The Military, 1940 - 1942

The outbreak of the Second World War in September, 1939, found me glued to the wireless, listening to the announcement with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. The prospect of far away places and adventure would take me away from the hum drum life of the farm. I was not conscious of fighting for freedom, democracy, or any other sentiment being expressed by world leaders, or the old "diggers" who, by their tales, rather gave the whole business a glamour, which impressed my young mind.

Against the wishes of my parents, I finally had my way, and on the 30th. August, 1940, was attested into the army at Newcastle. I was 19 years of age. A short stay at Broadmeadow Showground and then by train to Manilla Road, Tamworth. We were quartered in military type huts, with a palliasse straw mattress, which was no hardship for me. Although I had come from a comfortable home, I also came from the pioneer era at Mount Burrell, which had a ruggedness about it, that made my present situation in no way a hardship. Vaccinations and inoculations, for various reasons, had side effects which were soon overcome. My first pay, thirty five shillings, ($3.50 at the rate of five shillings or fifty cents per day) was the most money I had ever had in my pocket. I had a feeling of independence, and looked forward to the future, with optimism and pleasure. Squad drill and learning the basics of rifle drill was all new, as were the military exercises we practised in the hills. Though carried out in very hot conditions, I found this no particular hardship, for my life in the hills of home had made me very physically fit.

I was transferred with the others to Tamworth Showground on the 22nd. of November, 1940, where the 2/30th. Battalion of the Eighth Division was being formed. I am therefore an original member of that unit. There was a certain amount of chaos as we were drafted into platoons and companies, however, things finally settled down and I became a member of 14 Platoon, C Company, 2/30th. Battalion. Our commanding officer was Lieut. Colonel F.G. (Black Jack) Galleghan. Forward information indicated he was a rather tough gentleman. I first saw him while we were playing "Two up". We wondered who this sallow complexioned officer was, who smiled, and showed interest in our game. The wise heads reckoned it was "Black Jack". Well, the general opinion was "he didn't seem a bad bloke" and we continued with our game. It was his way of gauging the kind of men he had been given. No doubt he found us rather harmless, for we were for the most part, young. By the same token, he would quickly identify the sharpers and smarties in our midst. Never again did we play the game with the confidence we displayed on this occasion, for he frowned deeply on the pastime, and anyone caught in future, was dealt with under the process of military law, and on occasions, by the laws he made himself.

It could be said the first time we were really down to business, was when he addressed all ranks in the show ring, with us seated in the grandstand. The one and only time we were seated on parade. He was a man of good physique, and his bearing gave him a presence, while he spoke in an undertone with a certain huskiness in his voice. His sense of theatre and timing, coupled with his sallow complexion, gave him a forbidding air. His words were delivered with an authority which left those listening in no doubt that he meant what he said, and if his words penetrated to the extent that they stung a bit, so much the better, for he cared not whether he offended or pleased.

So, this was the climate set for our training under "Black Jack", a nickname he gave himself, for he was aware that some of his forebears had dark blood in their veins. It was a name he found acceptable, as against others the troops would have thought up. Discipline, coupled with physical fitness, was the name of the game. He applied his principles to, at times, extreme lengths, and there is no doubt his second in command, Major George Ramsay, interceded at times to remonstrate with him. He was a magnificent foil for Galleghan. This quality in "Gentleman George" was one that Galleghan admired, and even those of lower rank, provided they put their views forward in a proper and respectful fashion, were given the same consideration. He could not stand those who were frightened of him, and he knew who they were, even to the senior officers. Those who could not, or would not, keep up, were transferred from his presence, be it Dubbo or anywhere else, just as long as they were away, and out on the road. There was no room for slackers. No doubt some of these were unjustly treated, but then, no one is perfect, and mistakes were made in this direction.

We drilled on the parade ground and sweated in the hills. All part of training and the instillation of discipline. We also had little leave and made the best of it in our tents, even when the wind blew and covered our gear with red dust, for Tamworth was very dry for much of our time in the area. New Year's Day was celebrated in our mess, which had been the sheep pens. Sao biscuits and cheese and not much beer, drank out of tin pannikins, was provided, while the smell of sheep dung did not provide the background usually associated with such functions. However, this did not prevent "Black Jack" from having himself piped in by his personal piper and striding through the mess smiling, and with flair, making his presence known to all. Indeed, the only bright thing about the place, was four days home leave each month.

February 1941, we were transferred by train to Bathurst. We looked on this in a good light, for to us, things were beginning to move. We halted at Mount Victoria, in the Blue Mountains, where we enjoyed a meal of sausages and potatoes, together with bread and tea. This was provided by the staff at the station refreshment rooms. On the signal, one half of the troops moved in to be fed and left behind a squad to wash the dishes. Having rejoined the train, the other half moved in and after enjoying their meal, rejoined the train. It was so orderly that we surprised ourselves, and as the train pulled out, the staff lined the platform to wave us on our way. The Station Master made this known to his superiors, so the Commissioner of Railways sent a letter of appreciation to our headquarters, with thanks for our conduct at the station. Galleghan was delighted with this and to him it meant that his methods were working. Discipline was indeed the name of the game.

We got off the train at Kelso and moved to the camp on the Lime Kilns Road. The weather was hot, the hills were brown, and we were quartered in army style huts on what was known as "J" Block. We were joined by the 2/26th Battalion from Queensland and the 2/29th Battalion from Victoria. These units made up the 27th. Brigade, commanded by Brigadier Marshall. When we boarded out, the Brigade was taken over by Brigadier Maxwell who was in command during the Malayan Campaign. The 2/29th Battalion was to suffer grievous casualties during the Battle of Muar Road. This unit used to march past our block, with their band playing the regimental march "Sussex by the Sea". They had a parody on it:

Good old 2/29th.
Good old 2/29th.
Like the rising sun,
they are bloody near done,
good old 2/29th.

With regard to their experiences in Muar Road, I cannot recall this without some emotion. We had an excellent brass band and our regimental march was "Waltzing Matilda". I did not think much of it.

In a military sense, we gained maturity in the winter cold and the long marches in the surrounds of Bathurst. The cold in the corrugated iron huts, which offered little insulation against the elements, or in the hills and dales of the countryside, did much to toughen our hides. Cross country marches by night, to places like Sunny Corner, Wambool, Wattle Flat and Orange via Kings Plains, required physical stamina of a high order. Those who found it too tough were transferred to places like Dubbo or elsewhere, so long as they were out of the way. We gained confidence in our ability to measure up to any situation.

Leave of a weekend was appreciated. We made mates, some of which became life long friends, and there were those whom we lost in the rubber and the jungles of Malaya, Thailand and Burma, who were also life long mates, be that life ever so short. Heaths Cafe was a household name in Bathurst and we enjoyed many a meal there. Many, many years later, I returned to the cafe, but it was Heaths in name only. The magic had gone. We spent many hours in a room off the main bar of the Globe Hotel, which was warmed by a log fire, and drank hot Bonox. We found this a haven. In after years I could not locate the place, which may be just as well, for I had been disappointed when I returned to Heaths. Of course we went to places which were forbidden by military authorities, and it was this fact which made us inquisitive. We were young and high spirited, but for all that we came to no harm.

In the field we had lectures given by senior NCO's, usually one of the Sergeants. On the wind swept fields, all ranks agreed the only place for this was on the sunny side of the hill. Wally Eather's subject was hygiene, not rated highly by we who had to listen. The combination of his sonorous school masterly delivery, and warm sunshine, made it the very devil of a job to keep awake. Not without reason, but quite unjustly, Wally earned the name "Chloroform". We were to learn how important it was to protect ourselves, and practice hygiene in places where we had not so much as a bar of soap. Indeed, our very lives would depend on how well we practiced the "Gentle art" and bore ourselves under the most extreme circumstances on the Burma Road.

We had spent some eleven months training in Australia and so we thought it time we were on our way. Final home leave came, five days. A farewell at Kunghur Hall, with not much attendance, for I was young and not much known outside my own local circle. Goodbye from my family at Murwillumbah Railway Station, and I was on my way into the great unknown. The significance of all this escaped me, for the war was to change the world forever. Days at Bathurst camp were spent preparing to leave. We marched out by star light, wearing our top coats. A long, quiet, thoughtful column, and only the tramp of marching feet to break the silence. We rested beside the track at Kelso siding until we boarded the train for the haul to Sydney. Daybreak found us climbing the Blue Mountains. There were few sights like those giant locomotives in the fresh morning air, blowing steam and snorting smoke, ever climbing, with the sure power of the gods. To express that power was like a living thing that few things on this earth can emulate. It is little wonder that those who worked with them, learned to love them.

