大象传媒

This story was submitted to the People's war website by Louise Angell of the the CSV Action Desk at 大象传媒 Radio Derby on behalf of Ida Dean, the daughter of Arthur Buxton. The author fully understands the sites terms and conditions.

My father, Arthur Buxton (known as 'Bash'), joined the army in 1919 and service included seven years in India. he returned to England and left the Army in 1932. He re-enlisted in 1939 and joined the Sherwood Foresters. After evading capture at Dunkirk in 1940 he was sent to Singapore 2 weeks later and captured by the Japanese in February 1942 and held as a PoW at Honsho Camp.

I was 13 at the time my father came home. it was september 1945. Japan had surrendered so my father, could at last come home to his wife and family and 9 children. We were all at school during the war. I remember him coming home. We lived in the centre of Derby, which was a maze of streets and friends and neighbours put up bunting and greetings of 'welcome home Bash'.

He'd previously escaped Dunkirk and was the only man in his company to evade German capture and get back safely to England. He'd been sent to the Far East and was one of thousands taken prisoner by the Japanese at Singapore. He came home from Burma.

Although Victory in Japan was in August, these men could not come home straight away. They were sent to convalescent homes abroad before they were allowed to travel as they were so weak they could hardly stand, let alone walk. They were the fit ones.

It had taken my father away from our mother, Ida, brothers and sisters and sent him back a broken man. There were no letters, just four printed cards in all those Far East years. One every now and then saying 'I am well' or 'I am not well'. My mother had been marvellous to all of us in those traumatic years. We saw her almost ill with worry.

It was nice to have dad home again. it was a day we had looked forward to for such a long time. we had been to Sunday school and prayed that he would come home and not die like the others. They had nothing. No food, no shoes for walking on very hot mud. The men struggled to stay alive in the extreme, sweltering heat with nothing on their heads or backs, just loin cloths.

These men were in their prime. The best years of their lives were taken from them. They had to block out memories of what happenned to keep them sane but in those dark hours the nightmares came back to haunt them.

We put tea on for him after waiting all day. Jelly and trifle, that sort of thing. He could not eat a thing he told us. Three and a half years of eating only a handful of rice boiled in dirty water had taken it's toll. He showed us a stomach wound where he had been bayoneted. It had become infected because there were no medical supplies and the Japanese would not let the Red Cross in. at home the local doctor had to reopen and treat it. It still took months to heal. One day as he was defending some younger British soldiers, the Japanese soldiers strung him up to a tree to shoot him. My father started to sing, a deathly hush hung in the air. A command was given in Japanese and swiftly they cut him down a free man. Whatever the song, the Japanese soldiers were apparently impressed.

There were many memories of that day when we saw dad walk through the door. He didn't know which of us to kiss first . he had to stand back and think which was which.

My father who sadly died aged 77 in 1979 was given medals for his bravery but he was even denied those as someone broke in and stole them from him about 20 years ago.

i recently went to see a small exhibition about the Sherwood foresters at the Derby museum. While I was there I met fellow prisoners who'd been with my father. These old mates and friends of my fathers spoke well of him, saying he was a character. I know he did a lot for the morale of the camps. Let us pray that nothing like this ever happens again and we all learn a lesson from it.

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