大象传媒

THE STORY OF A PRISONER OF WAR
Frederick John Mills 鈥� Gunner
Written by James Boyd Jnr USA

The grey transport rose heavily on the first swells of the Pacific. Over her white wake astern, the green hills and mountains of the Phillipines were dropping into the horizon. The ship was on its way to San Francisco. On board was the most welcome and precious cargo she had ever carried during her many adventures of the war. Along her rails leaned brown, thin men in khaki looking like battle worn GI鈥檚. Their clasped hands were scarred and wrinkled. Their faces were blank and expressionless watching the waves curve off the bow and hiss by in an unending chuckle. Watching them more closely, one soon knew these were not GI鈥檚. They had seen things no soldier in battle had seen. Their faces and eyes showed this. Then the way they talked, low, quiet voices and moved about the ship with a tiny unconscious stoop. How they automatically stepped aside when a sailor approached. This was politeness never experienced aboard a crowded transport. The sailor felt a keen sense of guilt when these men drew to one side so completely to let him pass. Very seldom did they shout or yell or carry on. Even when the ship鈥檚 band played for them their faces remained expressionless. This hardened group of men that crowded the decks, were allied prisoners of war liberated three weeks ago from under the Jap heel. British and Canadians taken at Singapore and a part of the original British garrison taken at Hong Kong. Americans on Corregidors and long lost US Civilians taken on Wake Island where they were building an airstrip.

I have talked to many of these men. For the most part, they are eager to talk, eager to exchange ideas about what had happened, about the future, about their homes and even politics. They are not so eager to talk about their experiences though inevitably the conversation works around to this. I found that, except for minor details, their stories were all about the same.

This particular story is by no means complete. It is really a brief survey of what happened to this man. But there is enough here for his people, his mother, his sister to understand him and better breech the gap that will have sprung between them.

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The second day out from the Philippines found it gloomy and raining. I was in one of the Officers rooms writing up a report, vaguely listening to the murmur of the rain and the whisper of the wind.
鈥淢ay I come in鈥� a voice said. It was low and apologetic with a faint British accent emphasising the last word. I glanced up to see a medium size man standing in the doorway. He was stripped to the waist, his brown skin hairless except for a thin patch of light hair on his chest. The gaunt face was clean-shaven and expressionless. But his full red lips were warm and his hazel eyes twinkled brightly under dark eyebrows.
鈥淵es鈥� I said. 鈥淚 brought this for the Commander鈥� he said, handing me a neatly lined paper. At the top I noticed the name 鈥� Frederick John Mills. 鈥淚鈥檒l see he gets it鈥� I said, 鈥淵ou Mills?鈥�. 鈥淵es鈥� he said. He paused in the doorway, then thinking he ought to explain added; 鈥淵ou see they took my picture yesterday, that鈥檚 the questionnaire they asked me to fill out鈥�. I glanced further down the sheet: Clacton on Sea鈥�. Professional bricklayer鈥�..not married. 鈥淔rom England鈥� I said, 鈥淚s this for your home paper?鈥�. 鈥淵es鈥� he said, he was silent for a minute his eyes moving about the room as if searching for something more to say 鈥淵ou see鈥�, he burst out, 鈥淚 made my first trip on this ship in 1941.鈥�
I looked up startled, his face remained blank but his eyes grew friendlier noticing my surprise.
We started to talk then. The strained feeling of an invisible gap of complete loss concerning each other鈥檚 feelings had vanished. Gradually he told me his story鈥︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹�︹��

It all started in England in 1940 when he was first called to serve his country. He quit his job as a bricklayer in London and reported for duty. He trained in England for almost a year for desert warfare. His rank became that of a gunner in an Anti-tank battery. In early 1941, he received his first orders and boarded a transport bound for Capetown, Africa. He set out one dismal night to find himself back on native soil two days later with an eight days survivors leave. His ship had had a collision in the fog off the Irish coast where all hands were transferred to another ship and brought back. He sat around for a few months during which time he started fire watch on the docks of Liverpool and went through the famous eight day blitz when Jerry tried his best to blast this part to oblivion. Finally he was packed aboard another ship and this time got away safely. Six days later he arrived in Halifax where he got his first glimpse of the transport USS Joseph T Dickman which was to take him half way round the world then and now complete that circle.

In a few days he was at sea again, this time on his first American ship with its huge square structure, its predominating stack and high bridge. America was not at war at the time but the ship held routine drills and observed all wartime regulations. The Dickman proceeded to Trinidad and then eastward across the Atlantic to Capetown, Africa where she had a three-day lay over. From there she left for Bombay, India. Three weeks short of this port, the Japs struck at Pearl Harbour. Finally on 27 December, 1941, the Dickman arrived safely in Bombay. There Mills was debarked and quartered just outside the city.

All the time the Japs were on the move southward, England saw danger to Singapore. Mills and his gunners were sent east. They boarded the fast transport Empress of Asia. The trip was uneventful except for the end where disaster awaited them. Jap bombers caught the fine ship off Singapore and straddled her with bombs. Even though mortally hit fore and aft and burning furiously, only one man was killed. The order to abandon ship was passed. A few minutes later, Mills was in the warm salt water with his only possessions his shorts, socks and boots. Little did he know how long he was to wear these clothes. He waded ashore just in time to have a rifle and a bayonet shoved into his hands and moved up to the front to be held in reserve. But the British doughboys were pushed back. Mills stepped into the front line and took his station alongside a swathe of nfantryman exchanging shot for shot with these small, extraordinary harmless looking brown soldiers that kept pouring towards him in never ending numbers. This was his first and only taste of battle. In a few days, the Japs cut off their water supply and on 15 February 1942 the British capitulated. With bitterness Mills remembers dropping his rifle on the growing heap and falling into the ragged, bewildered ranks that lined the dark street 鈥︹�︹�︹�� a prisoner of war.

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