大象传媒

My Dad'sStory

My Dad was called Leslie Spoors, and his wartime story starts with a dream he had had one night in Burma:

The Londonderry Arms would never be the same again. The Blue Star had gone 鈥� no longer did the Newcastle Breweries emblem shine resplendent into the back bedrooms of Stanley Terrace. It had been replaced by blazing Red Sun.

The Landlord wasn鈥檛 George, Les鈥檚 father, but a pot-bellied Bavarian whose face was vaguely familiar. He was carelessly pouring rice liquor from a jug. Outside, a squad of brown-shirted lads who looked remarkably like the 4th Year of Shiney Row Senior School, marched in perfect formation towards the old cadet hut, which had now assumed the proportions of Hamilton Barracks. They passed by the allotments where Briney Robinson was shaking his carling tin 鈥� but there were no pigeons, and no crees for them. He just kept on shaking that tin 鈥�..

鈥淟es, wake up son, this isn鈥檛 like you. If you don鈥檛 get the rice on shortly, we鈥檒l get no breakfast.鈥�

The painfully thin dreamer opened his eyes and ran his calloused hands through copper coloured hair, that had lost none of its brilliant sheen despite two long years of under-nourishment, and what felt like perpetual servitude to the Japs. He immediately recalled his brief sleepy excursion back to County Durham and wondered how much of it was true. He had had no news of his family since before he was captured in 1942. Was his father still alive? Was Britain still British? Would he ever be free?

He relieved himself in the excuse for a latrine in the corner of the cell, and even if there had been time to wash, he couldn鈥檛. Water was in short supply and washing was only allowed after the shift. When he got to the cookhouse he caught the attention of a passing guard and asked permission to light the fire. The time was 5.20 a.m. or thereabouts.

Les enjoyed being cook every day. It meant he had to get up an hour before the others, but it gave him some status and he was always being complimented on the quality of his rice. Of course rice wasn鈥檛 the only food they got. Occasionally they were given pumpkin and marrow or even sweet potato. Meat was a rarity 鈥� perhaps once a week, a piece the size of an Oxo cube would appear, and sometimes a sliver of shark. He took his job seriously. After all, it was his responsibility to ensure that the compound had enough rice for breakfast and for the mid-day snack 鈥� what wasn鈥檛 eaten at breakfast was put into a wooden tub to accompany them to the docks. As the rice bubbled, he was troubled; he had never slept the 鈥榗aaler鈥� before and had often boasted of this. Why should it happen now?

Six thirty on a Wednesday morning was much the same as any other morning 鈥� apart from every fourth Sunday, their day of rest. The usual destination of the compound inmates was Rangoon Docks about a mile down the road. Variety came in the form of an occasional walk to the railway station, or a truck ride to Mingladon aerodrome about twice a month. But always the same work 鈥� loading and unloading.

The walk down to the wharves was through what must have been a fairly prosperous part of town. Now the well built verandahed houses were shabby and showing the effects of neglect, and in some cases desertion. It was surprising how little damage had been caused during recent air raids, because several attacks had resulted in stray shells hitting the prison 鈥� the Japanese Regional H.Q. was only a few hundred yards away.

After roll call at 7 o鈥檆lock, the unloading of armament crates commenced and continued - except for an occasional breather and time to eat from the wooden tub 鈥� until after 6 at night. Then back to the prison and a final roll call. The work was backbreaking, a typical coolie鈥檚 job in fact. Not that Les wasn鈥檛 used to hard work.

But why was today any different? That night after lights out, lying on his pathetic bed, which even so was welcome relief for aching limbs, it suddenly came to him. It was April 19th 鈥� two years to the day since he was captured. His mind began to wander back to those far-off days, in what seemed another world. A world he wouldn鈥檛 see again for another 14 months.
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It was in 1940 鈥� the 13th of June, a Thursday 鈥� when he received his call-up papers. He got a 4-shilling postal order as well, with which he needed to buy certain odds and ends, such as shaving soap and boot polish, and a railway warrant. He had been conscripted to the 1st Battalion, Scottish Rifles 鈥� The Cameronians 鈥� and their barracks were at Hamilton Racecourse, about 180 miles away! His training lasted until 3rd January 1941 when he boarded the aptly named converted liner, the Empress of Japan, arriving in India 8 or 9 weeks later. It was a bit of a world cruise really, calling at Freetown in Sierra Leone, although they did not go ashore there 鈥� Cape Town, Mombasa, Bombay and finally Calcutta. India was to be his home until February 1942, when the troop ship Aurelia would take him to his place of 鈥榳ork鈥� for the next three years and more 鈥� BURMA.

