Sacrifice, Captivity and Escape, page 9
When the guards arrived there seemed to be a little more noise than usual. Our new one came into the hut shouting at the top of his voice. At first we couldn’t make out what he was yelling, but as he got closer I heard, ‘Joskay Injection.’ Translated this meant, ‘Attention, Jackson,’ so obviously he was looking for me. When I realized this I stepped forward and said something like, ‘Are you looking for me, mate?’ In reply, I got a torrent of Japanese and some threatening gestures with his rifle, which didn’t bode well for the future. This guard was short, thick-set, and not much taller than 5ft. With close-cropped hair, his features were almost monkey-like. The most noticeable thing about him, when he opened his mouth, was the number of gold teeth he had top and bottom. He looked and sounded so repulsive we later nicknamed him ‘Satan’.
Satan took us back to where we had first gone to build the cookhouse. He could speak no English, so when we arrived at the job he reported to a Japanese officer and he came and spoke to us. By means of his limited English and my even more limited Japanese, we learnt we were to build a similar building. This was because a lot more men were arriving and it was to be for them to eat in; in other words, a mess room. I asked the officer if the man I had worked with on the original hut was going to be in charge. He made me understand that the man had gone away and I was to be in charge of the gang with regards to the building. Satan was to have charge of the tools and equipment, which were kept locked in a small outhouse at the side of the main building. All through this explanation, Satan was interrupting and jabbering away like a monkey.
We went to the shed and drew what tools we needed and began our task.
Eventually a couple of holes appeared which seemed to please Satan. Up until this time he had been jabbering away in Japanese and getting quite excited. Had he had his way we would have dug holes all over the place.
At lunchtime we were chatting amongst ourselves when Satan butted in. He seemed to be interested in what we were eating. He wasn’t impressed and said, ‘Jhoto Nie’ (no good), and showed us his food. He had what looked like a large omelette and quite a big tin of rice. Of course, we all nodded approval and he seemed quite pleased. He ate the omelette with obvious relish and then he did an amazing thing. He pointed to my mess tin and motioned that he wanted to give me some rice. I couldn’t believe that such an evil looking man wanted to give his food away. I held out my mess tin and he pushed some rice into it with his chopsticks and then went to each of us sharing it out as evenly as he could.
The next morning Satan was a little quieter but was still making himself heard. Off we went to the job and after drawing our tools, started work. About the middle of the morning Satan called for us to stop work and rest. He took me round the side of the house and showed me a large wok of tea (aucha) simmering over a charcoal fire. He gave me to understand that provided we asked his permission we could drink some during our breaks. The tea, or aucha as the Japs call it, is just water that is kept simmering, and every now and again one of the guards throws in a handful of tea. It is never allowed to boil or get too strong and we found it most refreshing. After a short break we started work again until finally the signal came for our lunch break. We ate our ration of rice more or less in silence. Satan looked almost as though he had dozed off. We also lounged around looking quite relaxed.
Suddenly, Satan jumped to his feet and started pointing at us and shouting, ‘Speedo, speedo, hurrup, hurrup,’ and generally going barmy. We all jumped to our feet and started work, wondering what all the fuss was about. All became clear when we saw a Japanese officer approaching. Poor old Satan was only showing his authority. We carried on with our work as it always paid to be very busy when an officer appeared on the scene. If the officer didn’t think we were working hard enough he would take his anger out on the guard and the guard would then take his resentment out on his gang of prisoners. We had no wish for this to happen with someone as unpredictable as Satan.
After the usual ceremonial bowing, Satan and the officer looked at what we had done. They spoke only in Japanese, so we had no idea what this visit was about. When the officer left the site I fully expected Satan to start shouting at us or showing some sort of displeasure, but he must have been quite satisfied with us as we were left to carry on as usual.
We were coming to the end of the job and somehow we had also come to an understanding with Satan. Providing we showed him some respect and did our work he seemed quite a reasonable bloke (in spite of his appearance). Funnily enough, after a time he began to look quite normal.
One evening I was quite surprised to see Satan coming into our hut. This was most unusual as the work guards never came near us except at work parties. He came to me and motioned for us to go outside. I was worried about what he wanted me for, and so were my mates. The Japanese were often unpredictable.
We prisoners had made some seats out of odds and ends and Satan motioned for us to sit down on one. We sat down and the first thing he did was to offer me an English cigarette. I was very surprised. After we lit up he reached inside his shirt and produced a photo of himself (at least I assumed it was he, because he looked quite different in the photograph) with a woman and two children. He then confirmed my assumption by pointing to the photo and then to himself. As he pointed to each person in turn he said, ‘English Nah.’ He wanted me to teach him the English words for each of his family. As I taught him the meaning of ‘wife’, ‘son’, daughter’, ‘you’, ‘me’, and a number of other words, I began to realise that he was picking up the words with a London accent. While I was teaching him, he also taught me a little Japanese.
He asked me about my wife and if I had any children. Fortunately, one of the few personal things I had been able to save was a photograph of my wife and son. I got it from my pack and showed it to him. For a short time I think we felt sorry for each other. About an hour and two cigarettes later it had got dark, so he left me.
