19: Goodbye to Worms and a Surprise Feast

My army boots were by now worn out, I was now having to wear the Japanese rubber soled boot which gave no protection and were not suitable for working in the mine. On occasions we had to work in other levels of the mine, our regular level number was five hundred and fifty.

On level five hundred, instead of us prisoners working together as usual, each one of us worked either with a Japanese or a Korean. There were a considerable number of Koreans on forced labour, who the Jap's had brought over from Korea together with families and put to work in the mine. They were housed separately on the outskirts of the village and seemed afraid to communicate with us for some reason.

One hard job we sometimes had, was to carry the drill bits used to bore the iron ore ready for the gelignite to be put in. These were up to four metres long and were mounted on an adjustable mounting, jacked up between the floor and roof and driven by compressed air. Water was sprayed to keep the drill cool. The drill bits were solid steel and an inch and half in diameter and extremely heavy. These we had to carry on our shoulders to the workshops when they needed re-sharpening or to be returned. Whilst drilling was in progress the noise was intense and very unpleasant to work near.

My stomach pains returned after a month. I now realised how I had become infected with worms, when I learned that the sewage from the cesspits in the village, was used to top up the large holes of about six cubic feet, which were dug in the corner of the fields. This was left until spring and then spread over the crops. Eating the raw, unwashed potatoes that I had stolen from the fields, had been the obvious cause. The pains, which felt like something trying to bore through my inside, continued but I saw no evidence of worms, until one night I awoke and felt one at the back of my throat, it was the most nauseating feeling. As I lay on my side, it was trying to thrust its way into the back of my nose. I sat up and tried to reach it with my fingers without success, I then tried coughing and eventually manged to grab hold of us, tugging it out and wrapping it in a piece of paper to show the surgeon next morning.

When I show him my three inch worm, which as about as thick as an earth worm, he told me I was in luck, he had recently been given some American Red Cross medical supplies. He handed me two large capsules to be taken after eight hours without food. I’d had breakfast at eight o’clock before seeing the doctor, so did not eat my midday meal before going to work. I also left my evening meal behind my bed. On my return to camp that night, I filled up with water.

Breakfast time next day, I swallowed my capsules, twenty four hours after my last meal. As the capsules dissolved in my stomach, I could taste the fumes, not unlike petrol and felt rather giddy. I went and laid on my bed, resting before going to work at one o’clock. Suddenly the guards burst in demanding a wood collecting party. I had brought down three of my ten bundles so far, it was a waste of time trying to tell the guards I wasn’t well enough, so off I went. We walked up the hillside to the wood pile and I decided I would only carry the one bundle down that day. These were carried by placing a robe round the waist, then winding it round the bundles on our back, the rope ends were then thrown over our shoulders and gripped in each hand. I was surprised at how weak I felt, when having placed the bundle on my back and standing up, I immediately fell over backwards and was unable to get up. A couple of men helped me up and to avoid a repeat performance, I managed to get back to camp in a crouching position. I returned to the hut to rest until it was time for work.

Roll call came and I took my evening meal with me today. I had accumulated four meals of rice which I had stored in my mug, bowl and soup dish, I had given my share of soup up. Walking to work I still felt rather weak and arriving at the rock face, my three workmates did most of my share of work, knowing I hadn’t eaten. After about two hours I felt then need to evacuate my bowls, so took a lamp and went to a worked out rock seam that was used as a toilet area. I emptied my bowls, held the lamp to see if I had passed any worms and was astounded to see on the ground a large cluster of about forty to fifty of them, two to three inches long, all dead. I had passed nothing else, just worms. I felt greatly relieved that at last I had seen their demise. What we would have done without those American Red Cross supplies, or our surgeon and his helpmate for that matter, I do not know. At meal break I ended my thirty four hour fast. I felt so much better after eating and could hardly wait to get back to camp for a midnight feast of the rice I had saved.

It was a wonderful feeling walking back that night with no more worrying about those ghastly worms eating away inside me, so off we went with the Americans plus the six Englishmen in the first group, sprinting ahead closely followed by the Indonesians who made up the second group, our group bringing up the rear followed by the guard and camp foreman. If our group had seen anything worth stealing, I suppose we would have been doing a sprint, but personally after my recent experience with the potatoes, I was not too keen on the idea of chancing having another bout of worms. One of the Indonesians told me some time later that they also stole potatoes from the fields, but only on bath nights. The fire under the bath was always left burning for the miners when they returned about eleven o’clock at night. When everyone had bathed, the Indonesians put their potatoes in the hot ash and by the time they had done their washing, the potatoes would be cooked ready to eat.