They left Secunderabad on the 11th February, embarked at Madras on the13th and sailed on the 16th. The voyage was uneventful for Les, most of his time being spent wondering what was in store. Rangoon River was shrouded in thick mist as they entered it on the 21st February, a disappointment to those on board who eagerly awaited sight of their destination. As they were heading up the river they were amazed to see the ship that was carrying their vehicles and drivers, heading in the opposite direction, towards the mouth of the river.

鈥淭hat was a short battle Billy,鈥� said Les to his mate. 鈥淣ot a single shot fired.鈥�

鈥淪uits me,鈥� came Billy Dixon鈥檚 reply.

However, they did not turn back, and later learned that owing to a mistake, the ship had been ordered back to India, but this was soon rectified by wireless. Even when the ship finally docked at Rangoon, it proved impossible to load all of the vehicles, due to the lack of dock labour and power for the steam cranes.

Rangoon, a proud and rich city, was predictably deserted except for looters and pariah dogs. But there was no time to see it; the ship had to be unloaded. That evening Les, 鈥楧鈥� Company, and the rest of the Battalion moved into barracks at Mingladon, about 6 miles outside Rangoon. There, they learned that they were to support the 17th Division of the Burma Army who were fighting the Battle of Sittang River Line. So after only a couple of days in Burma, they were to see action.

The 17th Division had been withdrawing for 22 days and the tactics were to make it as difficult as possible for the Japanese to advance, by blowing up bridges and destroyimg oilfields and so on. Unfortunately, they couldn鈥檛 cross the Sittang River before they had to destroy the Sittang Bridge. This meant they were trapped on the east side of the river.

On the 2nd of March, 鈥楧鈥� Company, commanded by Major J.G. Dalziel and with his 鈥榬unner鈥� Rifleman Leslie Spoors among its numbers, carried out reconnaissance along the Waw Road. They found that the village of Waw to the east of the canal, was occupied by the Japanese who had established a bridgehead on the West Bank. Major Dalziel decided to attack the bridgehead and Les was sent to Battalion HQ with urgent dispatches. The Major took a young Salvation Army lad, called Hamilton, with him as his runner. Major Dalziel was leading the platoon 鈥� the Company was only two platoons strong 鈥� when they were subjected to machine gun fire. Dalziel was seriously wounded. Second Lieutenant Leak and two volunteers rode out in a tank to collect him, but he died the next day. Hamilton was also killed 鈥� he was only about 22.

Les was away quite some time, and on returning he found that his company had moved its HQ so he had to try to locate it. He did come across some British troops, and decided to investigate, only to be stopped by of all people, his old mate Tommy Temple who was a perimeter guard for 鈥楥鈥機ompany. It was just like in the films, tommy shouting 鈥淲ho goes there?鈥� to which the reply came, 鈥淚t鈥檚 alright Tommy, it鈥檚 only me, Les Spoors!鈥�

Les stayed with 鈥楥鈥� company for the next few days during which there were numerous skirmishes with the Japs. Orders were now received for the Battalion to move to Tharawaddy, part by rail, part by road. There they took over adninistration and policing of the town. But by the 12th March, it was considered that the seriously weakened battalion, which only had 24 officers, 380 men and 7 vehicles, couldn鈥檛 continue as a support group for the Armoured Brigade. So they were moved to the Letpadan area, and over the next couple of weeks they carried out a series of withdrawals, halting for 2 or 3 days at a time and digging in, with only occasional patrol clashes with the enemy.

On the 23rd March 鈥� Les鈥檚 22nd birthday, they reached Nattalin where a rice mill had been allocated as Battalion HQ. However, because of its strategic posItion, the CO thought it would be an obvious bombing target, and decided to pull out at dusk. This proved a wise move as at 9.00pm the whole mill went up in flames. The Battalian now reorganised into three companies instead of four, and Les found himself in 鈥楤鈥機ompany, with Captain B.R. Bradford-Martin in command. The next few days brought almost continuous fighting and moving. More men were killed and one of Les鈥檚 colleagues was found beheaded. The battalion concentrated 6 miles north of Prome, after 6 days and nights without sleep and very little food.

