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.

13: Hard Labour, Hakodate Shipyard - Part 2.

Work consisted mainly of painting deck components for the new ships, sometimes on the ship at other times, outside the workshop in the shipyard. Another task would be the scraping of decks, sides and bottoms of barges and small submarine chasers.

A few days after arriving at the docks, our party was taken to a ship in the harbour to unload its cargo of salt and transfer it to barges. The first day we lined up in the hold where two dock workers proceeded to lift these large sacks of salt onto the shoulders of each man, at the same time giving him a token to present to the man on the barge, where two more dock workers were taking the sacks and stacking them. My turn came and as I took the full weight, I decided I couldn't possibly carry those all day. Without thinking, I did the most foolish thing and threw it off saying, “I can't carry that, it’s too heavy”. I could not account for my action because knew there was no escaping from anything and fully aware of what the consequences might be. All the Japanese workers started shouting abuse and this was interspersed with kicks from the boots of the loaders, the salt was slung back on my shoulders and then helped on my way. I spent the rest of the day carrying these sacks which weighed more than a hundred weight, sixty kilos I believe. The next two days we were put to work in the hold which was full of loose salt, shovelling it into chutes.

One lunch break we had a visit from a Japanese Officer who spoke some English, he laughed and said “You can have all the salt you can eat whilst working on the ship”. Some men tied the bottoms of their pants at the ankle and put salt in the legs, but I didn't think this worth the risk. Those two days were physically tiring but it was a lot warmer and dryer working in the hold.

At the end of each day, when we were marched to the assembly area, we were supposed to salute our foreman as an act of courtesy. I’m afraid I didn't think much of that idea, so used to get in the back row and bend out of sight, but after a few days he caught on to what I was doing, and came after me. He would kick and punch me until in the end I had to give in. It was the only way I could show any defiance or rebellion and get away with it lightly, always making sure the guards didn't catch me out.

There was one instance when I was put to work on a barge scraping the deck and wire brushing the rust away. Over the side of the barge, a carpenter was finishing off the wooden fender, so I continually brushed the dust and rust over him, in return he kept threatening me with his adze. As he started to climb on to the deck, I went to the foreman and told him this man is getting dust over him from me working above and was going to hit me. I reminded the foreman that he was the only one allowed to hit me, which he agreed and started to argue with the carpenter, ordering him to get back over the side. I went back to my work feeling happy that I had done something to break the awful monotony of my life. It helped temporarily to take my mind off the awful predicament my mates and I were in.

Another incident I recall. One evening as we finished eating our dinner, the Commandant came in, we stood and bowed. He walked around grinning, as always, asking if we had enjoyed our soup, of course we said yes. He then said there was more meat in it than usual, as a cat had fallen into it and drowned the previous night after it had been prepared. This had been cooked in our soup. I think he was a disappointed man, it didn't have the desired effect that he had expected. Nothing could be worse that the condition we were already in. Sometimes the soup would have potato but was like water with soy flavouring, sometimes a bit of radish and if lucky enough to get meat, we might get one or maybe two inch cubes.

Dysentery and the death that accompanied this illness had started again, the twenty sick allowance was rigidly adhered to, consequently these gaunt and very sick men were still sent to work although too ill to actually do any, it just hastened their end. These poor souls crawled around the docks doubled up, just skin and bone, their clothes hanging loosely on them. Back at camp, obviously some of them were unable to reach the toilets in time, so the floor of our hut became filthy at times, but no one complained. The men would always clean up after if able, but if not their friends would do it for them. They wore no pants or trousers around our quarter for fear of soiling them as washing and drying facilities were sadly lacking. We certainly suffered less visits from the guards.

The bitter war between the foreman Watanabe and myself at work continued, but as time went by, he became less vicious and aggressive, I’d like to think that perhaps he had begun to understand why I behaved in the manner I did and what I was trying to convey to him, that I wasn’t supposed to be helpful to his cause and worked as a forced labour prisoner.

13: Hard Labour, Hakodate Shipyard - Part 1.

The next morning there was no mistaking the time to get up. The guards rushed into the building shouting and prodding us in bed with their bayonets, before we could struggle out. I went to wash and the cold water numbed my hands. The night had been bitter, even with ten blankets. The cold had seeped through the wooden floor and matting and I had kept waking up, unable to sleep, the cold so penetrating.

