Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

  “By now we were starving again; you were the only one who had eaten properly that day. In our compartment, which was almost empty, I found some abandoned tin cups, a large metal water container and an aluminium Tiffin-carrier that had been made in Birmingham. It contained a half-eaten mild Burmese curry, rice, vegetables and perajos at the bottom. There was so much we shared it with a young Indian couple who moved down to our carriage for company. We had to leave this Tiffin-carrier behind as it was too big and made a great deal of noise when carried. The train finally moved off and began travelling towards Mandalay; I quickly fell asleep.”

  Mother bought another Tiffin carrier after the war (for picnics). Dad hated it; at the slightest touch it fell over and made a racket. When Mum was not around and it fell over he would kick it. Of course I used to tell Mother when she returned. This did not endear me to the RSM.

  “The train travelled slowly through the night. In the morning planes were spotted and the train stopped again. The drivers and the few other passengers took shelter in the jungle by the track in case the train was attacked. Fortunately we were overlooked. However my mother had been informed by the Indians that the Japanese were now in Maymyo and decided to leave the train. How far we were from Maymyo I do not know. We were now terrified of Japanese planes and kept to the jungle fringed footpaths.

  “After many hours of walking we came to a long row of nice European bungalows at the end of a tree lined drive. Each house appeared undamaged; gardens were filled with flowers and roses, enclosed by white picket fences. The owners seemed to have been in a great hurry to vacate their homes as possessions were scattered everywhere. We needed shoes; there were none to be found that fitted us but we found a wide brimmed straw hat with a long blue scarf tied around the crown. I was hoping we could sleep in a bed for a change. The doors and windows of the bungalows were left open and swung eerily to and fro in the late afternoon breeze. The first south-westerly winds were warning of the imminent ‘mango showers’ that would herald the monsoon.

  “My mother chose a bungalow in the middle of the row for safety; we would stay here and think of our next move. There were no beds; all the furniture had been looted. But there was some food left in the properties, mostly tinned. Also, I found a bottle of gripe water for you and a carton of Tate and Lyle sugar and loose tea. These items were a godsend. To our joy there was still running water fed by a large tank situated high on a metal tower behind the row of bungalows.”

  The black and white picture on the bottle of gripe water depicting a baby holding a snake always fascinated me; it was the first picture that I can remember seeing and I used to gaze at it wondering why the snake did not bite the baby.

  “Soon my mother had gathered enough tinned food for several days. The weight of this would pose a problem as my mother and I had also to carry you when you grew tired. So we decided to stay for a few days as the windows and doors could still be shut. Our best find was a tin of Lambert’s finest cooking oil and a bar of Wrights cold tar soap.

  “After the first night of being alone, many other families fleeing Mandalay began to arrive in their own transport, hoping to cross the Ava Bridge the following day. Soon most of the accommodation was full of refugees.

  “Such was the prestige of the British Army that many of the Europeans still believed there would soon be a British counter attack. They did not believe the rumour that the British Army had crossed the Chindwin River. This gave me new hope. However the majority (mainly Indian shop owners) were determined to escape to their homeland. These people carried all their wealth with them, mostly gold, to start anew again in India.

  “A group of British people arrived at the bungalows in a lorry. They seemed confident that they could overtake the retreat but they had one problem, they were short of petrol. Some of the men, who were armed, decided to go on ahead and find, buy or steal fuel. They never returned. A very large group of rich Brahmin merchants and their families arrived in their own motorised transport. Staying in Burma was not an option for the Brahmin Indians: the Burmese were robbing and killing them at every opportunity. These Indians had no intention of stopping the night and once their numbers had swelled, set out for India in one large convoy. Before they left, the Brahmins told us that the Japs were on the outskirts of Rangoon and had set up road blocks on the main roads to stop everyone leaving the city.

  “Again there was still much talk of trekking overland on foot to India. It all sounded so easy. Again my mother would not be persuaded despite my entreaties to attempt this escape route while there was still time. Thank God my mother could not be persuaded to take the trek to India. This was not due to some premonition of impending disaster but a practical decision based on some knowledge of this valley and the imminent coming of the rains.

  “’Do you know how far India is, Kate?’ My mother would say. ‘That valley is crisscrossed with ravines and hills and will soon be full of disease. Your brother Harry knows that valley, it’s full of ticks that carry typhus fever.’”

  What my grandmother was not aware of at the time was that another great danger existed: the Chinese Army. These defeated soldiers would also choose that same line of retreat. They robbed and killed many European and Indian civilians alike. Chinese soldiers were also sick, hungry and desperate to escape.

  “That evening people sat outside discussing their plans for the following day when we were suddenly caught in the headlight glare of vehicles. It was too late to run.

  “’Japs!’ someone whispered, ‘My God!’ There was nothing we could do. Then what seemed like our doom turned out to be our possible salvation. A large armed convoy of British military trucks with snub bonnets pulled up. The trucks had come from the dry belt further inland. A British voice called out: ‘Any water around here?’ It was an Indian regiment led by British officers. They had stayed behind to destroy vital installations and were eager to rejoin their regiment.

