By now my shoes were wearing out rather rapidly. When we left Singapore in a hurry, I was unfortunately wearing my walking out shoes, which were allowed in the operation room. Most of the airmen were wearing their rubber soled boots which were far more durable. I had been putting anything and everything I could find, to put inside to block the holes in the soles, but now they were completely gone, I was left with just uppers. I had previously spoken to our N.C.O. about my predicament but he had told me no footwear was available.
That evening I showed him what was left of my shoes and told him I could not possibly wear them any longer, to which he agreed. He said he would see if anything could be done about it. He returned about half an hour later with a pair of Javanese army boots, size six, I wore size eight and a half to nine. They were made of green canvas with a stitched on leather heel, toe cap and laced up front. The N.C.O. said it was best he could do and suggested that I cut the toecaps off, which I did. They were far from comfortable, as too much of my food was poking out, but decided I would have to wear them or nothing the next day.
The march to work was agonising, my toes were cut and battered by the sharp stones, I tried in vain to walk holding my toes in the air. At work I cut the heels out of the boots, hoping I could distribute my feet better with less hangover at the front, but didn't seem to improve matters. I walked and worked in these for days until my toes were just one bloody mess, no skin was left under the toes and the tops were split open and full of dirt and dust.
I had to go to the M.O. eventually to see if I could be excused work. Fortunately there were not too many off sick at that time, there were a few men swollen up and suffering from Beri Beri and some cases of dysentery, so he said he would do his best and try and get me off. I wen to work the following day and was told that evening I was to work in the prison garden until my feet had healed, or until I could be supplied with some other footwear.
Next morning together with the other workers, about ten of us, we left the prison accompanied by one guard and reported for work in the garden which was about half an acre of fenced in land behind the prison which reached to the river, the Javanese huts being on the opposite bank. The first job given to me was a sit down one. I had to cut the spines from coconut palm fronts which I then bound together, making brooms for the prison use. I was allowed to make one for our cell. By the time I had made enough brooms my toes had started to heal, the wounds and gashes knitting together. I was then put to work in the growing area.
Growing in the garden were tomatoes, papayas, bananas and some root crops but no potatoes, which I understand had been tried but without success. The tomato plants apparently had started to grow after someone in the prison had eaten some tinned tomatoes in his possession, and the seed has passed through him into the toilet channel This passed through the garden on its way to the river, the see had germinated in the earth at the sides of the channel in the garden. Someone had recognised the plants, replanted them and they were now flourishing, and from that beginning we sometimes had tomato added to our soup.
The memoirs of a Japanese prisoner of The Second World War 1942-1945. By Frank Planton.
Friday, 25 February 2011
Friday, 18 February 2011
8: Almost Death By Sword, A Lucky Escape - Part 2.
The work on the runways after four months of hard labour was beginning to show signs of completion. Some prisoners were put to mixing and laying cement to level off to the existing runway. We had been running out of material to fill the holes, so lorry loads of earth and rubble had been brought in to top up the holes. There were no tools for compacting this filling, so consequently when put to use and heavy trucks were driven on it, the runway would sink. This boded ill for the men on this particular job, they were rounded up and beaten, being accused of trying to crash Japanese planes as they landed.
The job seemed never ending, we had no news of outside events or how the war was progressing and realised there was a small possibility of us being rescued. Rules had relaxed a little by now. There was a general leisurely attitude and confidence about the Japanese soldiers and no air raid precautions that we knew of. Permission was given for us to have concerts in the yard, arranged by the prisoners. Some of the Army chaps formed a band, some sung and others did sketches and of course there were a lot of coarse jokes. Some of the prison staff watched with amusement and it helped to brighten up our days.
We had been imprisoned for about five months when our names, rank and number were taken, we were told our details were being forwarded to the Red Cross so that we could be reported as P.O.W’s. I was young and single and didn't have the worries as those with families had, which made it easier to deal with the present predicament. I knew that if I hadn't been taken prisoner, I could have been dead long before a letter reached home with the news. Our cigar ration ceased and in its place was the occasional use of tobacco. This was pretty awful stuff that hadn't been properly processed. Our guess was that the factory's supply of cigarettes and cigars had run out and we were now being given the remaining stock of tobacco.
