Larrikins in Khaki

by Tim Bowden

  I was amazed at the British hierarchy in Singapore. They had not given any consideration to some of the points raised. I spoke to many English officers in the camp about this book and not one even knew of its existence. Many of the other books in the library were quite useful for our classes. Before we left Bandoeng each man was allowed to take a couple of books to keep if desired, this later proved very valuable indeed.

  As in Changi, rice became the principal diet and the meals were mostly prepared by Dutch cooks. Clarry remembers lining up one day to receive his ration of rice and being offered a ladle of a very appetising-looking sauce to accompany it. Thinking it was cooked ripe tomatoes, he accepted it, only to discover too late it was pure red chili purée, which nearly burnt out the lining of his throat. ‘Many of our chaps were caught this way as at that stage we were not familiar with the Javanese type of sambal. Later, when vegetables to go with the rice became scarce, we learned to use the sambal with discretion. At least it helped give the rice some flavour.’

  As the weeks dragged by, morale slipped a bit, especially when signs of acute malnutrition started to show. One particular form of this was scrotal dermatitis, which was very painful indeed. It was usually referred to by the troops as ‘Bandoeng Balls’. Another form of malnutrition from which many suffered was a terrible burning sensation affecting the feet. Although it was commonly known as ‘Happy Feet’, it was anything but that. Together with the low standard of food generally, it was not surprising that men were getting run down and as a result feeling depressed. There had also been a few deaths, mainly from malaria and dysentery.

  McCulloch recalled that the super optimists who had maintained they would be free in six months were now starting to realise that it would be much longer than that. ‘No one had the slightest idea just how long it would be or how much degradation we would suffer. Perhaps it was just as well.’

  From time to time Japanese newspapers printed in English were circulated that occasionally provided a good laugh. For instance, one item described the gallant performance of a Japanese pilot who, when he ran out of ammunition while attacking an Allied destroyer, swooped over the ship and cut off the captain’s head with his Samurai sword as he flew past!

  Another article detailed the exploits of a Japanese soldier in Burma. This man had run 100 miles to deliver a message to headquarters, and had then collapsed at the feet of the general. He was examined by a doctor, who pronounced that the soldier had been dead for two days! It was only the spirit of Nippon that had kept him running.

  But the item that really caught the Australians’ attention was the one that described the exploits of the midget submarines when they invaded Sydney Harbour. The article was complete with a drawing of the Harbour Bridge with its ‘central pylon’ completely destroyed.

  ‘I could never decide who these items were meant to impress,’ McCulloch said. ‘It certainly wasn’t us, although they did provide us with a good laugh from time to time. Not in front of the guards though.’

  Although Australian prisoners of war of the Japanese were scattered in many camps from Timor to Manchuria, the Imperial Japanese Army began to draw on as many POWs as they could for their slave-labour projects, including building an aerodrome in Borneo and the Thai–Burma Railway. These movements got underway in mid 1942, and almost all began by cramming POWs into the fetid holds of rust-bucket ships, quickly dubbed ‘Hell Ships’ by the Australians, transporting them to Burma and Borneo from the main camps in Singapore and Java. Forcing prisoners to work on military-related installations was against the Geneva Convention, but the Japanese ignored that and did what they wanted with their captive soldiers.

  Clarry McCulloch’s journey to Thailand, through Singapore, began in the Batavia port of Tanjong Priok, when 850 Australians crammed into the hold of a tramp steamer in early January 1943. They had no idea where they were going. They watched from the wharf as another group of Australians, who were ordered to board the Waysui Maru first, were sprayed with carbolic liquid by a team of Japanese wearing gowns and gloves and knapsack sprayers. McCulloch’s group renamed their transport the Byoki Maru (‘Sick Ship’).

  Any thought of a pleasant voyage was soon dispelled as they were herded along to the aft end of the ship and directed to climb down a vertical wooden ladder into the hold. In this large open area, wooden platforms about 12 feet deep had been built along each side, 4 feet from the floor. They were ordered to crawl either on to the platform or under it until there was no space left. It was possible to lie down but only just. Their packs and spare gear were all piled in the open space in the centre and around this pile all the remaining party had to find room to lie down.

