanding that none of them had any sailing experience. Unfortunately, before a transaction could be completed, the over-enthusiastic Mayor and plus willing helpers, had included the prauw in their scorched earth activities. It had been scuttled and now lay on the sandbank with its useless cargo that had been on its way to Java, and its owner evacuated in last night's exodus.
With the return of the three who had brought back the approval of the Resident and the remainder of the party who had now all seen the prauw the situation was discussed by all present. One of the company spoke up saying that since there was nothing else to be enthusiastic about, then the prauw was the next best thing. He said, 鈥淚n fact at this moment, it was the only thing - having rejected the journey back to Padang. Anyway, even if we could get transport, there wasn't any petrol now. What did everybody think鈥� well, we agreed.
Since somebody had to be in charge, not only for the tough task ahead but also the voyage afterwards; who better than a sailor? So it was put to Mossie...would he accept? So Mossie was out of the ranks, and back with four rings again...Having accepted leadership, he made no bones about the problems ahead, it was not going to be a picnic. We had a difficult task in which everyone must be involved; not withstanding that in the end the project could be abortive. . .
Enlarging on the notes I made at the time, he said that if we were successful in making the prauw seaworthy, then after that, the voyage itself must be considered carefully by all before accepting it. Survival would be primitive, particularly as we were a mixed company. The tip of Java was about 400 miles away although we could actually sail 500 before getting there. We could be a week at sea, possibly more depending upon the wind, or rather the lack of it - which was the reason for the prauw being here in the first place.
There were more pros than cons. First on the list, pro-wise, we would be escaping from our present trapped position in Benkulen and we may meet up with another ship out at sea soon. On the other hand, the first ship sighted could be a Japanese one, when our chances of survival could be worse than staying where we were. There could be food and water problems - the latter aggravated by the intense heat. With no compass to be found either on the prauw or in the town navigation would be precarious to say the least...and so Mossie went on. However, if he was trying to talk everyone out of the venture, he didn't succeed.
So, we set to work on a plan that was worked out for the task of emptying, re-floating and repairing the prow. I was thankful, upon waking that morning, that I was feeling better. During our activities in Singapore and Bukom, and throughout our wild bus drive down Sumatra, I had been in a lot of trouble with my "Pinna tummy". After the discomfort I had experienced on and after leaving the "Pinna", and after the first couple of days at the Mission, I had greatly improved despite all the hard work on the small craft up to and leaving Singapore. No doubt the graveness of our situation promoted a mind-over-matter endurance. Whatever the problem was, I couldn't have improved it. As I had watched the terrain of Sumatra go by during that long bumpy ride, I had experienced so much discomfort that I began to worry that I may be getting worse, and that I may not "make it" without treatment, but from where? So, after waking and feeling quite fit, the good news of the prauw had chased off a lot of the blues and I was as anxious now to get stuck into the job, as were the others.
To be able to DO something, whether or not it was likely to turn out for the best was exhilarating.
By nightfall I don鈥檛 think anybody was the tiniest bit exhilarated. That was lost, dead and buried in fatigue. It had been such hard work removing the 1cwt sacks of tapioca (now plus the weight of the water) out of the cargo hold and sloshing about in ankle deep, to waist deep in water. One half of the body experiencing tepid cool water and the other half scorched by the sun. (Benkulen is just below the equator)
It was so hot and smelly inside the hold that it was impossible to work there for more than five minutes at a time. So it had been arranged that tasks be separated by rota so that helpers lifting up, pushing out, dragging, emptying or resting in turns be done with maximum efficiency to avoid anyone flopping out from exhaustion. I found that particularly beneficial since it gave me the chance to take a bit of time off without appearing to be dodging the column so to speak. Since I didn't know what was wrong inside me it was hard to decide whether activity should be avoided particularly as the pain could develop when I was at rest!
鈥︹赌︹�︹赌�

Sometime we learned later during the afternoon we had visitors; a party of Dutch soldiers arrived (actually we learned later they were Marines who had escaped from Palembang after losing their ship), and like us, they were seeking an escape facility. It was explained to one of the three officers, replying to their query, how we had arrived, what we were doing and intended doing if we managed to make the prauw seaworthy. The officer asked if they could come with us if we were successful. Courtesy now demanded that the question be put to Mossie - now Captain Moss! He of course agreed, but when the officer said that their party included 25 more men, he retracted saying that we already had too many passengers and crew. I did not record all that transpired, but it was on the lines that, what was important, was that even if all the marines could be squashed in, military personnel on board would make subterfuge and survival impossible should we be sighted by the Japanese. The officer suggested that just the three of them might come, to which Mossie agreed, provided that they were suitably dressed. Replying to the question, Mossie said that we hoped to sail the next day, but more likely the following one.
Throughout the rest of the day, a bevy of marine soldiers stationed themselves near the jetty with a mounted machine gun and slung automatic weapons. It seemed as though someone was making sure that we did not sail prematurely, although a voice said calming troubled waters - "Perhaps they have been put there to protect us. Just before dusk, they departed. Also that afternoon there was the roar of an aircraft. It flew over us and our first reaction was duck, hide or run for cover, but then, almost immediately the aircraft was seen to be a Netherlands flying boat, a Sunderland. There wasn't any wing wagging, circling, or waving to show that we had been seen. It just disappeared to the Southeast.
By the late afternoon we had the prauw looking quite shipshape, but we had to get a move on. Not because of circumstances, important though they were, but because the high tide was just round about sunset, probably 5pm. It was our only chance to float the prauw without waiting another day on the sandbank. During the exertions of the afternoon, there was the lighter side. A lot of the townsfolk had been sitting on the beach and jetty and watching us with great interest - in fact, amusement....tuans working! The children were having a whale of a time. It seemed as though half of the town had turned out, just to see the tuans working, and in all that heat too!
Nevertheless, the best moment was yet to come. Our procedure for getting rid of the tapioca, after a sack had been man-handled from below deck, was to drag it along the deck to a convenient position, then, with it half-over the gunwales, slit the bag to let the contents cascade into the sea. As the tide began to rise, one of the resting 'tuans' decided to paddle-cum-wade round the prauw from stem to stern just at the right moment to receive a hundredweight of wet tapioca all over him. The result on the beach was absolutely electric. If there had been any aisles our spectators would most surely have rolled in them. The chaps who had slit the bag enjoyed it too. As somebody said later, that incident would be remembered long after the Japanese invasion had been forgotten. (That "somebody" must have known that the Japanese would be defeated)
As the tide started to rise in the late afternoon, the prauw was showing signs of floating....then, no signs of floating. We hauled on ropes and levered with poles to no effect until it was discovered that holes which had been above the water when the prauw had been listing, were now below it and letting in the sea.
While we were working hard to lever the prauw, there came frantic shouts from the beach. It was a Dutchman, absolutely beside himself, and waving franticly. Where he had come from, we had no idea and he certainly was not one from our Dutch. Then suddenly he was shouting, and stumbling over his words that he had a wife and children in Java, and for pity's sake, would we him with us. Thinking that we were actually going, he came splashing through the water between the beach and the sandbank.
Although he was told that we were not leaving and had yet to float the boat he didn't catch on. His ears must have received the message but it seemed his brain could not interpret.
He became more frantic when we renewed our efforts with the poles and thinking we were pushing off and about to leave he began pleading again in a most desperate way to let him come aboard. So we let him. He sat down looking as though he was about to have a heart attack. He could speak English but it seemed that although he could hear he could not understand a word that was said even when addressed by a Dutchman who went and sat beside him. I wondered what could have happened to him before arriving in Benkulen that had left him in that zombie state.
