Escape to Pagan (39 page)

These steak and kidney puddings were my favourite too. Mum always used the best steak, cutting away all the fat. She used lambs' kidneys, boiling them first to remove the strong taste and cutting out all the small ventricles. She would beam with pride when dad said “That was lovely, Mrs D.” But by far the most popular pre-war occupation claimed by the prisoners was “Brothel Inspector”, or “Chief Gooseberry Shaver” at Hartley's Jam Factory.

Little did the Sergeant realize that after the war when he was promoted to RSM of the 2nd Battalion Royal Scots that prisoner and guard roles would be reversed. Under his control at Fort Dufferin were over two hundred Japanese troops including officers. Some Japanese were awaiting the death sentence by hanging. RSM Devereux and other soldiers who were former prisoners of Nippon would be present to watch them die. They all went to their deaths with a resigned composure and dignity. Occasionally, some diehard would shout “Banzai” just before the trap door gave way. To deny them this last gesture of defiance, the Sergeant Major made sure the trap door was opened as soon as the prisoner stood on it.

Some of these soldiers, consumed by an overwhelming shame at being alive, chose not to return to their cherry blossom islands on release. As far as their families were concerned they had become “non-persons”, the greatest insult to any Japanese man. Many chose Thailand as their new home. Others found ingenious and sometimes extremely painful ways to kill themselves. The most popular method of suicide in Fort Dufferin was cutting the jugular vein with glass during the night while their comrades watched with vague interest. When a shard of glass was not available, one Japanese soldier bit through his own wrist to sever his artery.

I sometimes accompanied the RSM on his tours of the British Military Jail and then the Japanese jail on Sundays while Mum entertained friends and relatives. He used to stride into the jail with his swagger stick under his arm and me following behind. As soon as the Japanese prisoners saw him they would jump off their beds and stand to attention. It was compulsory that the Japanese prisoners wore
only their traditional fundoshis which made it difficult for them to conceal weapons to harm themselves. All prisoners would stand stiff upright and bow deeply to the RSM. I would stand with the two armed guards of the Royal Scots while he made a quick inspection, poking here and there with his baton. He would then order them (in Japanese) to stand at ease. His Japanese was quite proficient by then. I never witnessed any violence by the RSM or the guards towards the Japanese prisoners. Bullying was commonplace by the senior Japanese NCOs. Murder was also suspected among the Japanese prisoners although it was often passed off as suicide by their comrades.

In their leisure time they kept themselves busy making various ingenious items. I was given some beautifully made toys by the Japanese prisoners including a semi-automatic pistol made entirely out of different kinds of wire and a spring. It fired nine small perfectly made cylindrical hollow paper pellets (made from Players packets). Once the magazine was loaded and the firing mechanism cocked it fired a pellet by way of a spring, while another pellet was loaded into the chamber ready. It was excellent for killing flies at the range of two feet. This toy weapon was as reliable as the Belgian .22 semi-automatic rifle I later owned.

CHAPTER 26

Liberation

BURMA

“Before long we were boarding military lorries with our pathetic possessions. According to Frank, this fighting force was hoping to reach Meiktila and then Prome, but we would be dropped off somewhere suitable on the way. The next day we entered greener country and finally found ourselves on a metalled road. In the afternoon we crossed a shallow river in a duck
[DUKW – an American amphibious truck]
and came to a residential area with nice looking brick and wooden two storey houses that had overgrown gardens. Here the convoy stopped for the night. Frank asked me if I fancied stretching my legs by the river; before I could answer, my mother said ‘no.'”

The bald Major, I remember, was always trying to get rid of me when Grandmother was not around. But I stuck to my mother like glue to a blanket. Grandmother was not slow to notice this and openly disapproved of the Major's attentions.

“We were dropped off with all the tinned food we could carry and told to occupy any house of our choice. Frank came with us. We were so tired we took the first house in the street; it looked nice from the outside. There was no water in the taps but finding water would no longer be a problem as the monsoon had already started. This house actually had a double bed and a ceramic bath filled with small round Japanese beer bottles. I think it had previously been used by Japanese officers as there were some round wooden bathing tubs in the back garden. This was a big overgrown space with nice fruiting fig trees in it. Even though it was still light we all went straight to bed. It was wonderful to sleep on a soft sprung mattress again. Frank came around late that night but my mother would not let him in Poor man – he had been so good to us. It was so nice to feel safe again. When we woke up the following day you were missing; you had sneaked out while we were sleeping. We could have murdered you. We were told by the British soldiers before they left that there were still many explosive devices lying around the area like grenades and live ammunition.