  “’There are no Japs directly behind us’ the officer said. ‘Tomorrow we will be happy to take as many of you as possible to the British lines. We should be able to get across the Ava Bridge.’

  “’Our Regiment can’t be that far ahead’ said another officer. Everyone was overjoyed. The soldiers gave the British civilians, who were short of fuel, petrol and advised them to wait until dawn and join their military convoy before heading off. The advice was not heeded. Later that night, an officer sent out a group of Indian soldiers to the main road to reconnoitre the way ahead. They came back with bad news. ‘Large parties of Japs are heading for Rangoon on foot along the main road, a long line of burnt vehicles are blocking the highway.’

  “This was not the only bad news. They found the three missing British men. They had been tied to trees and bayoneted. There was no sign of their families who had followed looking for them. I hoped they had escaped.

  “’A change of plan’ said the English officer, ‘we will head cross country, bypassing all towns and villages then join the main road again just before the Ava Bridge, then carry on to Monywa.’

  “I begged my mother to go along with this new line of escape. We will not have to walk, I argued. Our shoes were wearing out. You did not have any clothes; they had all been left behind at the station. All you had to wear was one of my chemises and a bonnet.

  My mother thought about it for a long time and said. ‘Do you know what will happen if the Japs capture us in a British Army convoy?’

  “But in the end she was persuaded, even though we would be heading towards the fighting; she knew Monywa and its river ferry, which regularly crossed the Chindwin. Everyone believed the British would hold on to the west bank of the river and stop the enemy crossing. The Chindwin was not as wide or as deep as the Irrawaddy. If we could just get there and cross the river on the ferry, we would be safe.

  “Early next morning we set off; the blood red rising sun in the east looked like the Japanese flag. My mother said this was a bad omen. The Indian drivers were in a hurry and drove very fast. This frightened us civili
ans; the trucks would easily be seen from the air by the clouds of dust that followed us, giving our position away to enemy planes. Every time we drove over a bump we were thrown into the air. We were soon bypassing many Burmese villages in an area that seemed untouched by the war. All the same these villages displayed the Japanese ‘poached egg’ flags. They watched us pass by with silent indifference. The Burmese at this point were pro-Japanese. They did not realize they were jumping from the frying pan into the fire.

  “You were frightened and crying because of the speed we were travelling at and the choking dust from the trucks ahead. Water was in short supply and we had to ration ourselves. After travelling many miles that day the British trucks stopped in scrub jungle where we would spend the night. Soldiers went out on patrol to find water. We were so tired and dusty that after a quick meal we all sheltered in or under the trucks and spent a peaceful night feeling safe in the presence of the armed soldiers.

  “At first light the following morning we set off again. A few hours later the convoy turned onto the main road [Rangoon to Mandalay]. This was awash with refugees who tried to wave the column of trucks down, but the drivers did not stop. There was just no room; it was so sad to see their desperate faces as they watched us disappear. Shortly after we came to a standstill behind a long line of stationary vehicles; we could hear the battle ahead and see and smell the dark clouds of burning rubber. Many of the vehicles ahead were on fire. Other empty trucks still had their engines running.

  “We were approached by several dusty British soldiers; they had bad news. There was fighting further down the road; the Ava Bridge was still open but Monywa was being heavily shelled and attacked. The ferry across the Chindwin River was under fire. It was also reported that the Japanese were now on the West bank of the Chindwin. Our attempt to escape again had come to nothing; here the vehicles had to be abandoned.

  “Reaching and getting behind the British lines was now impossible. Many of the other escapees decided to continue and stick with the soldiers for as long as possible. Other refugees in the convoy just wandered away in a daze. We were now in the open and exposed to attack from the air. My mother had had enough. She decided we should head towards Pagan, as this was an area only lightly populated. Your grandmother wanted to keep away from the main road, to escape the Jap bombers and Burmese National Army who were ambushing soldiers and refugees on the highway. Looking for a track that led off the main road and into the wilds, we had to continue as we needed to get away from the sight of dead bodies, bodies that lined the edge of the road. The milestones now looked like communal headstones, except the dead lay unburied. The smell of the dead turned my stomach. The pleas of the wounded broke my heart, we had no water to give. My mother warned me to keep away and out of reach from the outstretched grasping hands of dying people who lay by the roadside.

  “After some time, we came to a well-used bullock track that led back into the dry country of central Burma. It was so hot. Normally in peacetime we slept in the afternoon, only going out in the cooler hours. I began to feel dizzy. Sunstroke comes on suddenly and without treatment and water you can die quickly. We were now very thirsty and needed to find water and shade.

  “It was on this bullock track that we bumped straight into the column of marching Japanese soldiers. My god, I believed that they would kill us all; instead to our amazement, they paid us little attention but headed towards the main road and in the general direction of Pagan. My mother decided to change direction again.

  “Our odyssey in Burma had now begun in earnest as we headed into the wilds. My mother’s plan was to remain free as long as possible and await events as they unfolded. The best and safest place to be was the wilds of Burma, providing we could find enough water and food to sustain us and find shelter from the coming monsoon.

