大象传媒

This is Michael Charnaud鈥檚 story: it has been added by Pauline Colcutt (on behalf of the Fernhurst Centre), with permission from the author who understands the terms and conditions of adding his story to the website.

An unusual and true story of a young boy who with his mother became a prisoner of both the Germans and the Japanese May 1942 - August 1945

INTRODUCTION

This is a true story that happened to me when I was a child during the War. I look back over 60 eventful years later from my comfortable home in England with a garden full of flowers, with a loving wife who has somehow or other struggled to put up with me for over half a century, and raise a family of three, together with 8 grandchildren, and still look after five dogs. It is hard to put into words and describe to a young fresh generation just what life in those dark days was really like. It was all then such a very different world with quite different attitudes to modern fashionable ideas and practices. This therefore is a very feeble attempt to try to express to those in the twenty first century just what it was like for a child to grow up during his most formative years through a world war taking place all around him. Also it is an attempt to capture the spirit of the age and peoples feelings at that time whilst events were unfolding all around one in a cascade of experiences and yet at the same time also being a very minor part actor in the unfolding global drama. All the time I was having to learn to be curious, adaptable and above all coming to know how to conquer fear and hunger, by living life on a day-to-day basis without agonizing too much about what the future may hold . This tale is especially extraordinary in that with my Mother and a small band of others, we were some of the very few hundred or so during the Second World War to have become Prisoners of War of both the Germans and the Japanese and were thus able to make comparisons between their different regimes.. I consider myself all these years later, to have been incredibly fortunate to have lived and survived through such an exciting experience, although at the time it was extremely tough and sometimes very frightening. Every day however something new seemed to be happening, some new small joy, new fears to conquer and lots and lots of time to think, talk and take in the world around and fulfil and expand my latent curiosity in a way that is virtually impossible today with so many distractions and amusements all round. Probably because I was so young and resilient and was able to adapt quickly, the effects of 鈥淕oing to Hell and Back鈥� did not affect me as badly as older people, many of whom were more set in their ways, less pliable and their traumas lasted longer. I did however lose my childhood earlier and grew up and matured quicker as was natural for a boy who from the age of eleven was in the constant company of adults from all walks of life. From the age of twelve I was placed in the men鈥檚鈥� camp and being with men I had to act as far as possible like an adult among his peers. My Mother Madeline was of course a tremendous inspiration and a continual support to us all: She was a born leader and was one of those quite exceptional quiet people who were well read, well educated, very intellectual, and yet had an iron will of strength underneath her frail body. She rallied and inspired us all, Men, Women and children, from rough seamen and crooks to highly educated professionals, from a multitude of races, colours and nationalities . Naturally as her child, she led me closest even when parted later on, and through it all was constantly educating me in ethics, loyalty and how to survive such an ordeal with ones honour intact. This account is primarily a tribute to her and to her memory, but it is also very much a tribute to the many ordinary decent folk that helped me survive, most particularly the plain ordinary Geordie seamen from North Shields on Tyneside, who shared their meagre rations and fed me when ill and starving at the end of the war, and without whose help I would not have been able to write these notes. Their simple, kind, rough generosity and their glowing compassion in the midst of such adversity has ever since coloured my attitude to money and wealth. These poor folk brought up during the harsh 鈥淒epression of the Thirties鈥� in crude terrace houses, bombed to hell in the Tyneside Blitz, could yet willingly share their meagre crust and give succour, interest and compassion and fun to a young lad, whereas the wealthier affluent members of our small society with only a very few exceptions, rarely turned an eyelid in a child鈥檚 direction.

I have included accounts of others at the same time as a living testimony of what people had to go through to give a broader flavour to the mood of the period. I myself kept a diary for a part of the time and some years ago set down on paper my fresh vivid childhood memories so that my story has been easier to write and bring up to date

