Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

  “My mother and I prayed you had forgotten all conversations we had had about Jack and our past life; luckily you were never very bright and your head was always filled with all kinds of mischief and useless rubbish. Nevertheless we were always cautious when speaking in your presence. It was only after a few days that we found out from the other internees that the large white building with the barn doors belonged to the Japanese Kempeitai. This building was a prison where the inmates where tortured. Even the ordinary Japanese soldiers were terrified of this building and never went near it, referring to it as: ‘the very bad house’.

  “Occasionally at night we heard the screams of human beings in mortal agony as they were tortured by the Kempeitai. We were deeply disturbed by these sounds and prayed to God that their suffering would be short. The Kempeitai had been selected for their sadistic nature and were masters of human suffering and despair.”

  At Tada u my two guardians stopped teaching me personal details like my birthday and surname, and where I was born etc. I remember being asked the date of my birthday at Alexandra Military School after the war. I did not know; I couldn’t even spell or remember my surname. My birthdays were never celebrated, with one exception, my seventh. As I did not know my birthday I did not care. Perhaps my dear mother forgot to re-educate me after the war; if she had, it must have gone in one ear and out of the other, another useless talent of mine.

  “We were told we would receive a pass that allowed us to travel within a specific area around the camp to buy food from the markets and forage in the immediate countryside. Many internees died of starvation and disease, and particularly malaria as we were in a malaria belt. Fortunately we never contracted malaria. Later there was also an outbreak of cholera and enteric (typhoid). The Japanese, who were terrified of cholera and typhoid, asked the Burmese to dispose of these bodies; they refused. Some poor Tamil families including children were brought in and forced to do the job of burning the bodies. These poor people, we heard later, were sent into Thailand to work on the death railway.

  “On arrival the new internee menfolk were forcibly removed from their families by the Kempeitai and taken to the Kempeitai building or transferred to Rangoon. Many families could not survive without their menfolk and died quietly in their rooms without anybody knowing. Maureen told us that some of these people had committed suicide. Poor people, the rest of us might have been able to help them if we had only known of their plight. I suppose their fall in position, change of circumstance and not knowing the fate of their men was just too much for them to bear.

  “My mother asked for permission to sell cakes, which was granted. These privileges of travelling to find or buy food extended to all who lived in the first row of the terraced houses. The second row where Indian families of the INA [Indian National Army] lived, had total freedom and were fed by the Japs. The Indian women and children never mixed with us. Christmas 1942–1943 came and went without celebration it was just too painful to bring back older, happier memories. Around April 1943, my mother returned from the market and whispered to me that the British army had crossed the Chindwin: this would mean liberation. We began to observe the Japanese at Tada u hoping to witness signs of panic; we were soon to be disappointed.”

  We lived in Tada u for around three years. Some of my memories of it are still vivid: I can still hear the voices. I don’t think Tada u was a prisoner of war camp as such; I cannot remember ever seeing it surrounded by barbed wire or having a daily tenko – again many questions I should have asked Mother. In fact I have never learned of any enclosed civilian prisoner of war camps for women and children in Burma.

  “Our accommodation comprised one small bare room without a fireplace, so my mother had to cook on the narrow sheltered veranda walkway or if it rained, under the stilted terraced house. Firewood had to be gathered from the nearby jungle daily. We had to be vigilant when collecting firewood as a Burmese woman out foraging had disappeared just before our arrival into Tada u. You soon made friends with the Burmese children who appeared and played outside.

  “There was a well around a hundred yards from our house. Not far from it grew a line of trees where Japanese soldiers rested on the way to the front. We used to watch them from our balcony. First they would take off their packs and one of their belts and massage their calves; then take turns standing back to back and interlocking arms. One would bend over and jiggle his knees, stretching the other soldier’s spine. Unusually, some of these Japanese soldiers had beards. As a Japanese patrol marched past, all you naked children used to follow behind mimicking them until you were bellowed at by their NCO which sent you all laughing and screaming in all directions.

  “We visited the well at least three times a day to get water and in the evening to bathe with the Burmese villagers. Towards the end of the war Japanese wounded were seemingly abandoned near the well under the shade of trees. Although racked with fever and thirst, their wounds often septic, they were not a priority and were left untended, while their pleas for help went ignored. These soldiers were too weak to crawl to the well for a drink. They used to beckon you children over to fill their water bottles by flapping their hand from the wrist downwards. You and the other Burmese children were always afraid of these men with their long hair and blazing fever-ridden eyes that gave them a crazed appearance. It was at this well that we witnessed many acts of cruelty, including the brutal way the Japs treated some of their own men. We civilian internees always referred to this well ‘as the well of sorrows.’”

  Shaving was not compulsory in the Japanese army and many tried unsuccessfully to grow whiskers. The Japanese soldiers Mum describes with beards must have been Aynu, an indigenous people of Hokkaido, known as northeastern Honshu. One day as we children played, a returning Jap patrol came to the well and began bathing. One of their number was hurriedly drawing water for everyone. Perhaps he was not quick enough, for he was being shouted at and slapped by several laughing soldiers. This beating suddenly got serious when the young soldier began to moan and fell down. The soldiers seemed to get into a rage at this and the beating became more violent; so much so that what we children initially found amusing quickly turned into fear. Some children began crying and we all ran away. I can still see the podgy screwed-up bloody face of the young soldier as the blows and kicks increased.