There was not the comradeship in this camp, each of the different nationalities kept in a tight circle, keeping their secrets and perks to themselves. There was none of the sharing or helping each other that I’d experienced before.

One evening on our walk back, an extraordinary event occurred. On one route we passed the Korean dining hut and apparently the cooks regularly put the scorched rice that was scraped from the coppers it was cooked in, outside for the prisoners to collect on their way past. Of course the Americans had kept this little secret to themselves, hence their sprint ahead of us each night. On this particular evening, finding no scorched rice outside, the Americans had entered the dining hut and helped themselves to rice from the tubs on the tables and of course then the Indonesians arrived and saw what was happening, in they went.

Our group arrived as they were leaving the hut with rice piled high in their lunch boxes, their hats and anything else they had to carry the rice in, so without hesitation in I went. There were tubs of rice and large chunks of red salmon on the table, so I helped myself to six pieces of salmon and filled my side pack with rice. As I was leaving, the guard came rushing in and the two Koreans cooks fled at the sight of him. The guard then ushered the remaining prisoners out and ran to the Americans who had by now eaten their rice, some of the Indonesians still had some and we English group hadn’t started on ours. We had taken rather large amounts, I had enough rice for at least six ordinary meals. The guard came along frantically telling us to eat it up or throw it away. We then knew that he was in a panic and had lost control of us. He was obviously frightened that he would be in dire trouble for failing in his duty. If he had raised his rifle and threatened to shoot, we would have regretfully thrown the food away. We realised that we were on top for once and told him we were going to keep it and reasoned with him that it would be seen on the road and questions might be asked, some might want to know how it got there. Also we couldn’t eat it all and intended sharing with the men in the camp who didn’t work at the mine.

We walked on slowly, eating some on the way. As we neared the camp, the guard had one more try, stopping us and telling us to eat up, we told him “No search in camp tonight”. He was still very worried, so we suggested we wait outside whilst he went in to check if the Sergeant was about, this he agreed to do. He went away and shortly after came hurrying back saying “OK move quick”, which we didn’t need telling twice. We formed up quickly for him and were dismissed, no search, what a relief.

Normally when we arrived back in the hut around eleven fifteen at night, it would be rather quiet with some of the men asleep, but within minutes they were all wide awake and rather noisy, with everyone busy eating and talking. We tried to keep quiet as we didn’t want to alert the other guards that something unusual was going on and all the food had to be consumed in case of a search the next day. A guard did come into the hut eventually whilst we were still eating and told us to be quiet. Strangely enough he didn’t put the lights on or demand to know what was going on, which was most unusual, so we did wonder if he was a friend of the guard that had escorted us back that night.

18: Food Sharing, Potatoes and Worms - Part 2.

On the poles that carried electricity cables to the Ohasi village were several loudspeakers. I had no idea if the civilian population had radios, but at various times we heard loud music played and some talking, which was possibly news programmes.

On one of our days off, guards suddenly burst in and herded us all out onto the square as we were. Two guards then moved amongst us, searching those that looked as if they might be concealing something about their person. Meanwhile inside, our beds and belongings were being turned over and ransacked by other guards. After half an hour we were allowed back in. On another occasion we were all ordered out onto the square and lined up. A Jap officer then announced we would be staying there until someone admitted to the theft. I had no idea what was missing and never found out. After fifteen minutes, there was a murmuring amongst the Indonesians, and then five of them pointed to one man, the unfortunate man was led away and we were dismissed. Back inside the hut the Indonesians refused to discuss the incident.

Anyone needing surgery could expect pretty primitive remedies and or treatment. The surgeon operated on an American miner whose thumb had been damaged and the bone become infected with the iron ore. The cut the bone out completely and sewed the flesh together, a marvellous job, although the thumb was pretty useless, it was mush better than an amputation.

It was not good for those needing dental treatment, the surgeon explaining he was not a dentist and further more, he had no tools suitable for the job. There were two men who were suffering and needed to have teeth extracted, so one of the prisoners who was employed in the mine workshop, stole and thoroughly cleaned a pair of pliers. The surgeon then said he did not have enough local anaesthetic for tooth extractions, as it was needed for wounds contaminated by the iron ore. So the arrangement was that the man with raging toothache was refused treatment for about three days and when he could stand the pain no longer, he was to call the surgeon day or night. The sailor who assisted was a huge man who held the patient down whilst the surgeon did the rest. If this took place during the night the job was carried out in the hut. I was very glad that I'd had the foresight to visit the dentist in Singapore.