We wended our way through Parramatta, Strathfield, and all stations on our way to Darling Harbour. Graffiti such as "Berlin or Bust" announced another convoy was on its way, and groups here and there waved us on our way. A ferry took us under the Harbour Bridge to Woolloomooloo, where we boarded our transport, the Dutch ship "Johann van Olden-Barneveldte". This, together with the "Marnix van Sint Aldegonde" and "SS Katoomba", made up the convoy, and we were escorted by the "HMAS Sydney". These vessels carried the 27th. Brigade, with attached troops, and we were to suffer more casualties than any convoy ever to have left these shores.

We went on board in single file, each with an embarkation number. "Black Jack" had bet that no man would be out of place. No man was. This brought him great joy as well as a case of whiskey. No doubt officers shared in the whiskey, for he liked to win and he knew how to handle his winnings. We passed through the Sydney Heads in daylight and there were those who became quite emotional, but for me, without a care, it was the beginning of a great adventure.

As we headed south, shipboard life was easy for me, despite routine duties such as fire picquet and mess orderly, to fetch the Dutch food, cooked in oil, which was not to our liking. Hammocks were swung over the mess tables at night and I found these to be quite comfortable. Passing through the Bight, we headed into mountainous seas. Our sister ship of 20,000 tons, steaming abreast, was a wonderful sight as waves broke over her bow. Comparable to the power of the locomotives in the Blue Mountains, it is no wonder that the forward part of the ship was out of bounds.

We made port at Fremantle and enjoyed a days leave in Perth. This was the last time for many of us to step on Australian soil. We were quite heedless of these things, thinking ahead, anticipating we knew not quite what. Only the great unknown. We put to sea and found ourselves being rolled by the side swell of the Indian Ocean, as we made way up the West Australian Coast. Tradition said we would go to the Middle East, however, the rumours about Singapore proved to be correct. Why Singapore, no one was quite sure, as there was no war in that area. The Japs could do nothing except make replicas of other people's goods, so why in the world would we go to this godforsaken place. These at least were our thoughts as we ploughed on through what was becoming a very placid sea. Schools of flying fish scattered and skimmed the water as the ship went by. They seemed to replace the dolphins which had accompanied us for maybe 1,000 miles. With their swift, graceful movements through the water, they had paced the ship and delighted us in every way.

As we approached Singapore, the seas became a rather grey colour and as calm as a mill pond. We passed numerous islands and fishermen in their junks, the first indication we were now in the Far Eastern waters. Singapore Island hove into sight on the starboard. After the brown hills of Tamworth and Bathurst, the greenness showed up vividly. It was our first impression of the place. The journey had been uneventful, except for a call to boat stations, with life jackets at the ready. Some scare about a German raider in the area. We took this with a grain of salt. Reality had not dawned on us yet. It was only a bare two months later that the cruiser "HMAS Sydney" which escorted us,was sunk in the area, with the loss of all hands.

We came alongside the wharf, all eyes and eager to view this land, the city and Raffles Hotel, about which Somerset Maugham and Rudyard Kipling had written, and woven the tales of romance and glamour which were to escape us later. But for now, we wanted to see for ourselves. We filed off the troopship, not a bad old tub despite the Dutch cooking. Few were on the wharf and as we passed through the big storage sheds, or "go downs" as we came to know them, some rather sleepy natives stared at us, but there was little else in sight. Out on the street, we were assailed by the sounds and smells of the Orient. People in an unhurried way went about their business. We were allotted about half a dozen to a "Piggy" bus with a rather fierce looking bearded Sikh as a driver. A "Piggy" bus is simply a 30 hundredweight utility converted so that there was a bench out back to seat about six, together with our gear. Interpreted, "Piggy" means "Go", we modified this to "Piss off'. So, our first journey on the island was by "Piss off bus". As we travelled at break neck speed we crossed a bridge. "Pooh. What is that?" "That" said the wise one "is the Singapore River. They make the grog from that". Fortunately, this was untrue, for the river was little better than an open sewer. Providence decreed we should arrive at Changi for the first time, safe and sound, for our driver had been rather reckless and, at best, we knew no pedestrian had been injured.

We arrived on the 15th. August, 1941, and were to remain in the area for some six to seven weeks before moving to Batu Pahat on the Malay Peninsula. At this time, Changi and Batu Pahat were both pleasant places with as much greenery as you would expect in a tropical area. The camps at both places were new and built of weatherboard with atap roofing. Atap is a reed which grows in the area and is excellent for this purpose in the hot tropics. We were surprised to find ourselves with charpoy beds. They were simply a frame work, morticed together. With the inclusion of a hemp. loosely woven mattress and a blanket, it was quite comfortable. The issue white sheets shocked us no end. With the prevalence of dermatitis, the British authorities thought it wise not to tempt providence. These things, together with the local custom of a mid-day siesta, were things to which we were unaccustomed. However, time was to change this, and prove that mad dogs and Englishmen did go out in the mid-day sun.

Changi, at that time, was a place for troops, and Selarang parade ground, surrounded by imposing barracks, was in the best tradition of the British Army, being occupied by a regiment of the Gordon Highlanders. We paid them a formal visit which was all proper, spit and polish and everyone correctly dressed as tradition demanded.

We continued training in the rubber and palms of Changi Point and became acquainted with "Sumatras", tropical squalls which came to drench us and quickly disappear, leaving the sun to dry us, all within an hour. We did not find this much bother for the temperature remained constantly warm. Visits to an open air picture theatre in Changi Village were often terminated by tropical squalls, which left us to walk the mile or so back to camp.

Leave to Singapore City was sought and eventually granted. Here we found the pulse of the Orient teeming with people going about their business. Oriental people with strange tongues who, by their manner, appeared to be arguing among themselves. Indeed, it seemed proper to bargain with stall holders, for they were partial to a fast dollar (Straits Settlement) and the more they got, the better. The eating houses and street side stalls cooking strange dishes, all contributed to the smells and sounds of what was a new and strange world to us. Riding in a rickshaw was a pleasant experience, and any excessive movement met with loud protests from the 'boy', for they depended on balance as they strode along at a steady pace. The Union Jack Club was run by the Navy, Army and Airforce Institute, the equivalent of the Australian Canteen Service which was never established in our area. We were not part of any particular society. "Really my dear, we cannot have those colonial chaps tramping about the place" and so Raffles was out of bounds, except to those of commissioned rank and even then, I suspect they were confined to the 'Cads' bar. Happy World, New World and Great World were entertainment places which featured a cabaret dance floor with taxi dancers. These were a group of very attractive ladies confined to their box and whose features and skin was as varied as the human race. To dance with these ladies it was necessary to purchase a ticket, much like a ticket to the pictures. On presentation, you had established your credentials and were on your way. However, there was a time limit of two minutes and if you happened to be on the far side of the floor when your time expired, you were left to walk back on your own. A very humiliating experience, especially if you had a couple of unsympathetic mates.

On moving to Batu Pahat, military exercises ranged over a much wider area, and at times, in cooperation with Brewster Buffalo aircraft, it was all very war like. We found out later that there were all too few of these outdated aircraft. We ranged as far as the 2/19th. Battalion reserve position, behind Mersing. We were not impressed with the trench system which had been exposed by destruction of cover, and the scars left could not have been more prominent had they erected neon lights. It was quite contrary to what we had been doing, where camouflage, by natural or artificial means, was considered essential.

We were the only troops stationed in this small, clean and tidy town and to all outward appearances, were welcome. Each Saturday morning we paraded through the town, at the slope, with the band playing. The local population took little notice, but it was entirely possible for an undercover agent to take a count, and be correct to within a dozen, for "Black Jack" insisted all, with few exceptions, should parade.

Apart from the picture theatre, which was a good one, there was not much else, except for a couple of bars serving Melbourne bottled beer, and various eating houses. As always, the CO was spot on with anniversaries, so we celebrated with a dinner, the first twelve months since the unit's formation. The toast list included 'The King', 'HH The sultan of Johore', The Regiment' and 'The Visitors', all with suitable responses. The menu included chicken and ham, potatoes and green peas (tinned), pudding with sauce and fruit salad and cream together with biscuits and cheese, all washed down with Fraser and Neaves cordials and Tiger Beer, the Singapore brew. It was a far cry from our celebration of New Year in the sheep pens of Tamworth.

