Before his departure Bennett handed over the 8th Division to Brigadier Cecil Callaghan, his next senior officer. The two men had not always been on the best of terms and Callaghan was battling malaria when his commander called by to inform him of his intentions. Their farewell was short but emotional, according to Bennett, who asked his second-in-command to tell the Japanese he had left some days earlier if they enquired of his whereabouts. Callaghan would be formally appointed commander of the AIF in Malaya the following day, when Bennett’s departure became known to Percival. After the war he claimed that he had not immediately informed Percival of Bennett’s departure because he ‘felt ashamed’.
Bennett also said goodbye to Jim Thyer, Kent Hughes, Lieutenant-Colonel (later to become Brigadier) Duncan Maxwell, and Colonel Frances Derham.
On returning to his room, Bennett packed for a jungle trek, assuming that he would have to tramp a few hundred miles north to Malacca or Port Dickson. Outside, Major Moses waited with Bennett’s car, ready to make a swift getaway. Also there was Gordon Walker and the Chinese guide who was to lead them to a boat, or so they hoped. Bennett was now officially an escapee – or as many would later describe him as a deserter.
Later he described their dash for freedom to Frank Legg:
Passing through the deserted streets, crashing in the darkness through shell holes, we made for the coast near Kallang Airport. On the way we were bailed up at the point of the bayonet by some men of the Gordon Highlanders, whom we told that the war was over. They quickly ran off to join their unit.
Arriving at our destination we found the boat owner’s residence destroyed by fire. The whole of the Chinese quarter in the vicinity had been destroyed. It consisted of a terrace of shops, each room upstairs accommodating a Chinese family.25
After much difficulty they reached the waterfront only to learn that several Japanese officers were nearby. More alarmingly they also discovered that the promised boat was nowhere to be found.
Bennett thanked the Chinaman for his efforts and gave him the keys to his car. He carefully removed the AIF registration plate and dropped it into the water.
What next, they pondered? Beyond the jetty there were several sampans tied up across the water. Gordon Walker instinctively knew it was their only chance to escape. Within seconds he had stripped off and dived in, swimming at least 200 yards (180 m) out to sea to secure one of the small craft. As it happened most of them were totally unsuitable for a lengthy voyage, given they could only be manipulated by one oar and a short paddle.
Then a breakthrough. Walker found a sampan that he could just about handle. He rowed it ashore with considerable difficulty against the lapping waves of a receding tide. The trio tossed in their packs, scrambled aboard and made their way out into the dark yonder, only to be surprised by the sound of shouting from the shore.
Standing on the jetty were eight men who had been serving in the Malayan Volunteers. They were all planters and could speak good English. Bennett couldn’t turn his back on them so rowed around and picked them up.
There were now 11 people aboard the small sampan, which was so overcrowded there was no room to work the oars. ‘Our progress was slow,’ Bennett told Legg.
After half an hour of this, the situation looked desperate. We realised that it would be impossible to make sufficient way to clear Singapore before daylight, for it was then about midnight. I visualised the prospect of returning to shore and attempting to be well away from the danger area before daybreak. Then one of the party said that he had heard someone say that day, that it would be possible to secure a tongkan [a large Chinese barge fitted with sails] to go to Sumatra.
For some time we were bumping into other boats in the darkness; all tempers were frayed and there was much swearing and grumbling.26
Then, in what must have seemed like a mirage at the time, a light wooden boat floated towards them in the darkness. If any group of men deserved a miracle that night, there were no better candidates than Bennett and his shipmates. Could this really be happening? Yes. Amazingly they had found the only seaworthy tongkan remaining in Singapore Harbour.
‘We scrambled aboard and kicked away the useless sampan with disgust to find the Chinese owner, who was smoking opium, and his crew of two, one Chinese and one Malay,’ said Bennett.
Also on board were three exhausted British soldiers who had swum two miles (3.2 km) to reach it. Later they would be joined by four more.
One of the planters who could speak Chinese was elected to negotiate with the skipper to take them to Sumatra. But there was a problem. The captain did not want to go. Then we’ll buy the boat from you, the planter suggested. But the skipper was adamant and refused to leave Singapore waters. If this was a serious negotiating ploy it was evidently working.
First they tried to haggle, lifting the price by small increments, and when that failed they threatened him.27
According to Bennett’s personal recollection, what the captain wanted was more opium, and he could only acquire it in Singapore.
While negotiations continued, the Australians discovered a large cache of ammunition stored in metal boxes in the hold, which, Bennett observed later, were ‘as level as a newly ploughed field and as hard as flint. But it was a safe refuge and – well, we were not prisoners of the Japanese.’28
In the end, rather than let the foreigners take the tongkan themselves, the skipper agreed to take them to Sumatra for an unspecified sum of money. Moses gave him $150 Straits dollars on account and promised him a further sum when they reached their destination.29
Negotiations over, the captain raised his anchor and pulled up his sail.
