Naturally my mind was occupied with thoughts of where we, myself and the other twenty nine prisoners, would be going. Fifty two men had died in the six months we had been at this camp, nearly a quarter of our number, surely it couldn't be any worse elsewhere. Many of the men were now covered with sores, it didn't help that we had to all bathe in the same water when the bathe was lit once every ten days and then do our washing in the same, by now, filthy water. When this was eventually drained and the fire put out, one of the sick men would be given the job of removing the duck boards from inside and cleaning the scabs and muck out of the bottom.
Next morning came and directly after the workers had left, we were marched off with two guards. I had expected that we would be put into trucks, as we had heard there were coal mines near Hakodate. We neared the dock and my spirits lifted as I saw we were making for the ferry. It was early May and the ice on the streets had just melted. I felt great pleasure at the thought of leaving this grey world behind. After being shut up for so long like a caged animal, I felt elated, as if I was on a days outing, sitting on a seat looking out of the window at the sea, doing what normal human beings would naturally do.
We left the ferry and boarded a train travelling south, the green vegetation flashing past was a sight to behold after so many months of our grey colourless existence. We travelled on all day until arriving at a large town, where we were told to disembark. We were then marched to a large factory, where we boarded a small train which took us fifteen miles up the side of a valley, stopping outside out new abode. The camp had large wooden gates, the perimeter fence made of logs about fifteen feet tall and reminded me very much of the forts the Americans built in the Wild West. Just inside the gates to the right, was the guard room and next to is was building which housed the Japanese. These had been built on raised ground, about three feet up. To the left of the gates was a large wooden building housing the prisoners and in between this building and the Japanese quarters, was a large earth and gravel square.
Behind the prisoners hut at one end, was the cookhouse and at the far end was the washroom and toilets, situated behind these was the bathhouse. On the extreme perimeter fence were housed some pigs, kept by the Japanese. Once inside our quarters, we discovered the beds were on two levels. These consisted of boards in two tiers like shelves, the lower about two feet from the floor, a ladder leading to the top level, the usual rush matting for a mattress. The empty bunks were down at the far end of the hut. I went to an upper bunk, made my bed and after a chat, fell asleep.
In the morning it was the usual rude awakening, there was a door at our end which the guards burst through, shouting and banging about, roll call was shortly after. The formality over, two men were detailed to collect the rice and soup from the cookhouse. The food was a little better than at the previous camp, we discovered later that a small supplement towards our food was paid by the mining company. Two volunteers portioned the food, the tubs having been washed and returned to the cookhouse. The prisoners were made up of approximately fifty Americans, one hundred and twenty Javanese and Dutch, six English and four Malay Chinese. In charge of the hut was an American Captain who worked in the village radio station. An American Lieutenant was a go between, passing on orders from the Jap's to the prisoners. Our reception from these resident inmates was very cool, any attempt at conversation failed.
We must have looked a bedraggled sight to them, we had come from a camp where there had been no let up. We had been starved, brutally beaten and overworked continuously, our strength and spirits had been drained, stretched beyond the limits of endurance at a camp run by an evil, sadistic Commandant. We were covered with sores, dishevelled clothes hanging on our spare frames. We could not have survived much more of this treatment, and I for one, am certain that I would not have walked away from Hakodate, had I remained there much longer.
The memoirs of a Japanese prisoner of The Second World War 1942-1945. By Frank Planton.
Friday, 27 May 2011
Friday, 20 May 2011
14: Christmas, Red Cross Relief, Constant Illness and Death of a Friend - Part 3.
The next day on my return from work, I was taken to the Japanese quarters and given a box of Bill's ashes and was told to look after them as it was my duty at all times. The box was about six inches square. I went to work next day, my legs becoming worse and knew the guards were watching, waiting for me to move, ready to pounce. I was unable to stop myself, the pain was so intense, the blows rained down but this was just another pain somewhere else on my body. I realised I could not continue much longer in this manner and would have to see the doctor. Remembering Bill’s ordeal, I must confess to delaying this moment for as long as was possible, feeling apprehensive at the treatment that I would receive. I told myself at least he would not need to cut me to release the pus, as mine were all open running sores.