There developed an air of expectancy and it seemed something was afoot. I was at the pictures, watching a Gary Cooper western, when word passed around, "All back to camp". Within an hour, 14 Platoon was in the town, fully armed and posted at various points. I was at an intersection in the main street with rifle slung and not quite sure of anything, for the lights were shining brightly, and the population at large seemed unconcerned. We were not to know at this time that the Japanese had landed in Northern Malaya and there had been air raids on Singapore. We patrolled the area constantly, and this in itself could be quite exhausting, but "Black Jack" was determined not to be caught napping. It was a principle he applied constantly throughout the whole campaign, and was to stand us in good stead in many violent places.

We travelled by motor transport to Kluang, where we were to guard the Aerodrome against the possibility of airborne invasion. The drome was small and covered by turf. Runways there were none, and likewise there were no aircraft. We supposed they were all up country, and except for the arrival of a Dutch bomber, we saw no other. A battery of the 2/15th Field Regiment joined us here, and they also took delivery of twenty five pounder field guns. They were much delighted as they cleaned the grease from them and made ready to register their new guns. Our stay here was undistinguished, except for the constant wailing of air raid sirens. These were announcing raids on Singapore City and we, who were one hundred miles away, could not see why we should be so disturbed. We moved on to Gemaluang, into the rubber, and became the reserve battalion for the division, so ensuring being first in, wherever trouble might occur. I was promoted to NCO rank here, and it was while on patrol, that the order to move came through. On returning to our area, 'C' Company had gone, so we attached ourselves to 'D' Company, which had been left in reserve. Padre Polain gave a service here, and dressed in his robes with arms outstretched, standing on a high point with the setting sun behind him, there was something symbolic about the service. We were a sober crowd who embussed after dark and went forward to face a great truth.

Daylight found us in the Batu Anan area with Indian anti-aircraft guns in position. There was a greyness about the morning, and I was pleased to get off the trucks and rest awhile. We spent a couple of days here with standing and roving patrols ever on the alert. Refugees were streaming south, mostly white civilians in cars, and others on foot. These were a cheerful, orderly bunch, but refugees are in general a leaderless, aimless lot, who without direction become forlorn, frightened and a menace to all, including themselves.

We moved forward to our position north of Gemas. The Japanese had come pell mell down the Malay Peninsula, but came to a shuddering halt in the ambush, just forward of our position. We heard the explosion and prepared to oppose any enemy who may have come through the lines. My section went forward to be a standing patrol in front of the 'C' Company position. We made no contact but, as night fell, we drew into a tight perimeter to watch through the night. With rain falling, we were wet, apprehensive and ever alert. In the predawn darkness, we fanned out again and immediately I was ordered to patrol our right flank with two men. I reported back that no sighting had been made and was ordered at once to move forward and take position, so as to be in sight of the company defence line.

We were to remain out front for some eight or nine hours while the world exploded around us. Snipers worried us, and so did the sounds of artillery and automatic fire way around to our left. Tanks were destroyed on the roadway, and enemy infantry was repulsed, mostly in 'A' and 'D' Company's' area. Tanks then approached the 'C' Company position and isolated us from the main body. A fire fight developed on the company front and we found ourselves copping it both ways. I was adamant we would not move, and it was when the tanks backed off I decided to move back to the company position. Lieutenant Parsons first reaction on seeing me: "My God, I am pleased to see you". I could have said the same for him.

I was to serve with my unit throughout the entire campaign in Johore and Singapore Island. It is doubtful if we ever had the feeling we were going to prevail. We often had a feeling of isolation, and wondered where the others could be. The pulse of motive showed but rarely. Sempang Rengam (41 Mile peg), where we counter attacked in extended line, in the face of the most awful automatic fire, gave us a sense of purpose, even though we were no more than a company strong. Despite the success of this operation, limited and all as it was, we found ourselves once again retiring through the night, bone weary and forever drawing on reserves of strength we didn't know we possessed.

Our first position on Singapore Island was astride the Causeway, opposite the town of Johore Bahru. We remained there for some eight days, at times under heavy artillery fire. We became quite expert at telling where the shells would land. However, the enemy started using Bofor guns, fired on a flat trajectory, which gave no warning, but simply exploded with a loud crack. We had developed a certain fatalistic attitude to most things, so that the general opinion was if you are hit, you won't know anything about it anyway. We were to repulse the enemy's attempt to land at this point in the early morning. It was with a sense of shock that we learned we were to retire from our position. We had no option but to do as we had always done, obey orders. We left our position with a heavy heart and skirmished our way across the island via Mandi Road, Nee Soon and Thompson Road, fighting our way to the perimeter which was being formed around Singapore city.

As we made our way to the Tyersall Palace area, groups of panic stricken civilians were on every hand. Aerial bombardment had reduced them to a terrified rabble. Soldiers with discipline and training can protect themselves in such an unequal contest. Civilians become aimless, leaderless, and completely demoralised. We dug slit trenches in the grounds of the Sultan's Palace. After the experience of the Causeway, where no such preparation had been made for us, we knew full well that any defence work would be our own. The civil defence was almost non-existent and was more of a hindrance than a help.

On the way across the island we came to a food dump. I had most unwisely gorged myself on canned fruit. Even allowing for the scarcity of rations throughout the campaign, I should not have done this. I now paid for it with severe diarrhoea. It was in the proximity of a regimental aid post where Captain Taylor gave me some medicine to line my stomach that made me anyway well. "Look at your legs" he said. It was indeed true that sores had broken out underneath the short puttees we wore. The grime and dirt of the previous week had ground into my skin and festered. I had thrown the puttees away so that the sores were not uncomfortable. "They'll be right" I said, and wished him luck, for indeed we seemed to be facing the ultimate. I was better after this, and despite having lost over a stone in weight since Gemas, we were still defiant. Support troops were coming to us and some of these were of a higher rank than me. Despite this, we deployed them as we saw fit. We were the experts now.

The sounds of war were all around us and we waited, expecting a massive attack. Rumours of capitulation circulated. This we had not contemplated, despite the shambles all around, especially the city. The cease fire, which came about 8.30 p.m. struck with a shock. We found this to be unbelievable and conferred among ourselves as to what we might do. There was nothing we could do. Higher authority had brought it about, so there was naught to do but obey and wait. There were no Japanese in sight, so now, bone-weary and with a degree of fatalism and a prayer, I lay on the ground and slept. I woke to a beautiful day. All was silent, and with an atmosphere of uncertainty, we simply waited.

The first evidence of Japanese for me, was three tanks on Holland Road, a fat Jap wedged in the turret of the leading machine. I had not seen them since Gemas and thought I was on the wrong side of the road. Should have been on the lower side but I suppose we were on the wrong side of many things at this moment. Rumour was we were to march to Changi. We did a march of some 15 or 16 miles by night, not much evidence of Jap troops, except at various intersections there were some with bayonets fixed. The tension and weariness of the previous weeks made this a most exhausting march and when we arrived, we lay down to sleep, even though it was enemy ground.

So, this was Selarang for the second time. No longer was it spic and span, neat or tidy. There was some bomb damage and craters in the parade ground. The buildings were no longer fresh with cream coloured paint but were now black and forlorn. We were organised into each building, unit by unit, and this was the pattern for the years ahead. Keep the units together if at all possible. There was much despair, and frustration would be taken out with fist fights. We were on edge and over all there was hunger. The first months at Changi we felt the hunger more than at any other time, even though we were to experience much worse circumstances. The Chinese, never ones to miss a chance, ran a black market on the outskirts, with tinned food they had looted from dumps and storehouses. Herrings in tomato sauce, together with tinned meats and cigarettes, were obtainable, provided you had the money. This supply was to peter out so that we had to make do with what we had on hand. Out of the chaos came order, and despite shortages, steps were taken to ensure a high standard of hygiene. Improvisation was the order of the day and we were quite successful in controlling diseases which were always prevalent in the tropical climate. I was selected as a member of a 'commando' squad, but how we might operate was never made quite clear. However, I guess it helped our morale for what was a very unhappy time. We rarely saw the Japanese, though rumour said artillery was registered on us. This I believed.

I had developed scrub typhus, the most severe fever I was to ever experience. I was admitted to the 'hospital' which had beds with a mattress and a blanket. It was the last conventional bed I was to sleep on for many a long day. The last I remember before becoming delirious, was giving Laurie Macourt half my Havelock tobacco. I do not know how long I was in this state. I came to sitting with legs over the side of the bed and Tom Nixon yelling my name. Some say a fever will break and this is what I experienced at this time. I had become conscious and recall saying "Thanks Tom" and laying down to sleep. I am credited, while in this state, of having given the most fluid and vivid description of a Japanese known at that time. I never really got over the fever, but circumstances dictated that I should soldier on. Treatment; there was none, and even to slake my thirst, I often took matters into my own hands. Orderlies and such people who ran the place were, for quite a while, at a loss, for the nurses on whom they depended, were gone, having been ordered out before the fall of Singapore.