At 4pm. picking up their guns, the soldiers departed. By 6.15 the prauw was afloat and it was now dark and by 7.15 we had her alongside the primitive little jetty. She looked good as though having sailed in and tied up and was waiting for her master to return. That was the rather poetic observation I made at the time.
We all trooped back to the 鈥淥ranji鈥�. leaving behind two volunteer guards on watch. not only over our handiwork, but also on the "flying Dutchman" for that is what we had called our somewhat disoriented guest who refused to move from his original position on top of a hatch.
It is interesting to reflect on life and circumstances and the way things affect one and why. I dropped into my bed on the floor that night absolutely weary. All I could think of beforehand while consuming the evening meal which was sparse and worse than the previous night was getting there and sinking into oblivion. But I could not. The oblivion from which one wakes up refreshed and unaware of the passage of time would not come. Our "Flying Dutchmen" would not keep away with my thoughts. He invaded what would have been my oblivious ones which then resulted in dreams that were just partly dreams and partly waking thoughts. These led me on to fantasising ones what might have been his experiences prior to boarding the prauw.... then complete wakefulness.
It was 5 am. I went outside and stood on the veranda and looked across the mini-town with its drifting smoke. It was quiet and not even the sound of the distant waves. I wanted to enjoy the cool peacefulness of the morning, but that restless night was still hanging around me like heavy cloak.
Later, as the sky lightened with the advent of dawn, I walked down to the beach. Our two watchers were sleepily sitting on the jetty with their charge still safely floating, tied up behind them. On it, silhouetted against the sky, the cause of my restless night of dreams, was still sitting bolt upright in the stern, as though he had never moved since the afternoon before.
Later still that morning, Mossie called a meeting in his capacity as leader. He wanted to make sure that everyone was fully aware, without any illusion, as to the hardships and possible dangers to be endured during our projected journey - particularly the heat and complete lack of any individual privacy, and so on. After much discourse, he concluded with, "We will not have a single life jacket on board". Every one was prepared to take the risk, but later, just before sailing time, six of the Tuans who had given us as much support as they could declined the voyage, leaving now a full compliment of passengers and crew of 35.
After the business had been settled, we discussed strategy should we be sighted by the enemy, and how we should dress in order to look as indigenous as possible well from a distance.
Sailing time was fixed for as soon as we could get a load of food and water aboard and attend to the rigging. Before we broke up for the night, and how it was promoted I don鈥檛 know, but a small service was held, and one of the party was invited to read a passage from the hotel bible. Unbelievable though it may seem although it was opened at random, the passage selected included the words ..." and the dangers that encompass us and deliver us from our enemies".
The next morning, February 19th, acquired food stores were loaded aboard. Some of the drier sacks of tapioca had been left on board as ballast and to provide stowage and a sitting area around the keel shape of the hull. Somebody had discovered dozens of one gallon and half gallon earthenware jars in the town and these were washed, filled with water and stowed away. By the time that all had participated in these chores which included the many visits in and out of the town, in particular, filling and lugging the heavy water jars, we were all very hot and tired, so it didn't help a bit to have the marines back with their mounted artillery, watching us to-ing and fro-ing like spectators at the tennis match.
We had finished our work by the late afternoon, and just as the crew were familiarising themselves with the sail and rigging the marines stood up, weapons at the ready as their officer came down to the jetty, followed by the Resident. Gone was the officer's hitherto friendly approach, for after eyeing us all for five or six seconds, he demanded to know who was in charge. Obviously he had a memory problem for Mossie was standing right in front of him. Matching the situation Mossie said "I am Captain Moss, what is the problem?" "I want everyone off this vessel; it is now commandeered in the name of the Dutch Navy. (He may have said Netherlands Navy I can鈥檛 remember) If you are not prepared to accept the order it will be taken by force鈥�.鈥�
The last bit was quite a laugh, if the situation could be called laughable. How could we resist with such a one sided share out of weapons? .. Mossie said later, that for the first two or three seconds, he was prepared to laugh - thinking it was a joke because we had been laughing and joking a few minutes previously and was slow in taking the smile off his face. Then the situation hit him like a brick, and quoting his actual words, "I was absolutely speechless; how could those men have been so bloody rotten as to sit around like they did, watching us work so hard and then pinch our labours and our only means of escape..... "
As we started to evacuate, the final message was, "Everything must remain on board. Just leave with your personal possessions"(actually he said "lessons" and then corrected himself), so we did. I wrote later,
".....it had been very oppressive and dull all afternoon and the sky to the east and over the mountain range, had been getting increasingly black with clouds. Now, behind us, a dull red sun was dipping towards the sea, and, over the town, black smoke was spreading - the results of renewed demolitions. It seemed as though the whole aspect had been especially synchronised to be in keeping with our feelings. Nobody wanted to see the prauw sail away.... 'red sails in the sunset' ...At the 'Oranji' it was too late for tea and too early for the evening meal, so we just flopped down in the dining room-cum lounge. George walked over to the ancient wind-up gramophone in the corner and set it going - after he had sorted his way through a pile of '78's. It was Richard Tauber singing My Little Grey Home in the West' .I could have murdered him...."
I suppose that if I say "I" it no doubt refers to "we". I felt utterly miserable and weary. When in decent physical condition, it is easier to take the knocks that fate has to hand out, but being in the state that we were, that afternoon's experience was hard to swallow. There was very little chat. Unless that miracle KLM Company boat turned up (there had been - probably wishful thinking - rumours) we had just lost our means of escape. Nearly an hour later, Mossie turned up. It was his face round the door that we saw first, with "guess what?", then walking in everybody upright.
"Well, there is some good news" we all remained sitting like ramrods. "Yes" he said. "I watched her sail out; she looked fine, she went straight out and then tacked south. Our Dutchman got away. He went splashing out into the water shouting his head off and the soldiers hauled him on board. As Mossie walked in and then rested on the back of the chair, he continued,
"She really looked fine. We did a good job". Straightening up he offered a smile and secretive wink to all, and left.
Eventually the gathering broke up, some disappeared, and some went to the tiny bar although they were not likely to get much there for we had been told that morning that it would be emptied in anticipation of a Japanese arrival.
Later as the lounge emptied, we "crew'. went upstairs where we found Mossie in a small room. As we entered he spoke first, obviously to scotch any gloom, along the lines that he had just been thinking how lucky we had been having travelled so far without any scratches and nobody missing. That started us recalling the many occasions when luck or was it providence was on our side, in particular that we had taken the northern route from Kepel. Somebody said
"If we had hit that minefield we could have been enjoying heaven now". which went down rather flat, and somebody else wondered where had the army officer on the road to Lubic obtained his information about the Japanese attacks on the ships that had taken the southern route from Singapore. Thinking that perhaps the chat might go in the direction of our present plight, I went down and collected my last bottle of whisky, as I returned, Mossie said "snap", he had already put one down on the table. After few light hearted jibes about being secret drinkers and hiding our booze, etc., someone said, "lets have a party", so we did.
Later when it was appropriate, I asked Mossie "what was all that smiling about when you came in downstairs?"
"Me?" he said, "smiling?
.. "I wasn't smiling I was breaking my bloody heart, that's what鈥�
Later, after dinner which was more like a snack, for supplies in the "Oranji" were running low (or perhaps they were being reserved for an uncertain future) Mossie said he had an appointment with the Resident and left us.
