Four Fires (84 page)

What's more they're in a flamin' great hurry to get going.

'But in early September we're woken in our huts at dawn, with rifle butts in our ribs. The jap guards are fully armed, screaming, shouting out and having a go at anything that moves in the dark. It's not what we've become accustomed to, we've settled down to POW life and everyone sort of knows the rules. Sure, we get beaten for the smallest thing or even for nothing, but it's individuals do that. Not since the second morning when we went out to make the road and ended up at the airfield, have we been rousted out like this.

'This time it's not to make up a working party, or even just the young blokes, it's the whole camp and involves a full kit inspection and hut search. We're stumbling about in the dark getting
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clobbered and wondering what the hell it's all about. Must be something pretty bloody important, something's happened we don't know about, most likely an escape.

'At the end of July, eleven POWs escaped and the Japs went berserk. They eventually caught them and sent them to Outram Road Gaol in Singapore, all except one who died in Kuching.

We all copped the shit for that escape and as a con'sequence, we now have to wear a square of white cloth on our hats with a personal identifying number.

'At first light, tenko is called beside the big tree and we assemble on parade with full kit and a Jap warrant officer screams "ki ivo tsuhel'

-----a for "attention!" We all do as he says and Captain Hoshijima, accompanied by his escort of guards plus the bedraggled-looking Mr Ozawa, march into sight.

The captain as usual looks as if he's attending a trooping of the colour ceremony, with his immaculate uniform, Eyetalian pistol at the hip, boots shining like polished glass. Him and Mr Ozawa mount the platform where there's a table been placed and both stand behind it. Then right off, Ozawa, as if he's had the words waiting in his throat for hours, shouts out, "Ze oasel"

which is how it will be pronounced ever after. He's got this piece of paper in his hand and begins to read. For once Captain Hoshijima doesn't interrupt, I suppose because the words written down are probably his very own.

'"One!" shouts the Formosan. "We abide by ze rules and regulation of ze Imperial Japanese Army!" He stops and looks at Hoshijima for approval. The captain nods for him to continue.

"Two!" the little man shouts out. "We agree not to attempt to escape!"

There is this murmur from the men who suddenly cotton on to what's happening, "ze oase", is supposed to be "the oath", something we are all collectively taking. The guards move forward, and the warrant officer shouts for us to be silent. Susumi Hoshijima nods to Mr Ozawa to go on.

"Three! Should any of our soldiers escape we request that you shoot him to death!"

There is this stunned silence. Nothing moves. It's like time stands still. "Shit, what's gunna happen?" I think to meself. I can't believe what I've just heard.

'Suddenly our most senior officer, Colonel Walsh, breaks rank and mounts the platform. He reaches out and takes the piece of paper from the startled Mr Ozawa. You can hear a pin drop. I remember the birds were just beginning to sound in the jungle, nothing else can be heard, just the birdcalls at first light, the cook-a-rooing of wild doves and the sound of the breath in my chest. Walsh is a mild bloke, but we don't know how he's gunna react.

'"Gentlemen, I for one will not sign such a document!" he shouts out, so we can all hear him plainly. Then he throws the paper down and it flaps and lands on the edge of the table and slowly slides off. We see it land at Captain Hoshijima's feet.

There's a gasp from the ranks and then cheers. "Shit, the old man's got guts," Cleary says next to me, "Good on ya, mate!" he shouts out and immediately cops a kick from a guard standing nearby. The guards start kicking all and sundry, to stop us cheering.

'Next thing, the Jap guards surrounding Hoshijima drag Walsh from the table and frog-march him out the gates. There's a post just outside the main gate and they tie him to it and Captain Hoshijima goes up and slaps him across the face. Then the guards line up into a firing squad and pull back the bolts of their rifles and take aim. Meanwhile the machine guns are trained on all of us in case there's an uprising. The men are shouting and bellowing and the Japs are in danger of losing control of the situation.'

Tommy looks at me, 'Christ, I dunno what would have happened if they'd shot him, there'd have been a riot. There's fifteen hundred of us and we greatly outnumber the Japs. If they'd shot the C.O., I reckon we'd have broke ranks and gone for them. They'd have massacred us with the machine guns but we'd have got a few and Hoshijima would have been one of them.