I waited outside the office until my turn came. I entered and he asked me what was wrong. I showed him my hands and pulled up my trousers, showing him my legs. He told me to remove my trousers and boots and placing a sheet of paper on his desk, told me to stand on it. He walked round the desk studying my legs, then went to a cupboard taking out a jar of ointment. He then went to a drawer in the desk and took out a palette knife, with this he scraped down my legs with the edge of the blade, how I managed not to scream out, I”ll never know. This he continued to do all round and down each leg, removing each scab and sore leaving holes about one sixteenth of an inch deep. I don’t know how I endured this, the pain was awful, the blood and pus ran down my legs, bloody mainly. The pain became a burning sensation, I had lost the feel of where my feet were. After the scraping which seem to last an eternity,he spread the gaping holes with the ointment which resembled lard. He then told me to dress, after which he spread some of the ointment on my hands. I returned to my room walking painfully slowly. I had some clean bandages ready which I had made from my pants and bandaged my legs hoping by keeping the ointment on and the dirt out, they would heal.
Soon after this, I recall one painful incident whilst working on a ship. Whenever possible I walked slowly, when walking normally the blood seemed to pump round my legs causing great pain and the march to and from work, was as much as I could bear. There were two Jap ship workers bolting something to a deck. I walked past them slowly and was about ten feet away, when I felt a blow to one of my legs, the pain was indescribable. I managed not to fall down and when I recovered sufficiently, saw a huge nut similar to the ones being use by the two workers I had just passed. I turned and stared at them with all the contempt and disgust I could put into my expression. I didn't move, just stood and stared. The one who had obviously thrown the nut, started shouting aggressively and threatening to come after me, I didn't move. At last, he could not face me any longer and turned his back on me, talking to his mate who had remained impassive throughout, trying no doubt to justify his actions.
With Bill gone I was now on my own which I didn't mind, I could be alone with my thoughts and feelings. The men spoke to me, but there was not the comradeship that one shares with a friend. Prisoners formed tight little groups of two, three, four or so and shared any small benefits one may have had with each other. They were unwilling to let someone who had been sharing his spoils with someone else into their tightly knit group. I wasn’t desperate for their company which I did have at times, but with only two hours maximum of free time out of twenty four, I had enough to occupy me.
Shortly after Bill died, my foreman came up to me smiling broadly and told me I was to be moved. He said men were needed at another camp to work down the mines. The dock foremen had been asked if they had any bad workers who they wished to be rid of,so my foreman had put my number Hyaku San-Juu Ni (132) down. It was not known where our destination would be but decided it could not be worse than this hell of a camp where there was nothing but heavy laden skies, forever cold snow and ice, bitter winds and the grey sea. Together with all the brutality and privation it was indeed a miserable depressing existence. At least, it would be warm in the mines. I must admit I never had any ambition to be a miner remembering pictures of coal mines at home and pit disasters. As always I could only go where fate or my captors chose to send me. A fortnight later we were told we would be moving next day. I packed my few possessions and Bill’s ashes and was ready to leave the next morning.
I waited outside the office until my turn came. I entered and he asked me what was wrong. I showed him my hands and pulled up my trousers, showing him my legs. He told me to remove my trousers and boots and placing a sheet of paper on his desk, told me to stand on it. He walked round the desk studying my legs, then went to a cupboard taking out a jar of ointment. He then went to a drawer in the desk and took out a palette knife, with this he scraped down my legs with the edge of the blade, how I managed not to scream out, I”ll never know. This he continued to do all round and down each leg, removing each scab and sore leaving holes about one sixteenth of an inch deep. I don’t know how I endured this, the pain was awful, the blood and pus ran down my legs, bloody mainly. The pain became a burning sensation, I had lost the feel of where my feet were. After the scraping which seem to last an eternity,he spread the gaping holes with the ointment which resembled lard. He then told me to dress, after which he spread some of the ointment on my hands. I returned to my room walking painfully slowly. I had some clean bandages ready which I had made from my pants and bandaged my legs hoping by keeping the ointment on and the dirt out, they would heal.