When he returned he told us what had transpired. Apparently the three Dutch marines officers had not been very happy about sailing away with us and leaving the men behind, and less so, trying to take everybody. They had consulted the Resident and he gave them the same advice as he gave to us upon our arrival - to go north to Padang. While the officers made up their minds, they had put the armed guard on the jetty, as we know. Then later in the afternoon they decided to take the Resident's advice, so collecting their men they set off north for Padang in their vehicles - and that was when we saw the men depart with their armament. Half way through the night they were stopped by a demolished bridge. They then made a wide detour only to find a pontoon ferry also demolished, so they had no alternative but to return to Benkulen. Therefore, presumably while the officers caught up with some sleep, the beach party was back in position where we saw them that morning.
At that point we tossed the situation amongst ourselves with a certain amount of satisfaction because what had happened to the marines is what would have happened to us had we followed the Resident's advice and set off north.
Mossie went on. When they returned that morning, having had to leave one vehicle behind because they had used up all their spare fuel, they reported back to the Resident and then departed. Mossie had asked him why it was that from morning until late afternoon, we were allowed to work so hard without any assistance from the men who had already decided that they were going to take the prauw. The reply was that the officer in charge returned to him only at 4pm with the information that he was going to commandeer the prauw legally in the name of the Netherlands Navy, and that the Navy had priority over any civilian evacuation.
I had another disturbing night, not from things that went bump in it or demolition activities, but from the problem that was lurking in my middle. For, whatever it was that was lurking in there, it had not liked the day's exertions and now in my relaxed state it was protesting now that the anaesthetising effect of the party had worn off. I lay awake listening to the deep breathing of my room mates, and in particular, Sandy, who intrepid he might have been few days ago at Benkalis had made a bit of a nuisance of himself after two or three whiskies. I wished that I could have been asleep also and oblivious to our trapped situation.
Outside the "Oranji", what had been demolition the night before was now the noise of the thunderstorm that had been working itself up to a big one since the late afternoon. I wondered how the commandeerers of the prauw were getting on.
鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌�..

In the morning light, we ex "Pinna" band and Mossie assembled in his room again. Firstly from choice, but secondly from the situation that had arisen, that somehow, we "common sailors鈥� were not compatible with tuans and pukka sahibs - unless it was that our passengers were all friends together and we were strangers. Putting it to Mossie as to why there seemed to be two camps, he said that its a pity we couldn't be just leaving wharf 50 that way we would soon have known who wanted to be in which camp.
We talked. Whether we now wanted to or not, we couldn't go to Padang, or anywhere for that matter for there was no petrol in the town. Even if there had been, we did not have a bus to put it in and what was more we would never get passed the demolished bridges.
That was not the only depressing situation. If we were to believe local news which common sense suggested that we should a Japanese advance party had arrived in Lahat a few miles to the east of Benkulen two days ago, and also later in Pagaralen. We really had to start thinking fast. There just had to be something we could do if we were to avoid internment - or worse.
There was another problem, food. All our stocks of food except for a small amount had gone off with the prauw and now the "Oranji" was not going to guarantee being able to feed us any more after that day. There was only one answer to that.... to go. There was still only one way to go and that was out to sea. But how? . .
So while we placed our dwindling hopes on the possibility of that -wishful thinking? - KLM boat arriving, it was decided that we would search the beaches for anything that would float. (As sailors, it would seem that it was thought that any thing that would float was far better than being on land, !) Well, we did and came up with four small two-man catamarans which looked as though they may have been abandoned - they were in a rather sad state so we decided that we would acquire them. Upon closer inspection it was found that one was beyond repair, but the other three could be made seaworthy.
Looking back now, the idea of going out to sea in them with the hope of intercepting one of those ships that had been just smoke on the horizon, seems a bit mad but it was very real at the time. The idea was that if we were picked up, we would hope to bring back help for the others. We didn't talk about the alternative situation. Those left behind would arrange for three smoke signals in a row to be lit if the Japs were seen heading towards the town."....Mossie had another idea. While work was in progress on the catamarans, he asked if I could make a transmitter I said that obviously, given the right bits and pieces, I could, thanks to my hitherto impecunious radio-ham days.
Meanwhile, while we had been busy, there had been another development a party of 20 or 30 RAF chaps had arrived. I didn't ask, but I did think that they could have been the ones in the vehicle that had shot past us going north on the day that we learned that Palembang had been overrun. I did overhear that they had arrived in Benkulen from the North
I wasn't around to hear the precise arrangements, but I gathered they would organise two parties; one would go 10 miles back - they held the necessary armament-and hold the mountain pass against any approaching Japanese. If a ship was seen to be approaching, they were to be alerted. Meanwhile the remaining party would police the town against any eventuality. If a ship arrived, then if necessary, they would commandeer it and ensure that everyone got on board
Well, that arrangement savoured of a far better gesture than that of the Dutch marines who were only thinking of themselves. Later, the Resident, Mossie and I went to the now deserted Posts and Telegraphs building, but there wasn't anything there to be had. I suggested we break into a radio/electrical shop but the Resident said 鈥淣o, we are still a democratic country you know" but after consideration he changed his mind and we eventually acquired some radio sets that could be dismantled for components; some chassis-making material. insulating material, wire and essentially, a meter and a soldiering iron. I worked for the rest of the day and all night and by early morning I had a primitive-looking but reasonable little transmitter assembled powered by a couple of receivers power supplies connected in series giving me about 350V. This I felt would provide for enough transmitting power in the HF band with which I was familiar, and with the fixed stations frequencies. I thought, how simple it would be if I could call up a ship on 500kc/s, but not only would that have been unwise, but I wasn't able to receive on 500kc/s anyway since none of the all-wave receivers covered that band. In fact, as the night wore on, or rather the early morning, I was thinking more soberly about the use of the transmitter at all - assuming I could make it work.
When Mossie had the bright idea, don鈥檛 suppose his immediate thoughts, any more than mine, got past the enterprising constructional part of the idea a clutch at a straw. Instead of being soft headed with Boy Scout thoughts, I should have used my intelligence and drawn Mossie's attention to the fact that if he thought all I had to do, having made the equipment, was to call up somebody on MF and say "Please come and pick up civilians and RAF personnel from Benkulen, it could hardly be done without inviting the Japanese Navy, and probably their airforce as well. Even using the HF bands, which I was planning to do, without being able to code a message would also be very risky. In fact, quite mad!
Well, having nearly completed the easy parts of the transmitter amplifying circuit and having 鈥榮uped-up鈥� the I.F. stage of the broadcast receiver so that I could receive and monitor my own Morse signals, I knew that I would need another day to wind an oscillator coil and make it oscillate. That would be the difficult part.
Whether it was because of the dismal thoughts I had been having because of my misguided enthusiasm that had festered during the night hours, or whether it was because it was 5am and I was tired, the effect was the same. I downed tools. Looking back as I closed the workshop door, I felt a bit sad, for really I had been enjoying myself, as though I had been in my shack at home experimenting with enthusiasm when tomorrow would have been another carefree day.
Walking back to the 鈥淥ranji鈥�, the first signs of dawn were creeping into the eastern sky and in the narrow street there was the acrid smell of demolition in the pockets of smoke that hung about.
The previous day and before I had set about my task, Mossie had said that he had heard the rumour circulating again, reputedly originating from the Resident's office, that there was still the chance that the KLM boat might arrive. So, on the strength of that 鈥榮traw鈥�, and while I had pressed on with my project, volunteers had taken it in turns to keep watch throughout the night for any signs of a vessel on the skyline, or approaching, so that the RAF boys could be alerted. Some flares had been found which were to be set off at intervals during the night and into the morning, but in retrospect, I am surprised this action was not considered foolhardy. If there had been a sighting, what nationality might it have been?.. Moreover, if the Japanese had arrived in Mana, what would they have thought about flares in the night sky?