'One of our officers breaks ranks, it's Major Workman the 2/IC and he goes up to Hoshijima
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and tries to calm him down. I don't suppose Hoshijima being only a captain was all that anxious to assassinate a colonel. He'd probably have some explaining to do at the Jap High Command at Kuching. The Japs respect rank and shooting Walsh without a trial wouldn't have been a good move. Hoshijima's a young bloke and educated and he's in a jam. But Japs can't afford to lose face and Hoshijima can't be seen to back down in front of his men. So a way has to be found to calm him down and save his honour and, at the same time, save Walsh's life.

'Eventually the major comes up with the suggestion that the wording of the document be changed slightly so that it isn't a collective statement taken on behalf of all the men by their commander. The suggestion is that the words are changed to read "we individuals".

'At first the Japs have a bit of trouble understanding this. They don't go in for individuals in the Imperial Japanese Army. Not that we do a whole lot neither, but their troops can't say boo to a mouse. With them it's total obedience, or death. They've all sworn an oath to die for the Emperor which covers bloody everything. Eventually Hoshijima, who understands Western ways, agrees and "ze oase" document is changed, the Jap captain's face is saved and so is Walsh's life.

'So now we've all got to sign the document personally by writing down our names. Hoshijima changes the words on the document with his fountain pen and the guards distribute enough blank sheets of paper to hold all the signatures. They keep us on parade for six hours in the hot sun while the guards ransack our huts and the officers' quarters, stealing anything they can find.

'They're supposed to be looking for contraband, but it's just an excuse to help themselves. They find bugger-all that's a punishable offence because we've got all that sort of stuff well hidden, but a lot of personal things go missing. Among them is the post office clock Johnny Moule-Probert pinched from the Bukit Timah post office on Singapore Island and lugged in his kit all the way to Sandakan. It's been hanging in our hut, tick-tocking happily away. When you wake up from a nightmare and you hear it going tick-tock-tick-tock, like time isn't taking no notice of what's happening, it's comforting, and helps to keep you calm when you're a long way from home and you're lying there in the dark, rats scuttling, wonderin' if you'll ever get back.

'Now it's bloody gone. Some Jap's nicked it and it's probably ticking away in his house in Osaka, with his kids thinking their old man is a war hero and the clock was given him by grateful citizens for saving their lives.

'While all this ransacking is taking place, there's blokes dropping like flies in the ranks, but they just lie there at our feet and we are forbidden to help them. One of the blokes who was on the far side of the mob told me later that one of the God-botherers had broken ranks, defying the guards to beat him. He's gone and got a kerosene can made into a bucket, filled it with water, and a tin mug and he's going from man to man lying on the ground lifting their heads and making them take a drink of water.'

What was his name?'

I couldn't say, just one of them padres.'

'WardaleGreenwood?'

Could be, yeah I think it was him,' he says, still not sure. Tommy squints up at me, It was bound to be him, he was fearless.

Maybe he was a proddo, but I tell you what, he was a bloody saint. He should have got the VC.

'When it come to signing the document, I doubt there was a proper name used among the entire B Force. On the sheet where I sign "Mickey Mouse", I count eight Ned Kellys and six Bob Menzies and one "Up the Hawks!" Cleary signs "Fatty Finn" because there are already several Ginger Meggs. Me other four mates make up something equally bloody stupid, one I remember was "King George" and another "Captain Cook", although there was a real Captain Cook among us and I'll tell you about him later. I don't reckon there's one bloke wrote his birth name down.'Tommy stops and thinks a moment, Yeah well, I suppose there's a few who did. Some of
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our blokes were pretty bloody stupid. If the Japs catch on to this lurk, they don't say. With them it's all about not losing face.

'We started to work on the airfield ten days before "ze oase" fiasco. At first the work isn't too bad, it's hard and punishment is severe for the slightest mistake, but the rations are enough to keep our bodies reasonably strong so we're coping okay. Some of the coves doing the heavy labour get twenty-six ounces of rice, the others eighteen ounces, with a little fish or meat and some vegetables and a couple of cigarettes. To be fair, we had it pretty easy the first twelve months. We got flogged a fair bit, though when you're a POW suppose it's to be expected but we had enough food and cigarettes. In fact, some of us had enough rice over to trade with the locals at the airstrip. Ten cents a day for working on the airstrip doesn't sound like much, but you could buy a coconut or a fair-sized banana or a turtle egg for a cent from the natives. The best was a banana fritter, you could get one for two cents and it was a special treat. We'd sometimes find a bee's nest and have a feast of honey and when we felled coconut palms, at the heart of the palm is this tender green centre which was pretty good to eat and which we called rich man's cabbage, because you had to chop down the whole tree to get it. There was also a canteen in the camp where you could buy a bit of medicine or razor blades or extra cigarettes. It really wasn't too bad at first.