As work once again, as we were being detailed off for our holes, two of the Japanese soldiers spoke to our guards, I was pointed out and told to go with them. I was marched between them feeling some trepidation, as we went towards the large open spaces of the airport perimeter. After a while we halted and I was told to pick up a coil of wire and canvas bag which was lying on the ground, we then continued on our way until the boundary fence was reached. The guards then sat down and motioned for me to sit, telling me I could smoke. I didn't carry any with me to work, saving it for when I laid down on the gravel in the yard wrapped in my blanket each night, when I endeavoured to forget my sore and aching body and stem the gnawing hunger pains. The cigarettes helped me relax as I dreamed of food, fried bacon, delicious food before falling to sleep from exhaustion. When I didn't respond and light up, one of the soldiers asked did I have any cigarettes, I told him no, so he gave me one.
After a rest I was given a pair of pliers taken from the canvas bag, a coil of wire and told to repair a large hole that had been cut in the surrounding chain link fence. As they sat watching, I made as good a job as was possible which seemed to please them. I was then given another rest and another smoke and couldn't believe my luck. We then moved to a smaller hole which I also set to and repaired, then it was meal time. We sat down and a small fish was produced from the bag and given to me to eat with my rice. I drank my water as they collected bits of wood and lit a fire, on which they brewed themselves a tea. We had some talk with signs and gestures and a little of our own language thrown in. Nearby were some goats grazing, for which I suspect the Javanese had cut the wire. One of the soldiers took his metal cup and fitted his water bottle and milked one of the goats, he then mixed in some sugar and placed it on the fire to warm, he then gave it to me telling me it would do me good.
After repairing two more holes, we sat back until it was time for them to take me back to join the main party for the march back to prison. Coming back down to earth next day, the hard labour of filling the bomb holes continued. One runway was now completed and in use, but there was very little air activity, which indicated that no offensive was being launched by either side, so we had no fears of being bombed or attacked whilst at work.
The job seemed never ending, we had no news of outside events or how the war was progressing and realised there was a small possibility of us being rescued. Rules had relaxed a little by now. There was a general leisurely attitude and confidence about the Japanese soldiers and no air raid precautions that we knew of. Permission was given for us to have concerts in the yard, arranged by the prisoners. Some of the Army chaps formed a band, some sung and others did sketches and of course there were a lot of coarse jokes. Some of the prison staff watched with amusement and it helped to brighten up our days.
We had been imprisoned for about five months when our names, rank and number were taken, we were told our details were being forwarded to the Red Cross so that we could be reported as P.O.W’s. I was young and single and didn't have the worries as those with families had, which made it easier to deal with the present predicament. I knew that if I hadn't been taken prisoner, I could have been dead long before a letter reached home with the news. Our cigar ration ceased and in its place was the occasional use of tobacco. This was pretty awful stuff that hadn't been properly processed. Our guess was that the factory's supply of cigarettes and cigars had run out and we were now being given the remaining stock of tobacco.
As work once again, as we were being detailed off for our holes, two of the Japanese soldiers spoke to our guards, I was pointed out and told to go with them. I was marched between them feeling some trepidation, as we went towards the large open spaces of the airport perimeter. After a while we halted and I was told to pick up a coil of wire and canvas bag which was lying on the ground, we then continued on our way until the boundary fence was reached. The guards then sat down and motioned for me to sit, telling me I could smoke. I didn't carry any with me to work, saving it for when I laid down on the gravel in the yard wrapped in my blanket each night, when I endeavoured to forget my sore and aching body and stem the gnawing hunger pains. The cigarettes helped me relax as I dreamed of food, fried bacon, delicious food before falling to sleep from exhaustion. When I didn't respond and light up, one of the soldiers asked did I have any cigarettes, I told him no, so he gave me one.