Soon after this, I recall one painful incident whilst working on a ship. Whenever possible I walked slowly, when walking normally the blood seemed to pump round my legs causing great pain and the march to and from work, was as much as I could bear. There were two Jap ship workers bolting something to a deck. I walked past them slowly and was about ten feet away, when I felt a blow to one of my legs, the pain was indescribable. I managed not to fall down and when I recovered sufficiently, saw a huge nut similar to the ones being use by the two workers I had just passed. I turned and stared at them with all the contempt and disgust I could put into my expression. I didn't move, just stood and stared. The one who had obviously thrown the nut, started shouting aggressively and threatening to come after me, I didn't move. At last, he could not face me any longer and turned his back on me, talking to his mate who had remained impassive throughout, trying no doubt to justify his actions.
With Bill gone I was now on my own which I didn't mind, I could be alone with my thoughts and feelings. The men spoke to me, but there was not the comradeship that one shares with a friend. Prisoners formed tight little groups of two, three, four or so and shared any small benefits one may have had with each other. They were unwilling to let someone who had been sharing his spoils with someone else into their tightly knit group. I wasn’t desperate for their company which I did have at times, but with only two hours maximum of free time out of twenty four, I had enough to occupy me.
Shortly after Bill died, my foreman came up to me smiling broadly and told me I was to be moved. He said men were needed at another camp to work down the mines. The dock foremen had been asked if they had any bad workers who they wished to be rid of,so my foreman had put my number Hyaku San-Juu Ni (132) down. It was not known where our destination would be but decided it could not be worse than this hell of a camp where there was nothing but heavy laden skies, forever cold snow and ice, bitter winds and the grey sea. Together with all the brutality and privation it was indeed a miserable depressing existence. At least, it would be warm in the mines. I must admit I never had any ambition to be a miner remembering pictures of coal mines at home and pit disasters. As always I could only go where fate or my captors chose to send me. A fortnight later we were told we would be moving next day. I packed my few possessions and Bill’s ashes and was ready to leave the next morning.
Friday, 6 May 2011
14: Christmas, Red Cross Relief, Constant Illness and Death of a Friend - Part 2.
During the afternoon, I had seen a stack of loaded fish crates and decided to help myself to one just before we were due to return to camp. It began to get gloomy and the foreman started to collect the men together. I asked if I could go to the toilet, he said okay. As I passed the stacked fish, I put my hand out and just grabbed one, holding it close to me until I got to the toilet.
I hadn't much time to hide it and planned to put it inside my shirt at the waist. When searched the guard only looked in our side haversack which we carried. There were no pockets large enough on our jackets to carry anything in. When I looked at the fish, I realised it wasn't going to easy, it was rather larger than I had anticipated, almost as long as my leg, so I thought the only way to get him back to camp was down the inside of my trousers. I lowered this cold fish down my leg, the pants had tapes to tie them up at the waist, so I put the fish tail above my belt and tied it with the tapes to my belt. My previously long pants were now short pants, as I had torn the legs off to make bandages for my weeping sore legs when I went to bed. The walk back to camp was usually pretty unbearable, but that evening was excruciating with the fish chafing and rubbing salt into my sores and the spines sticking into me every step of the way, my legs felt on fire. I just prayed that I could get this prize back to camp safely.
At intervals along the way, I had to pull it up to stop it from coming out into my boots. Standing still singing in the snow that night didn’t seem half so bad as was usual. Inside the hut at last, I pulled the fish out, it was a beauty. I took it to the toilets to clean it out, this was the one place we prisoners could dispose of anything. The toilets were oblong holes to squat over and underneath was the open cesspit, soiled blankets were sometimes disposed of this way. After cleaning the fish, I took it back to my room. Bill look at it and said “Are you going to give me some of that?” I felt hurt and said “Whatever made you say a thing like that?” He replied that as he didn’t go to work he would not be able to give me anything. I told him we had always shared in the past and as far as I was concerned, it was the same now.