It was on the previous night that Mana, a town somewhere down the coast south of Benkulen, had been mentioned. Noel Green and Sandy had been chatting with the 'Oranji' proprietor. Sandy's opinion was that all those rumours, Pegeralem, Lahat and now Mana. were just rumours and that was all, and "Do they no have any bloody telephones in Sumatra, and if they no av'em, where did the KLM boat rubbish come from?"
It didn't help not to know, one way or the other. Even rumours were comforting and better than no rumours at all.
At 7am, someone was shaking me. He had just come from the beach; smoke had been seen on the horizon. We both chased down to the jetty, and sure enough, there was smoke. Which way was it going? . .. An hour later there was a mast, then half an hour later again, a whole mast and funnel as a ship sailed in our direction. There was no doubt about it.
Before the KLM boat the 鈥淜heong Hwa鈥� dropped anchor off-shore, The RAF had been alerted and had returned from the pass. Somebody paddled out in one of our repaired catamarans, and shortly afterwards, a motor boat was lowered from the "Kheong" and this was used as a ferry twixt ship and shore. Everybody in the town was given the opportunity to be evacuated if they wished, although very few of the remaining town inhabitants that were left after the exodus a couple of nights previously, took advantage of the offer. Neither did the Resident, for I did not see him, or his secretary among the evacuees.
鈥︹赌︹赌︹赌�.

Irony of ironies! After the days of working on the prouw and then the catamarans, and the suspense, wondering if a ship would arrive, then the all-night vigil and the unnecessary work on the transmitter, another vessel steamed in and then anchored next to the "Kheong" . She was the HMS "Pengar", an ex-passenger-cargo boat of about a 1000 tons, now managed by the RNVR. Both vessels sailed out just before noon the naval ship, one might say, acting as escort, although she was not very capable of providing protection if it came to a fight.
As I sat on the deck of the "Kheong" and watched Benkulen slowly disappearing out of sight at the end of our foamy wake, I experienced quite a nostalgic feeling of loss, like losing a friend. The memory of all that worrying and anxious waiting,
fruitless hard work on the prauw and subsequent disappointment was already dimming. Instead, my mind latched on to that warm feeling of relief that I had experienced as the town came into sight on that first evening. It was just like when we freewheeled down the mountain, trouble had been abandoned behind us, and ahead lay hope.
Well, as it turned out hope plus reality had lain ahead. Once more, we need not have worried, for nothing bad had happened. We could have sat back and enjoyed a well earned rest. Done some idle swimming, explored the town and area, and taken advantage of any amenities available. Then, today, walked leisurely down to the beach and boarded our ship! However, if everybody possessed a crystal ball could we still be happy? We would also know when our doors were going to close too!
Later that day, and I am puzzled why it came about that we did not board her in Benkulen, we British civilians were transferred to the "Pengar鈥� and the two ships parted company. The Dutch ship destined for Tjilijap on the south coast of Java, and the 鈥淧engar鈥� to Batavia (now Jakarta) on the North coast.

Chapter 22

ANOTHER WRONG ISLAND

The voyage to Batavia - about 500 miles- from Benkulan was quite uneventful, discounting the food problem. It seemed that we all settled down as though we had joined a pleasure cruise that is assuming that sleeping on the hard deck was acceptable -without any thought that there was still the possibility of attack from the air and sea. I do not recall giving such possibilities any thought, although if I had thought about it, I might have remembered that we were sailing in the same area in which I had heard the "Van Himoff" being attacked by a submarine when were safely tucked away up the river near Palembang.
As we pressed on down the coast of Sumatra, there were smoke plumes and echoing rumblings like distant thunder as demolition activities continued. We never set eyes on the Dutch marines with our prauw. They should, with correct wind, have taken the exact course on which we were now travelling, and being in sight of land, their lack of compass would not have been missed . Adverse winds may have taken them further west.
We did however pick up some more chaps out of two small vessels who had done the very thing that we were intending doing had the "Kheong" and the "Pengar" not turned up when they did. They had put out to sea from the coast south of Benkulan to avoid an anticipated Japanese arrival behind them from Lahat. It was quite a surprise to recognise one of them, from when I was in Palembang/Pladjoe although difficult at first because when I knew him, he was clean shaven. He couldn't walk because of blistered feet, but he was more concerned about his unshaven appearance. The razor from my skin-out back solved Robb's problem.
With a safe arrival in Batavia anticipated in the next few hours, I was looking forward to what Batavia had to offer, but in particular, a convivial and relaxing beer and a large meal. When we first boarded the "Pengar", we fully expected that we mariners would be well received by fellow RNVR officers, who in all probability would have been ex-Merchant Navy chaps. We didn't expect a 鈥済in in the ward room treatment", neither did we expect to be called "Singapore harriers" whom they were not going to feed - well, they would, provided we wash the deck or some other menial task, which might have been peeling spuds, I do not remember. We didn't do either, I think we had had enough of menial tasks to last longer than a meal would do. It didn't matter in the end. The chaps in the galley were more understanding. When the ladies of our company learned what hospitality had been offered to them, and not to the male 鈥減assengers", they refused what was offered and queued "behind the galley door".
I can appreciate that taking on a gaggle of unexpected passengers could have been a drain on their resources which would be needed to be in reserve for a more operational crisis, but we didn't think that the "Singapore harriers" was at all nice. Well, that is putting it nicely now. Actually one of the party was nearly in the act of punching one of the officer', but I didn't record what transpired I wish that I had
We turned the corner into the Sunda strait, passing the island of Krakatoa that I had seen when passing in the "Pinna" and duly arrived in Batavia late on Monday afternoon, Feb.23rd. I don鈥檛 remember where everyone went to for effectively, it was every man for himself. We 鈥淜ulit鈥� crew did stick together, well initially, and we ended up at the "Oud Vasanaar" Hotel, arranged for us by the Oil Company's representative.
We had a very noisy welcome the next morning as a large number of Japanese aircraft came over and attacked the airport. I could see the bombers quite plainly, and it was interesting to note that there did not appear to be any aerial opposition or the sound of any ack-ack fire. I wondered why?
The first thing I did that morning was to go along to the post office and send off the news home of my arrival in Java. I had written home just before the "Pinna" was lost, but as I learned later, by the time that letter was received, Singapore had also been lost, in addition to the "Pinna".
When my parents received the news that my ship had been lost, they received no indication whether or not there had been any survivors. Obviously, it was a very worrying time for them as week after week went by without receiving any more information. It didn't help to have a daughter in the WAAF with the many attacks on airfields, and another son also at sea. (Frank had followed in my footsteps, acquired a war time special PMG certificate and was at sea as a radio officer)
Batavia, which had hitherto enjoyed peace, was now suffering air-raids. With the fall of Singapore, the occupation of Borneo, southern Sumatra, Sarawak, Celebes, and then the island of Bali off the eastern tip of Java the previous week on February 17th, things were looking grave. It was beginning to look as though, once more, we had come to the wrong island
That surmise became a reality. We had hardly had time to get ourselves organised, or receive any instructions or advice concerning our movements, when government orders were issued on February 24th (or 25th?) for the preparation and withdrawal of all the fighting forces from Java!
So much for the emphatic assurance from Mr. Churchill that Java would be held at all costs, and essentially the reason why we had originally chased down Sumatra to get to Oosthaven ferry (Telok Betung) in order to get to Java. I could certainly have done without that "Welcome to Java" news. On the last leg of the voyage from Benkulen, and with Krakatoa disappearing behind us, I was nicely getting myself into a relaxed state for the first time in weeks.