'The work on the airstrip was simple enough, digging up the tufa on the rises, filling up skips with it and then pushing them along a system of portable rails to the dips in the ground, tipping the skips and

levelling the spill. Our biggest problem on the airfield was our eyes. Like I said earlier, the tufa is easy enough to work when it's hard, but it's almost white as snow and in the tropical sun, just like snow, it kicks back this blinding light your eyes can't stand. So we invent these special "glasses"

to stop the glare, two slivers of bamboo, or two sticks placed together with just the smallest gap between them to see through, with a piece of cord or plaited grass rope tied to either end of the sticks and then brought round and tied at the back of the head. Simple stuff, but it worked a treat. Only problem was that you ended up with pretty limited vision so you never knew if a Jap guard was creeping up on you. Sometimes you'd stop a moment for a breather and next thing you'd cop a pick handle across your back that would knock you to the ground.

'The other problem we have is Lieutenant Okahara, the Jap in charge of the airstrip project. He is the original comic-book Jap, about five feet two inches tall with buck teeth and bottle-bottom glasses. Okahara is one of the cruellest bastards it is our misfortune to come across, a sadist who loves to inflict pain. The only time you ever saw him smile was when he was ordering someone to be beaten. He tells us he wants the first landing strip completed by December 1942 before the monsoon rains and that it's got to be 850 metres long and 50 metres wide and he'll get it whatever it takes.'Tommy stops and thinks, then says, 'In our measurements that's approximately 930 yards long by about 55 yards wide. There's only a limited number of skips and rails and with two working parties of three hundred working six days a week, it's a bloody big ask. The rest of the prisoners are working on camp duties, the roads, driving trucks and loading supplies from town, others are collecting wood. But Okahara has a little trick up his sleeve to make sure the airstrip is completed by Christmas. It comes in the form of a "basher gang".

I haven't told you about the Formosan guards, have I?' I shake my head. 'Yeah, well, they're conscripts from the island of Formosa which is part of Japan's empire. Thickset powerful little blokes who the Japs regard as a second-rate people. They've joined up or been conscripted, willing or not, thinking once they're in the Imperial Japanese Army they'll be treated the same as the Jap soldiers but they soon find out

that they are there to do the dirty work and their only outlet is to take it out on us.

'Lieutenant Okahara picks four of the worst for his basher gang. Their leader is a mongrel named Kada. Built like a brick shithouse, he never tired of inflicting pain. He was known to us
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all as "Mad Mick". I reckon he was genuinely off his rocker and when he was in a rage, which was daily, he'd foam at the mouth and his eyes would bulge out of his head like a bullfrog. The basher gang and the guards are under the supervision of another thoroughgoing bastard, a Jap officer named Lieutenant Moritake.

There was no way of escaping Mad Mick and his gang. They'd be armed with pick handles fashioned like swords which could be grasped in both hands. Any sign of slacking or if he imagined you were slacking or didn't like the expression on your gob, Mad Mick and his boys would get stuck in, not only into the bloke they picked first off, but also his entire working gang.

'One of their favourite tricks was to pit us against each other, mate on mate, and if you didn't wallop your mate hard enough or he you, the guards would really have a go, knocking many a bloke into a state of unconsciousness. I remember one of our blokes, a mate of mine who was at Pulau Bukum, you remember the island off Singapore where we loaded oil drums and Blades Rigby got lopped?' I nod, it's not something you could easy forget. 'Well, Richie Murray was a bloody good welterweight in civilian life and the first time we are made to go one-on-one, it's me and him. Well, he's clobbering me something terrible, though he's pulling his punches and I'm missing him with just about every attempt. So Mad Mick sees this and stops the so-called fight and makes Richie keep his hands behind his back and tells me to beat the crap out of him.