I returned to our lines to find Johnno and Con Hedwards had gone on early work parties. Another party was going and, as our own administration operated within that of the Japanese, I was given the chance to go. Weak and all as I was, I decided to give it a go. It couldn't be worse than here, I thought.

It was a most fortunate decision, for not only was Mt. Pleasant and Caldecott estate the best camp of Prisoner of War days, but shortly after, the ill-fated `B' Force left for Borneo. I always believed I could pace it with the best of them, but as only six of the Borneo force survived, I might have been pushing my luck a bit far.

We were housed in bungalows built of the same material as the barracks at Selarang. They were designed to house a man and his family, complete with servants quarters, a car port out front and a circular driveway which entered one gate and exited at another. The public servants of peace time lived in quite extravagant circumstances, but, we crammed in, maybe fifty to a house, complete with bugs and some bomb damage, though for all that, we thought ourselves to be fairly well off. At first we worked on roads with chunkel (hoe) and basket in the area of Thompson Road. There seemed no particular purpose for this, but we carried on scrounging here and there, picking up anything to supplement our rations. It was the camp rations which set this camp apart, with some European content which helped quite a lot to pick up strength after my bout of scrub typhus. However, I was not one hundred per cent and my hair falling out gave me a pretty shabby appearance. Dermatitis of the scrotum was unpleasant and seemed to disappear about September, while what we called `Happy Feet', was to some, quite distressing. These were deficiency complaints which we, for the most part, had to live with. Mortalities in this area were low and it was here that Jack Egan from Doon Doon was killed in the most unfortunate circumstances.

The Shrine job at Bukit Timah was of no interest to us as it is hard to work as a coolie and be interested in what you do. Our main interest was in groups of Japanese who came to pay their respects to the fallen. Groups of soldiers and naval personnel came, together with Japanese nurses completely covered in very loose clothing. A Japanese civilian was dressed western style in pointed shoes, khaki shorts, socks held up by suspenders, a coloured shirt and pork pie hat, all in bad taste and all too large for him. This, together with a great Samurai sword swinging from his belt, gave him a most comical appearance, more so because he seemed to regard it all as fashionable and proper. None of these people showed interest in us. It was the diplomats granted safe passage to their homelands who taunted us by throwing empty cigarette packs before us. We knew they were diplomats because of their western style dress and the white painted ship anchored well off shore.

Returning to Changi, the third time I had entered the place, and the first Christmas for us all. We rather hoped there would be but there was no news from home. I felt this a bit. Anyway, we will be home next Christmas, so why worry?

I was to spend the next three months in the gardens where we grew native stuff peculiar to the tropical area. Paw Paws grew well and matured early. However, these were harvested while green and diced to make a stew of sorts. Quite tasteless, but nevertheless they did their best to fill.

Rumours of movement north by train filled the air. We looked on this in a favourable light. Stories of better conditions were listened to with some reservation, still, it might be true. Anyway, we will find out, besides, we might finish up closer to India or China and this might offer the chance to escape.

Little did we know as we made our preparations, that we were on our way to one of the worst disasters of the Second World War. Many who now cheerfully made preparations were not to return from the Burma - Thailand Railway.

Our time working the Burma - Thailand Railway during 1943 was one of extreme hardship. Lack of provisions, medical supplies, or almost anything at all necessary to sustain life, were absent during our time in this area. Over all came the monsoon rains which seemed to activate almost every tropical disease known to man and pour an unceasing deluge on our emaciated bodies

No one saw the peril more clearly than Doctor Bruce Hunt, a 'barrel of a man' with a physique and toughness which came through in the leadership he was now showing. He stood on a high point to address the sodden, dispirited mass of humanity before him, "These cursed Sons of Heaven have assured me that natives will be here in a few days to place atlap roofs on these huts". The laying of atlap is a skill known to the people in most of South east Asia, much like a tiler in our own society. "We have been granted a lay day and this we will use to clean up this place". The latrines, (trenches in the ground), were badly sited and were a heaving mass of maggots. "We will dig drains around these areas so the water does not flow in and make them overflow and foul the whole area. We will scrape clean the whole area if we are going to control the disease, especially cholera, which threatens us now. This you will do. Furthermore, you will keep your bodies clean by bathing in this gully, your eating utensils you will sterilise in boiling water we will try to make available. You get cholera through your own mouth by eating your own filth. And now go to it, you are working for your own survival in this cursed place". He had preached hygiene and self discipline in a manner which I am sure his training as a medical doctor did not teach. We were to practise hygiene when we had not so much as a bar of soap with which to practise the art. He had endeavoured to instil some iron in our souls and for us to gird ourselves and walk another mile. The 'Sermon on the Mount' could not have been delivered to uplift men more than this speech by Major Bruce Hunt in what he described as 'this cursed place'.

I was afflicted with dysentery, a condition which leaves you with little or no control over the bodily function. It happened before I realised. So, out in the rain to clean up. It happened again, and again, so I elected to stay outside, sit in the pouring rain and wait for the dawn; and then out to the track to labour on. I had been filled with a sense of shame for having messed myself, and it was only when I realised I was not the only one, that I acquired a kind of dumb acceptance of the condition.

Malaria struck, and was to strike several times; the first occasion about midday, out on the road. We seemed to refer to the road more than the line. Indeed, we were not at all sure what we were doing. I commenced to shiver and be unwell. At first I could not comprehend what was wrong. I stood in the rain and shivered. Having made it back to our quarters, I was pleased to lay down on the wooden slats and cover myself with all I had; three woollen scarves sewn together, barely enough to cover. However, hooking a toe in one corner and pulling on the diagonal opposite the corner, was the best way to get some warmth. And so to shiver and sweat for a couple of days. The only comfort was the knowledge of the transition period between the extremes when one would be for a short period, pleasantly warm.

Malaria was often fatal. Like the time in the blackness of the night, a man in his delirium; his tortured mind only registering what he had been doing. "One two three, we built the Burma Railway." He repeated this over and over in a clear voice. Nobody could rest, and it went on for hours, until at last he was quiet, and we knew he, and his fevered mind, had gone to a better place. It was not unknown for a man, under the pressure of it all (the rain, the mud, the despair which could grip a man in an unguarded moment, and the torment of those who persecuted us) to break, so that he wept and sobbed as would a broken hearted child. It was at these moments his mates would give comfort and encouragement, until he regained his composure, and so weather the crisis and continue on. Returning to our quarters sometime before midnight, sometimes after, the procedure was to plunge into the small stream, clothes, boots and all; wash off the mud and so to our 'bed'. Collect whatever there was to eat, return to your 'bed' and now remove your boots. The constant wet made my feet so raw that they bled. Settled in now, we would eat. Mostly there was only cold rice and not much of it. Our feet were so sore that I would be unwilling to move. Should one have to move, it was better to crawl on hands and knees, since our feet became so painful once we stopped moving. Before daylight next morning, we would be roused again, suffer the pain of putting sodden boots on raw feet, get what there was to eat and so out to face it all once more.

We lost track of time. Night and day was all that seemed to register in a tortured mind. As we moved before daylight one morning, the man alongside me said, in a simple way, "What day is it?". I blinked, and thought, and realised I did not know; indeed it was this question that made me aware that I didn't even how what month it was.

I had been spared from Cholera. Those who contracted the disease were quickly isolated to what became known as Cholera Hill. The disease is so contagious that the victims must be moved at once lest it spread even more rapidly. Mortalities mounted daily. It seemed an act of providence that the bamboo which surrounded us burned readily. It became the duty of those recovering from malaria, or whatever, to cut the fuel for the cremations which became a daily occurrence.

The bodies were laid out in their nakedness and the fuel piled on to provide the funeral pyre. Having set it alight, we would walk away to afford them as much dignity as possible. As the fire consumed all, the only salute to these young men who had walked the earth a short time before, was the report of the heated, bursting bamboo.

We were to move from this place, Shimo Sonkurai No. 1 Camp. Laurie was the first to go. We had been together since Tamworth, 1940. I pleaded with him to remain with me. He refused, saying "I am getting as far from this place as I can". He went to Kami Sonkurai No. 3 Camp. I never saw him again for he perished, along with many more. I can fret about this, believing that had he stayed with me he would have been alright. This was an attitude I had at all times in those days. I leave it to others to wonder why I should be this way.

Not long after, I was to move to Nake Sonkurai No. 2 Camp. Here was the bridge which crossed the River Kwai and the line which led on to the Burma border. A rough, low level pedestrian bridge ran alongside, wide enough for one vehicle, a temporary measure to cross the river. It was from this platform that we were to inch the girders on to the piles which had been driven by the English troops who were first in this camp. The heavy girders, piles etc. had been hauled from the jungle by elephants; those gentle, plodding, powerful brutes, for which we had such high regard. They were in fact, the only 'mechanical' measure available. The rest was all done by the sweat and strain of men who did not wish to be in this place at all.