After a rest I was given a pair of pliers taken from the canvas bag, a coil of wire and told to repair a large hole that had been cut in the surrounding chain link fence. As they sat watching, I made as good a job as was possible which seemed to please them. I was then given another rest and another smoke and couldn't believe my luck. We then moved to a smaller hole which I also set to and repaired, then it was meal time. We sat down and a small fish was produced from the bag and given to me to eat with my rice. I drank my water as they collected bits of wood and lit a fire, on which they brewed themselves a tea. We had some talk with signs and gestures and a little of our own language thrown in. Nearby were some goats grazing, for which I suspect the Javanese had cut the wire. One of the soldiers took his metal cup and fitted his water bottle and milked one of the goats, he then mixed in some sugar and placed it on the fire to warm, he then gave it to me telling me it would do me good.
After repairing two more holes, we sat back until it was time for them to take me back to join the main party for the march back to prison. Coming back down to earth next day, the hard labour of filling the bomb holes continued. One runway was now completed and in use, but there was very little air activity, which indicated that no offensive was being launched by either side, so we had no fears of being bombed or attacked whilst at work.
Friday, 11 February 2011
8: Almost Death By Sword, A Lucky Escape - Part 1.
On our way to and from the airport we marched along a narrow gravel road to where we crossed a railway line at a level crossing. The trains that ran on this line were electric powered by overhead cable, not unlike our suburban trains at home.
On either side of the gravel road was a twenty feet wide grass verge which bordered a plantation of coconut palms.
One evening, on our way back to camp we were halted, a train was due. Where I had stopped, close by was a Javanese with his push tea-stall selling cakes and biscuits. The train hadn't yet arrived, I was starving hungry as always, and, having my Dutch guilders with me, decided to take a chance, leaving the ranks to buy some cakes, hoping to get back in line before any of the guards saw me.
When I arrived at his stall the Javanese trader seemed frightened and made no attempt to serve me. I pointed to the cakes behind the glass showing him my money, when I heard calls from the ranks, “Get back, they're coming”, I moved quickly with a glance as I went and saw one of the guards running towards me. I resumed my position in the ranks just before he reached me. He stopped and motioned for someone to move out, I was well aware of the collective punishment handed out if I didn't move, so stepped out onto the verge.
A Sergeant arrived and spoke to the guard, I was then moved further on to the verge so that I was in full view of the whole column of prisoners, presumably so they could witness my punishment. I had not, so far, received any of the anticipated blows which seemed most unusual.
Next, the Japanese Officer-in-charge came along. The Sergeant called me to attention in front of the Officer, who then began to speak to me in Japanese and by the tone of his voice, I knew it was a reprimand. This was the first time since the start of my captivity that I had been, or had witnessed a formal lecture being given. Usually, there was a shout then blows from a rifle butt, kicking and punching. I was wondering, was I being given notice of a court martial?
Honour and trust was valued highly by the Japanese and I began to think I had insulted the Officer-in-charge by leaving the ranks. I had no idea what he was saying, my only course was to look him straight in the eyes as I received his verbal abuse. His tone became more agitated as he worked himself into a frenzy. I prepared myself for the blows that were sure to follow as his rage increased. I knew a formal charge wasn't going to happen now, he was just another Japanese about to launch into another kicking and punching frenzy.
Suddenly, in one swift movement, he unsheathed his two-handed Samurai sword and raised it with both hands above his head. I managed to retain my steady gaze, keeping eye contact. My thoughts were, ‘So this is the end, at the side of a Javanese road, I wonder if it will hurt, will it need two blows?’ We stared at each other in silence, my next thought was, ‘This is not a very brave thing to do, chopping down an unarmed man’, trying to convey these thoughts to him with my eyes.
I do not know how long we stood thus, there was plenty of time for my thoughts as the silence continued. Suddenly he moved, slowly lowering the sharp edge of the sword onto my shoulder and stopped, then gently slid it off towards him, replacing it in its sheath. Perhaps he intended to cut through my shirt to show me what I had narrowly missed, but this was intact when I examined it later.
He then spoke calmly, wagging his finger in front of my face, and by the tone of his voice, I could only assume the message was “Don't do that again, or else”, which I didn't ever intend to. I was just thankful that my head was still firmly fixed to my body. He then motioned for me to rejoin the ranks.