Although I have detailed the encircling successes of the Japanese here at that time with no radio news for a couple of weeks, I had no idea how the local situation was changing.
鈥︹赌︹��

With the prevailing situation in Batavia, it was understandable that we would experience difficulties in obtaining a "get away chit" , for unexpected late arrivals, like us. were not likely to be given any priority. We did, of course, have the oil company batting for us, but even they could not magically produce sailing chits immediately. Unlike our Singapore and Benkulen circumstances. we were not in the position to select our own transport so that WE could keep moving.
The situation that had reasonably been under control, now became abnormal with the news of the latest government edict concerning military withdrawal. It did not now require a crystal ball to deduce that Java was about to surrender at an early date. Hence it was now, every man for himself, and our slogan "keep moving" could be added, "he who travels fast travels alone".
As will be appreciated. we did discuss the matter at length amongst ourselves, because here was a Singapore situation all over again, but this time. with added complications, one being that we did not have a "Kulit鈥� facility, and if we had, there was still a strict Naval Control. Consequently we decided that we would press on individually. While the Oil Company may be having difficulty with a block-booking for evacuation, we as might as individuals just fit into a corner somewhere - even to stowing away. Early next morning, I hitch-hiked my way to Tanjong Priot docks at somewhere around 6.30am, where I also spent some time the next day. I didn't get anywhere. In fact I seemed to spend a lot of time ducking for air-raids and repeated rain squalls before returning to the hotel. It was because of the "prevailing circumstances" referred to earlier in chapter 19 that I never saw Mossie again. .I learned later from one of our "Kulit" evacuees, that Mossie and Noel Green had been successful in getting on board a Blue Funnel line ship which was taking troops back to Australia. That of course was good news, but I was very sad that I did not get the opportunity to say goodbye to them, in particular, Mossie to thank him for his fortitude, skill, and understanding and his ever smiling face that helped us through the many worrying days. Looking back now, I might have done something about it had not circumstances forced upon me more pressing thoughts of self-preservation..
The difficulty of evacuees getting away, was not only because of the prevailing situation in the area, but because of transport. For people to get away, civilians or military, there had to be ships, and where possible, Naval escorts. Therefore it was natural that delays ensued until the right facilities became available - for instance by diverting ships at sea exactly in the same way that the "Pinna" was diverted to evacuate Balikpapan.
Then, just like our previous experience, a door opened. We remaining ex "Kulit" crew (my diary doesn鈥檛 mention Sniffy Wilson I wonder where he went to?) returning to the hotel, having had no success in locating transport that day, were approached and given the opportunity of volunteering to man a vessel that was at anchor in the harbour at Tanjong Priok. (The docks associated with Batavia). It had been abandoned and was destined to be scuttled before any Japanese arrival. Not only was this opportunity providing us with our get-away facility, but our participation would provide one more vessel that was urgently needed to reduce the swelling numbers of would be evacuees.
The next day, after our quick acceptance of the idea, we were at Tanjong Priok docks by 9am. Except for another air raid - although not much of one, that delay our arrival, but as it turned out, it wouldn't have mattered if we had arrived three hours later for we didn't board the "Perak" (Perra) until around mid-day. She was an old Straits Settlements line of about 1000 tons and not unlike the "Pengar" that had brought us from Benkulen.
While we were waiting for assistance to get us on board the "Perak" where she was at anchor awaiting scuttling, we met up with our other shipmate volunteers; Captain Cleaver and two of his deck officers Durran and Dewsbury. Their ship, the "Larut" which I had heard being bombed, while the "Pinna" was in the Palembang river, had been lost. They were lucky in getting out of Singapore on the "Empire Star", and although bombed en route, they arrived safely in Batavia.
For the next three days, my diary tells me, "we worked hard on a variety of jobs through numerous rain squalls in humid heat to get the "Perak" in a seaworthy condition. One of the tasks was finding and slinging only two lifeboats - a poor substitute for the ship's required complement. We were all dog-tired again. This activity of getting ships ready for sea was getting rather regular. John Wood said that we should put six notches in the funnel of this one, and a few other remarks appropriate to the occasion. The additional problem we had on this one was that we were also getting ready for an unknown number of passengers in the limited time that we had before the closure of the port, which was by then imminent.
Unlike our Singapore and Benkulen departures this one was subject to Naval Control. We were escorted out of Tanjong Priok as a three-vessel convoy by a small Naval vessel until we were clear of the north coast of Java and heading for the Sunda strait and the Indian ocean. We set sail with all passengers aboard about mid-day on the 27th of February into a very prolonged rain squall which we didn't object to at all.
We did not have enough life jackets or life boat room, in fact probably only probably 50%, but essentially it was hoped that we had sufficient water and fuel in our bunkers to get across to Ceylon. No doubt those deficiencies could have been avoided had we had more time. Captain Cleaver didn't think we had. Despite the thoughts of the voyage ahead that we had possible Japanese naval or aircraft to contend with, we had to accept those possibilities against the dead certainty that once again, we had the enemy coming up behind us 鈥�."keep moving鈥�
That dead certainty was very real, and had we known at the time, we would have had even more hurried thoughts about our departure. During the last days of February, the Japanese had sunk eight Allied naval ships (cruisers and destroyers)and had made troop landings at Wekan, Eratan and Kragan on the north coast of Java. The main objective being taking Batavia and the docks at Tanjong Priok
It wasn't until later that I learned of our sailing instruction between Captain Cleaver and the Naval Control, hence upon leaving Tanjong Priok I had no idea as to where we were going. At that time, I was only concerned with the fact that we were going to move, which we did. Apparently the instructions were after clearing Sunda, we were to meet up with another vessel that had left Tjilijap (southern Java, and destination of the "Kheong" after leaving Benkulen). But after clearing Java Head there was no sign of it, so the Captain did what was expedient under the circumstances - full speed ahead in order to get away from the coasts of Java and Sumatra as fast as possible. Where the two other ships that left Tanjong Priok with us went to, I don鈥檛 know.
Because of the reported surface craft and submarine activity, and anticipated aircraft reconnoitring out from the now occupied areas, it was with grateful thanks to Providence- that we experienced so many heavy rain squalls and accompanying poor visibility conditions. It was sometime later, when the bright orb of the moon dimmed and then dimmed again to near invisibility before slowly brightening. I really felt that "Somebody" somewhere was still looking after us as they had done since the "Pinna" this time in the shape of an eclipse of the moon, and total too!
Looking back after so many years, I have thought about that moon, and wondered, if in my stressed state, my wishful thinking, albeit subconscious, had been turned it into memory. I therefore contacted Patrick Moore, the astronomer, and the reply I received was " Total eclipse of the moon, March 2nd 1942, I was there". . . Well, I know what I was doing in that area, but I would like to know where he was, and why? I did ask but did not receive a reply.
鈥︹赌︹�︹赌�

The bright moonlit nights with almost perfect visibility, were almost as worrying as the blue sky and dead calm seas in daytime as we left behind us a long trail of filthy black smoke - caused by the chaps down below pushing the old engine to its limit. However, not all the time, for our best speed was only maintained up to being well clear of the coast of Sumatra as we headed Northwest over the Indian Ocean in the direction of Ceylon. After that, the "Perak鈥檚鈥� speed was reduced in daytime to economise on fuel and to reduce our smoke output.
