Another comment from the secret files caused a furore when it was made public in Australia. A British major in the Malayan Volunteer Forces, J.C.K. Marshall, claimed, ‘The Australians were known as daffodils – beautiful to look at but yellow all through.’15
Such descriptions were excruciatingly bruising for those Australians who had done the right thing and defended the island to the last, paying the price with three-and-a-half years as prisoners of war. No wonder relations with the British had slumped to an all-time low. The Poms had got them into this mess, and now they were blaming the Aussies for letting them down. No matter that the men of the 8th Division had won four Military Crosses, a Distinguished Conduct Medal, four military medals, a Distinguished Service Order and the greatest honour of all, the Victoria Cross.
There was fierce criticism of their commander too. In a letter addressed personally to Winston Churchill, Captain Tufton Beamish, who was on the staff of 18th Division, questioned Gordon Bennett’s character: ‘Everything I know of General Gordon Bennett inclines me to think him a most ordinary soldier and perhaps an even more ordinary man. The general behaviour and attitude of the AIF on Singapore Island certainly reflects nothing but discredit on its Commander.’16
These were wounding words, which struck at the very heart of the 8th Division and its commander. And Beamish’s tirade didn’t end there:
As for the battle itself … the AIF did not comply with their orders and many forward posts withdrew or were withdrawn. Their resistance as a whole can but have been feeble and half-hearted. Their casualties in the early stages were not heavy. Some localities may have fought gallantly. I know that several posts withdrew without firing a shot and before they had come under fire.
In actual fact the AIF was in need of a rest and their morale was extremely low. I am not exaggerating when I say that many of them had no intention of doing any more fighting. Several hundred Australians were in the docks days before the capitulation looking for a boat home.17
If the 8th Division was roused to fury when they read this in the early 1990s, it was perhaps understandable. Their reputation as a fighting force had been severely tarnished. Thousands of men had given their lives in the Malaya campaign in defence of a British colony with which few had anything in common and in support of an empire that had let them down in terms of military preparedness.
On the other hand there is a general acceptance that many of the reports of attempted escape were accurate and that those who felt compelled to stay behind resented those men’s actions. One of these was Jack Boardman, who recalled how two men from his own unit managed to get away and eventually make it back to Australia. ‘They went down and brandished their rifles and forced their way on to a ship.’
And he had no hesitation in labelling them deserters. ‘Yes, of course they were. Anybody who left before 8.30 p.m. and attempted to escape … they definitely deserted. They refused to do as they were told. They went into town and got themselves on a boat or a ship. They did give the Australians a bad name these people.’18
Bart Richardson, who spent the rest of the war in Changi and on the Burma-Thai Railway, shared Jack Boardman’s view of those who escaped: ‘Many of those who reached Australia could probably be classed as deserters for most of them would have left early. There are always a number of deserters in an army but many soldiers in Singapore city were there [because] there was a lot of confusion in the fighting areas.’
Stragglers or not, he believed they had no right to escape. ‘Apart from anything else they were letting down their mates by reducing fighting numbers. Actually many of those who did desert were the malingering types and it was no surprise that they went.’19
In the final few days leading up to surrender, conditions were so chaotic that often it was a matter of chance whether you became a deserter or a straggler.
When Noel Harrison got back to Singapore most of his mates became separated from their units. ‘I was one of them,’ he volunteered. He explained to me how, lost and exhausted, they were helped to relative safety by a group of Malayans whom they happened to encounter.
‘They took us back to an ammunition store, fed us and found an empty house for us to camp in for the night,’ he recalled.
It was at this point that one of Noel’s party decided he’d had enough.
‘One of our corporals said, “I’m not staying here, I’m going,” so he just walked out and managed to get on a boat. He was taken to somewhere over there in Indonesia and got back to Australia.’20
Was this man wrong to take his chance while he could or did he have a duty to stay? For some, snatching the opportunity to escape seemed infinitely more preferable than an unpredictable future at the hands of the Japanese.
Although Noel took the latter option he did not hold it against those who tried their luck, and until recently did not view them as deserters.
‘Actually I’ve never thought about that, but [technically] that’s what you should call them, I suppose.’21
Deserter or not, James Illife, a corporal serving in a special ordnance unit attached to the 8th Division HQ, had no reservations about trying to escape.
‘Nobody who was not there could describe the absolute chaos prevailing in those final days,’ he reflected many years after those events. This is how he looked back on them:
‘There were dozens of troops in Singapore city, cut off from their units and without ammunition or food. They were not deserters, they were innocent victims of a futile effort to halt the invasion of a small island against an enemy whose navy commanded the seas surrounding Singapore and whose super-efficient aircraft controlled the skies, protecting a well-trained and disciplined Japanese army of superior strength.’