Our irregular foreman who we had on occasions, didn’t work amongst us as the other three did. He would fold a cloth, placing it on a rock upon which he would sit for the whole shift, except for the meal break. We didn't know his name, but secretly called him “Heap High”. He sat so that the railway line was in his sight at all times, smoking his pipe, watching and counting as we pushed the trucks to the chute, happy that we were reaching the target. As we passed him with the loaded truck we would say “Okay”, and he would answer back something that sounded like “Heap High”, hence his nickname. At the chute we would hurl a couple of rocks down to make a noise and then push the loaded truck back to the rock face, loading a few more rocks higher on the side he sat. We would repeat this performance all shift, except for an occasional emptying of one. We were sorry we didn’t have him more often. At one time during the summer, he took us out on the hillside for our meal break. It was a glorious day with the sun beating down and we experienced a rare feeling of freedom, laying relaxed on the grass, how we enjoyed that break.

Earth tremors were fairly frequent on the Island of Honshu where we were and I became accustomed to them. On one of my days off whilst lying on the bed, I heard a noise in the distance and as it came closer, the only way I have of describing it was the sound of a large number of traction engines or steam rollers, their iron wheels grinding on a concrete road. As the noise increased, the building began to tremble. I looked out of a nearby window and saw all the Japanese pouring from their building onto the square. All the dishes, tins and mugs were falling off the shelves and outside, the filled water butts were spilling over. The noise was now deafening, everything was moving and shaking, the earth, the buildings, there was the occasional crash as boulders came tumbling down the rocky hillside at the back of the camp, then gradually it passed on its way along the valley. The waters butts had to be refilled, these were kept full at all times for the purpose of fire fighting, the Jap’s then returned to their building. Going to work the next day, I had expected to see some damaged to the mind but everything appeared to be in order.

One one of our rest days, the weather was very hot and oppressive, we were once again hustled out of our hut into the square, whilst another search for a radio was carried out. I felt the ground come up and woke up in the sick bay with a saline drip in my arm. I was told to keep out of the sun unless wearing a hat. There wasn’t much choice, with the guards rushing in from both ends of the hut driving us out.

We were nearing the end of summer when, one day Hia San our foreman told us tomorrow night was a celebration. We were rather mystified as to what there was to celebrate but he said we would have Saki, of course we only believed things when they happened. 

The following day at work, Hia San didn’t chase us to reach the tonnage target as was usual, disappearing on two occasions before we’d had our meal break, which we thought was overdue. He then went off once again saying he was going to see if the men in the office had gone home, on his return he said “All clear”. He then took us out of the mine onto the hillside, telling us to sit and eat our meal. A friend of his then appeared carrying two bottles of home made wine, Saki. Small glasses that would hold about a measure of spirit, were then passed round, it tasted slightly sour but alcoholic. He and his friend chatted and offered round smokes for the rest of the shift, we didn’t enter the mine again that night. Hia San stumbled back down the hillside with us, to the waiting guard and handed us over, he usually walked back with us to Ohasi, but not that night.

Autumn was approaching and one day, as always, on the look out for anything edible, I noticed a small field with what looked like a crop of potatoes growing in it. A closer look next day and I was sure, so that evening on the return journey from work, I put a spurt on so I was well ahead of the single guard bringing up the rear. Moving quickly, I went into the field and scraping round one of the plants, found four potatoes. I rubbed as much dirt off as was possible, then ate them raw before arriving back at camp. They tasted earthy, not at all pleasant, but I was hungry enough to eat anything. I repeated this performance as often as I was able, until one day the potatoes were harvested and my extra source of food came to an abrupt halt.