  McCulloch’s group had been split into two parties of approximately 450 men each and divided into the two aft holds. ‘It was not what I would call luxury quarters but at least it was all “one class”, which meant that our officers suffered the same fate as the troops.’

  By the time they were all crowded into the hold, everyone was in a pretty foul mood. Later in the morning the ship got underway and after clearing the harbour, turned northwards.

  There were plenty of rumours doing the rounds. Someone mentioned an eight-day trip which fortunately turned out to be wrong. The movement of the ship combined with the foul conditions caused a few to feel nauseous but remarkably no one vomited. Around midday they were told they could eat any food they had brought with them. Colonel ‘Weary’ Dunlop made several requests for men to be allowed up on deck to visit the toilet and have a wash and eventually the Japanese agreed to let two men at a time go up. Later this was relaxed to allow twenty at a time. This presented quite a problem, as with 450 men jammed into a space approximately 25 by 15 metres, it meant crawling over prostrate bodies just to reach the bottom of the ladder.

  McCulloch described their journey:

  By nightfall the ship was creeping up the coast of Sumatra and we learned that our probable destination was Singapore. The sea was calm, which was a godsend. Next, a hot meal of rice and soup with a cup of tea was supplied by the Japanese cook, but just getting it served in such crowded conditions in semi-darkness was a nightmare.

  After that there was nothing to do but try and get some rest. Naturally, with the heated cramped conditions, sleep was virtually impossible but we filled in the time by counting the giant cockroaches which swarmed around. Someone likened them to small tortoises and while it was a slight exaggeration, they were enormous.

  The next day was very much like the first—the same meal for breakfast: tea, rice and soup—but at least it was refreshing to get up on deck for a wash, though it made going back to the hold even more unbearable.

  On the evening of 6 January they anchored offshore and spent one last horrible night in the holds. ‘In the morning we landed and after being counted many times were loaded onto army lorries. The Japs always seemed to have trouble getting the numbers correct. The lorries were not covered, so as we drove through Singapore we were able to have a good look at the city.’

  After a trip of some 24 kilometres, they saw the forbidding walls of Changi Gaol appear and many thought this was their destination. But they drove on and soon reached a very pleasant-looking area with many white, two-storey barracks scattered around, surrounded by well-kept green lawns. They were greeted by a group of British officers who looked at them with very disdainful expressions as they directed the new arrivals to their billets. Well-dressed Australian soldiers were walking around looking very fit and it was impossible not to compare their condition to their own.

  ‘Admittedly we were not looking our best after being stuck in the filthy hold of the Byoki Maru for two days,’ McCulloch said. ‘We must’ve looked a scruffy lot as we climbed out of the trucks.’

  Because of the loss of their kitbags in Port Tewfik, in Egypt, their one change of uniform was starting to look the worse for wear. Many had been issued with various items of Dutch uniform while at Bandoeng. Also the sailors who had escaped the sinking of HMS Perth and USS Houston had got
ashore practically naked, covered in oil, and had been similarly equipped. Added to this was the fact that everyone’s hair had been cut close to their scalps, so they should not have been surprised when they were referred to by the Australian commander Colonel ‘Blackjack’ Galleghan’s well-dressed officers as the ‘Java Rabble’. It was a badge they wore with pride.

  If the Australians had been surprised by the British reaction, worse was to come. Colonel Galleghan tried to have Weary Dunlop removed as their commanding officer on the grounds that he was a non-combatant. Weary said that was all right with him, but that no one else wanted the job in Java. Next day Brigadier Blackburn arrived and after writing a rather terse note to Colonel Galleghan (whom he outranked), it was decided that Weary would retain his position, much to the general delight of the troops.