Bill seemed to be cracking up. I cut two large chunks, a piece each for Bill and myself and cooked it in the stove ash pit, the rest I gave to the men gathered round the stove to share amongst them. A guard came in later and started sniffing about and said “Fish?”. A couple of tins of barnacles were produced that hadn't been eaten and indicated others had just been cooked, he seemed satisfied with the explanation and walked off.
After we had eaten, the risk seemed worthwhile just to have a full stomach for once, I didn't dare think of the consequences if I had been caught. I must stress again how important food was to us, it was our main waking thought. We had been prisoners for more than a year without a decent meal and the hunger never left us.
My sores were getting worse and my legs hurt with every step of our march to and from work and then having to stand to attention, the pain was unbearable, if I was able to move my legs slightly, the pain eased. I was caught moving and received a heavy blow across my back that almost knocked me down, one had to remain standing at all cost otherwise there were kicks as well if you fell to the ground. Mentally I tried to work out what I could do, the constant pain was disturbing my sleep night after night and I needed to rest badly.
I was now having to do everything for Bill when I came home from work. I did his washing, washed his food utensils, made his bed and washed him. He didn't have any conversation anymore, just kept repeating that he would not be able to ride his motorbike again with hands like his. I tried to convince him that they would heal in time as I had hoped my hands and legs would, but I wasted my time, I couldn't get through to him.
Thinking about it at work the next day, I decided I would see the chap that was running the sick bay and get Bill in there until he got better. I managed to see him that evening and he told me there was a space available, so returned to our room and told Bill. I also told him I just couldn’t carry on as I was, it was as much as I could do to look after myself. He didn’t want to go and said he preferred me to look after him. I think I would have done my best to carry on and manage somehow, but for his miserable outlook and constant moaning about there being no point in living if he couldn’t ride his bike again and keep telling me to look at the state of his hands. My own hands were continually running with pus and looked as if I was holding scrambled egg yokes in the palm of my hand as it ran between my fingers. I did not feel a lot of sympathy for him, as he completely ignored the state I was in. All I wanted to do after my evening meal was to crawl into my blankets and be left alone. I wanted to try to forget the constant pain and didn't feel like conversing with anyone.
Next evening when I returned he had gone, his blankets and belongings had been moved, so after I had eaten and washed, I went along and sat with him, he hardly spoke except to tell me about his hands and not being able to ride his bike. I looked at the vacant expression on his face and knew he had given up, we was as good as dead. The next night was the same with less conversation, it was one sided as I tried to get through to him by talking about motorbikes with no response.
The next morning I was almost ready for work when the sick bay attendant came to me and said you better come and see your mate, because he is going to die shortly. I went quickly with him and there was Bill lying motionless in bed, I tried to get some response from him, talking to him, nothing happened so I bent over him and called his name, a flicker of a smile came over his face, then he was gone. The orderly said “I’ll see you tonight”.
My thoughts that day were naturally occupied with Bill dying, wondering if by getting him moved, I had caused his death. I concluded I may have hastened his end, but he would have died anyway, he had decided and constantly told me life wasn’t worth living.
That night the orderly came and told me Bill was to be cremated the following day and I was to be one of the bearers. I was excused standing by Bill’s body that night as I was a regular working. The sick mates of a man who had died previously were ordered by guards to stand by his body during the night. In the gloom the rats had eaten parts of the body and when discovered the next morning, the sick men suffered a beating from the Japanese guards.
I didn’t go to work the next day and during the morning, I was called by the guard to come. There were two Japanese civilians, the orderly and myself. Bill had been put into a barrel, knees up and hands folded across his chest. The barrel was then filled with sawdust and a lid put in place. It was then put into something that resembled a sedan chair with one man at each corner, curtains covering the barrel. We walked out of camp with a guard in attendance along the road to a Japanese cemetery, this we walked through and up a hill. At the top was a crematorium. This was a large brick oven with an iron door, the furnace underneath and a chimney at the back. The barrel was lifted into the oven and the door shut. The guard then motioned us to return to camp.