Afterwards, I pondered over my narrow escape and wondered, was it because I looked him straight in the eye, did my thoughts reach him, was I honourable because I never moved the whole time and remained standing to attention? The answer I will never know. The Japanese were certainly very strange people. I felt sorry for the Javanese trader who I had involved. He had panicked and ran off when the he saw the guards coming after me. They had called on him to stop, but he had kept on running, so some shots had been fired. I think he reached the palm trees safely, so he may have got away. His tea and cake stall was overturned by the guards, the glass broken and the contents kicked about. A high price to pay by an innocent man.
When we moved off there were a lot of comments and questions from my fellow prisoners. “Was I frightened?”, “Did my past flash before me?” and comments such as “You were lucky”, “That was close” and “You won't do that again in a hurry”.
I had to agree, it had certainly been a close thing. I did wonder if, when we reached the prison, I would be taken for punishment, but fortunately not, as I had been dealt with on the spot by an officer. Next day, as we passed the spot I looked for the wrecked stall, it had completely disappeared, reclaimed later for repair I hope.
On either side of the gravel road was a twenty feet wide grass verge which bordered a plantation of coconut palms.
One evening, on our way back to camp we were halted, a train was due. Where I had stopped, close by was a Javanese with his push tea-stall selling cakes and biscuits. The train hadn't yet arrived, I was starving hungry as always, and, having my Dutch guilders with me, decided to take a chance, leaving the ranks to buy some cakes, hoping to get back in line before any of the guards saw me.
When I arrived at his stall the Javanese trader seemed frightened and made no attempt to serve me. I pointed to the cakes behind the glass showing him my money, when I heard calls from the ranks, “Get back, they're coming”, I moved quickly with a glance as I went and saw one of the guards running towards me. I resumed my position in the ranks just before he reached me. He stopped and motioned for someone to move out, I was well aware of the collective punishment handed out if I didn't move, so stepped out onto the verge.
A Sergeant arrived and spoke to the guard, I was then moved further on to the verge so that I was in full view of the whole column of prisoners, presumably so they could witness my punishment. I had not, so far, received any of the anticipated blows which seemed most unusual.
Next, the Japanese Officer-in-charge came along. The Sergeant called me to attention in front of the Officer, who then began to speak to me in Japanese and by the tone of his voice, I knew it was a reprimand. This was the first time since the start of my captivity that I had been, or had witnessed a formal lecture being given. Usually, there was a shout then blows from a rifle butt, kicking and punching. I was wondering, was I being given notice of a court martial?
Honour and trust was valued highly by the Japanese and I began to think I had insulted the Officer-in-charge by leaving the ranks. I had no idea what he was saying, my only course was to look him straight in the eyes as I received his verbal abuse. His tone became more agitated as he worked himself into a frenzy. I prepared myself for the blows that were sure to follow as his rage increased. I knew a formal charge wasn't going to happen now, he was just another Japanese about to launch into another kicking and punching frenzy.
Suddenly, in one swift movement, he unsheathed his two-handed Samurai sword and raised it with both hands above his head. I managed to retain my steady gaze, keeping eye contact. My thoughts were, ‘So this is the end, at the side of a Javanese road, I wonder if it will hurt, will it need two blows?’ We stared at each other in silence, my next thought was, ‘This is not a very brave thing to do, chopping down an unarmed man’, trying to convey these thoughts to him with my eyes.
I do not know how long we stood thus, there was plenty of time for my thoughts as the silence continued. Suddenly he moved, slowly lowering the sharp edge of the sword onto my shoulder and stopped, then gently slid it off towards him, replacing it in its sheath. Perhaps he intended to cut through my shirt to show me what I had narrowly missed, but this was intact when I examined it later.
He then spoke calmly, wagging his finger in front of my face, and by the tone of his voice, I could only assume the message was “Don't do that again, or else”, which I didn't ever intend to. I was just thankful that my head was still firmly fixed to my body. He then motioned for me to rejoin the ranks.