Two or three weeks later, I started suffering stomach pains with no relief. I felt alright otherwise except for the hunger pangs which were always there. Walking to work one day, I had a strange feeling in my back passage and putting my hand there, felt a large worm hanging half out. I grabbed hold of it pulling it out and threw it to the ground, deciding I would report to sick bay next day. Next morning, I went to see the surgeon and explained what had happened, his reply was “Not another gold brick”, an American expression for something worthless. He thought I was trying to escape work and told me to bring him a worm, he would then treat me. As turned to leave, I had another jab of pain that made me wince, the sailor assistant asked where the pain was, I told him my lower abdomen. He placed his hand on my stomach and felt it, then turned to the surgeon saying “You had better give him some treatment, his stomach muscles are tense and tight”. With this the surgeon gave me some worm tablets and told me not to eat for eight hours before taking them. He didn’t think the tables were strong enough for the type of worms I had, if I found another, I was to keep it for him to see.

About this time, one of the men from the other end of our hut managed to escape from camp, but his freedom only lasted twenty four hours. Why he thought it was worth a try in the land of slant eyed people, I’ll never know. Where could he possibly go without being noticed? His close companions in the hut were fortunate there were no reprisals against them, as was the case in the Java camp. We didn’t seem him again.

18: Food Sharing, Potatoes and Worms - Part 1.

Food was the overriding factor that governed our days, our stomach, our feelings, we seemed to be getting less rice. I was constantly ravenously hungry and was now eating a plant that grew at the roadside. In my eyes, if it looked like celery, which it did, that was good enough for me, it must have been wild celery.

One day on the way to work, I saw a woman by the stream cut the heads off two fish. That night on the walk back, I collected them to take back to camp, intending to boil them in a tin on the fire, drink the liquid and eat the heads. However, a chap who worked in the limestone quarry asked me to sell them to him for cigarettes, as he never had much chance to find any edibles to supplement his diet, so they changed hands. There was no way I could cook them until my day off, which was still two days away. The fires had to be out by nine o’clock, long before I returned from my shift at the mine. That was an incident repeated in many different ways in the quest to fill our stomachs.

On one of my days off, I was lying resting out of sight on my bed, when I heard loud shouting in Japanese coming from the direction of the square. I thought possibly a prisoner had been caught at some misdemeanour, so cautiously looked through the window. Instead I saw a Japanese soldier standing to attention, a Japanese officer just walking away from him, a Sergeant then started to slap his face and punch him. When he stopped, a Corporal began beating him, this punishment continued until about six ordinary soldiers had taken their turn. I spoke to Sakata and asked him what it was all about, he told me that was the punishment meted out for a small offence in the Japanese army, the offender being beaten by his superiors.

The weather was changing and turning colder now, autumn was rather wet, of course it didn't affect our working conditions, that was one thing that in my life that stayed constant. It was hard work but employed my mind to a certain degree. The ore was full of seams and needed a bit of thought as to which seam to hit so that it cracked and fell apart.

The sharing of the rice and soup was a serious business watched closely by all. The occupants of the upper level bunks sat close together, legs dangling over the edge with all eyes fixed on the man filling the measure before tipping it into the bowls lined up on the table, making sure he didn’t press more rice into his own bowl. It would have been farcical if we hadn't been so hungry.

If there happened to be lumps of anything in the soup, they were equally shared. Each tub fed twenty two men. Of course there were disagreements and one complain if backed up by others, meant a change of server. After one such argument I was asked to take over dishing out the rice, I agreed and lasted a little over six months before being accused of packing my own bowl too hard. I counted this an achievement to have lasted so long. The benefit of dishing out the food was that you could scrape the last grains from the tub, before washing and returning it to the cookhouse. The soup man was allowed a little drop extra, their ration stayed on the table for examination whilst they returned the cleaned tubs to the cookhouse.

Christmas came during my time as a server, no complaints on that day, we had been given an American Red Cross Parcel. There were between seven and ten packets of twenty cigarettes, the variation being made up with more or less food. There was chopped pork, ham, salmon and various other tins of food, coffee, sugar, powdered milk and bars of chocolate, a brilliant effort by the Americans. It seemed the best Christmas I'd ever had, we had a day off and marvellous atmosphere in the hut.

Christmas 1943 was unforgettable with snow outside. It was a cold winter, we were issued with a pair of metal plates with spikes to place on the soles of our boots, tying to the laced instep for walking on the icy roads and slopes up to the mine. Early one morning we were called out to clear the snow from the camp grounds, as over four feet had fallen overnight. When we went to work that day the snow outside the gate was six feet high, this we had to climb up to an icy path on top of the snow. It was a slippery walk to the mine, I managed to slip off the path on two occasions, going in up to my armpits, and had to be pulled out. I wasn’t alone, we all fell off at one time or another. When we left work that evening, a snow plough had cleared the worst and made a wide path.