“Running outside we found you playing in the rain with some Burmese children. Later we met their families, who had been civil servants before the war. They informed us that the Japanese who had been stationed here had gone to defend Meiktila. The sounds of fighting could still be heard in the distance; the war was not as yet over.

“I hoped Jack was still alive somewhere. I never gave up hope and prayed we would soon be together again.

“The gardens of these big houses were so overgrown, and as the monsoon rains came down in sheets it was a dangerous time for snakes. Following the afternoon rains, at dusk, the whole street became alive with fireflies of all different colours. All you children used to run up and down chasing them – even my mother said that she had never seen such a wonderful display of colour. You were a little bugger and always disappeared at mealtimes hiding sometimes in a big rain barrel full of water with just your eyes sticking out. One day we were surprised to find you playing with a pretty little blonde girl called Rosemary. She wore plaits in her hair and a flowered dress. Rosemary looked sad and was always hungry. She usually appeared at mealtimes; Mother thought she had worms but she was a sweet little thing and we always
fed you together. Rosemary never spoke much. I noticed when she left our house she climbed into the overgrown garden next door and disappeared among the trees and bushes. I always thought she was looking for some fruit to eat and the next time she visited, I told her to be careful. We never did meet her parents or relatives; we did not even know exactly where she lived. My mother thought she was Dutch.

“I only heard the sad story of Rosemary later. Her father was dead and her mother worked for the Japanese in the local club. Rosemary's mother was usually drunk and had little time for her daughter, who lived off scraps given to her by the Burmese staff. One night Rosemary's mother killed herself in the garden next door. This little blonde girl was climbing the fence to visit her dead mother's unburied remains. Poor little Rosemary – if only we'd known …”

I remember Rosemary well – with her blues eyes and fair hair she was just like my uncle Victor. She would try to eat anything I said was edible. We both used to get into the big rain barrel and look out at the world. During the day someone's white albino rooster used to strut around the overgrown street as if it owned it. For some reason he always took exception to Rosemary's presence and would attack her on the way to our house. Both my guardians used to laugh as Rosemary came screeching towards us with a bright red face, just like the rooster who was close behind. One day Rosemary did not appear.

“The war was still raging in Burma; refugees came and went trying to escape the fighting and the retreating Japanese Armies. The Japanese troops were still in Meiktila and as far north as Shwebo. Large groups of Japanese were escaping into the hills and jungle trying to regroup. This would be a dangerous time to meet them. Around a fortnight later some British army trucks appeared and we were told to board them quickly with all our possessions.”

Mother was very proud of the fact that we were now classed as British Military Personnel and we would no longer be responsible for feeding ourselves and finding our own accommodation. We were moved another four times because of the fighting. I can still remember the varied accommodation. Each new location had an incident that sticks in my mind. Some of these incidents were rather painful.

The second house we stayed in consisted of one single room and a cooking area. These terraced houses built of timber and brick stood on brick stanchions. The area under the houses had previously been used as a toilet by its former occupants. The stale smell of desiccated human ordure dominated the surroundings and hung like an invisible shroud over these lonely buildings on hot still afternoons. The whole area was in a sea of dry thorn scrub jungle. The only other occupants were a Christian Anglo-Indian family with a daughter older than me. This girl, Teresa, believed in water-babies (or so she said). Noticing I was gullible and that my grandmother always gave me a good slippering for “leaving the shadow of the house,” this girl would approach me (making sure I was alone) and tell me she had just seen water-babies playing in the stream about four hundred yards away along a wide dusty road bordered by thick scrub. I desperately wanted to see a water-baby and intended to catch one and tie a string around its waist.

She would walk with me to the gin-clear pebbled stream telling me how wonderful water-babies were, then exclaim “look there's one … it's hiding just under the water … catch it.” As I did not know the difference between a water-baby and a bush-baby I was not sure what to look for. Excited I would climb down the bank by the concrete and iron bridge. While I was searching, Teresa would quickly leg it back and inform my grandmother that I had “left the shadow of the house.” Running back on my own always scared me as hyenas lurked in the scrub. Gran was waiting with her slipper with the girl waiting to witness my punishment. Yet I always fell for this trick: idiot!

“Our next move was to a large grand house called Lambert House, situated in the middle of a dense area of lantana bushes except for the dirt track driveway. The lantana was in full bloom. If you pulled a floret you could suck the sweet nectar from the ends. The fruit, when ripe, could also be eaten. A quiet Indian family had a single room in this same house; we hardly saw them. One day my mother returned from market with a young pet lamb for you. Soon after the lamb disappeared, you were so upset. My mother said she suspected a leopard was responsible.”