Afterwards, I pondered over my narrow escape and wondered, was it because I looked him straight in the eye, did my thoughts reach him, was I honourable because I never moved the whole time and remained standing to attention? The answer I will never know. The Japanese were certainly very strange people. I felt sorry for the Javanese trader who I had involved. He had panicked and ran off when the he saw the guards coming after me. They had called on him to stop, but he had kept on running, so some shots had been fired. I think he reached the palm trees safely, so he may have got away. His tea and cake stall was overturned by the guards, the glass broken and the contents kicked about. A high price to pay by an innocent man.
When we moved off there were a lot of comments and questions from my fellow prisoners. “Was I frightened?”, “Did my past flash before me?” and comments such as “You were lucky”, “That was close” and “You won't do that again in a hurry”.
I had to agree, it had certainly been a close thing. I did wonder if, when we reached the prison, I would be taken for punishment, but fortunately not, as I had been dealt with on the spot by an officer. Next day, as we passed the spot I looked for the wrecked stall, it had completely disappeared, reclaimed later for repair I hope.
Friday, 4 February 2011
7: Hard Labour, Batavia Airfield - Part 2.
It was clear that our captors were striving to bring the airfield we were working at up to operational use and that we were the only prisoners available at that time to do the work. My own thoughts at the time were to wonder whether the urgency was because they intended to strike at the surrounding islands from there.
Each night after roll call in the cell, I'd take my blanket outside and lay watching the tops of the waving palms that grew the other side of the prison wall and think of the wonderful world out there, it was the only time of day I felt at peace. My other thoughts were mainly of food, good food, lovely meals and to feel free. The first man to die in the camp was an airman, a muscular man who had given demonstrations on muscle control as entertainment on the troopship coming from England to Singapore. We were stunned that such a superbly fit man should die. Other deaths followed, some from dysentery, others just seemed to lose the will to live. The sick bay was situated in the Army part of the camp and as most deaths and burials took place whilst we were at work, we were unaware of just how many occurred unless they were actually from our cell.
We never waited around in our cells for the guards to come for us in the morning if we could help it, it was not that we were keen to get to work, but anxious to avoid the digs from their rifles and blows from the butts, so we would be ready and waiting in the yard. Several mornings as I sat waiting, I notice one of the Army chaps who looked familiar but never gave any sign that he recognised me. I was sure I had met him and that he was from Tilbury in Essex. One morning I tried to chat but he didn't speak another word. I'd never seen anyone look so unhappy. His friend said he was not feeling too well, so I left him be At a later date I saw his friend alone who tole me the chaps wife had written to him saying she was going to live with another man. He had received the letter just before being captured. A few weeks alter I was told he had died.
One night an Australian aircrew of three men escaped from the prison and managed to reach the airfield, they were captured as they attempted to ready a plane for flight, all were shot the following day. Several men who had slept next to and near the escapees were taken from their cell and put in a detention camp for two weeks, where they were badly treated and given just one meal a day. Their crime was that they had not reported that their companions were planning to escape. There were no further attempts after that, as we were told in future it would not be detention camp but the firing squad, they knowing that we would not leave our pals to suffer the penalty for us.
Some of the prisoners, including myself, began to get sweat rash around our groin, it was probably something to do with our bad diet. The M.O. had nothing with which to treat us so it steadily became worse. It was not caused by un-cleanliness, as we now had the wash cubicles which we used regularly. I had an area of around six inches down the inside of each leg that had turned red raw, my scrotum had lost all of its skin and oozed a clear liquid. This made me very uncomfortable, especially at work, so I tore up a worn shirt and tied it to my belt from and rear to help prevent the chafing. Our M.O. eventually came up with a cure. We were to urinate into a tin and then bathe the affected parts with urine. It took time, but gradually healed. Any sign of it starting up again, we immediately started the treatment. It was about this time we began receiving the occasional packet of cigarettes.