We were to meet the remnants of the British troops who had driven the piles. It was said that mortalities with this group were as high as eighty per cent. They were in wretched condition and seemed to have lost any vestige of self respect. Major Hunt's words came back to us; "You will practise hygiene until it hurts".

Once more to our labours. Where the track led away was just a ribbon of mud; the leaden sky reflected in pools of water and the very bamboo inclined as though weeping. Would this deluge never end? Returning one night, we saw men on the bridge, working by a clear white light - carbide or some such light. They clambered around like men from Lilliput, the whiteness of the sapped girders showed up and the wetness which came from above, gave it a silver sheen. The blackness of the jungle backdrop gave the place a savageness that only the jungle can provide.

We had been in this place for many months and now a tropical ulcer appeared on my foot. This, together with another attack of malaria, convinced me I should go to 'hospital'. I had avoided 'hospitals' because the worst cases were there. Men bloated with berri-berri, wracked with fever and suffering from dysentery. Like the man who flapped around in his own filth and in his delirium, made the most awful noise. All we could do was wish he would get it over quickly, for we knew he had come to the end of the road. There were men who wished to live, and those who did not. I knew I had to get this ulcer out of the mud and so avoid infection. So many were to suffer with these things; infection first, lose the limb, and then mostly their lives. I was to avoid the infection and the malaria would go away. Some weeks before, as I sat in the darkness of our quarters, eating my evening meal, something rolled over my top lip. I didn't know what it was, so I took it to the fire which was some way down the hut. On inspection it proved to be a fat maggot. I threw it away. Even though a man may be starving, his mind will reject certain things. This had so offended me that I had difficulty with onion water, known as stew. This could not go on; somehow I had to overcome the business of rejecting food.

The answer came in the form of three elephants, each with a Japanese in charge. This was the `canteen'; goods available were Gula Mallaca (a sweet, candy like substance); Blachan (a rather offensive fish paste); native cigarettes, salt, soap etc. Our limited credit only allowed us to buy so much. Gula Mallaca I thought would make the rice palatable and some cigarettes might bring some comfort. We had not had that for a long time. The sweetness was not as effective as I thought and I had no taste for the cigarettes, so I traded some for salt. That was it. We did not realise how starved we had been for salt. So, I was once again able to take the food offered by the cooks. I moved back to the main camp. The rain had gone and the sun came out. We had not seen the sun for many months. I took pleasure just sitting in the sunshine. As I sat I looked at my feet. They were white as snow. They had been encased in shapeless pieces of leather, and standing in mud for so long, they ceased to have any colour at all. I threw my shirt over them; to let them get sunburned would be serious indeed.

As we sat, we saw, coming down the road, a slim brown skinned Burmese girl, like a vision. She could not have been more than nineteen, with a child on her hip. She strode past, determination written all over her face, striding out for who knows where. We silently wished her and her child God-speed, for she was passing through a violent and brutal place.

The line had gone through but we continued to work, stacking stones. We were like beasts of burden, going about our labours in an uncomprehending way, not caring what we were doing. Repeated bouts of fever and privation had made me physically weak and I was beginning to despair as to whether I could pick up my strength again. We clung to rumours that we would be moved back to Changi. Changi seemed like the promised land after this place.

At last the rumour came true. We boarded the open trucks and commenced our journey down what became known as the 'Railway of Death'. We were hauled by a wood-fired locomotive, which had brakes. The trucks did not, and should the locomotive stop, there would be a clash of buffers down the length of the train. This was agony to the men still suffering from tropical ulcers. The sparks which came from the engine would fall and burn. We were well aware that this was one way ulcers started, so we were ever alert to guard against these sparks.

On our arrival at Kanchanaburi we knew we were out of the jungle. The troops here, mostly British, had fared better than us. It was the 'F' and 'D' Force jungle camps where the going had been hardest. There was a tendency to let down one's guard - this was a dangerous thing to do for it was to be a long time before we were to regain reasonable strength. Many more were to die here because their weakened bodies could not recover.

We found things here unheard of in the jungle.; eggs, bananas, native foods, and of course, rice. I prized above all else, a small fish that was neither dried or fresh, somewhere in between, and salted. I have no idea why we called them 'Modern Girls', for they bore no resemblance to any human form.

We stayed here maybe a week or ten days and would have been happy to remain. However, we were to board the train once more and return on the main Bangkok line to Singapore, a route we had travelled months before.

The journey is for the most part a missing episode to me. I did not become aware or fully conscious of what was about me until we arrived at Changi before daylight. The eastern sky was brightening and the palm trees were shown in silhouette against the morning sky. My mind had clicked into gear and with this in place, I would now complete the journey. We were little better than walking skeletons and had little idea the effect our appearance would have on our comrades who had remained at Changi. Spare as their rations were, they forfeited some so we might regain our strength.

Seated on the wooden floor at Birdwood Camp, which was part of Changi, we marvelled at the food before us. Modest as it was, it was a banquet to us. We were thankful from the heart and did not necessarily express out thoughts. For this was Christmas, 1943. Some of us at least had been delivered from the purgatory of the Burma - Thailand Railway.

Memories of the River Kwai

The river rises on the border range which separates Burma from Thailand; makes its way through the bamboo jungles out into the flat padi lands and enters the sea in the Gulf of Thailand.

We had journeyed from Singapore by rail in goods trucks. Conditions were hot and grimy. Our bodies sweated under a tropical sun so that it was a relief to leave the train at a village south of Bangkok. It was after the first night march out of Barn Pong that we first saw the River Kwai. We camped on its banks and enjoyed its coolness, the first decent water we had seen for a week. It was quite broad at this point but with nothing else to distinguish it from any other river.

We moved along the track by night. The monsoon rains were starting, mostly at night; we were drenched to the skin and the tracks turned to mud. The grime of the train journey was ground into my skin so that I developed scabies around the buttocks. Rotten little pools of pus which worried me and made me uncomfortable because my clothing rubbed against them. Another halt with the river close by. Resolved to remain as clean as possible, I went to the river to wash the mud from my clothes and body. A gravel bed made the water quite shallow at this point. Sitting in the water I felt a sharp prick on the buttocks. Glancing down, a small fish flashed in the sunlight as it veered away. Several times this happened. They were picking at those little pools of pus. Some instinct told me this was a good thing. They cleared up so that I was not worried by them again. One may well ask would this sort of thing have been of any use to those dreadful ulcers we were to know later.

Moving on, always by night, we came to a small stream which flowed into the Kwai. Resting on the bank we saw a man, native to the area, use a throw net. As he threw it, it billowed into a circle weighted around the edges and it fell into the water. With a cord he pulled it closed so that he caught half a dozen beautiful silver fish. They reminded me of the fish I had caught in the South Arm of the Tweed. For all the good it did us they might just as well have been on the Tweed. This man, by his actions and manner, was trying to show us how to catch fish. Alas, we had neither the means. nor would our mission - whatever that was - allow us to engage in such activity.

Sleep by day and move by night was the order of the march. After a couple of days we came to another place in the jungle beside the river. Rest as well as you could in the steamy heat of the jungle. Late afternoon, together with half a dozen others, we were detailed to go with a Japanese cook to collect some rations from his cook house. As we walked along, this man spoke excitedly and constantly in his own language. In his isolation he was pleased to see another human being. We understood not one word, but it didn't seem to matter much anyway. As we climbed the rather steep hill, he paused beside a rock and looked down on the river. Between jungle covered banks it stretched away to the west, the setting sun reflected on the water. He commenced to sing a Japanese song which we did not know. We did however appreciate that he had a fine voice. With arm outstretched, he sang with feeling to the river and the beauty which extended before him. We could only feel kindly to this older man who showed some humanity towards us in a place where such sentiment was becoming increasingly rare.

The rations - mostly rice - were issued to each man in our party of some four or five hundred. We promptly ate our portion as it was unwise to keep cooked food for any time because it sours quickly in the jungle humidity.

