Sacrifice, Captivity and Escape, page 18
After about two months I heard voices approaching my cell at a very unusual time. The door was opened and a guard I had not seen before came in with a man who appeared to be a white civilian. He and the guard stood looking at me for a minute or two and then he asked me how I felt. I told him that I felt better than when I had come to the prison. He also asked me if I exercised in the cell. I told him I did.
After a brief conversation with the Japs he told me that one of the benki-boys was due to be let out within a day or so and if I wished, I could take his place. If I took the job as a worker I would be entitled to a little extra food. They would give me a trial the next morning. I spent the next few hours in anticipation of being able to get out of my cell and fear that I would be too weak to do the job.
The next morning after breakfast a guard came to let me out of my cell and I found myself in the company of the six benki-boys. We marched in an orderly fashion to a part of the prison I had not seen previously. Actually, the only part of the prison that I had seen was between my cell and the exercise yard, so everything I did and saw that morning was completely new to me.
We went through a door into a courtyard. Standing against a wall were three or four large wooden trays with a handle at each corner. Four men stepped forward and, each holding a handle, carried it towards the door. The other two men and I followed them through the door back into the cell block.
The men seemed to have a set routine and the guard was content to let them do their job, other than for a grunt now and again. As they came to each cell the guard opened the door and one of the men went in and carried out the full benki, placing it on the tray. The guard was opening two or three doors ahead of us and after the benkis had been lifted out was going back to close the cell door. This gave the men a few moments to have a quick whisper to the prisoner in his cell. I had been following along, then the guard demonstrated that I should go into the cells and carry out the benkis.
After the first two or three, I realized this was no easy job. A wooden bucket full of waste can be quite a heavy load. However, I was determined to soldier on. The thought of some extra daily food gave me strength I didn’t know I had. While we did the ground floor, I discovered that not all the prisoners were soldiers, nor were they all English. There were also Indian, Chinese and Malays. We then took the full tray back out into the yard, where there was a large concrete sump with a wooden cover over it. It was our job to empty the contents of each bucket down the large hole. The technique seemed to be to hold your breath and look anywhere except in the bucket, while tipping it in the hole and hoping not to get splashed.
Up a flight of iron stairs was the second floor gallery of cells. These cells were occupied by Japanese prisoners. Security seemed to be tighter with the Japs. The guard opened each door individually and the prisoner brought out his own benki and put it on the floor. He then went back to his cell and was locked in before we were allowed to pick up the benki and put it on the tray. When the tray was full it had to be taken down the stairs to be emptied. It had to be kept level, otherwise all the benkis would fall off or the contents would slop about. So, the two men at the back would bend as low as possible, while the two men at the front would lift the loaded tray shoulder high. After each batch of benkis was emptied they were hosed down and returned to the cells. There were no toilet facilities as such in the prison. Upstairs there were two offices and even they had benkis in them. It was our job to empty them along with those used by the prisoners. The upstairs ones were special and got VIP treatment – a splash of disinfectant.
Finally, we had to hose down the tray, the sump and the yard.
Lined up against a wall in the sun were seven galvanized iron buckets of water, each with a cloth. On an order from the guard we stood in line, each beside a bucket, took off our clothes and tipped the water over ourselves. The water had been standing in the sun for as long as we had been working and had got beautifully warm; what luxury! We dried off on our scrap of towel, got dressed and were escorted back to our cells. I was absolutely exhausted and was glad to sit down on the concrete floor and relax.
Shortly after that, I heard the shuffle of the guard’s footsteps. He looked through the slot in the door and said my number, Di roku aka ju, to which I automatically said, ‘Hai.’ I then heard a whispered conversation and a bowl about the size of a cereal dish appeared on my shelf. When I inspected the dish, it was quite full of rice, vegetables and small pieces of meat, probably pork or chicken. This was the reward for my work. I barely had time to eat it before the guard was back again for the empty dish. If I could manage to do the job, I would get three meals a day instead of two. I spent many anxious hours wondering if I had acquitted myself well enough to get the job. The next morning the guard let me out of my cell and I joined the team again. It seemed that once we got out of the prison buildings the guard relaxed a little and we were allowed to talk very quietly.
It was explained to me that each day we would take it in turns to do a different job. The men who carried the benkis from the cells the previous day would carry the tray today. The men who were at the front would be at the back of the tray, which meant I and another man would be at the front. I realized immediately that they were trying me out to see if I could lift the tray shoulder high while going downstairs with a full load. Even today, I can remember that every bone and muscle in my body ached, but I gritted my teeth and got through. On the third morning, I knew I had won my place as a ‘poo’ carrier when the guard called my number and I stepped out of my cell to become the sixth member of the benki-boys’ team.
Chapter 22
A Working Prisoner
The morning I became an official benki-boy ended in the normal way with a bucket shower and a midday meal. I was spending a great deal of time in solitary confinement and was fantasizing and hallucinating quite frequently. I was ‘away with the fairies’ when I became aware of some Japs talking quietly near my cell. It is very difficult to put into words the importance that the most minor thing can take on when one is alone. Just a small spider running around the cell becomes something of great interest. The occasional moan of a sick prisoner or the quiet shushing of the guard’s feet as he approached my cell, were the only things that broke the silence.