I hadn't much time to hide it and planned to put it inside my shirt at the waist. When searched the guard only looked in our side haversack which we carried. There were no pockets large enough on our jackets to carry anything in. When I looked at the fish, I realised it wasn't going to easy, it was rather larger than I had anticipated, almost as long as my leg, so I thought the only way to get him back to camp was down the inside of my trousers. I lowered this cold fish down my leg, the pants had tapes to tie them up at the waist, so I put the fish tail above my belt and tied it with the tapes to my belt. My previously long pants were now short pants, as I had torn the legs off to make bandages for my weeping sore legs when I went to bed. The walk back to camp was usually pretty unbearable, but that evening was excruciating with the fish chafing and rubbing salt into my sores and the spines sticking into me every step of the way, my legs felt on fire. I just prayed that I could get this prize back to camp safely.
At intervals along the way, I had to pull it up to stop it from coming out into my boots. Standing still singing in the snow that night didn’t seem half so bad as was usual. Inside the hut at last, I pulled the fish out, it was a beauty. I took it to the toilets to clean it out, this was the one place we prisoners could dispose of anything. The toilets were oblong holes to squat over and underneath was the open cesspit, soiled blankets were sometimes disposed of this way. After cleaning the fish, I took it back to my room. Bill look at it and said “Are you going to give me some of that?” I felt hurt and said “Whatever made you say a thing like that?” He replied that as he didn’t go to work he would not be able to give me anything. I told him we had always shared in the past and as far as I was concerned, it was the same now.
Bill seemed to be cracking up. I cut two large chunks, a piece each for Bill and myself and cooked it in the stove ash pit, the rest I gave to the men gathered round the stove to share amongst them. A guard came in later and started sniffing about and said “Fish?”. A couple of tins of barnacles were produced that hadn't been eaten and indicated others had just been cooked, he seemed satisfied with the explanation and walked off.
After we had eaten, the risk seemed worthwhile just to have a full stomach for once, I didn't dare think of the consequences if I had been caught. I must stress again how important food was to us, it was our main waking thought. We had been prisoners for more than a year without a decent meal and the hunger never left us.
My sores were getting worse and my legs hurt with every step of our march to and from work and then having to stand to attention, the pain was unbearable, if I was able to move my legs slightly, the pain eased. I was caught moving and received a heavy blow across my back that almost knocked me down, one had to remain standing at all cost otherwise there were kicks as well if you fell to the ground. Mentally I tried to work out what I could do, the constant pain was disturbing my sleep night after night and I needed to rest badly.
I was now having to do everything for Bill when I came home from work. I did his washing, washed his food utensils, made his bed and washed him. He didn't have any conversation anymore, just kept repeating that he would not be able to ride his motorbike again with hands like his. I tried to convince him that they would heal in time as I had hoped my hands and legs would, but I wasted my time, I couldn't get through to him.
Thinking about it at work the next day, I decided I would see the chap that was running the sick bay and get Bill in there until he got better. I managed to see him that evening and he told me there was a space available, so returned to our room and told Bill. I also told him I just couldn’t carry on as I was, it was as much as I could do to look after myself. He didn’t want to go and said he preferred me to look after him. I think I would have done my best to carry on and manage somehow, but for his miserable outlook and constant moaning about there being no point in living if he couldn’t ride his bike again and keep telling me to look at the state of his hands. My own hands were continually running with pus and looked as if I was holding scrambled egg yokes in the palm of my hand as it ran between my fingers. I did not feel a lot of sympathy for him, as he completely ignored the state I was in. All I wanted to do after my evening meal was to crawl into my blankets and be left alone. I wanted to try to forget the constant pain and didn't feel like conversing with anyone.
Next evening when I returned he had gone, his blankets and belongings had been moved, so after I had eaten and washed, I went along and sat with him, he hardly spoke except to tell me about his hands and not being able to ride his bike. I looked at the vacant expression on his face and knew he had given up, we was as good as dead. The next night was the same with less conversation, it was one sided as I tried to get through to him by talking about motorbikes with no response.
The next morning I was almost ready for work when the sick bay attendant came to me and said you better come and see your mate, because he is going to die shortly. I went quickly with him and there was Bill lying motionless in bed, I tried to get some response from him, talking to him, nothing happened so I bent over him and called his name, a flicker of a smile came over his face, then he was gone. The orderly said “I’ll see you tonight”.