  “Within a few days we had run out of the tinned food. It was then that my mother’s knowledge and foraging skills came to the fore. It was lucky we had cooking oil and the facilities to cook what we found. Dry firewood was plentiful. However we could not stop worrying about our documents falling into Japanese hands. Mother kept telling me what to say if we were ever interrogated. This thought constantly haunted my mother and me throughout the entire occupation.

  “Later we found out that the Kempeitai were paranoid about spies. Being found with a radio whether it was working or not was evidence enough of being a spy. The result was always torture and death. Mother decided later to adopt traditional Burmese dress and claim we were Mons Burmese escaping the Chinese Army. This pretence was only possible because of my mother’s perfect knowledge of Burmese, their customs and some of the various dialects of its people. To survive we would soon need shelter.

  “We headed for the thick dry scrub belt. Once on the other side of the tall cactus plants, we could not be seen from the main bullock track. The scrub jungle and the prickly pear [cactus plants] were difficult and painful to enter and move through, but at least we were out of sight.

  “The ripe sweet prickly pear fruit on the cactus plants were protected by sharp thorns and out of our reach. This was a shame, as our throats were parched and the fruit at this time of year contained sweet juice. In a patch of open ground ahead of us, personal items and clothing where scattered in the dust and my mother went to see if anything useful could be found lying abandoned. She quickly came back empty-handed and red-faced.

  “’My God Kate – quick!’ Mother exclaimed, ‘we must get away from here – that nulla [small ravine] is full of civilians who have been cut up by dacoits. Some are still alive – there is nothing we can do – they are beyond help!’ Above us vultures circled cautiously afraid to land.

  “’If vultures are afraid to land, they can see danger nearby. We must leave now!’ said my mother. We moved away as quickly as possible. As we walked, we came to higher ground and could see to our joy in the far distance, through gaps in the jungle, the glimmer of a river below us. This was no mirage. The river promised our salvation.”

  The river Mum refers to could have been any tributary of the Irrawaddy or the Sittang River; we were certainly somewhere between both. From what I can tell Grandmother often changed direction by instinct without consulting my mother.

  “We headed towards the thick riverine jungle, so thirsty and tired we could hardly speak. I was afraid to enter the jungle as I had heard so many stories of wild animals attacking people. But the thought of drinking water made me desperate and dulled my fears. Entering the jungle, we rested in the shade. I was terrified of venomous snakes. A terrible thought occurred to me. If one of us was bitten, there would be nothing we could do except wait for death. My mother said that after a bite from a Russell’s viper, internal organs would haemorrhage. Painful death would take days. A bite from a cobra would be much quicker and relatively painless; however, this was little comfort to me.”

  Being bitten by a venomous snake in rural Burma where there was no anti-venom available became a case of “wait and see”. Chances of survival were slim, however, sometimes venomous snakes (for reasons of their own or to conserve precious venom) did not inject their protein poisons. This was known as “a dry bite” or “a warning bite”.

  “’When we reach the river and quench our thirst, we will follow the path along the bank’” said my mother ‘It will lead us deeper into the wilderness. We will always have water to drink, water to wash and cook with. There are sure to be some edible water plants, vegetables and fruit trees growing on the riverbank. This is also the time when fresh water turtles lay their eggs, just before the rains; if we are lucky we will find turtle eggs in the sand banks.’

  “I hoped we might find some sweet water melons full of juice. Burma has so many different types of delicious fruiting trees and plants, too numerous to mention. My mother said that due to the annual flooding caused by the South-west monsoons, all kinds of seeds are washed into the river; a few seeds take hold and germinate at the high water mark, providing the young seedlings are not eaten by grazing animals. Burmese river
turtles lay many soft rubbery-skinned eggs deep in the sand. The young quickly disperse during the monsoon. All turtle eggs are white and round just like snake eggs. I would never buy or eat them before the war, but turtle meat and their eggs were widely enjoyed throughout Burma. All the same I was determined to frighten away any turtles we saw to stop my mother killing them. Saving small animals from my mother during the war made her so angry and she often threatened to murder me.

  “It took us a long time to reach the river through the jungle as the light was dim under the canopy of the trees and trailing vines. We had to look first before placing each foot down because of Russell’s vipers. These large beautiful, aggressive snakes did not move or give any warning before striking.

  “As we got nearer to the riverbank, we recognized papaya and banana trees by the shape of their large distinctive leaves. We were desperately disappointed when we reached the riverbank to find the water out of our reach, so we sat in the shade of the broad-leaved fruit trees to rest. Only a few wild bananas could be found but we had to be careful of eating wild bananas. We were too thirsty to eat. My mother cut down a young banana tree to get at the heart which was full of insipid liquid that we could drink. Still desperately thirsty, we carried on along a narrow footpath right on the edge of the high and steep riverbank. I was afraid a crocodile might knock one of us into the river with its tail.”

  This is a common myth believed by many throughout Burma. Although a large crocodile can launch itself two thirds of its length out of the water (head first) to grab prey on the riverbank, it cannot use its tail as Mother believed.