When I heard the Japanese talking I was all ears. My cell door was unlocked and my number was called, ‘Di roku aka ju’. The guards motioned me to step out into the hall and I was then taken to a cell about three or four doors along. One of the guards called out a number and I heard the answer, ‘Hai’. The cell door was opened and I was told to go in. I stepped inside and the door was locked behind me.
My cellmate was one of the benki men. Although I had been seeing him for three days, he was just another person doing the job. I didn’t know his name as the Japs always called us by our numbers. Meeting him face to face was very different to working with him. I remember him as being taller than me and although he was lean he looked fit. Against him I felt a skinny undersized runt, which I suppose I was. I felt quite nervous and intimidated at first, which was quite natural after being alone for so long.
Of course, normal conversation was impossible as strict silence was imposed by the Japs. We introduced ourselves by means of whispered information, interrupted by numerous visits from the guard. I had taken the place of Jeff’s previous cellmate, who had served his time and had been returned to Changi POW camp. The Japs had put all of our working party into adjacent cells, not because they thought we would enjoy each other’s company, but because it was easier to open three cells close to one another, and they were getting short of cells anyway.
My cellmate was an Australian. Soon we had learnt something of each other’s history. He, like me, had escaped but had been befriended by a Chinese family who had looked after him, which was why he looked so fit. Word had reached the village where he was hiding that the Japanese were looking for him. Rather than get the Chinese family into trouble Jeff had gone off into the jungle to be captured. Jeff was in no doubt that had he been captured whilst he was with them they would have been killed. He, too, had a long sentence to serve.
He was a tall man but had a very gentle nature. His surname was that of a well-known English poet, Shelley, and he said that he was a distant relation of that person and liked to think that he had inherited some of his poetic talent. His favourite poet was, of course, the great Australian Banjo Paterson. He spent hours teaching me poems such as ‘The Man from Snowy River’ and others, which today I have forgotten but still enjoy hearing.
I, in turn, would quote poems that I had learned at school and doing these things kept our minds alert. Jeff confessed that his last cellmate had come from somewhere near Liverpool and he had spoken only of the women he had taken advantage of and the ramifications of English football. Of course, we talked of many other things such as home and jobs. Writing this it sounds as though we just jabbered away for hours. The fact was that it was quite difficult to converse even in whispers.
On many occasions we heard a cell door being unlocked and a person was taken out into the yard. We would then hear the distant sound of blows and cries of pain. Later, we would hear a cell door closing and then the moans of someone who had been beaten up for some small misdemeanour. Neither Jeff nor I wanted to join the company of those who had been beaten up so our conversation was very limited.
Each day we did our job and each day I began to feel a little stronger. I am not sure how long Jeff and I were on the job, nor can I remember the names of any of the other members of the team, that is, if I ever got to know them. At a guess I would estimate it was about three months.
One morning we finished our rounds and undressed for our bucket shower, when our clothes were taken away. This was a new development. We dried ourselves and stood about naked for about fifteen minutes. I had a horrible feeling that something was wrong as I could see that the other four members of the team were looking most uncomfortable standing there naked. Eventually, two guards came into the yard with an officer. One guard threw our clothes on the ground and signalled us to get dressed. We were then marched into the prison and made to stand in front of our cell doors. Suddenly the officer let go a torrent of Japanese, directed at us. Of course, we couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying. As he was speaking he came to each of us and in his hand he was holding two pencil stubs. A guard who was following was showing us some squares of white Jeyes toilet paper with writing on them. Fortunately, neither Jeff nor I were implicated directly, but we were punished with the others.
Unbeknown to Jeff and I, when we were doing the offices one of the men had seen a stub of pencil on the desk and had picked it up and managed to hide it in his clothing. He had then hidden it in his cell. He had managed to acquire a couple of sheets of paper to write on. Had it stopped at that things wouldn’t have been so bad but the other two members of the party had done the same thing and had been writing notes to each other and passing them on whilst on the work party. I don’t know whether the Japs had missed the pencil stubs or had found out what was going on, but they searched our cells and found both the paper and the pencils. Even though nothing was found in our cell we lost the job and the extra ration of food. We were given one hour a day of hard physical exercise to the sound of ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi. I think the worst punishment of all was when we found a band of Indians had been given our job and we would see their triumphant grinning faces every day.
During my time emptying benkis I had seen the other members of my escape party but was barely able to whisper a word or two to them. They all looked in a pretty bad way. One man, known to us as ‘Charlie’, was constantly calling out and we could see that he was mentally unbalanced. We could often hear the Japs shouting at him and slapping him to make him be quiet.