Twice we altered course away from something that was spotted, imaginary or not but whoever was on the bridge at the time altered course just the same, but then a real scare it was not imaginary a periscope less than a mile away!
It was one of those nasty moments that was always expected, while praying silently that it never would happen. On lookout watch on the bridge, I tended not to look at the miles of calm sea in case I saw something - a sort of ostrich syndrome. We had been plodding along at four or five knots with the just occasional puff of black smoke from the funnel while the engineers below carried out some presumably necessary smoke reduction measures. I had been on my bridge look-out watch for about half an hour gazing out from the port side of the bridge, seeing nothing. Suddenly, Captain Cleaver shouted out to the third mate with whom I was doubling up. On not seeing him. he said
"Quick Sparks, get down below and tell them to give me all they've got and to hell with the bloody smoke. (There had been a bridge to engine room telegraph problem, and hence this verbal message) Halfway down the engine room ladder I met the third mate and passing the message on to him I shot back on to the bridge, still not knowing what was the matter. Captain Cleaver said, "Get down there and stand where I can see you. If I wave, get down there again and tell them to give me full astern for a minute, then stop engine and every one on deck".
He explained to us later that it was all he could think of in a hurry. If the submarine looked like surfacing and attack imminent we hadn't a chance of escaping and it would be easier to launch lifeboats with the ship at rest, or nearly so. The submarine must surely have seen or heard us, so why did it leave us alone, allowing us to go on our way? Could there be a clue in our sighting of a small southern bound convoy a short time later?
Two interesting points emerge from that experience. Before sailing from Tanjong Priok, the Captain was told by Naval Control that if we cleared Sunda safely and Northwest up to two days sailing, then after that, our next danger area would be two days out from Ceylon. At the time of sighting the sub, we were just two days out.
In Noel Barber's book, "Sinister Twilight鈥� he describes the ill-fated voyage of the SS "Rooseboome", a small vessel which had sailed out of the Sumatran port of Padang (the port that we had been urged to go back to several times during our journey down Sumatra). She left Padang on the 26th February with a large passenger list of evacuees, some whom had escaped across Sumatra from Singapore. When the "Rooseboome" was 36 hours out of Ceylon, their destination being Colombo, a party was being held in the saloon to celebrate their escape, the safe crossing and anticipated arrival in Colombo. They did not arrive. A submarine surfaced and its torpedo struck the ship, sinking it in four minutes. By the time that the only lifeboat reached a small island off the coast of Sumatra almost back where the 鈥淩ooseboome" had set off from 26 days earlier -there were only four survivors left alive out of the 135 that left the sinking ship,.
After all these years since 1942, I wonder now; was it the same submarine that captain Cleaver sighted from the "Perak" and why did we not suffer the same fate as the "Rooseboome鈥�, and did the sub see that southbound convoy?
When we reached Colombo safely on March 10th without any further incidents, I learned that Java had surrendered in the first week in March. Although it would seem that we would have had more time to prepare for our voyage, instead of our makeshift departure, the Port of Tanjong Priok had closed on the 28th February consistent with an extensive and prolonged bombing attack. That being so, then for us to have got away it would have necessitated an overland journey to the south coast port of Tjilijap, along with many others, where we would no doubt have had to join a queue for evacuation.
During the first week in March, Japanese Naval forces patrolled the southern coastal area of Java to prevent evacuations and in doing so caused much loss of life and losses on our shipping. On March 5th aircraft bombed the port of Tjilijap, destroying the harbour and sinking 17 ships.
I learned many years later, that one of our "Kulit鈥� passengers was obliged to leave Batavia and travel overland to Tjilijap, and there, joined a small vessel, the 鈥淧aelo Bras". After a day's sailing, heading Northwest from the port, the vessel was bombed by aircraft. What pitiful few survivors that got away on the only usable lifeboat, drifted for over a week, arriving more dead that alive on the west coast of Sumatra not far from Benkulen. Upon arrival they were betrayed by local inhabitants and taken prisoner by the Japanese.
On 28th Feb/March 1st, after we had safely passed through the Sunda strait and into the Indian Ocean, Allied ships intersected a Japanese invasion fleet landing troops at Merak (on the western tip of Java). In that engagement, in addition to the .losses inflicted on the Japanese, the American and British cruisers "Houston" and 鈥淧erth鈥� were lost, and later, the 鈥淓verton鈥� Simultaneous with these landings were the landing at Eratan, Wetan and Kragen further east (as already referred to).
Relating those events above prompts me to say again, "why were we so lucky?"
鈥︹赌︹��..

Well, after all those worrying times since Benkulen, and then in Java, finding that we had arrived at the wrong island, and then the anxious hours on the "Perak". nothing had happened to us - it had all been in the mind. It is a sobering thought that all our good fortune had been due to our grim determination to keep moving. If our departure from Singapore had been perhaps only a short time later or if we had taken the southerly course and not a north westerly one there could have been quite a different set of circumstances from which we might not have survived.
Many hundreds did not. Of the men women and children who did survive shipwreck, bombing and gunning, in an attempt to escape from Singapore via the fateful southerly route, and who managed to make the Sumatran coast or the many small islands scattered about between Rhio and Java, many were to perish from exposure, wounds, or as a result of capture and internment.
It is a sobering conjecture, that had we finally given in and succumbed to the repeated advice to make that return journey northwards up Sumatra to the port of Padang, we could have been on board the ill-fated "Rooseboom". The dates do coincide. And the Dutch sailors who commandeered the prauw, and the "Flying Dutchman", I wonder how they fared? If they had not taken the prauw and circumstances had placed us all on it instead, and excluding any problems that we could have experienced at sea, we could have arrived in Java to find the Japanese there' And the Chinese lady on the road to Palembang. I wonder if she was on the "Rooseboome"?
None of those thoughts of course crossed my mind as we paralleled the coast of Ceylon (Sri Lanka now). Instead I had a lovely feeling of well-being that I had not experienced since that early morning on the "Pinna" after the Captain had awoken me. .And I was clean too, I had just had a shower - the first one since leaving Batavia, because of the water shortage - and then a second one with my shorts and shirt on because it was more convenient to wash them that way.
It is interesting that I should record such mundane actions as those ablutions, yet after spending fourteen days on the "Perak" I cannot remember seeing a single passenger onboard arriving or leaving. As I dried out on deck in the hot sun, the Japanese war was 2000 miles away, and ahead, shimmering in the heat haze, Colombo looked beautiful, and this time, It just had to be the right island - and a safe one.
Having dealt with the usual port arrival formalities, my first priority was a telegram home; my next one was to buy some clothes, for although I was clean, I was in a very un-pressed and rather un-cared for state, but I had to shelve that priority until I procured some necessary currency. (As an evacuee/refugee, I had enjoyed the facility of a free telegram home)
I could have gone along to the Marconi company office which would have been the correct thing to do, but instead, I went with other Oil company employees. The first thing that I heard on walking into their office was, "Sparky"... followed by a familiar bear-like hug. The last time I had experienced it, and not to be forgotten, was in the radio room before we lost the "Pinna".
For the next half an hour Arthur Greene and I were locked in "how did you" exclamations followed by more detailed explanations. Arthur had been experiencing the increased tempo of Japanese bombing from his bed in the General hospital in Singapore, followed by one of the long-range artillery shells landing in the hospital grounds. With those foreboding indications of the situation, he had decided that he would be far better off out of hospital with tonsillitis, than in bed when the Japanese arrived. Hence why I could not reach him by telephone from wharf 50. Discharging himself along with another patient, he was helped from Ootram road to the water front where he joined other evacuees. Boarding a small vessel, the "Mutiara" all arrived safely in Sumatra via a short route south and then west of the Rhio islands, despite aerial activity around them. Like the "Kulit", the "Mutiara" followed a river inland, and eventually all aboard were helped to get across the island to Padang. Here Arthur boarded a collier bound for Colombo and duly arrived there a week or so before the "Perak". What difficulties he experienced on the "Mutiara" and then in Padang with so many would be evacuees requiring transport, my diary does not record.