The seasons at Ohasi were pretty reliable. The winters were cold with plenty of snow, spring brought the warm sun, summer was settled and very hot, autumn was the rainy season. We sometimes experienced high winds which rushed through the valley and on one such occasion, saw the roof of a large building lift and then settle with one gust of wind, but the second gust blew it completely away, before breaking up amongst the houses.

It was now March, spring had arrived and the weather started warming up. There was just one guard escorting us to work now, it was possible that the number of Army personnel stationed at the camp had been reduced, it was difficult to tell. There were a few rumours of allied successes going the rounds, also talk of a radio in the camp. I think perhaps our spirits had taken a boost, the Japanese became suspicious.

17: Boils and Blood

Boils had begun to break out on my neck and round my chin, so I decided to go to the sick bay which was run by an American surgeon who had survived the sinking of the U.S.S Houston, also a sailor who if I can recall correctly, was named Schofield from the same ship - the surgeon’s name evades me. I showed them my boils and explained the problems I had experience with my hands and legs. They had nothing with which to treat me, other than a mild disinfectant with which the sailor bathed my boils. I was told to let them heal themselves, but must try to keep them clean. Apparently they had done some amputations of toes and fingers that had become affected with the iron ore dust. I still had my bandages, so wrapped these round my neck to keep it clean at work.

The journey home from work in the dark with some of the men at the front walking at a much faster pace, had a purpose I discovered. On the way to work they would take not of any fish hanging to dry outside the houses, or anything else about that was edible, then steal some on the way back. Their mates following behind, would wait at a slower pace giving them time to do the stealing before anyone else caught up with them, they would then have a share of the spoils when back at camp. The searches were not regular, if the guard Sergeant was not about, there wouldn’t be one. I assumed they thought we were unlikely to steal iron ore.

The boils on the front of my neck and chin had healed, but I was now having trouble with the back of my neck. This gradually worsened, so after two weeks I went back to the sick bay, I was told the whole of the back of my neck had lifted and there were six holes where pus was oozing out. They opened up the holes pressing down to get all the pus out, then fed strips of bandage into each hole leaving the ends hanging out so they resembled wicks. I was to return each day to have them changed and my neck cleaned.

This went on for two weeks, after which, on the next visit, the surgeon told me he had nothing to give me to cure my problem, explaining my condition was caused by diet we were existing on, mainly the lack of green vegetables and fruit so therefore could see no cure. He went on to say he had attended a survival course in the U.S. Navy and remembered being told of a drastic way, where no drugs were available, that might effect a cure. It would involve taking half a pint of blood from the artery in my right arm as quickly as was possible and putting it into the cheek of my bottom which had small blood vessels and could be absorbed more easily. This must be done before the blood had time to cool. If this did happen, the blood would congeal and possibly kill me.

If successful, the result of this swift operation would be a sore and aching seat for about three days. I agreed to take the risk. We then had a little chat, he explaining I would have to stand up ready with my trousers down whilst he drew blood from my arm as no time could be lost. “Was I frightened of needles?” he asked. He also pointed out that drawing my blood out in such a large quantity, would have a mental effect on me but on no account must I feel faint or want to sit down.

The syringe was warmed and put into the artery of my right arm, it was a very thick needle. I began to feel my strength ebbing but remembered what I had been told. As soon as the syringe was filled the surgeon and his assistant got behind me. I felt a jab as the surgeon began emptying the syringe, whilst the sailor massaged my bottom to distribute the blood. At last it was over, I was warned to keep walking about and to eat standing up, the walk to the mine should help.

In the ensuing days, I continued to have my neck treated, this slowly improved and eventually healed. I had no further trouble regarding blood disorder and the soreness in my bottom went after five days.

16: Warm Weather and Tobacco

It was May, the weather warm and my legs were at last beginning to heal. I can't say it was a pleasant life but it was certainly much better than the existence at Hakodate and the shipyard. The work was heavy and tiring, the hunger was always there but we were gradually beginning to reach the target set for us by the end of the shift. Our foreman began to leave us alone for periods, so we would take the opportunity to rest making enough noise and throwing the occasional rock into the truck to satisfy him that we were still working. We were allowed just half and hour for our meal break, if things were going well, they would shout “Smoke”, we would then have a ten minute break.