However, they did manage to get a bath in the muddy Irrawaddy, and a partial change of clothing was somehow arranged 鈥� not to mention some beer! But it wasn鈥檛 long before they had to withdraw again. By the 7th April they had reached Magwe as Corps reserve, and being on the riverbank they were able to spend a whole day in bathing, cleaning-up and reorganising. Les was now in 鈥楥鈥� Company again, with Captain Bradford-Martin in charge.

During the night of the 16th April, a report was received that 3,000 Japanese with 20 elephants were approaching their position. Investigation revealed that the 鈥榚nemy鈥� was actually one man of the 1st Battallion Iniskilling Fusiliers with a bullock cart, on which he had the office kit 鈥� he had become detached from his battalion earlier that day.

By the 18th April they were at Twingon and orders were received to move to Yenangyuang. However, the Japanese were infiltrating from along the river bed, and a platoon of 鈥楥鈥� Company, moved across to meet them. Les was with Pat Handley, the Company bugler, when they saw a Japanese machine gun section coming along the river bank. Les pulled the pin out of one of the grenades that hre had with him, and threw it with the desired effect. Pat saw another Jap moving down by the river and Les aimed his rifle ready to fire. Just then a mortar bomb landed about 10 feet away and exploded. A piece of shrapnel embedded itself in Les鈥檚 arm. He pulled a field dressing out of his pack and Pat put it on for him. Les then pulled out the pin from the other grenade and threw it in the direction of the Japanese patrol. He and Pat then went to the field dressing station.

Here they learned that the company had done a good job and had checked further infiltration until the final withdrawal. Les found out that one of his mates, Harry Grimwood, had been killed. Meanwhile other Cameronians had captured one of the houses, the Japanese having got themselves drunk on a mixture of eau-de-cologne and lipstick!

Orders for the withdrawal were received and 鈥榓nd Les who was sitting in a Red Cross bus ready for the withdrawal, heard that B鈥� Company had mysteriously disappeared. He wondered if Alf Wade, whom he had seen earlier in the day, had been either killed or captured.

Les was in a pensive move as the driver moved off. It looked like they would be moving away from the front 鈥� and there was even talk of them moving back to India. Nothing would have pleased him more as he had had enough of fighting against the odds. It was obvious that they had been ill-prepared for what they had just been through, and the outcome had been inevitable.

There was confusion on the road ahead and the Red Cross Driver missed the turn on to the Mandalay Road, which was apparently where they were heading. Suddenly the bus was riddled with bullets, and a few of the injured passengers were killed instantly. One of them fell against Les and covered him with blood, but he managed to push him off and scramble out of the door. He ran back along the road to where tanks and ambulances were being organised. One of the medics, seeing Les covered in blood, ripped his shirt open, only to find that the injury was the shrapnel wound from the day before.

The plan was for the tanks to get the ambulances through. All of the ambulances were full but Les intended to sit on the back of one of them. But as the convoy didn鈥檛 seem ready to move off, he thought he would get some shelter under the trees. As luck would have it, the ambulance suddenly moved off. Les and others near him panicked and ran further along the road, and six of them managed to scramble on to the back of a truck. They hadn鈥檛 got far when the driver stopped and said he wouldn鈥檛 go any farther because of the heavy firing across the road. Sop they ran back along the road again where they came across the appropriately named Sergeant Saviour of the Glosters, organising a 3 ton truck, which he was going to drive. Around a dozen men crawled in amongst empty petrol drums in the back of the truck and one more got in with the driver. They reached the Mandalay Road junction and had only got a few hundred yards along the road when mortars began firing across the way. There was also a roadblock up ahead. Suddenly the driver pulled into the side and yelled 鈥淛ump!鈥� They did, and tried to scramble down the bank to near some oil company offices. A split second later the cab of the truck exploded. Saviour told them that the lad beside him in the cab had pulled out the pin of a grenade, ready to throw it at the roadblock, when he had been shot in the head and released the grenade.

The Japs were now firing continuously, and each passing vehicle had to run the gauntlet. This allowed Les and the others time to move towards and behind an embankment. Here they sat for about an hour, planning how to get away. A 2nd Lieutenant had a bottle of sherry, which he passed around. Suddenly the firing stopped, and a voice shouted in broken English: 鈥淐ome out, we鈥檙e friends.鈥� Japanese surrounded them, and with few weapons between them, resistance was pointless. They walked out and were told to put their hands above their heads. Then they sat in a circle on the ground and were given a drink of water. It was 5.00pm on Sunday, 19th April 1942.