Marching to work one day, we were stopped outside what had been a Dutch Army barracks. An officer asked if any of us knew anything about painting. Five men, including myself, put our hands up. I was chosen and taken inside to the kitchen area by a Japanese soldier where there was a huge dresser, a pot of paint and a brush. I looked at the dresser and decided it needed cleaning before it could be painted. When the soldier who had left returned, I pointed out what needed to be done, so off he went and returned with a bucket and cleaning rags. I then carried on with the work with occasional visits from my soldier guard.
Just before midday he came and asked where I was from, I told him England. He then pulled from his pocket a postcard size photo of a Japanese girl about to be raped by Uncle Sam with John Bull holding her down. I didn't know quite what to say, his gaze watching my face intently as he awaited my answer. He then pointed to me and said “You Japan”, I told him we didn't do things like that and pointed out that both Uncle Sam and John Bull in the photo both had slanted eyes. With signs and gestures, we both agreed we were members of our country's armed forces and enemies. He then told me to stop work and have my meal. I then washed my hands in preparation to eat. My soldier returned once again and asked to see my food. He then waved his hand over it and told me not to eat it. He once again disappeared and on the return, brought me a cooked dinner of meat, green beans and rice on a plate. What a feast! It was unbelievable to be sitting at a table eating a good meal and feeling like a human being again.
He was a young soldier who I thought must have come from Japan for the invasion of Java and as the Dutch has capitulated, had had no experience of fighting or seen any bloodshed. When I finished work that day, I asked if I would be needed next day, to which he nodded yes. My sank as we continued to march past without halting the following morning. The guards at the camp who changed monthly, were entirely different and hardened species. We were forced to stop and bow to them as they walked around the yard and stand up and bow when they entered our cells. Out of the ratio of five guards, one would be a brute who would look out for any excuse to beat or club one of us with his rifle, one to be avoided at all costs, the remaining four not quite so sadistic but needed to be treated with caution.
One day a civilian was brought into camp who was said to be a Swiss naturalist captured in the jungle. It wasn't long before he was helping out in the cookhouse saying he could improve our diet using the plants that were plentiful and growing locally. There seemed to be an improvement in our soup on occasions, but it wasn't to last as he was moved from camp after three weeks. I read after the war that it was Laurens Van Der Post, who had probably been spying for the allies.
Whilst working at the airfield, if near the perimeter fence, Javanese would come with bananas and other fruit and offer to sell to the prisoners at outrageous prices, the guards on odd occasions would allow this. I had some genuine Dutch Guilders but Japanese currency of occupation was now in use. We were now being paid a small amount of cash, I used mine to buy razor blades, toothpaste and soap at the camp, which was awfully poor quality stuff but better than none. The person in charge of our cell would be called to the main building and handed our pay with the goods to sell. There was never sufficient cash to buy all three items at once, so always had to decided which I needed most. The cigarette issue had been stopped and we were now given three small cigars on the odd occasion.
Each night after roll call in the cell, I'd take my blanket outside and lay watching the tops of the waving palms that grew the other side of the prison wall and think of the wonderful world out there, it was the only time of day I felt at peace. My other thoughts were mainly of food, good food, lovely meals and to feel free. The first man to die in the camp was an airman, a muscular man who had given demonstrations on muscle control as entertainment on the troopship coming from England to Singapore. We were stunned that such a superbly fit man should die. Other deaths followed, some from dysentery, others just seemed to lose the will to live. The sick bay was situated in the Army part of the camp and as most deaths and burials took place whilst we were at work, we were unaware of just how many occurred unless they were actually from our cell.
We never waited around in our cells for the guards to come for us in the morning if we could help it, it was not that we were keen to get to work, but anxious to avoid the digs from their rifles and blows from the butts, so we would be ready and waiting in the yard. Several mornings as I sat waiting, I notice one of the Army chaps who looked familiar but never gave any sign that he recognised me. I was sure I had met him and that he was from Tilbury in Essex. One morning I tried to chat but he didn't speak another word. I'd never seen anyone look so unhappy. His friend said he was not feeling too well, so I left him be At a later date I saw his friend alone who tole me the chaps wife had written to him saying she was going to live with another man. He had received the letter just before being captured. A few weeks alter I was told he had died.