Nowadays we live in an age of Supermarket shelves burgeoned with produce, instant communications to any spot on the world, with the all pervading television, computer, websites and the Internet Revolution, embedded in our homes dulling our senses with an excess of information. There is now mass jet 鈥� plane travel. to luxury accommodation in the most far flung areas of distant lands, all within a day鈥檚 compass, with tour operators falling over themselves to offer splendid bargain deals to all. It therefore may come as a surprise to learn of a different form of travel. During the forties we journeyed across thousands upon thousands of miles across the vastness of the Indian and Pacific Oceans, with transport and accommodation mostly free of charge, courtesy of two travel firms controlled ultimately by two gentlemen, Herr Adolf Hitler and Emperor Hirohito. They both offered an abundance of action packed excitement taking place all around, with a grandstand participating view of their Naval prowess, and although the accommodation was a bit rough at times, with menus most suitable for dieters, it also gave one a discipline far superior to any 鈥渂oot camp鈥� or health lido! At the same time one had a ringside view of the might and scale of the American military, their firebombing techniques, the awesome power of the US Navy and the brilliant organisation with their 鈥淐an do鈥� attitude that only that great nation is able to quickly effect. Three days before the end of the war, we learnt of the Atom Bomb and wrapped ourselves in our US army great coats and sheltered in a cellar in the sweltering humid heat of a Japanese summer, in a pathetic effort to save ourselves from the flash of this strange new device which brought the whole terrible saga of World War 2 to an abrupt end and ushered in the Nuclear Age. We survived because of the Bomb, but at the same time we owed our lives to the hundreds of thousands of poor souls who were incinerated or who died a slow lingering radiation induced death by its effects, that drew the War to an abrupt and sudden close. I cannot speak for the rights or wrongs or justify anything but can only state the facts of the situation. But once the War was over we could then enjoy the strange experience and value of peacetime freedom again without the all pervading hunger, harassment and constant fear of authority. We could travel, without the danger of being torpedoed at night, with the splendid generosity of the Royal Navy and later air travel with RAF Transport Command come back to England.
So from another era here is a tale written by a living fossil, which I hope you all will enjoy with all the laughs and tears all mingled together during those war years Above all it was the laughs and cheerfulness that kept one going, trying as much as possible to have fun at brief moments whenever one could. I do hope that this account will not be found sentimental in any way, as I am by nature not in the least bit a sentimental person, which I equate as a false weak self pitying philosophy for people who cant cope with the rough and tumble of a hectic life. Instead because of my experiences at such a young age and seeing how people coped under stress, I am extremely compassionate, for people who are weaker, who have had a raw deal or who have had all their values threatened and are left both spiritually, mentally and physically naked. I dedicate this book to these folk, mostly ordinary simple humble souls without any of the trappings, baubles and gizmos of wealth and to them I offer my tender sorrows and consolation. I also dedicate it most specially to all Mothers who have been mistreated by their spouses and families, who have been flung aside, ignored and marginalized and forgotten and cast into their own personal prisons. The words in this book are meant to be a tribute to them to enjoy and uplift themselves and their spirits, and hopefully give them strength for the future.

In writing this I would like to thank the following people for help in compiling this story. First I would like to thank my Mother Madeline for meticulously saving records, documents etc from this time. I have drawn on these extensively. Also I would like to thank Jim Blomfield who at the time was a young RNVR midshipman or 鈥渟choolie鈥� being posted to Colombo to join his aircraft carrier 鈥淗ermes鈥� that had already been sunk!. From him I have gained extensive notes of the period on the German Ships until we were finally parted in Yokohama. Thirdly I would like to acknowledge the help given by Alfred Round one of the Geordie seaman on the 鈥淜irkpool鈥�. Not only was he a very deeply committed Christian but he was also like an elder brother to me in the camp, showing me an example of the moral path in life. For the last two years of the war we were together, and he also kept notes which he has made available to me. Then I would like to thank Mrs Chris Best, the daughter of Malcolm Scott the radio operator on the Kirkpool. She in her own right had done extensive archive searches and had developed a network of knowledge from the survivors that she has passed to me. I would like to add that my contact with her came as a result of an interview she did on the John Peel radio show 鈥淵ou and Yours鈥� which we happened to hear. Malcolm Scott was a tremendously uplifting character who could always be relied on to see the funny side of life and sketch it and write amusing ditties! Also from the 鈥渙ther side鈥� I would like to acknowledge the information given me by Shigesi Konno a Japanese who had written an account of the camp for the people of Fukushima. To all of them, some living, most who have regretfully passed away, and all who helped me : Many THANKS!