At dusk we moved off along the jungle track and into the blackness of the night. After an hour or so, flashes in the distant sky heralded the approaching storm. If possible, this made the night even blacker. At last the storm broke over us, a deluge that beggars description. The lightning now came at regular intervals so that it hit the tracks before us. In this brief flash one would take a bearing on some object and move forward. If the interval between flashes was a bit long, one would wait and so take another bearing with the next flash. To do otherwise one could stumble of into the jungle and become completely lost. The storm went away and we trudged through the night. Some time before daylight we heard loud reports in the distance, like a gunshot. I was hearing for the first time what happens to bamboo when it is heated. Should a section remain whole, the moisture inside turns to steam and goes off with a loud report. The forward elements of the column had come to a stopping place and lit a fire. A fire is a cheery thing, so we gathered around, laughed and joked awhile, put our cares aside and enjoyed the moment. Weariness would overtake us, and so another day, to try and rest, get what we could to eat and prepare for the next night march.

The coming of the night would see us on the track once more. We formed ourselves into small groups, a sort of mutual aid affair. Movement in these circumstances by conventional military formation was impossible. Presumptuous or otherwise I know not, but I never doubted that I could stay with almost anything. Our group was Macourt, Mitchell and myself. I would hang back and by this means would pick up either of the others if they faltered. We had served together since our time in Bathurst, back in Australia. We seemed to be able to recognise one another even on the blackest night. As I stumbled along I suddenly became aware of Macourt standing there, hanging onto Mitchell. "He's had it" said Laurie. Still on his feet, leaning on Macourt like a rag doll, no comprehension or co-ordination what-so-ever. With maybe two or three hours to our next stopping place, what could we do? I decided to take all of the gear and Laurie was to lead Jack along in the time honoured manner, with his arm around his shoulders. Must keep him on his feet - for him to go down would be serious indeed. And so on again. Hanging back again, and after maybe an hour I came on them again, only the position was reversed. Mitchell was hanging onto Macourt in the same condition as he himself had been maybe an hour before. With the coming of dawn our spirits and bodies revived so that we returned to a state which we considered normal. In such circumstances the mind is all-powerful. To allow it to wander can be fatal, as we were to find out in the months ahead.

On the track again. After a couple of days we came to a place which was occupied by natives, Tamils, Malays and the like, who had been recruited by the Japs to work on the line. Arrived before dawn, exhausted again. I lay down on what appeared to be clean ground. Slept a while; in the daylight I found I had laid down in human filth. We had been warned of cholera, but cholera or not, I could not stand this. I made my way to the nearby river and washed myself, my clothing and the gear I carried. I felt better after the clean-up. However, I felt very thirsty, and having been warned of cholera I was very reluctant to drink. The river was quite wide at this point, with reedy banks and turning a muddy colour with run-off from embankments which were being formed for the railway. I convinced myself to swim out 20 yards or so. Surely no cholera would be out in the middle. I drank my fill and with thirst gone, another thought soon crossed my mind "There could be alligators in this place". No sooner thought than I swam for the bank in quick time. If these reptiles are there, I did not in my time see them. Just the same, I was not prepared to ponder the subject in the middle of the river.

We had been on the track for maybe ten days. Surely we must arrive at our destination before long. We had no idea where we were going, except that we were heading for Burma. As we trudged through the mud I suddenly became aware of a row of lights in the distance. As we came closer I could see these jungle men were each holding a torch, fashioned from some forest material. The torch was ignited with a substance which flickered and cast light and shadow reflecting the dark face of the bearer. The women stood back in the shadow and children clung to their skirts, a fearful, wide-eyed look on the faces of all these people. We, for our part, were somewhat uplifted by their actions for we may well have been the legion of Rome passing through Gaul. We halted at this village to rest a while. From an open doorway shone a shaft of clear, white light. This was unusual in this place. for the only light we, or the natives, seemed to have was firelight. Some decided to go over to see what they might be able to purchase. For my part, I elected to stay with the gear, lie down in a couple of inches of mud, using my pack for a pillow and put my hat over my face to keep the rain off. I slept for maybe ten minutes till awakened to get on the move again. Dazed for a while, one would come to and be refreshed to some degree. This ability to cat nap was of great benefit and helped to sustain me on more than one occasion.

It was north west of the village of Nicki that we first saw Shimo Sonkurai, which we called No. 1 Camp. As we rounded a bend in the road early one morning we sighted these roofless, 100 metre huts, dark, wet and desolate. Members of the 2/26 Battalion had arrived the day before; standing in line, drenched to the skin, they were the only cheerful thing about the place. "You'll be sorry" was their greeting, as we exchanged banter in the way soldiers do. Our pleasure at seeing one another was mutual and took my mind off the sole of one boot having parted from the upper. I considered myself fortunate to have been issued with a pair of brand new black Indian boots on leaving Changi. Now, after not much more than a fortnight, they were starting to fall apart. One should count one's blessings - some had already lost their boots, and they were never replaced.

We had come to this place after a most gruelling forced march of some 200 miles, in the most appalling conditions and we were now to commence our labours under even worse conditions. The gaps in our ranks bore mute testimony to this, and it only ended with our return to the dubious haven of Changi.

Changi 1944 - Johore Bahru 1945 - Release 1945

On our return to Changi from the Burma Railway, we knew it to be a doubtful sanctuary. But my experience in Thailand, as far as the Burma border, had been so extreme as to make me believe nothing at all would ever again be so bad. Some time was spent at the old Birdwood Camp and we then transferred to what in peacetime was the married quarters in the Selarang area. The British Army stationed their garrison troops in such quarters which were solidly built of bricks and mortar. They, in their time, lived quite comfortably and I have often thought that the money, said to have been spent for defence of what was considered to be an outpost of the British Empire, was used mostly on such buildings. The large three storied buildings which surrounded the barrack square and parade ground were on similar lines. I never again went back to Selarang Square after I left for what proved to be the Burma - Thailand Railway in 1943. We slept on the floor with nothing to suggest it should be called a bed, with a rice sack as a cover, which may or may not be required. The constant humidity of the tropics made a cover unnecessary for much of the time. Bugs were ever present and these blood - sucking, foul smelling parasites were just something else with which we learned to live. We had no methods to control them, for they lived in every crevice in the building, even a boot left on the floor would be found in the morning to have bugs which settled until disturbed.

We were left alone by our hosts for quite some time and slowly regained strength, but at no time did we regain normal weight. The basic food was rice and native vegetables, including sweet potato tops which did their best to fill but did not at any time look like fattening us. The cooks, using tropical fruits, soya beans, lentils and sometimes peanuts, did a marvellous job trying to give some taste to our rations.

Small and all as quantities were, at no time was there outside help such as Red Cross supplies. Though this source is mentioned from time to time, it was, for the most part, non-existent in the eyes or mouths of the troops. My health remained stable. No longer did we have the constant monsoon rains or the threat of cholera. Dysentery was possible, but we had a much better chance against the disease than the Thailand experience. Malaria kept away which was a blessing, while we learned to live with the ever-present dermatitis in one form or another.

The building of the airfield at Changi commenced in 1942, but I was not involved until about March 1944. This airfield was never used to much extent by the Japanese because they never had many aircraft stationed in the area. The drome was to become Singapore International Airport. The basic levelling work was done by the natives of Singapore and ourselves, using little more than chunkels (hoes) and small cane baskets, to move earth from one spot to another. The place bore no resemblance to the magnificent airport which it is today.

Our labours at this place were under an ever-present tropical sun, sometimes relieved by a 'Sumatra' the name given to the tropical rain squalls that came from time to time, usually in the afternoon. We had dreaded the monsoon rains in the Burma-Thailand area, but now we welcomed a drenching by these squalls. Provided they did not remain for any length of time, they proved a welcome relief from the constant burning sun, and with the rain having cleared, the sun soon dried our clothing which was no more than a pair of shorts. Later, when our shorts wore out, we had what we called a G-string, which was really a loin cloth.

We worked day after day for seven days a week, in the fashion of coolies, with no interest in what we did. It was the sort of thing to tear the soul out of a saint. Constant and all as it was, with our tormentors ever-present, their attitude towards us was much better than our experience in Thailand. About May 1944, our quarters were moved to Changi Gaol. I was fortunate in that I was quartered in a Japanese style 100 metre hut outside the gaol wall, but barbed wire was placed around the perimeter and we were confined to this area. The work continued in shifts, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. We alternated in this fashion each week. Metal skiffs were introduced and these ran on tram lines so that you loaded at one spot, then pushed the train, of maybe a dozen trucks, to the dumping area where the truck tipped and deposited the sand or soil into what was really a swamp. The drome was built in the form of a cross, with a north, south, east and west runway. I worked mostly on the south runway where it headed towards the shoreline. It is difficult to imagine this work carrying a heavy aircraft, for none of the work we did was consolidated, and, in truth, what we did was but the very basic work of filling the swamp.