‘We felt that our escape was almost complete,’ said Bennett. ‘A fair wind took us on our course to the southwest, passing close to an island which we knew was occupied by the Japs. It was 1 am, February 16. Singapore gradually faded into the distance, the only lights coming from several burning oil tanks. Tired out, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could under the awning that spanned the hold, lying awkwardly in hundreds of rounds of anti-aircraft ammunition.’30
The next morning a quick look at the prismatic compass revealed that they were sailing back towards Singapore. Frustrated by the owner and his poor navigational skills, the men forcibly dumped him and his crew in the hold and appointed an American gunner, who had, inexplicably, also joined their number, to sail the boat.
There were now a total of 19 people aboard the tongkan, excluding the crew. At last they were on their way to Sumatra. Or at least that was the plan until the Chinese owner shouted up from the hold that they were actually heading into a minefield.31
General Gordon Bennett’s seaborne adventure was only just beginning.
Chapter 13
DESERTERS OR STRAGGLERS?
Gordon Bennett was not the only one to make good his escape from Singapore. During the week leading up to the surrender thousands of men and women, both civilians and servicemen, were contemplating their exit strategy. Many of them were legitimate evacuees who had been given clearance to leave the island, but a significant number were military personnel who were determined to avoid capture.
Australia’s official record of what happened during the dying days of the British colony asserted that those attempting to escape fell into three categories: ‘Those who had deserted or had become detached from their units during the hostilities; those officially evacuated; and those who escaped after Singapore fell.’1
Lionel Wigmore’s account of the evacuation refers to a ‘confused undertaking’. He wrote: ‘For many of those chosen to leave – mostly women and children, nurses, specialists and representatives of various units to form experienced cadres elsewhere – the transport available could not be found when the parties had been organised.’ The servicemen among them, according to Wigmore, were given the option of rejoining their units or making their own escape plans: ‘The dividing line between desertion and escape was in some instances indefinite, particularly as a report that the ceasefire on Singa
pore Island was to take effect from 4.30 p.m. on February 15 had gained wide circulation and many acted on it in good faith.’2
It was an important distinction as it was deemed legitimate to escape after surrender but not before. Uncertainty about the timing of the ceasefire only added to the confusion and by this stage the rights and wrongs of escape were academic. In fear of their lives, a lot of men decided to make a personal judgement based on how they viewed their chances of success. Bolstered by the vocal bravado of their mates and with little to lose, they opted for escape.
‘Some, as the plight of the city worsened, consciously deserted. Once the fighting had ceased, others felt free to get away if they could.’3
While Bennett had earlier cautioned against large-scale escape attempts, it is clear that thousands of men were determined to get away.
At a human level the behaviour of some of those who tried to escape was sickening. Drunk, violent and with little regard for their fellow man or woman, they fought their way aboard the few remaining vessels in a desperate bid to save their own skin.
‘Some, generally regarded as being among the deserters, and including Australians, blackened the reputation of their fellow countrymen and prejudiced the chances of those who followed,’ reported Wigmore.4
Much of the official postwar documentation about the fall of Singapore conveniently avoids reference to deserters, although it is evident that the issue was a major problem.
In a report written by General Wavell in June 1942, marked private and confidential and addressed to the War Office in London, he claims Australian troops were responsible for the fall of Singapore.
‘Their presence in the town in disproportionately large numbers during the last days, coupled with the escape of large numbers on ships and in boats, has aroused great indignation,’ he stated. Nonetheless while he did not excuse their behaviour he did add a note of understanding:
Though it must be admitted that the behaviour of the Australian troops in the final phase was a very bad example, particularly to Indian troops, it is only fair to remember that they had been really heavily punished by shell fire on the night of the 8th/9th [of February] and were in fact the only troops in the whole campaign to come under heavy shell fire; secondly a rumour got about that they were to be evacuated, and, lastly, they were near home and that home was under imminent threat of invasion.
While these are not justifications for desertion and indiscipline, they do explain that glancing over the shoulder.’5
Wavell’s report was largely based on secondary sources, including interviews with younger British officers and some civilians whose memories, for whatever reason, may have been embellished or could have been the result of overheard gossip. In war the rumour mill is in overdrive so the ‘evidence’ might be viewed with caution.
Whatever the truth, the allegations levelled at the Australians were bound to cause resentment. Those who have written extensively about the poor behaviour of the military, particularly Australian personnel, were often the subject of vehement criticism. The British writer and historian Peter Elphick, whose epic account of the Malaya campaign, Singapore: The Pregnable Fortress, unearthed many unpalatable truths, received a torrent of abuse when he investigated the matter of deserters. He was stung by the criticism and, two decades on, is still smarting, especially as he has continued to uncover hitherto secret documents that reinforce the veracity of his claims. Indeed, given the additional information which has come his way since his book was published, he is even more convinced of the documents’ accuracy.
‘Over the past 20 years I have been sent a deal of additional small but relevant bits of information, of which the great majority support the main thrust of my thesis about the Singapore deserter situation,’ he told me. ‘In fact I have come to think that to some degree I may have underestimated the situation.’ 6
One of the few courteous letters he received came from a veteran of the 4th Anti-tank Regiment who was appalled by the misconduct he witnessed. I have chosen not to identify him because the note, which I have sighted, was written in confidence, but his words make compelling reading.