Only one man can really describe what happened during the following three years, Rifleman Leslie Spoors:

鈥淚 was captured on the 19th April, having been wounded in the arm with shrapnel the day before. I was one of a group of 12 prisoners, and the only Cameronian amongst them. We were all wounded 鈥� that鈥檚 why we were taken so easily, and couldn鈥檛 make a run for it. We were taken to a group of Burmese huts where our boots were removed and the laces used to tie our hands behind our backs. More and more men were brought in during the night until eventually we were cramped together on the floor. It was a Sunday when we were put into the huts and we were there for four days and nights. We had nothing at all to eat and nothing to drink, although we did make feeble attempts to drink our own urine. All our body wastes just collected beneath us in the huts. I thought we might never see the light of day again. But we did, for after four days we were freed from the indescribable stench.

Captain Bradford-Martin had been brought into the hut during the first night, along with his batman. On the third day, we heard rain on the roof - a Mango shower as we called it, and Bradford-Martin decided to try and break through the thatched straw. Whether he intended to escape or just get a drink I never knew, but his batman followed him. They had both got through the hole they had made when two shots were heard. The batman fell back through the hole - Bradford-Martin was never seen or heard of again. It wasn't long before the Japs dame in and if the Batman wasn't already dead, they soon made sure that he was.

We were tied together after four days and marched about five miles back down the road. Over 30 were killed on the way; mostly men who dropped through exhaustion or lack of food or drink. These were just dragged to the side of the road where their backs were broken with a rifle butt. A bayonet was used to finish the job. When we eventually arrived at the banks of the Irrawaddy we were allowed to sit and watch the water move irresistibly on towards the open sea and freedom. We were all very thirsty, it being our 5th day without a drink. I remember seeing a bottle lying a few feet away on the bank. It had an English label on it - Apple and Honey Chutney I think. I was determined to have it but with my hands tied behind my back it was going to be difficult. 1 thought that if I could get my mouth to the bottle I could tip it over and lick the chutney out - there was no top on the bottle. So I had a go. One of the guards saw me and came over and started talking and it was obvious that he was asking me if I wanted a drink. He indicated that I should open my mouth, which I did without thinking. He lifted the bottle towards my face and then flicked a lighted cigarette right down my throat - that's what I got instead of a drink.

I was out loose then and dragged to one side. A Japanese officer then started asking
me questions in English, about the position and movement of British forces in Burma.
Well I couldn't help him; I think he must have thought I was an officer myself.
Anyway, he had a length of conduit in his hand and it wasn't long before I found out what he wanted it for. He hit me from behind across the side of my face, bursting my ear open. As I sat there dazed, the blood just flowed down the side of my neck until it caked.

They marched us down to the river, and we walked in until the dirty, oily water flowed into our mouths. Two of the lads who had somehow got their hands free made an attempt to swim across to the other bank. They were allowed to get to about half way, before the Japs shot them. We were taken from there to some Burmese houses - wooden huts with iron bars for windows. We were crowded in shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and the doors were locked. We were given some rice after about four days - our first food for nine days. Every morning when we woke up there were 1 or 2 dead amongst us. Every morning the Japs came in with hankies round their mouths because of the smell of excretia and urine, dried blood and sweat.

Then after about seven days we were taken by truck to a burnt out gaol at Magwe - Magwe Gaol - about 30 or 40 miles away. They supplied us with rice again - all we had to do was cook it. What a laugh! We had raw rice, burnt rice, soggy rice, crisp rice - at least we had some variety! We got water for cooking and drinking from the Irrawaddy, in big petrol drums that we just rolled up the river. It didn't taste very nice, but you drink anything when you are thirsty. We drank Irrawaddy water for all of the three weeks or thereabouts that we were in Magwe.

After a couple of days we had some meat. In fact they gave us a cow; an old bony cow that looked on its last legs anyway. It looked as if it would fall over if you touched it. The only problem was how to kill it! All we had were pieces of broken slate, but we were a bit reluctant to start attacking the poor old thing with them. So we managed to persuade one of the Jap guards to shoot it for us. Then we attacked it like savages, ripping at the flesh with the slate. We cooked the meat, as best we could over a fire, but it was still pretty raw when we ate it 鈥� and I never liked my steaks rare.

