Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

She would walk with me to the gin-clear pebbled stream telling me how wonderful water-babies were, then exclaim “look there’s one … it’s hiding just under the water … catch it.” As I did not know the difference between a water-baby and a bush-baby I was not sure what to look for. Excited I would climb down the bank by the concrete and iron bridge. While I was searching, Teresa would quickly leg it back and inform my grandmother that I had “left the shadow of the house.” Running back on my own always scared me as hyenas lurked in the scrub. Gran was waiting with her slipper with the girl waiting to witness my punishment. Yet I always fell for this trick: idiot!

  “Our next move was to a large grand house called Lambert House, situated in the middle of a dense area of lantana bushes except for the dirt track driveway. The lantana was in full bloom. If you pulled a floret you could suck the sweet nectar from the ends. The fruit, when ripe, could also be eaten. A quiet Indian family had a single room in this same house; we hardly saw them. One day my mother returned from market with a young pet lamb for you. Soon after the lamb disappeared, you were so upset. My mother said she suspected a leopard was responsible.”

  I always believed that to be the case. I never suspected the quiet Indian family … until now.

  A basha camp on the banks of the Irrawaddy was our next accommodation, and it was here that I saw my first working water tap. It was also my first opportunity to closely inspect a freshly dead Japanese soldier lying on his back on the white sand. He was in full uniform with the usual two belts, from which hung a small lucky charm corn dolly and a tiny bag of rice. His helmet was still attached to his head with four tapes; his eyes were open and he seemed to be looking up and smiling at the sun. I noticed some of the adult male refugees kick this body when they passed. Every morning this dead Jap was my first call of inspection.

  The water tap dripped. We were told that the Japanese used this tap to torture prisoners by forcing a hose into their mouths and down into their stomachs then turned the tap on until their stomachs distended. Another torture was to tie a prisoner under this tap and let a single drop of water drip on their heads until it became too painful to bear.

  I always pondered that if I was given a choice, would I prefer the slow dripping tap. I often sat under the dripping tap waiting for it to become painful, until I became bored or somebody dragged me out from under the tap with a few choice words in order to get their water.

  “We then moved nearer Meiktila to a brand new refugee ‘basha’ camp and were informed that we would be joined by many other former internees. This never happened so we remained the only ones there. The basha huts comprised two sleeping platforms about a foot off the ground divided by a central walkway leading to a back room, which was used for cooking. Every evening, you would watch quick-moving snakes dart from underneath one platform to the other and would scream to your grandmother to kill them. ‘They are only young rat snakes,’ she would say.”

  It was here that we suffered the strong monsoon winds again forcing my mother and grandmother to pray to God and all the saints they could think of as they pushed against the palm walls to stop them collapsing.

  “Despite having tinned food and army rations, we still went on foraging walks in the surrounding area. Evidence of striped hyena was everywhere. It was on these occasions when the light showers occurred while the sun was still shining, that my mother would say: ‘Sun and rain – jackals’ wedding.’

  “Our last temporary move was into Meiktila itself, well after the fighting had ceased, where we observed some soldiers repairing their vehicles and other soldiers painting stones white at the side of the road. When the war with Japan was finally over, we were taken by army lorry to a large house on Edward Road, Maymyo.

  “We waited for news of Jack then heard the terrible reports of a new weapon: the atom bomb. I prayed Jack had not been near it but on this occasion my prayers were not answered. I was overjoyed when we finally learned from the authorities that Jack was alive and had been liberated in Nagasaki. I also learned that he would not be coming straight back to Burma from Japan, but would be taken to America along with many other Allied prisoners; we were to wait for his return in Maymyo. We were told all the prisoners in the US would get the best food and medical treatment America had to offer. Poor Jack, he was just skin and bone when he was liberated, as he always exchanged his midday rice for a few cigarettes. Tam and Willie did not go to America, as they were in better health.

  “Life slowly returned to normal. Many people came around to see us, including our first cousins Willie McPherson and his two sisters. Willie was a small, jolly man with a bald head and always wore Japanese cloven-hoof rubber boots. Everybody wore all kinds of clothes and shoes just after the war.

  It was here in Maymyo that we were invited to a wedding at a hotel just down the road from our house. My mother and I waltzed together; we had such a lovely time and were given a piece of wedding cake as we left.

  “One day when we were in town, shopping at the market, we saw an Indian woman and her small son being taunted by other Indian stall holders. She was trying to exchange an item for some food; she looked half-starved. My mother took pity on her and invited her and her son to come home and live with us. She was the wife of an Indian soldier who had fought and died alongside the Japanese. She became our cook, sharing our army rations until she was able to return to her homeland with her son, after we left Maymyo for Mandalay. Before she left she was visited by her young brother called Lucas, who had come from Mandalay. Lucas had worked for the Japanese in the officers’ club as a waiter. He was a Christian and had just got married. Later on, Jack promised Lucas and his wife a job working for us in Fort Dufferin, Mandalay.”