‘We were all aware of the desertion of some of our troops from Singapore and that many of them were drunk and behaved disgracefully,’ he said. ‘We regarded them as very green and untrained men who should never have been sent there and who really had no leaders as such.’
Yet while the letter-writer did not condone their behaviour, he understood the men’s plight and pitied them.
‘At the time we did not distinguish much between desertion and duty to escape, feeling that if there was no clear role for a serviceman in the muddle that prevailed in Singapore, it was better for him to get off the island to some place where there was. We still showed respect for those who did escape and were returned to Changi. [But] we did not ask them the date they got off the island.’7
This was not an isolated observation. Hank Nelson, whose detailed study of POWs during World War II, Prisoners of War, Australians Under Nippon, is required reading, interviewed many Australians who were caught up in the mayhem.
‘A minority of the troops decided that flight and the chance of a charge of desertion were preferable to staying on in Singapore,’ he explained.
He quoted Patrick Levy, who reported that men were running into the water at Keppel Harbour ‘throwing their weapons away. They were panicking, trying to commandeer boats.
‘At the wharves Albert Coates found that his rising sun badge of the AIF placed him under suspicion. A group of Australians displaying the independence and aggression which in other circumstances made them great soldiers, had forced their way at gun point on to one of the last boats taking out civilians.’8
An even more authoritative assessment of what happened during those final days – and the weakness of some troops – came from newspaper publisher Sir Keith Murdoch, who was then the director general of the Australian Department of Information. In an article that appeared in the Adelaide Advertiser in August 1942, he spoke of the ‘greatest surrender in British history’:
Why the island passed so quickly into Japanese hands is explicable only by researches into the intricate subjects of morale, tactics and leadership.
There were fully 90,000 British troops to give battle; stores and ammunitions were ample; yet from the first the garrison had few chances, and except for some sections of officers who maintain to this day that if the Australians had held on the north-western beaches, we would still have the island, the feeling of hopelessness seems to be general. In a percentage of the troops it was so close to the crust of morale that it soon broke through into demoralization …
There were of course, many heroic incidents, much brave fighting and counter-charging worthy of the best tradition … We had sad defections and it was notable that the men who did not stand were the ‘boozy’ tough men who had always had the wrong ideas of discipline and were noisy and boastful …9
Murdoch blamed much of the problem on ‘a constant jarring and belittlement of our British and Indian comrades, by inadequate discipline and finally by the percentage of weak and undisciplined soldiers breaking down under the strain of battle …
‘The worst trouble we were under was the indiscipline of small elements that were never thoroughly digested by the better men.’
Ever the patriot, Murdoch also conceded that the main part of the Australian force was magnificent: ‘They were imbued with deep patriotic devotions and had prepared themselves for their soldier tasks until they were like steel.’10
This may well have been the case in the early days of the invasion when the 8th Division proved their worth in the battles of Gemas and Muar, but Peter Elphick’s account of the withdrawal from Singapore paints a damning and depressing picture of Australian behaviour. He quotes a British Royal Airforce technician by the name of Eric Bott who had been given permission to leave on the Empire Star but faced a ‘God awful melee’ when he arrived at Keppel Harbour.
‘There were nationalit
ies of all kinds trying to get on board this one remaining ship, abandoned cars were everywhere, with harassed officials at the gangplank and a mob of Australian soldiers clubbing their way on board.’11
Another RAF man, Steve Stephen, had a similar experience as he tried to board the last big ship to leave the island.
‘When we arrived at Keppel Harbour to board the Empire Star there were armed guards – British – every few yards. Drunken looting Australians were swarming up the mooring ropes trying to get on board. They had looted the dockland warehouses and were intent on getting away come hell or high water.’12
These were serious charges and were not isolated. A group of military police were so concerned that they considered rushing the ship to pull the deserters off, but aborted the plan for fear of a bloodbath.
Another airman, John Dodd, was pressed hard against the rail of the ship and looked down to see the pleading faces of a group of women and children who were desperate to get on board. ‘He saw an angry and frightened young European woman clutching the hand of a boy, aged about three, and two suitcases. She was arguing with two officials on the gangway who were ordering her to leave the luggage behind. Then out of the crowd behind her surged a group of about 20 desperate and armed Australian soldiers. The officials who tried to stop them were knocked out of the way with rifle butts and the group marched up the gangway.’13
The reports got worse. Secret files that were kept under lock and key in the Public Records Office in London until 1993 quoted Major A. Hart Davies, who was in charge of operating No. 4 Water Transport Company in Keppel Harbour: ‘Deserters from the Australian Army were looting the Singapore Harbour godowns [dockside storehouses] all the time during the last three days before the capitulation and as my unit was stationed on an island in the harbour these men kept up a running rifle fire at my men and boats, the Australians being unable to get to them for further desertions.’14
Hero or Deserter? Page 18