We were ever on the lookout for something to supplement our rations and coconuts and the like were welcome, if they could be found. There was seemingly miles of coconut palms but they had been gone over so many times as to make the nuts scarce. Escape was something to think about, but, as one Japanese commander put it "with thousands of miles of impenetrable jungle and boundless oceans" to cross it was a forlorn hope. There were those who escaped many times, 'going through the wire' we called it, but always taking care you could get back again. Should you do this it was always with something in view. Maybe as modest as a paw paw. One can shudder to think you risked your neck for a thing which now seems trifling. For, as it was pointed out, punishment must be severe, even to being shot.

The first glimmer of hope came in November, 1944, with the appearance of B29 British bombers. Great silver monsters high in a blue sky were a tonic that lifted our morale and caused us to say once more "We'll be home for Christmas". Over the years we'd said that many times, and now there seemed real hope that it would come to pass. The possibility of being bombed was cause for concern but we accepted this as one of the hazards of war. Had this happened we would bear no animosity toward our friends, for they as well were in peril, and after so long, we had developed a curious fatalistic attitude to all things. These aircraft came over daily and we were uplifted by their presence. Bombing seemed to be confined to military targets such as the Naval base. The drome was not considered one of these for there were few Japanese aircraft in the Singapore area and as the Allied armies were now advancing, they would consider it useful for their own later use. For all of this, one was not over confident sitting in the middle of the runway, when these monsters droning overhead to disappear seaward and so continue on with their mission. The main opposition from the Japanese came from anti-aircraft fire which was quite spectacular, with black puffs of smoke dotting the sky. Apart from making the bombers remain high, it had little effect on them. The few Jap fighters that were there were soon disposed of by these heavily armed monsters. One could hear the rattle of machine gun and cannon fire which signalled the end of Japanese aircraft. Opposition gradually disappeared so that they came over day by day and we grew in confidence that they knew where we were and would not drop their bombs. I never saw one of our aircraft brought down which showed how they dominated the sky, much the same as the Japanese had done with their Zeros during their advance down the Malay Peninsular during the 1942 campaign. If perchance our aircraft failed to appear on any day, the cry would go up "The bastards have left us again". However, when they reappeared, our hopes rose again and we plodded on our weary way.

Well, we did spend Christmas 1944 on the drome and this was to be the last of four spent during my time in the Singapore area. Our cooks excelled themselves to improvise and provide us with something 'special' and in a modest way it was, and we appreciated what had been done for us. In writing on the subject of Christmas, at no time, either at home or during my time under the Japanese yoke, has the day made quite the same impact as it did when we sat down on the floor at Birdwood Camp after our return from the Burma-Thailand Railway.

There were those engaged otherwise. The garden was one where native vegetables were grown and made a substantial contribution to our rations and well-being. Warrant Officer Purdon made artificial limbs for those in need and had some success in easing the lot of these people. Corporal Abbotts, badly wounded at Gemas, made toys for children interned at some other place on the island. Whether his efforts reached those intended I don't know, but never the less, Abbotts' project was a worthy one.

The outside world of entertainment was unknown to us. Vera Lynne, Glen Miller, Betty Grable and such people who became popular during the war years were unheard-of to we who plodded on looking for, and not finding, a silver lining. It was for these reasons that the concert party made such a valuable contribution. People of various talents, whether instrumental, vocal, humour, impersonators or having the ability to present an act, were all appreciated by us, for it was our one relief from the reality of it all. Harry Smith, or 'Happy Harry' as he was dubbed, had 'Woe' as his theme as he strode in from the wings, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, bare feet, and his rather craggy face with a grin from ear to ear. He would announce "You'll never get off the island" and he never failed to bring the house down. John Woods, dressed as a 'lady of the night' singing one of his own compositions 'The Deepest Shelter in Town' with reference to 'Black Jack' (Lt. Col. later Brigadier Sir Frederick Galleghan) was enjoyed by all, including 'Black Jack'. This act was later deleted because of the presence of Japanese, including at times, senior Japanese officers who were invited to the show. It was part of the game, 'Black Jack' never missed a chance to impress, or at times impose his will on our captors. However, it was considered that discretion should be applied and nothing would be done to suggest disrespect for our senior officers in the eyes of the Japanese.

We went our weary way with ceaseless toil and never ending sweat, none of it with a willing heart, but always with a determination to see it through. Rumours once more said we were to move. Where to this time? I looked on these moves with some reservations as fate would bring me the right answer, no matter what. I always had this thought, no matter how black the prospects were for us. The rumour was true this time and so some three to four hundred men moved to Johore Bahru, rather to the west, to a large house, in bad repair, and with a view over the Johore Straits, giving a distant sight of Singapore Island. We reckoned this house had to be a Sultan's Palace. We always did this with any large imposing dwelling we considered had belonged to the Sultan of Johore. I doubt if this was true but for no particular reason, it suited us to say it was his home.

We established ourselves once more as we had always done, with cook houses and attention to hygiene, always important in the tropics where disease will spread rapidly if allowed to become established.

This was the tunnel job which drove under the hills some distance back in the hinterland. What their purpose was we did not know. Few, if any of us, had any knowledge of working underground and the Japanese guards seemed not to be overburdened with know-how about the job. For this reason alone it was dangerous. As we drove into the hill we timbered the shaft after the fashion we had heard about. Driving inwards it became increasingly dark and the air was foul and humid. There were many springs in the area and as they were opened up a stream of water ran down the floor of the shaft. The red mud and the risk of an earth fall were ever present. In the circumstances in which we now found ourselves, it was a miracle that only one man was killed. Some of these shafts were so bad that they had to be abandoned and we would start again in another place.

We had been 'behind bamboo' for over three years, we were physically and mentally weary and beginning to despair. Months before, the appearance of aircraft had boosted our hopes, and yet after six months, nothing had happened to suggest relief was on the way. One must not become despondent for it was vital to keep the right mental attitude at all times. The physical being can stand enormous strain, just so long as one's mind holds firm. I was struck down by yellow jaundice, was already unwell and not at all helped by this new condition. It was a change from malaria and other tropical diseases. We had become used to having no treatment for almost any complaint, so there was nought to do but ride out the storm as it were, hope for the best and try not to be despondent.

I had recovered to some extent and back on my feet I found myself on a different job at what we called the police barracks. There was a group of Japanese officers at this place whose presence gave us a feeling that something was afoot. We were suspicious of Japanese activity in the area and had long suspected that the tunnels were to be our tombs. True or false I know not, but we were becoming uneasy. We had a report of Japanese troop activity on a Padang some half a mile from our quarters. Returning from our work place we decided to take a different track to our quarters. We would form up in column of route, lined up in threes and march past this Padang and try to find out what was going on. Taking the guard with us, we proceeded along the proposed route. Our fears were realised when we came in sight of the Padang as there were squads of Japanese doing machine-gun drill. Nothing to do now but march ahead in quick time. There was a look of surprised amusement on the faces of the Japanese troops, however, they did not interfere and we headed back to camp. What we saw did not please us but at least we knew what was going on.

We would bide our time and wait for the Japs to make a move. God only knows how we would counter any action by our enemies but we would wait and see and try to resist, any move they might make.

The early return to camp by one of the tunnel parties was the first inkling that it was over, one way or another. We had, over the years, listened to damned all rumours that came to nought and had become confirmed sceptics. It was difficult to believe anything, especially that the war was over. Work had ceased, which was a good sign, no friendly troops had appeared, but passing natives waved and smiled and the guards left us, all of which was slowly convincing us that it was indeed the end of a long, long trail. Confidence grew so I made a good feed of rice cooked in Red Palm Oil. I paid heavily for this with colic and a sour stomach. It convinced me that my stomach could not stand much food, and so from that point on I took it only in small quantifies.

There was still no official announcement, but after a couple of days we were coming at last to believe. News that a single bomb had wiped out a Japanese city was too ridiculous for words. We who had endured artillery fire and aerial bombing would not, and could not believe such a thing to be possible. Time proved that it was all true.

Trucks arrived to take us to Changi. It was all so unreal and we could not fully comprehend that we were free. As we rattled past a large hospital in Johore Bahru, we noted that it appeared to be full of Japanese. No doubt it was their turn to wonder what might happen. However, we, for the most part, ignored one another. There seemed to be mutual relief that it was over. We travelled along the roads, past villages and kampongs, and as always the people waved and were friendly. Children watched us in wide-eyed wonder. No longer were these places exotic or foreign to us, indeed, we felt as one of them. Down the road to Changi, the fifth time I had come to this place. The gaol came into view, forbidding as ever, but now the Union Jack fluttered at the masthead, and the blue sky, for a background, made a sight for our eyes that was still difficult to comprehend. No doubt 'Black Jack' had our Australian flag at his headquarters, but Singapore was a British Colony and so it was the Union Jack that flew highest of all. Troops of the 14th. British Army from Burma had not as yet appeared, but they would, and then it could be truly said that the British had returned and would, to some degree, wipe out the humiliation of 1942.

