With a great effort he pulled himself together. In a churlish tone of voice he asked Colonel Nicholson what he had to say. This was the least compromising move he could think of making. Realizing that he would get nothing more out of him, the Colonel decided to take action and embarked on a speech which the English side, with increasing anxiety, had begun to lose hope of ever hearing. He started off with the word ‘Gentlemen’, declared the meeting open and in a few words outlined his proposals: to establish a proper organization for the construction of the River Kwai bridge and to draw up in general terms a plan of action specifying each individual responsibility. Clipton, who was also present – the Colonel had asked him to attend, since the MO was naturally concerned with certain points of general administration – noticed that the CO had completely recovered his self-assurance and that his confidence asserted itself in direct proportion to Saito’s increasing embarrassment.
After a short formal preamble, the Colonel embarked on the main subject and came to the first important point.
‘Before tackling any other question, Colonel Saito, we ought to discuss the position of the bridge. It was fixed, I believe, a little hastily and we now think it ought to be changed. We have in mind a point about a mile further downstream. This, of course, would entail an extra stretch of railway line. It would also mean shifting the camp and building new quarters nearer the site. But I don’t think we should let this stop us.’
Saito gave a hoarse grunt, and Clipton thought he was going to lose his temper. It was easy to imagine his frame of mind. Time was running short. More than a month had gone by with no material result being achieved, and now came this proposal for a considerable increase in the work as originally envisaged. He stood up suddenly, his hand clutching the hilt of his sword; but Colonel Nicholson gave him no opportunity of continuing this demonstration.
‘Just a minute, Colonel Saito,’ he said in ringing tones. ‘I’ve had the matter looked into by my colleague, Captain Reeves, an engineer officer who is one of our bridge-building experts. The conclusions he has reached . . .’
Two days before, after carefully watching the Japanese engineer at work, he had been finally convinced of his inefficiency. He had at once taken a definite decision. He had seized his technical adviser by the arm and exclaimed:
‘Listen, Reeves. We’ll never get anywhere with this bungler, who knows even less about bridges than I do. You’re an engineer, aren’t you? Well, you’re going to take charge of the whole works and start off again right from the beginning, without bothering about what he says or does. First of all, find a proper position for it. Then we’ll see . . .’
Reeves, delighted to be engaged once more on his pre-war occupation, had carefully studied the ground and sounded the depth of the river at various points. He had discovered an almost perfect bottom of hard sand which was quite capable of bearing the weight of a bridge.
Before Saito could find the right words to express his indignation, the Colonel had called on Reeves, who proceeded to state a few technical principles, then quoted certain pressure-and-soil-resistance figures in tons per square inch which proved that the bridge would collapse under the weight of the trains if they insisted on building it over a swamp. When he had finished, the Colonel thanked him on behalf of all present and concluded:
‘It seems quite clear, Colonel Saito, that we ought to shift the position of the bridge if we want to avoid disaster. May I ask your colleague for his advice on the matter?’
Saito swallowed his rage, sat down again and embarked on a heated discussion with his engineer. The Japanese had not been able to send their best technicians to Siam since they were needed for the war effort in the capital. This one, then, was not up to the mark. He was obviously lacking in experience, self-confidence and ability to command. He blushed when Colonel Nicholson drew his attention to Reeves’s calculations, made a pretence of carefully studying them and finally, too nervous to be able to check them, and in a state of complete confusion, pathetically admitted that his colleague was right and that he himself had come to the same conclusions several days ago. It was such a shameful loss of face on the part of the Japanese that Saito went quite pale and drops of sweat broke out all over his contorted brow. He made a vague gesture of assent. The Colonel went on:
‘So we’re all agreed on this point, then, Colonel Saito? That means, all the work up to now has been useless. But it would have to be done all over again in any case, as there are serious faults in it.’
‘Bad workmen,’ snapped Saito, who was out for revenge. ‘Japanese soldiers would have built those two sections of line in less than a fortnight.’
‘Japanese soldiers would certainly have done better, because they’re used to their officers commanding them. But I hope to show you the true worth of the British soldier quite soon, Colonel Saito. Incidentally, I ought to tell you that I’ve altered our men’s quota.’
‘Altered it!’ Saito screamed.
‘I’ve increased it,’ the Colonel calmly replied, ‘from one cubic yard to one and a half. It’s in the general interest, and I felt this step would meet with your approval.’
The Japanese officer was completely dumbfounded, and the Colonel took advantage of this to put forward another question.
‘You must realize, Colonel Saito, that we’ve got our own methods and I hope to prove their value, provided we’re left free to apply them. We’re fully aware that the success of this sort of venture depends more or less entirely on basic organization. And while we’re on the subject, here are my suggestions, which I should like to submit for your approval.’