We had three regular foremen and one other on just odd occasions. One regular was a barber from Yokohama, who had been put to work in the mine because he could speak a fair amount of English. He told me he used to cut the hair of seamen and had learnt the language from them. He was a nice man who never said outright, but hinted, that Japan would never win the war against America and Britain, his name was Sakata. The second foreman was short and stocky and went by the name of Kimura, he would always work us hard endeavouring to get the very best from us plus that bit extra. He would work with us moving from one gang to the next, it was always a relief when he moved on. The best way to stop him helping out and making us work even harder, was to look industrious as he walked around. The third foreman, named Hai, seemed rather full of his own importance, I had the feeling that this had been promotion for him. We called him Hai San the Japanaese equivalent of Mister, he was fairly easily manipulated.

We had no problems provided we kept working. If we had been troublesome and didn't work well the foreman could call the guards who were stationed outside. This would bode ill for us as the guards didn't like having to come into the mine.

Food was still our priority, we received the same amount of rice as at the previous camp, obviously a standard ration, plus the rice ball given by the company. After our midday meal the miners were given their ration for the evening meal, which we took to work and ate four hours into the shift. By the time we had finished work and walked back to camp at night, we were ravenous with nothing to eat until breakfast next morning. Instead of the soup to accompany the rice to take to work, we were given a small piece of fish or pickle. The men that did a day job were given their midday meal after breakfast to pack and take to work and were able to have their evening meal after work and relax. There was a tap outside the cookhouse where we were allowed to draw hot water to drink before our meals, this helped to fill our stomachs and prevented us eating so ravenously.

The summer weather was hot. When not working or collecting bundles of wood or emptying the cesspit, I spent most of my remaining free time inside the hut, there was nowhere to sit outside. A lot of this time I spent trying to repair my clothes, this before leaving for work after our midday meal. Most of the guards would leave camp with the workers each morning, this enabled us to do our washing without too much interruption.

My hands and legs had healed completely, being able to walk about comfortably made life so much easier. I felt cleaner and so much better in myself. I found that the despair I had felt disappeared and once again without any concious effort, found myself looking forward to the end of the war.

The tobacco we were now smoking was a fine as hair and nicknamed ‘Frog Hair’. The main problem was obtaining paper to roll the cigarettes, which I had managed somehow at Hakodate. What I needed was a Japanese pipe to smoke, so asked Sakata if he would get me one, this he did and if I remember rightly, only took a token amount of money for it. This pipe had a metal mouth piece and a metal end with a bowl which was about half the size of an acorn cup, these two pieces were connected to a stem of bamboo. To smoke this was an experience. A small ball of tobacco was rolled between the fingers, placed in the bowl and lit, two inhalations and then blow the glowing ash from the bowl into a tin lid, place another ball of tobacco into the bowl, press this into the hot ash then two more inhalations repeating these actions until I had finished my smoke.

The guards were changed once a month and still we had our share of brutal ones turning up. The main reason for the regular chance was so they didn't become friendly with prisoners and favours given. One night after work, I was washing when I heard the sound of guards boots enter the washroom. I had my head over the sink and before I could was the soap from my eyes and turn round, he was behind me smashing my head on the sink after which I had to turn round and stand to attention.

15: Move to camp near Ohasi, Honshu Island, hard labour in the iron mines - Part 2.

Instead of perhaps a little sympathy and understanding from our new fellow prisoners, we were shunned as if a leper colony had moved in with them. I presume it was just self preservation on their part. Eventually we were told by a Dutchman that we were unwanted prisoners at our last camp, so had been moved on to this one. We now knew why the far end of the hut had been reserved for us. No one had bothered to find out or ask us the circumstances of our move. The American Captain was a Texan who made it crystal clear to us, that we were not welcome at this camp, as if we were uninvited guests, so in turn we ignored him which annoyed him intensely. When he made any announcements to the inmates of the hut, we would continue to talk and carry on whatever we may be doing, but still listening with one ear. One evening he could not contain himself and yelled out “And this includes you shit birds down the end there”. We were winning the battle.