  “Not long after we arrived, another Japanese Regiment appeared from Thailand. They immediately took up anti-insurgent operations in the surrounding countryside often disguising themselves as Burmese villagers. It was said these insurgents were led by British Officers. It was around this time that the screams from the Kempeitai building began to increase. The Japanese patrols would be away for many days and usually returned with prisoners. We could never distinguish the nationality of the unfortunate prisoners before they were handed over to the Kempeitai. The handing over was usually done near the well; the well of sorrows.”

  We children used to run towards a returning Japanese patrol out of curiosity. Sometimes they brought back wild game they had shot; but mostly it was live prisoners bound in that Japanese way. Knot tying and binding is a daily occupation for the Nipponese soldier, as buttons are seldom used. Most fastenings consisted of tying tapes together; even their helmets were held on by four chin tapes and their packs were held up by numerous tapes all tied with almost ceremonial correctness. The whole of Nipponese life is regimented and orderly, so when it came to tying up a human being, procedures were no different. The prisoner or prisoner’s would already have been bound tightly in that excruciating painful Japanese style. First the wrists were tied behind the prisoner’s back; then both wrists were roughly forced upwards bending the elbows, stretching tendons and joints to the maximum, until the victims hands were almost level with his shoulder blades; then his elbows would be tied together, and the rope was looped around the prisoner’s neck then tightened and taken back to his wrists. This neck binding stifled the prisoner’s screams and forced him to look up at the sky which stopped him from running away. The
legs were left free for the unfortunate prisoner had to walk long distances. Knot tying to the Japanese seemed to be a kind of art form, like flower arranging.

  As yet we youngsters were not fully capable of appreciating the unspeakable physical agony being suffered by the prisoner; yet the pain on the prisoner’s face and his pleas distressed our young minds. The prisoner would be brought to the well. The soldiers would then nosily quench their thirst while ignoring the prisoner’s barely perceptible pleas for water. The leader of the patrol would then make his way tentatively to the Kempeitai building and would soon return with several stern, scowling Military Policemen. The fierce faces they pulled were all part of their training to frighten everyone including their own soldiers, civilians and us youngsters. The members of the Japanese patrol would then pull back not wishing to be in close proximity to proceedings.

  Sometimes before the Kempeitai arrived, passing Burmese women would engage the soldiers in flirtatious conversation and often spit streams of water at the prisoner’s face and head in an insulting manner followed by a barrage of what sounded like abuse. However, this could have been an attempt by the women to help the unfortunate victim slake his raging thirst.

  The Kempeitai would first question the Japanese soldiers of the patrol with hostility, shouting and face-slapping, if an answer did not please them. One bellow from a Kempeitai was enough to send us youngsters scattering.

  “The Kempeitai policemen were sometimes difficult to spot as they dressed similarly to that of the army soldiers but on occasions wore a strip of white cotton on their arm. On official ceremonial occasions the Kempeitai officers dressed smartly in a light dove-grey uniform with a high-collared tunic, white gloves and gleaming black riding boots. These Military Police were suspicious of everyone. It was never wise to return their blank stares.

  “My mother knew a pretty Burmese woman who sold cigars in the market; this woman’s husband was a musician. Like most musicians her husband was usually drunk. This pair used to have blazing rows when he came to his wife’s stall and pleaded for money. She would then get very angry and insult him by turning her back and lifting her longyi. If he continued to pester her she would then take off her slippers and throw them at him. At this stage he would run. One day we could see this woman screaming and crying at the front of our house. Her husband had been arrested by the Kempeitai. He was spotted flying his fighting kite erratically near the Kempeitai building just as a Japanese patrol was leaving Tada u. They suspected he was sending a coded message to the Karen guerrillas in the hills. The Japanese had many of their patrols ambushed whilst we were in Tada u. They arrested the kite flyer despite the fact that he was blind drunk, then they beat him with bamboo canes in public to sober him up. Looking black and blue he was released. Such was their paranoia concerning the enemies of Japan. Even the innocent sometimes confessed just to escape the physical trauma of torture. Confession meant death.

  “Not far from the well was a grassy parade ground the size of a football field. Several incidents were to happen here. Some were impressive, some amusing and others deadly scenes of violence. This parade ground was used for drilling and marching Japanese and Indian troops. All Japanese military were addicted to ceremonies conducted in intricate detail and reverence, wearing grim expressionless faces.