Chapter 23
COLOMBO AND U.K.

The business over at the Oil Company agents office, we remaining ex-"Pinna" crew, which now included Arthur Greene, were found accommodation at the Mount Lavinia hotel at Mount Lavinia, just a short train ride from Colombo. I did that short train journey so many times during my stay in Ceylon that even now the station stops from Colombo station of Slave Island, Bambalamatia, Colapatia and Moilnt Lavinia are still locked in my memory.
Upon arriving at the hotel, there was another happy re-union for me; this time, "Pinna鈥檚" cadet Shorty Armstrong, and Les Clayton the captain of the "Ribot" responsible for evacuating the Bukom demolition party and some of the Oil Company staff. They had been lucky in getting away from Bukom unscathed and across to Sumatra, and like Arthur and party, they were fortunate in getting prompt transport help across country to Padang. At the docks, they were not quite so fortunate in that the vessel they boarded - the HMS Encounter" took them backwards to Batavia and not their preferred destination, of Ceylon. However they did get away quickly which must have been about a week before my arrival there in the "Pengar".
Although not possessing operational navigational experience (although he was studying the subject) young Shorty accurately piloted a boat load of evacuees in a small craft named the "Ho Kwahg" out of Tanjong Priok and across the Indian ocean, arriving a short time after Arthur Greene in the collier. Eventually arriving home, Shorty (Ralph Armstrong.) was awarded the BEM and also the Lloyd's medal which he well deserved, not only for his navigational expertise, but also for his stoical work that day on the "Pinna"
After our varied experiences on and off the water, it was a happy and relaxing interlude, drinking together and enjoying the afforded amenities. The Mount Lavinia hotel, was (and I expect still is) on a rocky outcrop right on the sea shore with the beach framed on one side with the white surf rollers of the Indian ocean, and on the other, coconut palms prolifically endowed. If there was anything that could make us forget there was a war on, it was the millionaire style existence which we enjoyed -for me, six weeks. Those six weeks more than compensated for the worries of the previous six. Mind you, I would not have enjoyed the existence so well if I had known during that time, that the occupation of Ceylon and Australia, the latter via Darwin, was on the Japanese agenda. Also, that they had, between the first and last weeks in March (after their occupation of the Dutch East Indies from northern Sumatra to eastern Java and Timor) occupied the Nicabar and Anderman islands in the Southern Bay of Bengal west of Malaya
Had I known, I might have thought that they were catching up with me again! Had I harboured such a thought, I would not have been so surprised when it materialised that Sunday morning, 5th April. I had awakened quite early to the sound of lashing rain and thunder and had dozed off again, but became conscious again later, thinking that the storm was really developing into a heavy one. Then 鈥楬ells Bells鈥�, that not still the storm, its gunfire...lots of it. Looking through the French window door, I could see that the dark sky was riddled with flack. That didn't bother me immediately because I felt there was something else more important to be concerned about. It was those loud rumblings that seemed to be coming across the water, the low flying aircraft, and the long and short bursts of gun-fire from different directions, together with two large explosions behind me.
"Invasion" .. . . . .
In thirty seconds flat I was ready for the road. I had travelled about 3000 miles to get away from danger; I wasn't going to get caught on another island. By the time I had got to the bedroom door I was more awake and thinking sanely. A beleaguered Singapore situation just could not have developed overnight....or could it? Out on the veranda I did a quick look-see, but scanning the whole beach left to right and then out to sea, there wasn't a single landing craft or ship to be seen. What was all the noise about, and where were all those aircraft coming from?
I went out into the corridor and banged on George's door and nearly banged him in the face as he it opened and came out. I then made a quick dash back to my room grabbed my skin-out bag and joined George outside. Flights of Japanese aircraft were sailing over the hotel from the direction of the sea without any apparent opposition, and so low that I could see figures inside the cockpits. It seemed that their only target was the RAF base at Ratmalan in the distance somewhere behind the hotel.
Ack-ack guns were now barking with greater intensity it was getting really noisy. One aircraft crashed down in the garden behind the hotel and one plopped down in the sea at the front. Smoke could be seen rising in the direction of the city resulting from a separate flight of aircraft which I learned later, also attacked ships in the harbour.
It really did seem that the battle for Colombo at started Then suddenly, at 9.15, all the activity stopped. the raid sirens wailed the "all clear" and then the quietness sounded so quiet.
Later that day while looking around, we came across the aircraft that had come down. It was a burnt-out shell. so amazingly intact, with the two men inside looking like two skeletons with a few parts missing. A soldier was also wandering about
and helping himself to a piece of skull, "Souvenir", he said.
Although there was a repeat raid on the Naval base at Trincomalee on the other side of the island a few days later, where the HMS "Hermes", a corvette and two tankers were sunk, Ceylon was not raided again. Strategically both the Japanese attempts were failures, but we did lose 35aircraft.; the Japanese may have lost 25. If they expected to do a "Pearl Harbour" on our fleet at Trincomalee, they must have been disappointed it was not in port
I learned later that both attacks had originated from a Japanese task force, I00 miles south of Ceylon, and I wondered how such a surprise attack could have happened, and a bevy of ships get so near without being detected on radar or by patrolling aircraft. Perhaps the RAF did not patrol, for we didn't see a single aircraft or Naval vessel as we crossed over in the "Perak". However, I learned many years later, that a patrolling Catalina aircraft spotted the Japanese fleet, three days before the attack. It was shot down, but not before the signaller had transmitted a report back to base - yet our defences were still taken by surprise!
Well perhaps that was a small price to pay for the surprise the Japanese experienced. With no British fleet at Trincomalee on which to do their "Pearl Harbour" attack, and the fact that reconnaissance had pin-pointed the position of the task-force, their worry must have been, where was the British fleet? History now tells us that the Japanese having lost the surprise initiative, were not again able to attempt an occupation of Ceylon.
The attack on Ceylon was described by Winston Churchill as "His most dangerous moment". For an enemy base there, could have, made a serious difference to the war in the East. An account of this "Dangerous moment" is covered in Michael Tomlinson's book of that name, from which I have obtained some of the above information.
After the raid on Colombo, the Governor, in a broadcast speech, praised the brave behaviour of the populace, but by the following day they were not so brave as to remain in the city, for there was a grand scale exodus. Thousands left and all kinds of workers downed tools and filled every form of transport moving out of the city. The trains which dwindled to just a few passing through Mount Lavinia station, were packed and bulging with bodies half out of windows, or sitting on the buffers between carriages: there were some perched even more dangerously on top of them.
鈥︹赌︹��.

By this time, George and I were the only ones left in the hotel, all my other companions "The Singapore harriers", plus the chaps that had arrived before us, had all left for home or joined other ships. George had only recently arrived in the hotel. He was a Blue Funnel line employee recovering from an appendix operation.