Not too long after we lost our jobs Jeff became ill – vomiting and diarrhoea were the first symptoms. Soon Jeff became so ill that he couldn’t even eat the smallest quantity of the terrible food we were given. I knew that to get any help we had to return Jeff’s food uneaten to the guards. I had already returned his partially eaten food bowls to the Indians who served it with no results. I still believe to this day that they ate any food that was left by the other sick prisoners. It took a great effort on my part not to eat some of the food that Jeff couldn’t eat.
On the third day Jeff had had a particularly bad night before and was very sick. The cell was in a mess. The guard came to let me out and I managed to get him to come into the cell and see what a mess Jeff was in. On seeing the state of the cell he called another guard and spoke to him. I heard the words, ‘Iaxan bioky,’ which I knew meant, ‘Very sick’. The guard disappeared and I was taken out for my wash and ten minutes exercise. When I got back the guards were with Jeff, as was a man with a medical armband. Fortunately, he spoke enough English and I enough Japanese to make him understand that Jeff had been ill for about three days. I tried to tell him the Indians had ignored my pleas for help.
Once I had explained this I was put into another cell. There seemed to be a lot of activity going on which, of course, I couldn’t see, and finally, the sounds of the cell being washed out. I was not returned to the cell I had occupied with Jeff. I heard later that Jeff had been taken to Changi Hospital, along with Charlie who apparently was suffering from delusions. The Indians who had failed to report Jeff’s illness had been sacked. It appeared that the Japs were not averse to starving us to death, or working us to death, but they did not want us to die in their prison. So, if someone was on the point of death, they sent them out to Changi to die. As for me, I was once again in solitary confinement.
We might be silent in prison but there was noise from the Japs, both the guards and the prisoners. During the morning there was the eternal ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi as the Japanese exercised. Not too far away from my cell was a hall with a wooden floor. For a long time I had heard the sound of many feet stamping on the floor. I had also heard the sound of oaths and ayahs and, of course, many Japanese words shouted loudly. At the time I thought, ‘My God, they even beat up their own prisoners,’ but I found out later that it was the guards practising sword fighting – the skills of Samurai warriors.
To do this the men wear a heavy protective uniform with leather padding on the neck and shoulders. A heavy leather helmet covers the head and has a wire gauze face mask. A wooden pole about the same size and weight of the sword is then used to emulate a stylized method of sword fighting. I had seen this done after the war and I believe stories that Japanese officers could sever a man’s head with one blow were true.
These and other noises at least kept one’s mind alert even in solitary confinement.
Not too long after Jeff and Charlie left the prison, the British and Australian prisoners were let out of our cells after the morning meal. We were marched to a courtyard where we were made to sit in three rows on the dirt floor. There were about twenty or so of us. Once we were seated one of the guards went to a large wicker basket and began producing some dirty black water bottles that looked as though they had been in a fire. He handed them around and when I received mine I realized that it was indeed a fire-blackened aluminium water bottle. We were then each given a small container with some pumice powder in it, some water and a piece of rag. The Japanese guard then showed us how we were expected to make each dirty bottle gleam and sparkle so that it looked brand new.
As I started cleaning my first bottle and gradually seeing the dirt coming off it I became totally absorbed in what I was doing. It was a very dirty job. My hands were black with dirt and pumice powder. After we finished we rinsed the bottles in a 44gal drum of water. I took my time rinsing my bottles as it gave me a chance to clean my hands. As each bottle was finished it would be inspected by the guard and, if satisfactory, you would be handed another to clean. We worked for about three hours a day and were usually back in our cells before the hottest part of the day. I don’t know how we would have coped had we been out in the yard in the really hot sun with no protective headwear. It seemed only a very short time before this bottle cleaning interlude ended and we were all back to the normal prison regime.
Even as a child I had never been very supple and to sit cross-legged even for a short time was uncomfortable. I was beginning to notice that my muscles were stiffening up and was having difficulty moving. Shortly after that I started to become bloated. I knew that I was developing beriberi, a disease caused by lack of vitamins. If left untreated this disease is terminal and I was fully aware of what I was in for. Soon I was so bloated that I could not put my shorts on and I could not do up the buttons on my shirt. Even though the guards could see that I was ill they still insisted that I go out for my morning wash, and ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi. The bastards seemed to take a delight in waiting until a prisoner was almost at death’s door before doing anything about it. The only thing I could do was to continue not eating my food until either I died of starvation or beriberi, or they let me out to Changi Hospital.
Finally, the guards left me alone in my cell and I just lay there. It was agony to turn over on the concrete floor – my skin was tight as my body swelled. I felt as though my whole being was on fire. I was fading in and out of consciousness and was hardly aware of anything that was going on. I had resigned myself to ending my life in the cell.
One day I heard the cell door open and felt hands lifting me up. The pain when they lifted me was so great that I remember screaming out. I was carried out into the daylight and even that hurt my eyes. I was then lifted on to a conveyance of some sort. A motor started up and I remember nothing else until I woke up in a real bed with clean white sheets covering me. Frankly, I thought I had died, but I was in Changi Hospital.