At this point the Colonel outlined the administrative plan on which he had worked for the last two days with the help of his staff. It was a fairly simple one, designed to cope with this particular situation, in which each separate department had a proper function. Colonel Nicholson was to be in sole charge, and personally responsible for everyone to the Japanese. Captain Reeves was entrusted with the plans for all the preliminary, theoretical work, at the same time acting as technical adviser on the practical side. Major Hughes, who was good at handling men, was to be a sort of chief foreman, responsible for directing the labour. Immediately under him were the platoon officers, who were to supervise the individual working parties. An administrative department had also been formed, at the head of which the Colonel had appointed his best corporal clerk. His main duties were to be liaison, transmission of orders, control of the quota, distribution and maintenance of tools, etc.
‘This department is absolutely essential,’ the Colonel explained. ‘I suggest, Colonel Saito, that you hold an inspection of the tools which were issued only a month ago. They’re in a really scandalous state . . .’
‘I strongly recommend that this scheme be accepted,’ said Colonel Nicholson, as he looked up again after describing in detail the machinery for the new organization and explaining the reasons which had led to its formation. ‘I am, of course, at your disposal to enlighten you further on any point whenever you wish, and I assure you that any suggestion will be carefully studied. Do you agree in principle with these proposals?’
Saito was certainly in need of further explanation, but the Colonel had such a commanding presence as he pronounced these words that he could not refrain from making yet another gesture of assent. With a mere nod he agreed to the whole of this scheme, which deprived the Japanese of all initiative and rendered his own position more or less insignificant. He was prepared to put up with almost any humiliation. He was resigned to any sacrifice in order to see the piles ready to take the weight of this bridge, on which his very life depended. Reluctantly, in spite of himself, he felt confidence in the strange Western preparations for getting the work under way.
Encouraged by his initial success, Colonel Nicholson went on:
‘There’s another important point, Colonel Saito – the time factor. You realize, of course, how much extra work will be needed for the longer stretch of line. Then the new camp that will have to be built –’
‘Why a new camp?’ Saito protested. ‘Surely the prisoners can march a couple of miles to their work!’
‘My colleagues have studied the question from both angles,’ Colonel Nicholson patiently replied. ‘They have come to the conclusion . . .’
The calculations worked out by Reeves and Hughes showed quite clearly that the total number of hours spent on a daily march was far greater than the time needed to build a new camp. Once again Saito found himself out of his depth when confronted with conjectures based on wise Western forethought. The Colonel continued:
‘Besides, we’ve already wasted over a month, as a result of an unfortunate disagreement for which we’re not to blame. To get the bridge finished in the time laid down – and I promise you it will be if you accept my new suggestion – we’ll have to start felling the trees and preparing the supports at once, while other teams simultaneously work on the railway line, and others still on the new camp. According to Major Hughes’s calculations – and he’s had a great deal of labour experience – we shan’t have enough men to get all this work done in time.’
Colonel Nicholson paused for a moment in the tense, expectant silence, then continued in a resolute tone:
‘This is what I suggest, Colonel Saito. For the moment we’ll put most of the British soldiers to work on the bridge. Only a small number will be available for the railway line, so I shall ask you to lend us your Japanese soldiers to reinforce this group, so as to get the first stretch finished as quickly as possible. I think it should also be up to your men to build the new camp; they’re more used to handling bamboo than mine are.’
It was at this particular moment that Clipton was swept away by one of his regular floods of affection. Until then he had felt several times like strangling the CO. Now he could not stop looking at those blue eyes of his which, after glancing at the Japanese colonel, candidly interrogated every other member of the conference in turn, as though to demand an assurance that his last request was a fair one. He felt a momentary suspicion that there might be some cunning Machiavellian process at work behind that apparently artless exterior. Anxiously, earnestly, desperately, he examined each feature of that serene countenance in the wild hope of discovering some sign of treacherous, underhand scheming. After a moment he gave up and looked away.
‘It’s out of the question,’ he decided. ‘Every word he said is meant sincerely. He really has tried to work out the best means of accelerating the work.’
He looked up again to watch Saito’s face and derived much comfort from the sight. The Jap’s features were the features of a victim on the rack, who had reached the limit of human endurance. He was tortured by shame and anger, yet caught in the trap of this relentlessly logical argument. He had little or no chance of getting out of it. Once again he was forced to yield, after hesitating between protest and submission. His only hope now was to regain a little of his authority while the work was actually in progress. He was not yet aware of the abject state to which he was to be reduced by the wisdom of the West. Clipton knew that the Jap could never again retrieve the position he had now abandoned.
Saito capitulated in his usual manner. He suddenly barked out a few orders to his henchmen, speaking in Japanese. Since the Colonel’s speech had been so rapid that only he had understood it, he was able to transmit the proposals as his own idea and transform them into words of command. When he had finished, Colonel Nicholson brought up one last point, a detail, but a tricky one, to which he had had to give his full attention.