My thoughts that day were naturally occupied with Bill dying, wondering if by getting him moved, I had caused his death. I concluded I may have hastened his end, but he would have died anyway, he had decided and constantly told me life wasn’t worth living.
That night the orderly came and told me Bill was to be cremated the following day and I was to be one of the bearers. I was excused standing by Bill’s body that night as I was a regular working. The sick mates of a man who had died previously were ordered by guards to stand by his body during the night. In the gloom the rats had eaten parts of the body and when discovered the next morning, the sick men suffered a beating from the Japanese guards.
I didn’t go to work the next day and during the morning, I was called by the guard to come. There were two Japanese civilians, the orderly and myself. Bill had been put into a barrel, knees up and hands folded across his chest. The barrel was then filled with sawdust and a lid put in place. It was then put into something that resembled a sedan chair with one man at each corner, curtains covering the barrel. We walked out of camp with a guard in attendance along the road to a Japanese cemetery, this we walked through and up a hill. At the top was a crematorium. This was a large brick oven with an iron door, the furnace underneath and a chimney at the back. The barrel was lifted into the oven and the door shut. The guard then motioned us to return to camp.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
14: Christmas, Red Cross Relief, Constant Illness and Death of a Friend - Part 1.
I had been at Hakodate for one month and my first Christmas as a P.O.W. was approaching, we were told we would have Christmas day off. The day arrived and we were given a British Red Cross parcel, which contained a tin each of corned beef, creamed rice and herring in tomato sauce, also some tea, sugar and powdered milk, the cigarettes had been taken out before being issued. How we enjoyed that food, it certainly helped to raise our spirits. I made my food last as long as I could eating it with the rice, but how I missed it when it had all gone. No one will ever see cleaner tins. We then had a bright idea and filled these empty cans with water, crowding them on the top of the stove to boil, this help temporarily to fill and warm our stomachs.
I think most of our thoughts that Christmas day were of home and the big dinner we would eat, then relaxing comfortably round the warm fire. So back to work next day with no improvements in conditions or weather, the snow, ice and howling winds continued and worsened and we were still having to stand singing in these conditions at the end of each working day. Soon after we were issued with a card which we filled in with our name, number rank etc, for the Red Cross. It was sometime in February that I received a card from my Mother with the permitted twenty five word message written thereon.
One night I dreamed I heard footsteps and thought it was my Mother bringing me a cup of tea in bed. The dream was shattered when I was woken by a guard prodding me with his bayonet, it was his footsteps that I had heard. I couldn’t collect my thoughts to accept the situation, more prodding from the guard brought me back to reality.
At work one day, my stomach seemed a little upset and uncomfortable, I just hoped it was not he start of dysentery. That evening I ate my meal and after roll call went to bed still feeling not quite right. I was woken during the night with severe stomach pains and needed to go to the toilet immediately. As I struggled to sit up the exertion and violet pain in my stomach doubled me up and I knew any further movement would empty my bowels. I tried to think what to do, I didn't want to ruin my bed, I had seen the awful results to those who had been unfortunate enough to have it happen to them, the almost impossible task of washing the blanket clean and, even worse, trying to dry them. Worst of all, was the loss of warmth of that unusable blanket.
I suddenly remembered that behind my head was my rice bowl and decided I would have to use that. Slowly I moved to make no effort at turning round, trying not to put any strain on my stomach, hoping there would be no further violent spasms before I had the bowl in position. I had just managed to ease it under me when another spasm left me with no control whatsoever over my bowels and it emptied into the bowl. I felt ashamed at what I had done and endeavoured to get out from under my blankets without waking the other men.
I went to the toilet and washed myself and the bowl thoroughly in icy water. Getting back into bed my stomach felt better and I was relieved that my blankets were still warm and dry. It was an emergency so was content that I had done the right thing. I decided to report to the sick list next morning, to see the orderly on my return from work. That evening I went to see the Jap sick bay attendant and told him of my stomach upset. The treatment he gave me was a hard case, not unlike a spectacle case but twice as large, which contained an inch thick charcoal rod, which he lit before closing the lid. He instructed me to go straight to bed placing the case on my stomach where most painful. Of course I had to get up for roll call, he also gave me some charcoal to chew. The case became rather warm and was very soothing as I lay in bed, but I had to return it the next day. The charcoal was not very palatable or digestible, but decided that if it was going to help prevent me becoming like those other unfortunate men who had started with similar upsets before going down with dysentery, I would persevere with it until I had use it all.