There was no toilet at the gaol except a water trough, which was never emptied. By the time we left Magwe it had been filled to overflowing - everyone of us had had constant diarrhoea."

RANGOON GAOL

"From Magwe we were taken by truck to Rangoon, a distance of about 300 miles. Our home was to be Rangoon Gaol, a civilian prison that the Japs had commandeered for their own use. At our first roll call we were lined up standing to attention, which we did as best we could. However, this apparently was not good enough as the guards came round and rapped our knuckles with the sticks they were carrying. Eventually we realised that it was the way we held our hands that was the problem. The Japanese Army stood to attention with the fingers pointing down the leg, not clenched as in our drill. None of the guards appeared to know any English, or if they did they were not letting on, and we had to make out their instructions as well as we were able. We were given sweet potatoes and rice, which we had to cook for ourselves and we were thankful for it.

We were segregated into compounds. Three compounds of mostly British troops, including Australians; one of Indians and Gurkhas; and another of Chinese and others. Our compound contained about 300 lads. We were kept in cells designed to hold about 20 men although there were at least double that number in ours.

With the exception of the cooks, none of us were allowed out of the compound for nearly six months - which was when we started work. In that time the daily routine was fairly monotonous. Locked in the cells at night, let out in the morning. Breakfast followed by roll call - Tenko - for which we had to learn our number in Japanese. We were soon quite proficient at Japanese numbering, particularly 1 - 10.

The cooks were allowed to go out occasionally to pick up the rations - under guard of course. I became a cook eventually, cooking rice, marrows and pumpkins, and occasionally - about once a week - meat. When the meat was shared out, it worked out at a piece about the size of an Oxo cube for each chap.

It was not until we started work at the Docks - loading and unloading ships - that we were able to have our first smoke. That was because we started to get paid - although we never in fact saw the wages, the equivalent of twopence ha鈥檖enny a day - as our Officers pooled the money to buy in luxuries once a month. Hence we were able to buy either an egg, or one and a half cigars, which we could break up and make into cigarettes.

We used to get up at 6 o'clock in the morning, breakfast at half past 6, roll call at quarter to 7, then out to work until about 6 in the evening. When we got back we washed down without soap, we never had any soap. Then it was dinner time - well we used to call it dinner - rice with a little bit of soup made of marrows and pumpkins usually. Then at 7 o'clock the final roll call of the day. After that we were allowed to sit in the compound until 10 o'clock - bedtime. That was the routine every day, except one day a month, which was our rest day.

On our day off we were allowed to have a bit of a singsong. I remember one night during our first year in the gaol, they brought in a military band for us to hear, and we had to listen to it. After about half an hour of tunes that were as foreign to us as the bandsmen, we had to clap. The whole episode was filmed, no doubt to be used as propaganda back home to show how well we were being treated.

We only had one chair in the compound, and that was used for minor operations! Colonel McKenzie was our medical officer - pulling out teeth was his particular speciality. Of course there was no anaesthetic of any kind, he would simply put a piece of wood in the mouth to stop it closing during the pull. I sat in it once but not to get a tooth pulled. I had a big lump sticking out of the back of my head and I went to see Colonel McKenzie. He took a look at it and said "Spoors, I don't know what it is, a cyst, abscess or what, but I鈥檒l have to cut it out". So he cut it out with his lance - a razor blade stuck between two pieces of bamboo fastened together. After that I had to have it dressed every morning before I went to work. He鈥檇 fitted some kind of drainer in it to let out the accumulated pus every day.

I mentioned earlier that eventually I ended up in the cookhouse. As a matter of fact I became the best rice cook in the compound if not the gaol. Funnily enough I became a cook because of my bricklaying skills. I must have been the only bricklayer in the prison because I was suddenly told to go to the Japanese barracks to build some vats or 'set pots' for them, to cook rice and other foods. While I was there I noticed how they cooked their rice - the amount of water, cooking time and so on. So when first I cooked some rice, everybody complimented me on it and I became a bit of a celebrity. So naturally I hung on to my new found status.

