Escape to Pagan (5 page)

Tightly bound Chinese victims waited with typical oriental fatalism, they knew by now that no amount of pleading and wailing would save them. The only consolation for them was that they would soon be meeting their ancestors; suffering and hunger would be a thing of the past. A short distance away the First- and Second-class Nipponese Privates practiced using their bayonets on kneeling live Chinese peasants, the objective was not to kill quickly but to explore the human anatomy; these victims did not die quietly. After the executions, the prisoners were forced to remove the headless bodies and bury them. While doing this, some prisoners witnessed the Japanese forcing tightly
bound Chinese civilians both young and old into deep pits and burying them alive.

All over Hong Kong the killing continued. After the war Brigadier Wallis claimed the Royal Scots had folded too quickly. As a result, the regiment were denied the battle honour “Hong Kong” to add to their long list of battle honours. From then on the “First of Foot” gained another nick-name: “The First to Foot it.” Even though the RSM and his comrades smiled about this new nick-name when relating the story after the war in Singapore, the soldiers of the Royal Scots inwardly resented the implication. This slur on the regiment's reputation is considered unjust by many.

Hong Kong was unusually quiet after the surrender. Normally all the church bells would be ringing and the sound of Christmas carols would be drifting on the pleasant warm South China Sea breeze. In certain areas of the island, the smashing of alcohol bottles became the next popular pastime; it was the last gesture of defiance, a requiem mourning the lost halcyon days on the island of lotus eaters.

CHAPTER 3

The Telegram

BURMA

“In 1941 nobody in Burma believed that the Japanese could defeat the British Empire. Then suddenly news came to us that Hong Kong had fallen, the Japanese were attacking Malaya and were now moving towards Burma through Thailand. From that day on, I watched the postman every morning as he made his way down our street. One morning he stopped at our gate. My heart raced. I recognized the envelope as army mail: a telegram. I once worked in the Post Office in Mandalay, where I first met Jack. The note was short and to the point: ‘I regret to inform you that your husband Sergeant John Devereux 2nd Battalion Royal Scots is feared dead or missing during the battle of Hong Kong.'

“The word ‘missing' was to give me hope and comfort during the dark, terrible years that were to follow. Thoughts of my first meeting with Jack in Mandalay, where my family had a house, flooded in. Jack used to arrive at the post office in a snub-nosed
[Bedford]
lorry to collect the small bags of army mail. Every time he came to the counter he always asked to borrow my pencil and would wait until all the other customers had left before returning it. Jack was tall, dark and handsome and always looked so dashing in his Glengarry and tartan trews of the Royal Scots
[1st Battalion].
One day after I had finished
work I found Jack outside the post office waiting for me. He asked if he could walk me home. I said no. Jack persisted on several more occasions and finally I agreed.

“After several weeks my mother asked me to invite Jack to our house so she and all my brothers and sisters could have a good look at him. Jack sat rather uncomfortably in the parlour surrounded by my mother, three brothers and four sisters. My youngest sister Lucy offered Jack a trick chocolate
[chocolate on the outside with an Indian rubber centre].
We all giggled, watching him try to chew it.

“Jack had to propose to me five times before I accepted. You see, I did not like his surname ‘Devereux.' I always wanted to marry a man with a British name; Devereux was not a British name – it was French my mother said, a Norman name. Being half Portuguese, she did not like the French much.”

The French and Napoleon Bonaparte were about as popular to the Portuguese and the Spanish, as the English and Oliver Cromwell were to the southern Irish.

“Thank God Jack was a practising Catholic and went to church every Sunday (so he said) or my mother would not have agreed to our wedding. About a year later we married in Taunggyi with all my large family present along with a few of Jack's army pals including Tam and Willie. The wedding reception was held in a marquee erected in our beautiful garden. We had so many different types of food. A dance floor was laid out; we danced to tangos, waltzes, quick-steps and the Charleston. All my sisters loved dancing.

“There was so much food that we invited people passing outside to join us, including the tall Pathan night watchman
[the Pathan would remember this kindness].
The wedding and house were paid for with rubies, equal to the amount of Burmese rupees. In the evening colourful Chinese lanterns were lit and hung on all the trees. A beautiful full moon gazed down as we drove away to our
honeymoon. Not long after, Jack found out that the 1st Battalion was being posted to Palestine. He told me not to worry as he would get a transfer to the 2nd Battalion who were being posted to India; instead the 2nd Battalion were posted to Hong Kong to counter the threat from the Japanese.

“While he was in Hong Kong he managed to get three weeks leave to come back to Taunggyi, where we had set up our lovely new home. This area is one of the beauty spots of Burma. Our bungalow nestled at the foot of the tall purple crags. Jack fell in love with Taunggyi and intended to buy himself out of the army within a few months. After just two weeks leave he was recalled to Hong Kong; we were both bitterly disappointed. I did not know at the time what those four long years had in store for us.”

This is another story Mum loved telling me or anyone else who would listen, much to my embarrassment.

“My God – Brian was such a difficult birth – I did not want him, you know – he was deformed! I was screaming my head off, yelling at the surgeon – ‘get rid of it – I don't want it!' You were such a big baby – eight and a half pounds! You looked like a suckling pig. I screamed ‘take it away!' My mother was shouting: ‘Shut your mouth Kate. You are a disgrace to the family – howling like a lunatic – do you think you are the first woman to give birth? It's not good to bring a baby into the world with the sound of screaming.'

“The British surgeon was pulling your head. It's a wonder your neck did not break. He had to use such force that your head became out of shape. When I first saw you I thought my God I have given birth to a deformed child who would end up in a circus; your head looked like a boodi
[butternut-squash, gourd].
The surgeon had to re-shape it with his hands.”

Mum would smile at me with motherly glee after the telling of this story. I have always put this re-shaping of my head as a possible reason for me suffering terrible migraine headaches every week for the rest of my life. The shape of my head is now normal.

“My mother and I slept together while you were in a cot at the side of the bed. I used to dislike getting up when you started yelling; sometimes I felt like murdering you. My mother used to get angry and shout ‘you are the most useless and lazy daughter I have – the child will grow up to hate you.' Later, we used to leave you in the garden by the kitchen window sitting in a tub of water and listening to you cooing, talking to yourself and laughing.

“The surgeon was the best English surgeon in the Shan States and lived just down the road from our house. I knew his daughter, she became a nursing Sister. She survived the war but her poor parents were killed in Taunggyi. The maternity ward was at the foot of the high crags; all the windows had iron bars to stop cheetahs sneaking into the ward and running off with babies.”

Mother always believed there were cheetahs in Taunggyi; in actual fact there were no cheetahs left in Burma or India but leopards abounded. Leopards are opportunist and were a danger to children and dogs. These big cats often went to extraordinary lengths to procure canines. Dogs, regardless of size, were taken silently while their owners sat drinking their sundowners on cool verandas in the evening. The remains of their pet would be found wedged high in a tree the following day. Most of the homes in Taunggyi had barred windows to keep out these shadowy and silent predators at night. In Burma, at that time, it was said that there were too many tigers and leopards. Humans were regular victims. Wolves (red dholes), bears and hyenas also took a high toll on domestic livestock. Records from the time show that around six thousand animals were lost every year. Burma
also has one of the highest concentrations of venomous snakes in the world, second only to Tanzania. It is estimated in modern Myanmar that the annual death rate from snake bite is currently around 11,000 a year. Pre-war, the number was as high as 18,000 per year, second only to India.