I returned to the same quarters I had left months before. We settled in as we had always done. Nothing in the way of food or comforts arrived, so we carried on under our own administration. Aircraft were overhead dropping leaflets with instructions about what to do and the promise that help was at hand. It was all encouragement and we were content. Those in dire straits healthwise could now have our limited medical supplies lavished on them in the certain knowledge that bigger and better supplies were at hand.

At no time did we celebrate in an exhilarated way. We were emotionally dead and being thankful in a mindless kind of way. In truth, we were physically and mentally exhausted.

Authority arrived in the form of a British Lieutenant, armed with enough power to over-ride everyone, no matter what his rank. This did not please 'Black Jack'. However, he had to bow to the Lieutenant's authority but not always with good grace. The Japanese responded to his orders and requests at the double, for he spoke Japanese fluently and as far as they were concerned, he no doubt carried the authority of the Japanese Emperor.

Indian troops arrived, battle hardened veterans of the Burma Campaign, and soon had their weapons in place so that the area was totally secure. Naval ships occupied the harbour and parties of us went out to enjoy their hospitality. It was too much for many of us who found, as I had earlier, that our stomachs could only stand food in small quantities. It was too much for the navy as well, for men went out in such numbers as to seriously deplete the ships rations. The practice had to cease but this was not crucial as rations were now coming into our camp at the gaol.

The food was strictly army rations but this was no hardship for us, indeed, we welcomed it as a banquet. Our dreams of sweet and rich food came to nought, in fact, we found we had no taste for it. It was the simple, plain food we enjoyed and it was to be a long time before we acquired a taste for anything richer. No clothing arrived, though this did not worry us. It was the arrival of some Australian nurses, like angels from above, that made made us aware of our emaciated bodies and threadbare clothing. We were embarrassed, unable to communicate properly, for their world was a very different one to that which we had just come through. No word from home, still, we were used to that and it never occurred to me that they were anything but safe and sound. During my time in these places I can only recall a couple of cards of not more than twenty five words and at no time did I receive a letter. We were pleased to see more of our countrymen in the form of a company of Paratroops. They were in the pink of condition and we thought them to be rather 'green'. It was all very new to them and they appeared quite naive. They distinguished themselves by declaring that we smelled like `boongs'. This was not surprising as we had lived on native food for a very long time, soap was mostly unknown, and in three and a half years I had never known the luxury of a warm bath. We were, for the most part, totally unaware of what effect our appearance had on these people who had come from another world.

The recovery troops were now becoming established, public address systems were in place and broadcast news and music, as well as local information which was all welcomed by us. Indian film units arrived and set their screens up in the most suitable place. The hum of the generators reminded me of the travelling talkies we had enjoyed in Kunghur Hall. The silver screen was sheer enjoyment and Virginia Mayo, whose blonde beauty was beyond compare, was appreciated by us and the Chinese, who came to enjoy the show and chatter with one another, appreciated it no less than we did.

Lord Louis Mountbatten from Burma paid us a visit and impressed us with his physique and military bearing, while his personality left nothing to be desired. We were much uplifted by his visit. Lt. Col. Galleghan decided to parade his Battalion once more. So, we of the 2/30th Battalion paraded at the corner of the gaol. He addressed us as he had many times, but with feeling this time, for we were a battered, threadbare unit and he noted that we bore ourselves with pride, despite the gruelling hardship of our service. We had suffered many mortalities, so that our numbers were few as we remembered those who would not return to Australia.

Some months had passed since the armistice and we felt it was time for some movement. The day arrived and we lined up on the main road near the gaol and waited for Indian military trucks to take us to our ship. As we waited, a squad of some forty Japanese soldiers passed by, looking neither to right or left. We watched them in silence. They were good soldiers and it would be foolish for anyone to think otherwise. On the side of the road, groups of Chinese gathered, mostly in silence and watched. I now did a strange thing. I had been issued with a military woollen pullover, the only article of clothing to come my way. I valued this above all else. It was of beautiful quality and I treasured it as a child might treasure a favourite toy. On impulse I stood up and moved to the centre of the road, holding this garment aloft. The group opposite commenced to chatter until what appeared to be the head man came forward and accepted the gift with all the grace and dignity of which the Chinese are capable. It was little enough, for I had, over the years, accepted tokens from them, but little and all as it was, it came from a generous heart. What I stood in was all I had except for my army pay book, which had come all the way from Tamworth with me, and hundreds of dollars in Japanese Occupation money I had picked up on the streets of Singapore. The British had declared it worthless and for this reason the native population had discarded the currency. It was this money that upset my father. It meant nothing to me except as a souvenir . He had said nothing but some days after my arrival home, I noticed these, together with a number of letters people had written to me, were missing. I enquired of the household had they seen these things. The question was met with a blank stare. Some of the letters I had not even read, but they, together with the money, had disappeared. I believe he burnt them. This, to me, was rotten, and the passing of the years has not changed my opinion.

We boarded the 'Esperance Bay' at Singapore docks and were soon underway. We watched the island fade away in the distance. There were a host of memories between this place and Burma where I had spent much of my youth. The sea was placid and a group of British troops were on board to do all the work. It was a holiday cruise for us. The food was plain but good. Wheaten bread and English potatoes were a delight. We had tasted nothing like this for years. We were issued with canteen tokens, each to the value of five shillings. I bought Woodbine cigarettes, chocolates, and the like, as there was little else to purchase. However, I was well content and on arrival home had a number of cigarettes left. These I shared around and was pleased to do so. However, the old man interpreted this to mean I had been living on the fat of the land. His attitude was appalling.

We sailed into Darwin Harbour to be greeted by launches crowded with people in summer dress, the ladies in shorts and summer shirts. They were curious, but mostly silent, and so were we. They seemed to regard us as something different and did not know quite what to make of us. There was evidence of ships which had been sunk during the Japanese raids of 1942, with the rusted superstructures showing above water. I guess we were rusty as well and it would take time for us to fit into the main stream of the life we had left back in 1941.

Stores were taken on board, including uniforms, boots, and all those things to make us properly dressed. Having left Darwin, we busied ourselves being fitted out so as to be presentable to the outside world. We travelled via Cape York and as we came south the ribbon of golden sand of South Queensland was visible, and then off the Tweed, Mount Warning was prominent and we were close enough to recognise the nine trees that grew along the Tweed Heads main street. It was all excitement but of a sober kind.

We neared Sydney about dark and the Sydneysiders noted all the points on the coast. Barrenjoey and other lights were identified as we made our way towards the heads. We entered the harbour after dark and noted the boom made from logs and pile driven into the bed of the harbour with enough room for shipping to make passage. The Japs with their mini submarines had frightened the hell out of them right enough. We dropped anchor in mid harbour and were to remain there overnight. "Ah well, what's another night." There was plenty to watch so that there was not much sleep. We weighed anchor next morning and made our way to Woolloomooloo wharves. As we passed the cruiser HMAS Shropshire, dressed overall with the crew lining the deck in review order, the sailors gave three rousing cheers in the best naval tradition. Unprepared as we were for this, we never the less returned the compliment with full throated cheering. It was a heart felt moment.

We pulled alongside the wharf about 9am on October 9, 1945. The gangway lowered and we were soon filing onto the wharf which was mostly deserted. We had been told we would meet our relatives at Ingleburn Military Camp and we would be taken there in double decker buses. So, as each bus filled we moved off through the city streets. Sydney groups here and there welcomed us by cheering but somehow I was becoming confused. As the bus pulled up at Ingleburn, people tumbled out and made their way up the hill until I was alone. I did not think my people would come all the way from the Tweed just for me. I felt very much alone until my brother, Bill, appeared. By God he had changed. Air Force uniform with wings and all that. "They're up here" he said and me wondering how I would cope. As we topped the hill, the old man was all over me, the centre of all things as usual. Uncle Bill Grant had brought them out in his Model T Ford. Truck petrol rationing wouldn't worry him, he'd find his way anywhere. Uncle Frank Way was generous with a five pound note and instructions that he did not want it back. This would be handy for we had not as yet received any pay. Mum, steadfast as ever, smiling and brave, greeted me.

She had cut her long hair which she had worn as a bun round the back. Still, the pulse of home was there. Yet I felt alone, self-conscious and trying all the time to cope. Anyhow, live for the moment, some day it will come together and once again I will know peace and human goodness. This time I'll be home for Christmas.

Tom Grant,
6th May, 1989