There were four cooks in the compound, and working in pairs we cooked on alternate days. That meant getting up at 5 o'clock so as to get the rice ready for breakfast at 6.30. It was all go, cooking for the 300 men in our compound. We would sweat so hard; it was just like working in a Turkish bath. The officers got exactly the same food as the rest of us. Although we were cooking for about 300 originally, the numbers gradually reduced over the months - perhaps one a week would die, not through eating our rice I hasten to add.

We would see a new face occasionally, a new prisoner, perhaps an airman who had been shot down. They would be put in solitary confinement for 2 or 3 weeks and interrogated and then put in our compound. There was one day a truck came in with a group of airman from some Flying Fortresses that had been shot down and caught fire. They were all badly burnt but were still put into solitary confinement where three died the next day. Our medical officer Colonel McKenzie saw the Commandant, and got three transferred to our compound and three to another. Only one of them survived, a young lad of about 19 years whose face was burnt, and hands twisted with the burns - but he lived and stayed until the end of the internment. One of the chaps who died in our compound had no eyes at all. His face had been badly burned in the fire, and when he was put into solitary he鈥檇 lain unconscious on the earthen floor and his eyes became badly infested with maggots, which just ate his eyeballs away

We had a hospital of sorts in our compound, a cell that had been 'converted' for the purpose. Very few of those who went in there came out alive. Beri-beri was the biggest killer, a disease that caused swelling that started in your feet and travelled up your legs to your stomach and eventually your heart. The swelling was due to water that just built up in you. Once the swelling reached your stomach you were put into the 'hospital'. You died when it touched your heart. I had beri-beri but it only got as far as the tops of my legs, and it stopped there for a few months. I was very lucky. It was strange walking around with fat legs and feet, and they felt so heavy - just like the feeling you get when you come out of the water after being swimming for some time. But after about six months it left me. For some reason I was one of the lucky ones.

Those unfit for heavy work were put in what was called the 'Candle Factory' inside the gaol. You used to sit there all day making candles. You had to fold this thick paper on a stick, turn it round, stick it down then put a little bit of sawdust in the bottom of the cylinder you had made, then fill it up with tallow. The money 'paid' to those who worked had to be split amongst the sick who couldn't do any work at all. But even the sick were supposed to be active - they had to catch flies. Two small bottles were left by the Japs every morning and the sick who were left behind in the cell, had to catch flies and fill the bottles. Most of them found it very difficult to do, so every night when we got back from work we would go round collecting flies to fill the bottles.

There were also those who became mentally ill during our stay. I clearly remember a chap called Gilroy from the Inniskillings who had lost one brother in the fighting and another had died of a jungle sore the size of a tea plate on his thigh. He cracked up eventually and every morning he would stand by the fence, stick two fingers in his mouth and whistle as loud as he could. He got on our nerves but it must have been worse for the Japs. Eventually they could take it no longer and he was put into solitary confinement where he stayed until our release nearly three years later. By that time he had the appearance of a real wild man - unkempt long hair and beard and staring eyes. When we eventually were released he was kept on board the hospital ship in a cage like a zoo animal.

Punishment - If you failed to bow to a Jap you got your ears boxed. I had mine boxed a few times. When I was working in the cookhouse I had to walk past a water tower that was patrolled by a Jap sentry. If I failed to see him and bow, he would come into the compound, stand me to attention and hit me round the ears a few times. Some of the other Japs would kick you for showing disrespect. There was one who would never actually hit you - he would stand you to attention and flick the end of your nose with his finger until it felt as if it were swelling up like Snozzle鈥檚. I've got a big nose to start with. Even the Brigadier had to bow to the sentry. Brigadier Hobson took the can for everything, for he was in charge of the compound. He was a very nervous man by the time he got out of the gaol. He was one of the 400 or so fit blokes marched away by the Japs when they began to desert the gaol towards the end of April 1945. Unfortunately they were caught up in an attack by some of our own planes and he was killed. 167 men were left behind - I was one of them - with a couple of Jap guards. A few days later, the guards left also.
It was at night when the guards left. One of the lads had gone to the 'toilet' which was an old ammunition tin, where he found a piece of paper pushed through the railings - a very rare and precious material in that area - on which was a message written in English. He could see the message clearly in the moonlight, which was extremely bright in Burma. The message read in English: 'To the whole captured persons of Rangoon Jail. According to the Nippon Military Order, we hereby give you liberty to leave this place at your will. Regarding other materials kept in the compound, we give you permission to consume them as far as necessity is concerned. We hope that we shall have the opportunity to meet you again on the battlefield somewhere. We shall continue our war effort in order to get the emancipation of all Asiatic races.'