  “On special occasions, their ceremonies were impressive, like that of their Emperor’s birthday for example. All the Japanese troops would stand to attention in the semi-darkness of dawn before the sunrise and wait as still as stone statues. This parade ground was the perfect place to see the first rays of the rising sun burst above the surrounding hills and flood this field with its golden fingers. This sunburst was sacred to the worshippers of the Sun Goddess. A loud brutal command, ‘Kiotski Kerai’, would slice through the silence and all the soldiers would bow deeply to their Goddess, holding that position for long seconds, as the subtle yet moving national anthem of Dai Nippon was played. Then shouts of ‘Banzai!’ – ‘Banzai!’ – ‘Banzai!’ would shatter the still morning air; this was an impressive ceremony with a touch of primitive medieval drama, as they saluted their Sun Goddess with naked swords and glinting bayonets.

  “We witnessed this ceremony every April as we set out early to catch soft-shelled crabs. We always stopped out of respect, trying not to attract attention. We knew the Kempeitai were present on these occasions, for they worshiped the same goddess. The whole Nipponese culture is built on these various sacred and solemn ceremonies. Once we even witnessed a ceremony dedicated solely to honouring the camp commander’s horse.

  “Little did we know that before long we were to receive the individual attention of a Kempeitai officer. One afternoon as my mother was preparing the batter for the cakes, a full queue of young Japanese soldiers waited outside the house; the first ones were already on the steps. I had to push past them when your grandmother wanted water from the well. These very young soldiers were heading to the front and full of high spirits, pushing and shoving each other. They used to play all kinds of tricks on each other while they waited. I used to watch their antics from the balcony above. Two Jap officers were passing this queue of young boisterous soldiers. One was well dressed with smart black riding boots while the other appeared unkempt and scruffy. This scruffy officer started bellowing at the young soldiers and began lashing out with a bamboo stick he was carrying. All the young soldiers seemed terrified of this officer. The smartly dressed officer did nothing and just watched. The scruffy Jap officer then lined the men up into an orderly queue, all at a correct distance apart. Then both officers left without a backward glance.

  “My mother thought the scruffy officer was Kempeitai despite the fact he was not wearing a white cotton strip of cloth around his right arm. She came to this conclusion because of the soldiers’ terrified reaction to him and told me to be careful of him in the future. Later during that same week, this scruffy officer knocked at our door! My heart leapt when I saw him. My mother stayed calm and immediately thought he had come to check if she had permission to sell cakes to the Japanese soldiers. Mother handed him the printed permission written in Japanese. He barely glanced at it then handed it back to her. He spoke in English, asking my mother how long had we been in Tada u, where had we come from originally and had we ever visited Europe. She told him exactly the same as she told the camp commander. No we had never been to Europe and had always lived in Burma as this was our country. The fact that this officer spoke reasonably good English worried us even more. We waited for him to ask our family history, but instead found he wanted to talk to my mother about Rangoon; was he testing us? My mother said she knew Rangoon. It seems he had just returned from Rangoon and thought it was a shame the Japanese Air force had bombed the city so thoroughly. He emphasized that the Japanese had taken great care not to damage the Shwedagon Pagoda as they were also Buddhists.

  “While talking he smoked cigarettes from a nice silver case, which he seemed to be very proud of. He came on several other occasions and would stand on the doorstep talking to my mother, always in English. I stayed in our room looking after you. We began to dread his visits and felt he was about to arrest us every time he arrived. He must have known that my mother spoke Nippon Go from the camp commander. Suddenly on one occasion, out of the blue he asked her why she had troubled to learn the Nipponese language. My mother answered diplomatically, without hesitation: ‘Because Nippon Go is a beautiful language.’ He seemed very pleased at her answer. Every time my mother answered a question he seemed to take a long time considering it. But thank God he suddenly disappeared from Tada u. What a relief it was, we never saw him again.

  “We discovered that you were sneaking away with the young village children and playing near the Buddhist pagoda. We had heard stories from the villagers about a large sacred cobra that lived in a hole under the pagoda on the edge of a small path that led to the cemetery. This was certainly true as it was often seen crossing the path and entering the graveyard in the evenings and returning to the pagoda in the
mornings. This venomous reptile was only sacred when it was within the boundaries of the pagoda; if it was met outside the boundaries the villagers would try to kill it with no qualms whatsoever. We never saw this snake but it would soon claim a victim. This graveyard was now being used by both Buddhists and Christians to bury their dead as space for new graves was becoming hard to find.”

  I remember this pagoda and going to the cemetery with the native children to pick the fallen ripe fruit of the sweet bay tree. This tree was untouched by the Burmese and the Japanese, as they believed the fruit belonged to the spirits of the dead.

  “The Burmese loved raw eggs of any kind, including reptile eggs. Egg collecting and the shooting of birds was a favourite pastime for the older village boys who owned catapults and was a welcome addition to their meagre diets during the occupation. The birds would be barbecued and the eggs would be eaten with nutmeg, raw onions and salt. A teenage Burmese boy from the village noticed that several round white cobra eggs had rolled down and were visible at the entrance of the hole that bordered the path. He tried to collect them; he was bitten. He died late that night while unconscious ‘when his lungs collapsed,’ according to my mother. She knew the boy’s mother quite well, and was present at his death. We attended the funeral and joined in the procession with its banging of cymbals and drums; we went as a token of respect to the Burmese villagers. During her life my mother had seen several people die of snakebite including a servant of ours we had in Rangoon, before the war.”