  McCulloch recalled the gaol’s heirachical conditions:

  We were moved into one of the lovely, airy barracks in an area set aside for troops in transit and were at last able to get a good night’s sleep. Next morning, after a lecture by the camp authorities, we were told the rules which applied here. It was possible to obtain passes to visit other areas, but we were told that every officer who we met with, a British or Australian, had to be saluted and strict protocol observed at all times. I suppose the authorities were trying to keep up the morale of the troops by insisting on a high standard of behaviour, but I think their attitude towards our group left a bit to be desired, especially regarding the issuing of new equipment to us. Galleghan’s Q Store had adequate supplies of uniforms and boots but requests by Weary Dunlop for them to be issued to us met a very negative attitude and the amount we received was niggardly indeed.

  To be fair to ‘Blackjack’, I got the impression that he was fairly highly regarded by his own troops and he intended to see to their welfare all he could. What I could not admire was his ‘bugger you Jack we’re all right’ attitude.

  Japanese guards seemed to be non-existent most of the time and only appeared at the 5 pm roll call each day. The Java POWs only stayed twelve days in Changi, which was disappointing, as during that time many of the ‘Java Rabble’ were able to renew friendships with troops from the Eighth Division. Conditions were quite pleasant for the troops in this area, with a view out over the Johore Strait. Vegetable gardens had been established by the prisoners to supplement the meagre rations supplied by the Japanese, and McCulloch felt they would have been quite happy to have stayed there longer.

  Naturally it was too good to last. On 20 January 1943 they were taken by trucks to Singapore railway station and crammed into steel box wagons for the trip to Thailand. Before leaving, Colonel Dunlop wrote a parting note to Colonel Galleghan: Two weeks ago my men arrived in pitiful condition in this camp from Java. You have done nothing to alleviate their needs. Tomorrow they leave in the same pitiable condition—bootless and in rags. You have done nothing!

  ‘I think that summed up our feelings also,’ McCulloch wrote.

  Private Russell Braddon, who went on to become a highly regarded author, later wrote critically about Colonel ‘Blackjack’ Galleghan and the way he ran the Changi Gaol:

  In the fancy-dress days of Changi when it was a holiday camp with university courses and everything else, Galleghan went so far as to issue an order that other ranks who had walking shoes would surrender them to officers—they were suitable garb for officers only. Officers must have two pairs of short pants, two pairs of long pants—I can’t remember the exact numbers—but it was a handsome wardrobe. Ostensibly it was so that they would appear to be properly dressed as officers and gentlemen. Those clothes had to come from other ranks who had carried them 17 miles into Changi. They were confiscated—there was no question of being able to hide them.

  Galleghan was as sincere as he was conceited and vain. He was like the monarch at the trooping of the colour. He became quite hysterical if he were denied by anyone, even officers, the military courtesies. He was in many ways egomaniacal, and although brave and conscientious, destructive.

  But there were other perspectives on Galleghan’s command style. Some officers notorious for their parade ground aggression were timid when confronted by the Japanese. But Galleghan was as belligerent with the Japanese as he was with everyone else. To the discomfort of his fellow officers who feared a beheading, Galleghan would thump the table and even chased one bewildered Japanese with his cane. Whatever privileges the Australian commander took, not many were in the form of food. Galleghan’s weight dropped from 15 stone on his entry to Changi to just over 9 stone on his release.

  Chapter 13

  THE RAILWAY OF DEATH

  By mid 1942, the Japanese forces in South-east Asia were losing control of the sea-ways, as the Allied naval build-up, especially American submarines, began to take control of the western side of the Indian Ocean and the South China Sea. Restricted to land corridors, the Japanese needed to supply their forces in Burma from their stronghold in Singapore and Malaya. They decided to build a railway from southern Thailand from Kanchanaburi, through to Thanbyuzayat in Burma—a distance of 416 kilometres through jungles and mountains in country so rough that such a project had never been considered by the colonial powers, let alone attempted.