Roll call was at seven, then breakfast of rice. We were given another pack for our meal at work, then assembled outside ready to be marched to work. The Commandant of the camp appeared and through the interpreter, told us we would work where sent and in return would be paid, fed well and cared for, until they had won the war. He had a smile on his face whilst all this was translated, happy with the control he had over our lives, no doubt. There were about two hundred and twenty of us in this particular camp.

We marched off in our threadbare second hand uniforms and canvas boots, through the town to the shipyard where we were sorted into groups. Each group was to work with a foreman, who would be their boss from then on. There were about twenty of us in my group. I was handed a pot of red oxide paint and taken to where a pile of lifeboat davits lay in the snow. I pointed out to the foreman the ice and snow on the metal and how wet it still was when the snow and ice was brushed off, his reply was with gestures ‘to get on with it’. It was a day I thought would never end, it seemed to go on forever with bitter cold and freezing winds and snow flurries, hands so cold I could hardly hold my brush, it was complete misery.

At the end of the day, we were collected and taken to a road just inside the dock, were formed up by the guards who had arrived had marched back to camp where we had to number off. Back at the camp we were lined up, searched and counted once again before being allowed inside. We were allowed a small amount of coal and fires could be lit at five o’clock in the evening, which was about the time we returned to camp, but had to be cleaned out and tidy by seven o’clock sharp, when there was a final roll call. This caused some panic each evening as we hung on to the warmth as long as was possible, so sometimes in desperation we would run out and grab handfuls of snow to cool the embers. Our main thought as we returned that first evening, and every other evening for that matter, was to get the fires going. Everyone felt frozen and no one seemed to have been given a decent job of work to do, we were a very unhappy bunch.

Food was the usual rice and soup. The guards came in about five times in our two hours free time, which was to be a regular habit of theirs. Each time as always we had to stand and bow which didn't prove restful, we just hoped they would get fed up with it as time went by. It was a relief after last roll call to be able to lie down on the floor, wrapped in our blankets trying to forget the terrible cold and hardship, thinking of a life miles away from it all, the meals we would have and things we had enjoyed. That second night, I tried lying on top of two of my blankets to stop the cold through the floorboards, but it didn't seem to make any difference.

After a few days some of the men started to suffer from diarrhoea. It was possible that when we left the ship, some declared themselves fit so that they could stay with their mates, when they weren't really feeling one hundred percent. Our captors were not too pleased when the men became too sick to go to work. There was a Japanese military orderly and an Army doctor who called on certain days, and one prisoner was permitted to stay at camp to look after the sick men.

Later as more men became ill, we were informed that no more than twenty sick men would be allowed to stay off work at any one time. All others were to go to work without exception and dragged there by fellow prisoners if necessary. We were left in no doubt that twenty was the final number.

The surplus sick were told they would get light duties at work and rest times if needed, but under no circumstances were they to stay in camp. Some of the Jap shipyard workers realised these men were very sick and dying, so allowed them to hide or sit near the toilets. Those that stayed in camp were supposed to receive half their ration of food and threatened with none if more than twenty stayed behind, but we shared the food out equally as always. Those men that did stay in camp had no rest from the guards and were not allowed to lie in their beds, some were given jobs to do.

On our return from work one evening, we were given printed sheets of Japanese patriotic songs and told to learn them as we were to sing them when returning from work next day. What the words meant we did no know but had to take the sheets to work the next day and learn in our dinner break. The Commandant said he wanted to hear us singing as we arrived back at camp.

That evening as we marched back, an Officer told us to start singing with the guards who were also singing to give us the tune. It was a terrible walk back, the streets were snow covered, our trousers soaking we at always, and now this added burden of singing something we knew nothing of, the last thing we felt like doing was singing. The guards were punching and hitting us with their rifles at random in their efforts for more volume, but it didn't even end there.

Back at camp we stood with snow up to our knees for over half an hour singing and being beaten by the guards whilst the Commandant looked on grinning, until he decided he had heard enough. We had worked all day in the freezing weather at the docks, were soaked to the skin, our bodies frozen through and our empty stomachs gnawing with hunger. This went on day after day, our lives in absolute misery. We were losing a half hour of our meagre free time of two hours, so had just an hour and a half in which to light the fires, try to thaw ourselves out and dry our clothes. This was extremely difficult with so many men, it was impossible to get near the fire at times.We then had our meal, put the fires out and tidied up ready for roll call at seven o’clock, then lights out.