The next morning when we had our break for aucha he surprised us all by passing round a packet of cigarettes saying, ‘Cigaretto good.’ He waited for us to light up and then said all sorts of odd things like, ‘You, me, him, her.’ He looked very pleased when we said, ‘OK, very good Number One, English Jhoto’ (good).
Satan came to visit me on two other nights and we talked to each other as best we could. Of course, my gang were quite happy because the next day we always got a fag or two. If we could keep him talking we got an extra long break from work.
Finally, the job was finished. We wondered what awaited us next.
Chapter 12
The Bridge
Satan arrived as usual the next morning, but instead of leaving the camp he took us across it to the other side, adjacent to the river. When we arrived we found quite a large gathering of other prisoners and guards. I saw an acquaintance and asked him if he knew what was going to happen. He said he had heard a rumour that we were going to build a bridge.
For a short time we just stood around chatting with one another. The guard didn’t seem too concerned about us. Then someone said, ‘Hey lads, look at this lot.’ Coming around a bend in the river were two barges loaded with timber. They pulled in to the river bank. It was obviously going to be our job to unload all the timber. I was waiting for the Japs to tell us what to do, when I heard an unmistakably English voice shouting, ‘Righto you lot, come on, get these barges unloaded.’ The voice belonged to a British senior sergeant. At that moment I realized that my sergeant’s stripes weren’t going to mean much on this job.
While we were unloading the barges I learnt that the bridge we were going to build would be across the Singapore River. Our POW camp was on one side of the river and the Japanese lived on the other side. To get to and from our camp was a considerable walk to the nearest available bridge and, at times, we had to carry some quite heavy equipment.
The timber was extremely heavy, very long and soaking wet. Most of the time we were up to our waists in the cold water. Added to this, having to hear the grating voice of the sergeant all day made it a miserable experience.
The next day Satan took us back to the bridge site. We had unloaded most of the timber the previous day, so that was one blessing. Later in the morning I saw ‘Righto, you lot’ talking to a Japanese soldier. As they came nearer I recognised the Jap as ‘Number One’, the boss from my first job building the cookhouse. They walked past me and I saw Number One looking at me as I was lifting some quite heavy timber. I looked directly at him. They passed on and, standing by the riverbank, had a discussion about the proposed bridge. They were there for some time and I was still lugging lumps of wood around. Finally, they turned round and came towards me. Number One stopped and said to me, ‘You, nameo.’ I told him Jackson and he immediately said, ‘Injection’. I replied, ‘You Number One, OK?’ He laughed and went off with the sergeant.
A little while later the sergeant came to me and asked how I knew Number One. So I told him of my experience building the cookhouse. He then told me that as a regular soldier he had been stationed in Singapore for some time. He had been friends with some Japanese people and learnt their language, which was why he had been put in charge of us. Number One was, of course, going to be overall boss as architect of the bridge. Our guards would still make sure we behaved ourselves, and ‘Sarge’, as he became to all and sundry, was to give the orders.
After the episode with Number One my life became a bit easier. There was a lot of digging to be done before any actual construction work was started, but I was spared that. Also, when heavy timber was to be moved, I found that there were plenty of helpers. Both Sarge and Number One used me quite frequently to help them when any measuring was necessary. The whole bridge was to be timber and entailed a lot of hand sawing of quite large logs.
We had two gangs working, one on each side of the river. The plan was that eventually the bridge builders would meet up in the centre of the river. Once work on the riverbanks had been completed it was time to move onto the actual bridge construction. The ‘powers that be’ had decided the best way to approach the job was to use two large boats for us to stand on while we worked. We were to cut large pieces of timber and float them into whatever position was needed. We had cut several small pieces and the idea worked well. It then became necessary to cut a very large piece. It took quite a long time to cut it as it was also very hard wood. Finally, we finished cutting it and it dropped into the river with a mighty splash. It immediately disappeared below the surface and we all waited for it to reappear. We waited in vain and it became obvious that the wood was so heavy it had sunk for good. The Japanese guard in charge of our party was very angry. We couldn’t understand what he was shouting but it was quite obvious he blamed us for losing the timber. Number One heard the commotion and came to see what had happened. The guard tried to get Number One to order us to dive into the river and rescue the wood. Common sense prevailed, however, and we managed to retrieve it with some grappling hooks.
For some reason the team on my side of the river had gotten ahead of the other team. Our part of the bridge was cantilevered out quite a long way from the bank. The Japanese thought it needed some support. Sarge suggested that we put a couple of props under it, sunk into the riverbed. The Japs decided a better idea was to anchor our boat under the bridge and prop it up with the board, which we duly did. We then went back to our huts, and the Japanese home to their quarters for the night.
The next morning our guards came to collect us to take us to the bridge. And as we came near the site we heard raised voices. The nearer we got the more obvious it became that something was wrong. We found our boat lying on the riverbed full of water. Of course, we thought it was a great joke but none of us even dared to smile. We had learnt that the Japanese sense of humour was strictly one-sided – their side.