He took the message to Colonel Powell and from him it passed around the rest of us. We were so excited that we stayed up all night. We went down to the guard house - it was deserted. In the morning we found a couple of pigs that the Japs had left behind. We slaughtered them and had a good feed.

However, we still had problems. In fact we were in more danger now than we had been for some time, as the Allied planes were dropping bombs all around. We thought they might not know there were still British prisoners in Rangoon. So we decided to get up on the roof and paint a message to show our presence. The first message 'Japs Gone, British Here', seemed to have no effect whatsoever. Perhaps the R.A.F. thought it was a ruse on the part of the Japanese to protect themselves. One of our R.A.F. lads suggested using 'Extract Digit' which was an air force expression for 'get your finger out and get things moving' . This did the trick and a couple of officers, Wing-Commander Saunders and Flight-Lieutenant Stevens, landed at Mingladon in a Mosquitoe on 29th April. Unfortunately they crippled the plane on landing, hitting one of the many bomb craters in the runway.
When they arrived at the gaol we told them that the Japs had gone, and how we had lived for three years. They took photographs which I have tried to find unsuccessfully.1 They told us that they would have to leave so that they could tell the navy not to shell Rangoon - this had been planned for the next day. So off they went to the docks from where they took a boat to the mouth of the river. The next day instead of bombs, a plane came over and dropped Red. Cross parcels and K rations, which consisted of cigarettes, chocolate, biscuits and chewing gum. They dropped them right into the compound, one even went through the cookhouse roof. What a day we had - it was a very happy time for all of us. Fresh bandages for our sores instead of old bits of rag and paper to keep the flies off. Sweets to eat, cigarettes to smoke.

When the relief force arrived more photographs were taken. I have been unable to trace those with me on2. However, the other photographs show some of my mates, and scenes from the prison. We were taken down to the docks and put on to minesweepers that took us right to the mouth of the river. There we boarded a hospital boat - The Karapara. On board we took of our old rags and threw them over the side - old shorts and raggy vests. After a nice hot bath, our first for all those years, we put on fresh clean underwear, shirts and shorts. It was marvellous. We embarked for India, and landed at Calcutta. There we went into hospital for a couple of weeks and then to a rest camp for rehabilitation. It was a wonderful feeling to be free.

We were asked how we wanted to go home, by air or sea. I said immediately - "The quickest way''. It took 36 hours with about six stops on the way, before we landed at Merryfield, which is somewhere in the South of England. We gave our names to the Officer in Charge, with details of our regiment, last address and so on. We were allowed to go out that night for a drink. Next morning we had to report back to the Officer in Charge. We went in one at a time to find out family news and where we were to go. His very words were "Father dead. Sister Evelyn, 16 Stanley Terrace". That 鈥榮 all! Marched out, and given railway warrants and a small amount of money

When I arrived at Newcastle Central, all the family was there. I never found out how they knew which train I was getting. We went home by taxi, and at Shiney the whole of Quarry Head had turned out, and it was nearly an hour before I got in the house because everyone was kissing and cuddling me. They had written on the outside wall 'Welcome Home Leslie' in great big writing. It was a good feeling and I was very proud. I was very sad because my Dad wasn't there to meet me, as he had died in 1942, from the shock of hearing that I was missing, presumed dead. I was very upset. They had a good meal on for me, and I really felt as if I was back home. I don't think I stopped talking and it was the early hours of the morning before I got to bed, and then I couldn't sleep for the excitement.

I only had two 鈥榮ouvenirs鈥� of my time in prison: a silver spoon that my Dad had given me when I joined the army. I kept it with me through everything. I was so worried that it might get stolen in the prison, that I warmed it over the rice stove, and twisted the shaft so I would know it anywhere. The second was the tin badge with our name and number on - in Japanese 鈥� that we had to hang on a string around our necks at all times.

I had been home for about a fortnight when Mrs. Robinson stopped me in the street and said "Mind you're a long time coming down to see our Kathy.鈥� I said "I'll come down one of these days to see her". I did, and that was the start of another story.

Notes:
1,2. We now have photographs of the men who remained with Les, and of Les himself standing at the back of the group.

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