Once more my luck held, the stomach upset cleared up and I was soon back as normal as could be expected in the circumstances. There was one poor fellow, an Army chap, who we discovered when he died had soiled all ten of his blankets in turn, folding over each one as they became soiled. He had moved his bed into the hall before dying, to be near the toilets.
There were now small naval vessels coming in to the shipyard for their bottoms to be cleaned, which was one of the worst jobs that in the end proved to be the best. The men put to work on them, managed to keep some of the barnacles and that is where our Red Cross parcel empty tins came in for further use. There was now a mass of little tins containing stewing barnacles crammed on the stove top each evening. We were searched on our return from work each night before being allowed in, but a few barnacles didn't seem to matter. Those little pleasures helped to take our minds off the dreadful daily routine. Forever working, marching and standing in the snow, in the bitter cold, singing Japanese songs.
My hands were cracked, bleeding and painfully sore, it was a terrible existence. I felt that my mind was becoming affected also. In Java when resident in Bouie Glodok prison, I used to daydream about the end of the war and our forces releasing us from prison, but here at Hakodate, I didn't think much further than tomorrow and those thoughts were always depressing.
March came and still the snow and ice. We were not getting enough food to keep us going, the only vegetables in our diet were some radish and potato in our soup now and again and on the odd occasion, a small piece of herring for lunch measuring about two inches. We were paid enough to buy a packet of tobacco each month, a razor blade and toothpaste on occasions, soap was pretty scarce and food, definitely none.
About mid March my hands started to break out in sores between the fingers. These scabby sores then filled with pus. I washed them in the sea hoping the salt content would heal them, but this didn't work, they just worsened and soon were breaking out on my legs, below the knees at first and later above. At the same time my friend Bill’s hand started to swell, his fingers were twice the size their normal size. My hands were painfully sore and from time to time had to wipe the pus away as it ran down my fingers. My legs were in an awful state and the Japanese long pants would stick to them at night, so when I moved in the morning, they pulled the scabs off and blood and pus would run down my legs.
I told my foreman at work, no more kicking me in the legs and when I showed him why, he looked horrified, so we called a truce and I saluted him on leaving work. Meanwhile, Bill’s hands swelled up so he could hardly use his fingers. He was excused work and had to see the doctor on his regular visit a couple of days later. On my return from work that night, I found Bill distressed. He showed me his hands, the doctor had cut his palms open diagonally from forefinger to wrist without anaesthetic and scraped out the pus that had caused the swelling. He could use his fingers with some effort, but the whole episode had greatly depressed him. We badly needed something to lift our spirits and the opportunity presented itself a couple of days later at work.
I think most of our thoughts that Christmas day were of home and the big dinner we would eat, then relaxing comfortably round the warm fire. So back to work next day with no improvements in conditions or weather, the snow, ice and howling winds continued and worsened and we were still having to stand singing in these conditions at the end of each working day. Soon after we were issued with a card which we filled in with our name, number rank etc, for the Red Cross. It was sometime in February that I received a card from my Mother with the permitted twenty five word message written thereon.
One night I dreamed I heard footsteps and thought it was my Mother bringing me a cup of tea in bed. The dream was shattered when I was woken by a guard prodding me with his bayonet, it was his footsteps that I had heard. I couldn’t collect my thoughts to accept the situation, more prodding from the guard brought me back to reality.
At work one day, my stomach seemed a little upset and uncomfortable, I just hoped it was not he start of dysentery. That evening I ate my meal and after roll call went to bed still feeling not quite right. I was woken during the night with severe stomach pains and needed to go to the toilet immediately. As I struggled to sit up the exertion and violet pain in my stomach doubled me up and I knew any further movement would empty my bowels. I tried to think what to do, I didn't want to ruin my bed, I had seen the awful results to those who had been unfortunate enough to have it happen to them, the almost impossible task of washing the blanket clean and, even worse, trying to dry them. Worst of all, was the loss of warmth of that unusable blanket.