CHAPTER 1 - A FATEFUL JOURNEY (PART ONE)

鈥� Better to have lived dangerously like a hunted wild animal in a fearsome jungle for a few years, than to have spent a safe lifetime like a sheep in pen鈥�

It was on December 8th 1941 on a bright summers morning when as a 10 year old I walked with my Mother to have Breakfast in the restaurant of Coronado, a very posh Condominium situated on the St Kilda Road in Melbourne in lovely large gardens. The warm morning air was scented with the strong aromatic scent of eucalyptus trees that grew all around amongst the ornamental Canary palms. As we settled into our seats I could hear everyone talking of 鈥淧earl Harbour鈥� and the Japanese attack. As a young ten year old who had spent the last couple of years closely following the war and was very good at Geography, I was quite blank. It was a name quite new to me, but over the following minutes I heard that the Japanese Fleet Air arm had made a surprise attack on the American Naval Base in Hawaii sinking most of their fleet with thousands of casualties. Somehow the news sounded ominous as all the grown-ups had long faces and were shaking their heads and had mumbled worriedly to each other. All news was bad in those days, we seemed to be losing every battle, and the other side seemed to be making all the gains. Nevertheless everyone had a feeling of foreboding as Australia seemed so huge and vulnerable with most of its small army in the Middle East defending the Suez Canal. Over the next few weeks the Japanese made a lightning attack through Malaya followed by the surrender of Britain鈥檚 Great Far Eastern Naval Base of Singapore. The Dutch East Indies were quickly overrun and shortly after that Darwin was savagely bombed and everyone expected the Japanese to land in Australia at any moment. During January and February Coronado started to fill up with smart smoothly dressed American Officers who had been rushed out to support Australia but with no forces at that moment. Mother quickly became very friendly with them and was also friendly with other Officers in the Royal Australian Navy. The reports she heard were grim from both quarters. There was no defence and the Japanese could take Australia at will, and so she felt it imperative to get out whilst the going was good, and return to our home in Ceylon where my Father was a Tea planter. In this she was helped by a friend Commodore Yates who at that time was at Flinders Naval College, which was the Australian equivalent of Dartmouth. His brother, who was also a Ceylon Tea Planter, with his wife and 16 year old daughter, were also wanting to return and had booked a passage on the Eastern and Australian Co. SS鈥淣ankin鈥� sailing to Colombo in April. Yates told Mother that through his contacts in the Royal Australian Navy, he had studied the proposed course that the ship would take, .which was to sail west towards Mauritius before heading north to Colombo in a gigantic triangular diversion from the normal direct route. The big worry was, he said, Japanese submarines operating out from Sumatra. It would certainly be very dangerous about the last day before we reached Colombo our destination, although by then we should be near to help and surveillance from our forces in Ceylon. There was also the possibility of danger of attack by a German surface Raider, although at that time there were no reports of any operating in the Indian Ocean since HMAS Sydney had destroyed Kormoran in 19th November 1941 and had in turn been sunk by her. 315 of the Kormoran鈥檚 crew including her captain Detmers made it safely to Western Australia; but from the Sydney however, tragically there were no survivors, a loss which all in Australia grieved.

So our fateful passage was booked, and we said goodbye to shore life, our friends, the hustle and bustle of a big city, my school days at Melbourne Grammar, the endless Jazz and boogie woogie tunes blaring from the radios everywhere and headed for the port. There she was the 鈥淣ankin鈥� 7131 tons moored against the wharf whilst all round there was frenzied activity as stevedores loaded cargo into giant nets which cranes lifted and deposited into the bowels of the ship. I looked at the vessel looming up over us and then we walked up the companion way to board the ship. She was a substantial vessel but about a quarter of the size of the Cunard 鈥淢auretania鈥� that we had sailed on her maiden voyage from Colombo to Australia in February 1941.. Later that evening, tugs arrived, there was a throb of vibration through the vessel, a swirl of eddies in the water around as the propellers slowly started, as we slipped our shore lines and sailed from Melbourne on the evening of Thursday 23rd April 1942. The 鈥楴ankin鈥� was under the command of the Master, Captain C. Stratford an elderly bald and greying man with rather a gaunt face and a quiet self contained taciturn manner. He rarely laughed or joked and seemed to be a man who was very conscious of his responsibilities on a wartime voyage with so many souls under his care. There were 321 people aboard, made up of 104 passengers 39 of which were women and children; 46 Lascar seamen from a British Tanker that had been sunk in a bombing raid on Darwin, 26 Officers (mostly Australian) and an Indian crew of 145.. The ship also carried a cargo of 5,300 tons consisting mainly of wool but also a considerable quantity of tinned food, meat, butter, cheese, tinned fruit, lime cordial, and flour. There were also a million rounds of .303 ammunition, 4鈥� cordite charges, and other NAAFI stores.. Most of these supplies were destined for the British Army in Burma. It was quite an explosive cargo to be sharing ones destiny with in the middle of a World War! These were days long before Health and Safety Regulations had even been dreamt about.!

Cont/鈥�..see A Child鈥檚 War Part Two.

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