‘We’ve still got to fix the quota for your men working on the line, Colonel Saito. At first I thought of putting it at one cubic yard so as not to overtire them, but don’t you think it would be best if we made it the same as the British soldiers? That would also create a healthy competitive spirit . . .’
‘The Japanese soldiers’ quota will be two cubic yards,’ Saito burst out. ‘I’ve already given the orders!’
Colonel Nicholson bowed in assent.
‘In that case I expect we’ll make good progress. I don’t think there’s anything more to be said, Colonel Saito. It remains for me to thank you for your kind attention. If there are no other questions, Gentlemen, I think we can declare this meeting closed. We’ll start work tomorrow on the conditions to which we have agreed.’
He got up, saluted and withdrew, confident in the knowledge that he had conducted the meeting along the lines he wanted, that common sense had won the day and that a decisive step had been taken towards completing the bridge. He had proved himself a skilful tactician and he knew that he had deployed his forces in the best possible manner.
Clipton left with him, and together they walked back to their hut.
‘What fools they are, sir!’ said the MO, looking closely at the Colonel. ‘To think that, without us, they would have built their bridge in a swamp and it would have capsized under the weight of their trains loaded with troops and supplies!’
There was a strange glint in his eye as he spoke, but the Colonel’s face remained inscrutable. This Sphinx-like character could not reveal his secret since he had no secret to reveal.
‘Yes, aren’t they?’ he solemnly replied. ‘They’re what I’ve always said they were: primitive people, as undeveloped as children, who’ve acquired a veneer of civilization too soon. Underneath it all they’re absolutely ignorant. They can’t do a thing by themselves. Without us, they’d still be living in the age of sailing-ships and wouldn’t own a single aircraft. Just children . . . yet so pretentious as well! Think of it, a work of this importance! As far as I can make out, they’re only just capable of making a footbridge out of jungle-creepers.’
4
There is nothing is common between a bridge, as conceived by civilized society in the West, and the utilitarian scaffoldings which the Japanese forces were in the habit of erecting in the continent of Asia. There is likewise no similarity between the two respective methods of construction. Qualified technicians did exist in the Japanese Empire, but they had been kept behind in the capital. In the occupied territories construction work was the army’s responsibility. The handful of engineers who had been despatched to Siam had little skill and even less authority, and for the most part were overruled by the professional soldiers.
The latter’s method – which was speedy and, up to a point, fairly efficient – had been dictated by necessity; for during their advance through the countries they had overrun, they had found every installation destroyed by the enemy in retreat. It consisted of driving two rows of piles into the river bed, then crowning these supports with a tangle of mixed timber hastily put together with no thought of plan or design and with a total disregard for the principle of static pressure, and finally adding extra bits of wood at any point which showed obvious signs of weakness.
On this uncouth superstructure, which sometimes reached an enormous height, thick beams were laid in two parallel rows; and on top of these, the only timber to be more or less properly shaped, went the rails themselves. The bridge was then considered to be finished. It fulfilled the need of the hour. There was no parapet, no footpath. The only way to walk across was to step from one beam to another, balancing above the chasm – a feat at which the Japanese were adept.
The first convoy would go jolting across at low speed. The engine sometimes came off the rails at the point where the bank met the bridge, but a gang of soldiers armed with crowbars usually managed to heave it upright again. The train would then move on. If the bridge was damaged at all more bits of timber would be added to the structure. And the next convoy would cross in the same way. The scaffolding would last a few days, a few weeks, sometimes even a few months, after which a flood would sweep it away, or else a series of more than usually violent jolts would make it capsize. Then the Japanese would patiently start rebuilding it. The materials they used were provided by the inexhaustible jungle.
The methods of Western civilization, of course, are not so elementary. Captain Reeves represented an essential element of that civilization
– the mechanical – and would never have dreamed of being guided by such primitive empiricism.
But when it comes to bridge-building, Western mechanical procedure entails a lot of gruelling preliminaries, which swell and multiply the number of operations leading up to the actual construction. They entail, for instance, a detailed plan; and for this plan to be made it is essential to determine in advance the section and shape of every beam, the depth to which the piles are to be driven and a mass of other details. Now each section, each shape, and the depth entail further calculations, based on figures representing the resistance of the various materials to be used and the consistency of the ground. These figures, in their turn, depend on co-efficients worked out according to ‘standard patterns’, which in the civilized world are given in the form of mathematical tables. Mechanics, in fact, entail a complete a priori knowledge; and this mental creation, which precedes the material creation, is not the least important of the many achievements of Western genius.
There were no tables available on the banks of the Kwai, but Captain Reeves was an expert engineer and his theoretical knowledge enabled him to do without them, but only by increasing the number of preliminary duties and by experimenting with various weights and simple shapes before getting down to his calculations. He was thus enabled to determine his co-efficients by an easy method, using instruments hastily produced for the purpose, since there was not much time to spare.
The Bridge on the River Kwai Page 6