Still only 19, and slightly injured by a shell fragment that struck his left ankle, Sydney-born Jimmy could not walk properly but was determined to escape. So he teamed up with several mates from his platoon to try to make a break for it by getting hold of a boat. They eventually found a 16-foot sailing skiff in Singapore harbour and climbed aboard. The next few weeks would provide one of the most dangerous yet exhilarating periods of his life as he dodged the Japanese Navy and sailed and hitched his way south towards Australia. Like Gordon Bennett he had no intention of becoming a POW.22
Others were not so lucky. One of those caught up in the madness of those final days got away, only to be captured later. Roydon Cornford, who had arrived in Malaya as one of the untrained reinforcements allotted to 2/19th Battalion, had found himself cut off from his unit’s leaders and ended up traipsing through the jungle before reaching Singapore harbour.
The story of his escape came to national prominence, and was not without controversy. It first appeared in a 1979 book, Return From the River Kwai, and some readers reached the conclusion that Cornford and his mates were deserters.
Historian Peter Elphick then quoted the same source in Singapore: The Pregnable Fortress, and subsequently those allegations were aired on television – in a 2002 ABC Four Corners program – in which Cornford denied he was a deserter. He told reporter Chris Masters how they got into a little boat and paddled their way out: ‘In the distance we saw … we could see two ships. But we made for the closest one and we could see hundreds or, we reckoned, hundreds of soldiers on it. And they lowered a scrambly net and pulled us on board.’23
The ship was the Empire Star, which left Singapore in the early hours of 12 February with more than 2000 people, although the actual figure may have been closer to 3500. Most of them were legitimate passengers.
Peter Elphick claims that Cornford told Joan and Clay Blair, the authors of Return From the River Kwai, that when the ship reached Batavia the captain reported that Cornford and his party had ‘shot and forced their way on to the ship’. More pertinently Elphick described him in his book as ‘a deserter by his own admission’.24
What Cornford told Chris Masters was that he was put to work defending the ship against attack by Japanese aircraft, and after being briefly detained in Java he vol
unteered to return to the line and was eventually captured by the Japanese.25
Perhaps unwisely, Peter Elphick did not speak to Roydon Cornford personally to check his story, but at least the old soldier was able to clear his name in later years.
Rightly or wrongly many people had their reputations sullied at the fall of Singapore as a result of malicious gossip or a misinterpretation of the facts. From young men who were keen to stay alive, to senior officers who did not want to blemish their war record, everyone had their own agenda.
In fairness the criticism was not entirely one way. British and Indian troops were also castigated for their perceived shortcomings. As mentioned earlier, some badly behaved British stragglers had been given Australian-style slouch hats to wear, leading to confusion over their nationality, while a significant number of Indians had simply laid down their arms.
One or two postwar reports actually praised the Australians. For instance Lieutenant-Colonel Ian Stewart, Commanding Officer of the Second Battalion of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, insisted they fought very well:
‘It is true that a number straggled down into town and did make an early getaway, but that equally applies to British troops.’26
Peter Elphick also quoted Lieutenant-Colonel J.M. Spurling’s covering letter to the War Office: ‘In fairness to the Australian troops it must be remembered that they fought well in Johore,’ he wrote. 27
He was, however, less complimentary about Bennett, whom he damned with faint praise: ‘It appears that from General Gordon Bennett downwards the majority of the Australian Division were of the opinion that it was useless to try to defend Singapore. Thus, being intensely individualistic, and lacking discipline, they just never tried. I do not think they necessarily funked it.’28
There are conflicting reports about the total number of deserters, taking into account British, Indian and Australian personnel. Estimates range from a few hundred to several thousand.
Australian official historian Lionel Wigmore put the figure somewhere in between. ‘The extent of the movement from the island is indicated by the fact that although many who took part in it died and others were captured, about 3,000 reached Java, Ceylon and India through Sumatra.’
He did not analyse the nationalities involved but grouped all military personnel together. And he focused only on those who left the island who could be classified as deserters. What about the ones who tried to escape but, through lack of will or sailing prowess, or problems with the availability of shipping failed to do so? In that case reckons Peter Elphick, the total could be as high as 10,000, and many of them would have been captured in the process.
Regardless of how you run the numbers the worst of the speculation would forever stain the brave band of men who formed the 8th Division. Not for nothing would they be tagged ‘scapegoats for the bloody empire’.29
Chapter 14
INSIDE CHANGI
‘I have often been asked about the surrender. It was not like the American westerns – “Come out with your hands up.”’
At least that was Bart Richardson’s view of the Allies’ defeat. Most of the 8th Division assembled at the Botanic Gardens, where the majority had been fighting until the ceasefire. They threw their weapons into a pile and tried to hide more valuable belongings.
‘Many buried compasses, binoculars, pistols and such like in the grounds of the gardens for future reclaim and use if possible … and those things are probably still there.’1
Others tried to keep their weapons with them for protection. George Daldry from the 2/20th held on to his trusty .45 revolver; and Scottish migrant Jimmy Houston, who had worked on the Sydney wharves before the war, grabbed a pistol from the heap for himself. He reckoned the gun might come in handy if conditions deteriorated and it was every man for himself.
However, they would have second thoughts about that when told to line up. George, who could always look after himself in a fight, spotted a group of fearsome guards and decided they were more than even he could handle.