The Lieutenant asked us to bath after the rest of the camp because of our sores, we could understand that and hoped we could recover our health here. We were obviously in a far worse state than they, and our clothing was dirty in comparison with theirs. The routine was more relaxed, lights out at nine o’clock instead of seven as at Hakodate, morning roll call at seven. The men did various jobs, some in a timber yard, others overhauled and serviced the mine machinery and trucks, others at a limestone quarry and the remainder at the mine. The miners which included us new arrivals, did an eight hour shift starting at two o’clock in the afternoon, until ten in the evening. This meant assembling for a roll call in the square at ten minutes to one, where we were checked off by a mine official who carried a clipboard, checking and entering the number of workers for each level of the mine. We would arrive back at camp about eleven o’clock at night, after completing our shift.

Every tenth day we had off, sometimes eleventh instead, depending on the number of days in the month. Each month in our free time, we had to carry ten bundles of firewood down the sides of the valley for use in the cookhouse and for the bathhouse fires. These bundles each weighed about fifteen pounds.

The toilets were the usual holes in the floor over a cesspit and turns had to be taken in bailing the sewage out and tipping into a channel near the back perimeter fence, which ran into a fast flowing stream that ran down from the mountain. Three men at a time did this chore, one man bailing, the other two carrying and tipping.This work involved frequent changing of positions, no one wanted to be rear pole carrier, as the stench from the large open buckets was awful.

The area at the front of the building was out of bounds. We could wander about at the back of the hut in our free time, the guards still patrolled and the bowing had to be observed. Sitting on beds during the day was not allowed, but on the board at the end of the bed was acceptable. Those of us in the higher bunks were out of sight, so were bothered less.

I discovered that only twelve men had died in this camp in contrast to the fifty two at Hakodate. We were to be paid as before and in addition, on arrival at the mine, the company gave us a rice ball the size of a small orange each day. It seem my dock foreman at Hakodate had indeed done my a favour. After our midday meal of rice, the men that worked at the mine were paraded on the square with two guards. There were three separate groups of us, thirty in each group, the Americans, which included the six Englishmen who were already resident at the camp when we arrived, the Dutch Indonesians and our group the new arrivals. After the mining official had done his business of counting us, three mining company men then joined us, one to each group accompanying us as we marched out of the gate.

Once outside, I saw that we were in a narrow valley, the gravel road was about twelve feet wide, the mine railway line ran alongside. There were some Japanese houses a little way from the camp, the village was called Ohasi. As we marched along we passed cultivated fields before the valley narrowed, with a range of small mountains closing the valley in. There was a large watercourse running along the valley floor, where later a railway bridge was erected over. After a forty minute march we arrived at the mine buildings with a large entrance into the hillside. The mountainside was worked at different levels, the railway running through the lower entrance, where the electric train picked up the loaded full size trucks, taking them into the yard where they were in turn picked up by a steam engine. The electric train then returned to the mine with the empty trucks it had picked up.

The Americans and six Englishmen left us at ground level, we continued up the narrowing road for twenty minutes until we came to another entrance, this was where our group was to work, the Indonesians carried on up the road. We were marched inside for about a quarter of a mile, until we came to an office where we were issued with protective hats which we were to retain, also our rice ball. Our foreman was awaiting us, the guard then left.

Electric cables with sockets provided light as well as miners lamps. As we went with the foreman, I noticed light railway tracks with medium sized trucks. It was then that I realised it wasn’t the coal we had expected to mine but iron ore. The rock face was drilled during one shift and detonated and blasted at the shift change over. Our task then was to fill the trucks with the blown out ore, working four men to a truck. There were four trucks for each man, sixteen tons to be collected and loaded by each man per shift.

On our first day we fell short of our target. The foreman came to each group of four men in turn, trying to speed us up. The rock was the heaviest I had ever lifted in relation to its size. We had the usual Asiatic tools for the job and a large hammer to break the rocks. After loading, the trucks had to be pushed to the chutes dug through the rock to the lower level railway line, we then tilted the trucks sideways so that the iron ore emptied into the chute and filled the trucks below.

Placed across the opening of the chute, were some old railway line to prevent the truck toppling down with the ore. Work over at last, we came out into the night and our guards were waiting outside to escort us as we walked down the mountain side to join the others. We walked back to camp, the guards at the rear chatting to each other. We were very tired, had worked hard but not achieved the target set for us but it was a pleasant evening, not the cold we had been accustomed to for so long. The American group that included the half dozen Englishmen, had walked much faster and got well ahead of us and were waiting a short distance from camp. The guards formed us up and we marched through the gates, a quick look in our bags and we were dismissed.

15: Move to camp near Ohasi, Honshu Island, hard labour in the iron mines - Part 1.

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.

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.

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.

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.