What had happened was that the tide had risen overnight. The barge had tried to float on the tide but had been held in place by the bridge props. It had been a trial of strength between our bridge and the boat. The boat had been heavily laden with timber, so it didn’t take much pressure from the bridge to sink it. Had the boat not sunk it could have torn the bridge completely away from the riverbank and all our work would have been wasted. Finally, when the Japs had all finished blaming themselves and Sarge for forgetting that the river was tidal, the boat was pumped out and we continued with our work. Much to the joy of the Japanese soldiers we finally finished the bridge.
Shortly after this we lost Satan; he just disappeared. He was there one day and gone the next. One morning, when we were waiting for him to take us to work, the ‘Jockey’ turned up instead. He looked just like one with his bowlegs, small and of slight build, which was topped off with a small jockey cap. He took us to one of our worst jobs. We were told we were going to a warehouse to clear up a mess. This was an understatement, for as soon as the door was opened the stench knocked us back. When we got inside we found out why. Strewn around the place were crates and cases of tinned food. Corned beef, tongues, fruit, peas, you name it, it was all there. The tragedy was that every case had been smashed open by some means, and every tin deliberately damaged. Jockey made us understand that a truck would shortly be arriving and it was our job to load it with the stuff to be dumped. In the meantime, we were to pile it up near the entrance. Our only tools were a couple of shovels and our bare hands.
The warehouse had been closed up for weeks and as the temperature in Singapore was about 90° Fahrenheit, the food was putrid and there was a plague of flies. As we were carrying the boxes and crates to heaps near the door it became apparent that, despite the damage, some cans could still be salvaged. I had no idea of Jockey’s temperament. So far we had only communicated in grunts, our limited Japanese, and sign language. He certainly didn’t appear to be amiable. A couple of the lads decided to take a risk and if anything sound was found, placed it in a small pile separate from the rubbish. It gradually increased in size until there was enough to fill perhaps a tea chest. The Jockey had been hanging about outside most of the time. At last we heard the sound of a truck coming and so the Jockey opened the large front sliding doors. He inspected what we had done and spotted the pile of good tins. Pointing to the good pile he flew into a torrent of Japanese. Using his rifle butt and his feet he pushed and kicked all of them into the damaged pile. He was making it quite plain that we were to have none of it.
I was not aware at this time that the British powers had thought a scorched earth policy was a good idea, hence the destruction of our kitbags and now the destruction of food stocks. It appeared that this was done in several stores and warehouses to stop any of it falling into Japanese hands. As prisoners we were dependent on the Japanese for everything. We were now living on a diet of rice and vegetables because some stupid fools had decided to destroy our food stocks. Even worse than this was the fact that the warehouse next door contained hundreds of 20l (4gal) tins of aviation fuel for aircraft. These had been left intact and our lads were slaving away loading them aboard Japanese ships to be used in their war effort. Add to this hundreds of bags of cement and many, many other useful things that were being loaded. It was no wonder we felt sad. It took us a couple of days to clear up the warehouse (godown). We were really glad to see that job finished.
The men in the River Valley camp were a mixture of different British regiments and companies. There were also a number of Australians.
I was one of the few men whose kitbag had been burnt, which left me completely skint. A lot of the other men still had many of their personal possessions, such as clothes, boots and, perhaps, souvenirs bought on the way to Singapore. Others had watches, rings and, most importantly, money. If you had money it was possible to buy food from the Singaporeans. A lot of selling was done at night through the perimeter fence. It was a risky business because if you were caught by the guards both the buyer and the seller were beaten.
When money ran out there were ways of earning it. You could sell your possessions to the Singaporeans or the Japanese. The phrase, ‘It’s not worth a tin of fish,’ was certainly not true in our case. There were many men who swapped a valuable item for a tin of herrings in tomato sauce.
When we first arrived at River Valley the Japanese had been true to their word and fed us quite well, but as time went on our rations got less and less. I lost quite a lot of weight and was quickly exhausted by the hard work expected from us. It was possible to report sick but not advisable, as the Japanese practice was that no work was rewarded by no food. If you finished up in the hospital hut you were put onto half rations and so we tried our best to keep working.
The Japanese officers thought they should punish people publicly. This was a lesson to the rest of us to behave ourselves. The usual procedure was for all of us to be paraded before or after work. The offender was then brought out in front of us and given a tirade of abuse by an officer, intermingled with slaps and punches. In some cases the culprit was hit with the officer’s sheathed sword. I suppose the only defence one can offer for this inhumane treatment is that we actually saw Jap soldiers receiving the same punishment for their own misdemeanours.
On the lighter side, the Australians were segregated from the Brits inasmuch as they had their own huts, but we were allowed to visit each other and to mingle freely. Somehow the Aussies won permission to start a concert party. The Japanese even allowed them to use a spare hut as a theatre. The concert party built a stage and made quite a good job of a makeshift theatre, installing footlights and a spotlight. In all probability, had the British officers asked permission to start a concert party and the facilities to stage them, they would have been refused. The Japanese had more empathy with the Australians than with the British soldiers.