‘They were a gruesome looking bunch and pretty rugged looking,’ he remembered. George knew that if he was found with a firearm hidden down his shirt, he’d probably be shot.
‘I had to lose them and the revolver, so I walked calmly to a piece of grass while their attentions were distracted and dropped the gun surreptitiously to the ground. I was lucky to get away with it because they would have shown no mercy.’2
Better safe than sorry, he reasoned, before joining his mates with a sense of relief. After all, this wasn’t Friday night in the backstreets of Sydney, but a far more dangerous battleground.
The long march to Changi eventually got underway around midday on 17 February. Arthur Kennedy and his mates carried their personal possessions in kit bags which they’d found in Tanglin Barracks, where they had spent the previous night.
Acrid smoke from burning buildings filled the air as officers barked their commands. Strangely there were few Japanese soldiers around at first, although they would make their presence felt later as the men made their way along the debris-strewn streets.
Arthur had lost most of his clothing and didn’t have much to carry; even so it wasn’t long before his kit bag weighed him down.
‘We had a small truck which had been piled with unit equipment, a large amount of which appeared to be officers’ baggage. Some of those who were not well were put on the vehicle.’3
As the march got underway they saw the horrific results of the battering Singapore had suffered in the previous weeks.
‘Large numbers of buildings had been destroyed in the city but the damage tapered off as we moved out to the suburbs. Damage to the road was being roughly repaired by conscripted locals filling the holes with dirt,’ Arthur recalled.
The human damage was another matter. ‘Numbers of trucks drove past us with burnt bodies piled in them. We had heard that a large number of civilians had been killed.’ 4
Corpses also littered the area. ‘On the side of the road to Changi and lying half through a hedge I saw the body of a Sikh NCO. The body was already swelling from lying in the tropical heat for several days. With the turban still on, the colourful uniform with its red sash made a strong contrast with the green hibiscus hedge,’ he noted.
Arthur was impressed by the generosity of the locals. ‘As we moved along the street many Chinese people came out and offered us food and drink. They ignored the guards and a number were beaten but this made little difference.’5
Others had a different recollection of the locals’ behaviour. Don Wall noticed that some of the Malays who had worked for the AIF were now waving Japanese flags.6
By now the men of the 8th Division were accompanied by Japanese guards who pushed and cajoled those who were slow of foot and weary of manner. A rumour went around that the Japs had already shot six men and that anybody else who fell behind would receive a single shot to the head.
Sergeant Kevin Timbs, a dinky-di Aussie who had worked as a drover in the Glenn Innes area of New South Wales after leaving school, wisely chose to avoid eye contact with his captors. He had got through a couple of months of carnage relatively unscathed and was not prepared to lose his life at this stage. If he needed further evidence of the fragility of human existence, a squelching noise from just beneath his boot acted as a reminder.
‘I just felt something soft under my foot and glancing down I realised I’d stepped on a human hand.’7
Across the road he saw the wreckage of a blown-up truck with the body of the driver lying on the roadside. His hand was missing.
Pint-sized Arthur ‘Snowy’ Collins from the Hunter Valley had also got the message about what might happen if you failed to keep up. Suffering from a badly festered toenail, he was in agony during the 19-mile (30-km) march.
‘I was dying to sit down and take my boot off, but I knew if I did they’d probably shoot me.’8
The men of the 8th Division reached Changi in the early hours of 18 February and most were pleasantly surprised by
their new quarters in Selarang Barracks. The 2/20th even received a tot of rum with their steaming hot cuppa.
This wasn’t as bad as they had feared and even the food rations were better than they had expected. Each POW got 0.11032 pounds (50 g) of meat, some flour, just over a pound (450 g) of rice, a quarter pound (110 g) of vegetables, nearly half a pound (225 g) of sugar, some milk and small quantities of tea, salt and cooking oil.9
Those who had hung on to their money were able to buy little luxuries, including the odd bottle of Tiger beer from the local village. And if you were able to relax, the barracks offered a spectacular view of the South China Sea from certain vantage points.
Come the fall of Singapore there were more than 50,000 troops on the island, including 14,972 Australians. In addition there were 8th Division men captured in other areas of South-East Asia and the Pacific, including 2736 in Java, 1137 in Timor, 1075 on the island of Ambon and 1049 in New Britain, bringing the grand total to almost 21,000.10
To begin with the Japanese were reasonably friendly, providing cigarettes to prisoners. But even at this early stage the level of discipline among POWs was low, with many of them blaming their officers for the drubbing they had suffered.
‘The men were despondent and listless, uncertain of their position in the scheme of things and obeyed orders grudgingly. The bitterness of defeat and the prospect of indefinite captivity by an enemy of whose tradition, customs, outlook and language most of the Australians knew little or nothing made the future seem black indeed.’11
Changi was Britain’s peacetime garrison before the war and the Selarang Barracks were large and airy. But they became grossly overcrowded when the AIF arrived, forcing men to sleep outdoors, although this was no great hardship in the hot and humid conditions.
Hero or Deserter? Page 19