One night an Australian aircrew of three men escaped from the prison and managed to reach the airfield, they were captured as they attempted to ready a plane for flight, all were shot the following day. Several men who had slept next to and near the escapees were taken from their cell and put in a detention camp for two weeks, where they were badly treated and given just one meal a day. Their crime was that they had not reported that their companions were planning to escape. There were no further attempts after that, as we were told in future it would not be detention camp but the firing squad, they knowing that we would not leave our pals to suffer the penalty for us.
Some of the prisoners, including myself, began to get sweat rash around our groin, it was probably something to do with our bad diet. The M.O. had nothing with which to treat us so it steadily became worse. It was not caused by un-cleanliness, as we now had the wash cubicles which we used regularly. I had an area of around six inches down the inside of each leg that had turned red raw, my scrotum had lost all of its skin and oozed a clear liquid. This made me very uncomfortable, especially at work, so I tore up a worn shirt and tied it to my belt from and rear to help prevent the chafing. Our M.O. eventually came up with a cure. We were to urinate into a tin and then bathe the affected parts with urine. It took time, but gradually healed. Any sign of it starting up again, we immediately started the treatment. It was about this time we began receiving the occasional packet of cigarettes.
Marching to work one day, we were stopped outside what had been a Dutch Army barracks. An officer asked if any of us knew anything about painting. Five men, including myself, put our hands up. I was chosen and taken inside to the kitchen area by a Japanese soldier where there was a huge dresser, a pot of paint and a brush. I looked at the dresser and decided it needed cleaning before it could be painted. When the soldier who had left returned, I pointed out what needed to be done, so off he went and returned with a bucket and cleaning rags. I then carried on with the work with occasional visits from my soldier guard.
Just before midday he came and asked where I was from, I told him England. He then pulled from his pocket a postcard size photo of a Japanese girl about to be raped by Uncle Sam with John Bull holding her down. I didn't know quite what to say, his gaze watching my face intently as he awaited my answer. He then pointed to me and said “You Japan”, I told him we didn't do things like that and pointed out that both Uncle Sam and John Bull in the photo both had slanted eyes. With signs and gestures, we both agreed we were members of our country's armed forces and enemies. He then told me to stop work and have my meal. I then washed my hands in preparation to eat. My soldier returned once again and asked to see my food. He then waved his hand over it and told me not to eat it. He once again disappeared and on the return, brought me a cooked dinner of meat, green beans and rice on a plate. What a feast! It was unbelievable to be sitting at a table eating a good meal and feeling like a human being again.
He was a young soldier who I thought must have come from Japan for the invasion of Java and as the Dutch has capitulated, had had no experience of fighting or seen any bloodshed. When I finished work that day, I asked if I would be needed next day, to which he nodded yes. My sank as we continued to march past without halting the following morning. The guards at the camp who changed monthly, were entirely different and hardened species. We were forced to stop and bow to them as they walked around the yard and stand up and bow when they entered our cells. Out of the ratio of five guards, one would be a brute who would look out for any excuse to beat or club one of us with his rifle, one to be avoided at all costs, the remaining four not quite so sadistic but needed to be treated with caution.
One day a civilian was brought into camp who was said to be a Swiss naturalist captured in the jungle. It wasn't long before he was helping out in the cookhouse saying he could improve our diet using the plants that were plentiful and growing locally. There seemed to be an improvement in our soup on occasions, but it wasn't to last as he was moved from camp after three weeks. I read after the war that it was Laurens Van Der Post, who had probably been spying for the allies.
Whilst working at the airfield, if near the perimeter fence, Javanese would come with bananas and other fruit and offer to sell to the prisoners at outrageous prices, the guards on odd occasions would allow this. I had some genuine Dutch Guilders but Japanese currency of occupation was now in use. We were now being paid a small amount of cash, I used mine to buy razor blades, toothpaste and soap at the camp, which was awfully poor quality stuff but better than none. The person in charge of our cell would be called to the main building and handed our pay with the goods to sell. There was never sufficient cash to buy all three items at once, so always had to decided which I needed most. The cigarette issue had been stopped and we were now given three small cigars on the odd occasion.
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