I suddenly remembered that behind my head was my rice bowl and decided I would have to use that. Slowly I moved to make no effort at turning round, trying not to put any strain on my stomach, hoping there would be no further violent spasms before I had the bowl in position. I had just managed to ease it under me when another spasm left me with no control whatsoever over my bowels and it emptied into the bowl. I felt ashamed at what I had done and endeavoured to get out from under my blankets without waking the other men.
I went to the toilet and washed myself and the bowl thoroughly in icy water. Getting back into bed my stomach felt better and I was relieved that my blankets were still warm and dry. It was an emergency so was content that I had done the right thing. I decided to report to the sick list next morning, to see the orderly on my return from work. That evening I went to see the Jap sick bay attendant and told him of my stomach upset. The treatment he gave me was a hard case, not unlike a spectacle case but twice as large, which contained an inch thick charcoal rod, which he lit before closing the lid. He instructed me to go straight to bed placing the case on my stomach where most painful. Of course I had to get up for roll call, he also gave me some charcoal to chew. The case became rather warm and was very soothing as I lay in bed, but I had to return it the next day. The charcoal was not very palatable or digestible, but decided that if it was going to help prevent me becoming like those other unfortunate men who had started with similar upsets before going down with dysentery, I would persevere with it until I had use it all.
Once more my luck held, the stomach upset cleared up and I was soon back as normal as could be expected in the circumstances. There was one poor fellow, an Army chap, who we discovered when he died had soiled all ten of his blankets in turn, folding over each one as they became soiled. He had moved his bed into the hall before dying, to be near the toilets.
There were now small naval vessels coming in to the shipyard for their bottoms to be cleaned, which was one of the worst jobs that in the end proved to be the best. The men put to work on them, managed to keep some of the barnacles and that is where our Red Cross parcel empty tins came in for further use. There was now a mass of little tins containing stewing barnacles crammed on the stove top each evening. We were searched on our return from work each night before being allowed in, but a few barnacles didn't seem to matter. Those little pleasures helped to take our minds off the dreadful daily routine. Forever working, marching and standing in the snow, in the bitter cold, singing Japanese songs.
My hands were cracked, bleeding and painfully sore, it was a terrible existence. I felt that my mind was becoming affected also. In Java when resident in Bouie Glodok prison, I used to daydream about the end of the war and our forces releasing us from prison, but here at Hakodate, I didn't think much further than tomorrow and those thoughts were always depressing.
March came and still the snow and ice. We were not getting enough food to keep us going, the only vegetables in our diet were some radish and potato in our soup now and again and on the odd occasion, a small piece of herring for lunch measuring about two inches. We were paid enough to buy a packet of tobacco each month, a razor blade and toothpaste on occasions, soap was pretty scarce and food, definitely none.
About mid March my hands started to break out in sores between the fingers. These scabby sores then filled with pus. I washed them in the sea hoping the salt content would heal them, but this didn't work, they just worsened and soon were breaking out on my legs, below the knees at first and later above. At the same time my friend Bill’s hand started to swell, his fingers were twice the size their normal size. My hands were painfully sore and from time to time had to wipe the pus away as it ran down my fingers. My legs were in an awful state and the Japanese long pants would stick to them at night, so when I moved in the morning, they pulled the scabs off and blood and pus would run down my legs.
I told my foreman at work, no more kicking me in the legs and when I showed him why, he looked horrified, so we called a truce and I saluted him on leaving work. Meanwhile, Bill’s hands swelled up so he could hardly use his fingers. He was excused work and had to see the doctor on his regular visit a couple of days later. On my return from work that night, I found Bill distressed. He showed me his hands, the doctor had cut his palms open diagonally from forefinger to wrist without anaesthetic and scraped out the pus that had caused the swelling. He could use his fingers with some effort, but the whole episode had greatly depressed him. We badly needed something to lift our spirits and the opportunity presented itself a couple of days later at work.
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