  The Imperial Japanese Army decided to make use of the pool of Allied prisoners of war from the main camps on Singapore and Java, and began to move men north by ship and rail. Strangely, the prisoners were not reluctant to leave Changi. Although ignorant of where they were going or what they would be doing, they thought at worst they might work harder, and eat better. The first group to go were the 3000 Australians of A Force. Optimistic latrine rumours had it that these men were to be exchanged by the Japanese for bales of Australian wool. This was embellished by the suggestion that the exchange would take place in the neutral port of Lourenco Marques in Mozambique!

  But these fantasies faded away when the men sighted the ships that were to take them away. The Toyohashu Maru and Celebes Maru waiting in Keppel Harbour were small, rusty and dirty.

  The Japanese guards seemed indifferent not only to human comfort but to the laws of physics as they forced more and more men into the crowded holds. Men were still being bullied on board while those clinging to the bottom of the ladders had nowhere to go. On the shelving installed between the decks, Ray Myors crouched in a space less than two feet wide, a yard long and a yard of headroom. The men could neither stand or lie—they were stowed like sitting sardines.

  Jim Richardson recalled:

  When we were stationary it was hot, the perspiration just welled out of your body and face, and it even ran into your ears. I never thought it was possible to have anything like it. Diarrhoea was pretty rife, and if you wanted to relieve yourself you had to go up a vertical ladder and get out over the side, of course a lot of the time you didn’t make it above the tenth rung in the hold, and down she’d come. You kept going and left the lot behind. Shocking it was.

  The men were given only a quarter of an hour on deck each day. At night sleep was almost impossible. Any man who moved buffeted and jolted everyone near him, and rats ‘the size of cats were running all over you’.

  Some prisoners were unloaded at Victoria Point in the extreme south of Burma—the rest went further north at Mergui and Tavoy. The men taken by lighters to Tavoy had spent twelve days of cramped inactivity, and their decline in physical fitness was evident as they struggled to complete the 25-mile walk to their camp. All of A Force was instructed to level the ground for airfields. One of the most memorable characteristics of the new surroundings was the drenching monsoonal rain. It fell with such an intensity that a man seen in the distance at the end of the aerodrome would be bent at 45 degrees and literally leaning against the deluge trying to push his way through the driving rain.

  With British forces on the northern border of Burma and the apparent slackness of the guards, the prisoners began talking about escape. Eight men gave it a try, and simply walked out of the camp. But local Burmese gave them away and the Japanese rounded them
all up the next day. The men who had attempted to escape were all Victorians from the 2/4th Anti-Tank Regiment. Other prisoners were forced to dig shallow graves, and made to watch while all eight escapees were shot and bundled into the inadequate graves.

  By September the men of A Force had finished their work on the airfield and were moved further up the Burmese coast. At Thanbyuzayat they were organised into work gangs and each man was issued with a wooden tag on which was inscribed his prisoner of war number. More troops—Dutch, British, Australian and American—began arriving and soon there were more than 9000 prisoners in camps south of Moulmein.

  Other groups had been leaving Changi Gaol. B and E Forces went to Borneo, and early in 1943 men were assembled for somewhere up country. Dunlop Force left in January, then D Force, F Force, H Force and other smaller groups followed throughout the year.

  Again there were rumours of better times. Geoff O’Connor, who was on D Force, said, ‘All we knew was that they wanted a work party to go to Thailand. It was going to be a land of milk and honey, plenty of food and very little to do.’

  Dr Kevin Fagan followed on H Force with fantasies fostered by the Japanese. ‘We were told we were going to a holiday camp, good food, bring the old pianos and musical instruments.’

  At Singapore Station the men were crowded into high-sided covered steel cattle wagons. Each train took about 600 men, and more than ten successive trains were needed to move the numbers involved.

  The men travelling north had no real idea where they were going, but the Japanese knew exactly what they wanted the prisoners to do. They had a large army in Burma which had to be supplied and reinforced. With the sea route now compromised, the only effective alternative was to build a railway from Bampong in Thailand, north to the border at the Three Pagodas Pass, and joining the Burmese rail system at Thanbyuzayat. The railway, all 416 kilometres of it, was to be built by Allied prisoners of war and Asian labourers—who were either tricked or compelled into offering their services.