I don鈥檛 know why it was that I was the last one to leave out of the Singapore party. Up to that time I had not been a bit concerned as to how long I stayed at Mount Lavinia, provided that the trouble in my middle didn't get any worse. After the raid,(and this was before we were aware of the permanency of the Japanese withdrawal) the idyllic walks along the palmed beach collecting fallen coconuts for their milk or lying on sand to be washed by the surf, ceased to be the relaxing interlude it had been. My thoughts had now changed to "I must get away from here - to keep moving...", that even the relaxation afforded by the hotel service, and its ever open bar, would not dispel. I started to make frequent visits to the Agent's office, on one pretext or another, to ensure that it would not be a case of "out of sight, out of mind". I was fed up with islands. They were not a bit safe!
The week laboured on, as did the next one the only change in circumstances were the loaded trains, bulging again, with habitants returning to Colombo. Then suddenly without any previous hint, I received a telephone call late one evening and the following day, April 20th, accompanied by George who had received similar advice. We were to travel on the troopship SS "Devonshire", bound for Bombay where George and I were to re-embark.
At Bombay, I was glad to leave the very over-crowded and uncomfortable "Devonshire" in favour of an Australian passenger liner, the SS "Awatea".(The 鈥淎watea was later sunk during the North African Invasion in 1942) We sailed on my birthday, April 25th. 1942 bound for somewhere in the UK, unaccompanied because of the "Awatea's鈥� high speed, and blacked-out.
After calling at Durban, and then Capetown where I equipped myself with wardrobe more suitable for weather at home, we then jig-zagged our way at high speed west, far into the Atlantic in order to present a more difficult target for German U-boats. Like the "Devonshire" the "Awatea" was also 'full to the gunwales鈥� but this time, with Polish military personnel, with some room left for civilian passengers. The Poles were a courteous. happy. cheerful and noisy crowd, taking over all that was available by way of the amenities aboard which included the few female passengers the latter with much bowing and heel clicking. Remembering the voyage now, it seems that George and I who shared a cabin, spent most of our time reading every book in the ship's library, with occasional exercise on deck, when it was not too congested. In addition to that exercise, I made many extra compulsory walks between my cabin - which was three or four decks down - and the open deck, and also from the library and dining room, so that
I knew every straight, bend, corner and stairway in detail. My experiences to date had left me with an extreme sense of self-preservation phobia, coupled with my Boy Scout motto of "Be Prepared". I wasn't going to trust the emergency lighting should we be torpedoed; the last one had not worked.(George said he hadn't been a Boy Scout!)
Just when I thought that if we didn't alter course we might be seeing the South American coast we headed north, after which we approached "Home" from around the north coast of Ireland. We sailed up the Clyde; the green hills were beautiful in the morning sun.
We docked at Glasgow the date was the 31st of May 鈥� exactly three years since . I departed from London on the "Corfu". Sadder and wiser?, not particularly. A bit older? yes. Experienced? .. , very much so.
鈥︹赌︹��..

The journey home by train was similar to the many journeys I was to make between ports of arrival and departure as the war progressed. Blacked-out carriages with either dim or no lighting at all, making it impossible when travelling at night, to read. Numerous stops some of short duration and some as long as a couple of hours due to an air-raid or the aftermath of one. Crowded carriages because of the volume of military passengers in addition to the civilians. If one were lucky, a seat, otherwise the guard's van or the draughty corridor.
I had almost forgotten the indigenous and familiar smell of smoke from the engine and the sound of escaping steam; the clanging of milk churns; porters opening and closing doors, calling and assisting with luggage rarely seen today. Then the poo..ooff of the moving engine. The blacked-out stations had their name-boards removed for the same reason that roads where without signposts, so it was always a puzzle as to where one was along the route of the journey.
Just off the platform and through the light-proof doors and curtains the station buffet was another world of brightness and seeming plenty. Spirits were hard to get but beer was plentiful and of course, tea by the gallon. I found the station buffets always a happy oasis in a desert of railway lines well, there was the occasional "Hey don't you know there's a war on?". From my experience a station buffet of today cannot compare with the cheerful atmosphere of the same place during the war years.
On this particular journey, I caught my train at Glasgow in the late afternoon, and travelling into the late evening, changing trains three times. Clickerty-clacking through a completely blacked-out world after dark was a new and eerie experience....like travelling through a pitch-black desert. Because the old railway lines still had their expansion joints, speed at night could only be assessed by the rate of the clickety-clacks. As the carriage wheels rolled over them. During the daylight it was a happy journey through pleasant countryside with which I had been so familiar in peace time. I don鈥檛 remember seeing anything untoward that indicated that I was back in a Britain at war. In consequence the dark foreboding I had experienced the night before docking, as to how I would find things at home, slowly melted away, and upon arriving at my destination, even dingy Grimsby Town was welcoming in as much as it was still dingy looking.
I was expected home since my telegram from Glasgow had heralded the event. When I stepped over the threshold - it was 2am - my father said "They've been feeding you well", and my mother said 鈥淥h you've lost your golden hair鈥� (my hair was now quite dark)
Next day, sitting in my ham shack in the garden, where I had first put my adventurous thoughts into action and burnt so many midnight candle hours studying, it seemed to have shrunk somewhat. Since all privately owned transmitting radio equipment had been impounded during the war, mine was also missing for the duration. Lying on the desk beneath a pair of pliers was my Marconi Telegram 鈥淩eport.........". Was it only three years and a bit since I had responded to the instruction and closed the shack door?
As I sat on the chair where I had studied for so long and had fantasised adventures on the high seas, it crossed my mind that I never did lean on that rail and smoke a pipe.
The summer of 1942 passed all too quickly, amounting to four months at home, comprising accumulated leave (having been away for three years) plus a period of sick leave. A few things got in the way of complete relaxation in the form of a dose of shingles, my recurring problems in my middle which necessitated investigation, and air-raids. Interestingly enough, it was our dog who was agitating to get down the garden to the air raid shelter quite a few minutes before air-raid sirens could be heard by us. Being so near to the Grimsby docks- airborne time - frequent warnings were inevitable, but not always a hazard.
After being so well fed at sea, it wasn't easy to adapt to the war-time rationing (note 7) although I don鈥檛 recall suffering unduly. As the war progressed, the food situation in our house improved as brother Frank and I returned home from voyages abroad, particularly from Canada and America, loaded with a variety of tinned foods and other commodities that were hard to obtain, even on "points"
There were two happy occasions when Frank's and my return from sea coincided with sister Olive's 48 hours leave from the WAAF. We made the best of wartime conditions of blacked out streets and roads and the lack of transport. although this was partially solved by borrowing bicycles. Frank knew a young lady by the name of Jean Hardy and he introduced me on a casual meeting, then later, we visited her home where her parents owned a long established photographic business and studios in Cleethorpes. It so happened that Jean was home on vacation from the teachers training college in Bingley, and so the friendship blossomed. I didn't know at that time that she was destined to be my wife several years later. Marriage at that time was not on my war time agenda 鈥� not knowing what survival points were being marked up for me in the great scheme of things.
During that summer went to London twice visiting the Oil Company and my employers, Marconi Company. As I wandered around, it was very disturbing sight be see
the extent of the bomb damage caused during the worst of Hitler's blitz, and a unique experience travelling on the underground, where, night and day, access to the tube train was over numerous sleeping bodies occupying the platforms which were also serving as very safe air-raid shelters.
The eerie sound of the air-raid sirens, and the ensuing activity on the streets as the populace took shelter, certainly brought home to me, more than the descriptive radio broadcasts what the people of London and other cities had endured night after night during the worst of the air-raids. There were no air-raids during my second visit ton London, consequently I slept peacefully at the Royal Hotel Kingsway. My accommodation cost me 12/6d a night, bed and breakfast. I doubt if 63p equivalent in today's money would now pay fur my return fare on the bus between King's Cross station and the hotel.

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