  It was in Maymyo that I first tasted lemonade. The bottles did not have stoppers, just a marble held against the opening by the gas within.

  CHAPTER 27

  Bed Bugs

  JAPAN

  “Lower-ranked guards in Japan had problems with the counting of Allied prisoners; they usually counted them several times. On a cold day with an icy wind whipping the prisoners’ scrawny bodies, this fiasco taxed the weaker prisoners to the point of collapse. On the other hand, the prolonged tenko on warm summer mornings wasted time and made the long day of back-breaking work a few minutes shorter. It also added a little entertainment when the guards began slapping each other’s faces, believing some of the prisoners may have escaped.

  “Escape would have been impossible in Japan. As far as Jack knew, no prisoner made plans to escape and there were no illegal radios in Tateyama Camp. The prisoners had learned to keep a straight face and find another point of interest when a Jap slapped Jap. One guard used to count up to ten and then extend a finger as a kind of abacus. This worked till he was forced to salute a passing superior officer and had to start again. He would then bare his teeth at the prisoners and snarl. God help any prisoner who laughed or made eye contact. This guard was known to the prisoners as ‘Mad Dog’.

  “There were only a handful of Royal Scots at the Osaka Camp and they all worked together just like the other regiments tended to do. But in general everyone did their best to help those who were too ill to work. The senior officer at Nagoya Tateyama was a Dr Riley, whose calm disposition and medical knowledge greatly helped the sick and weak. But Dr Riley left the camp’s discipline to the senior NCOs, as he was a very mild and modest man.

  “The freezing winters in Japan killed off all the flies and kept the bedbug population down in numbers. However during the summer months, the Japanese insisted that the best way to control the numbers of flies and parasites was for each man to kill fifty bedbugs and flies a day. This number was difficult to sustain on a daily basis despite Mad Dog’s demonstration on the correct way to sneak up on unsuspecting flies. Nevertheless, the prisoners were forced to find different substitutes to pass off as bedbugs or cut the bugs in half; this did not always work with the sharp-eyed guards. Strangely they were never beaten for this attempt to cheat, but given a lecture on the benefits and
virtues of honesty.”

  Other prisoners collected large numbers of live and ravenous bedbugs and sprinkled them in the guards’ quarters or in the civilian coats hanging in the mine. The result gave these prisoners pleasure as they watched their guards scratching themselves.

  I believe the men at Tateyama POW camp had been transferred there from the Narumi POW camp at Osaka due to the bombing by the American Air Force (prisoner of war camps were not marked in Japan). Usually the massive B-29 arrived during the day when the prisoners were out working.

  Tateyama POW camp was also attacked soon after. The number of civilian victims in the town must have been high, however, according to the guards, the American bombs were selective and only killed non-Japanese. All Japanese casualties were quickly removed from the prisoners’ sight. As usual the Japs kept to their practised doctrine when dealing with non-Nipponese: never admit anything, even the obvious truth; admitting the truth is admitting defeat and losing face to an inferior race. A good example of this was a story that circulated among prisoners in Japan after the war, which my father found amusing. He had heard that when Japan surrendered, a British Captain approached a Japanese Captain and inquired:

  “I believe the war over?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who won?”

  “Nobody, it was a draw!” the Japanese Captain replied, looking his counterpart straight in the eyes.

  The number of American planes shot down (according to the guards) on each raid beggared belief. One good thing: the bombing produced was to help uncover the hundreds of Red Cross parcels and warm clothing that had been hidden in a camp building. The presence of these parcels and clothing had long been suspected by the POWs when some of the guards were seen smoking Red Cross cigarettes and civilian camp workers started wearing warm clothing that was far too big.

  The existence of Red Cross parcels at the camp the Sergeant was in, had always been denied by the honourable gentlemen while they secretly helped themselves to items that suited their taste. The camp interpreter was asked to explain the sudden presence of torn and damaged Red Cross parcels scattered over the camp. He said he would find out and went to the Japanese commander. He returned shortly afterwards sporting a wide grin and bearing an explanation.

  “After the American bombers had run out of bombs they decided to throw out their personal Red Cross parcels in the hope of injuring some innocent Japanese below.”

  The above explanation was ridiculous, even humorous – that is if you were not a starving, freezing prisoner.

  Red Cross parcels began to be distributed to the men at the rate of one parcel between six men. The Red Cross parcels were months old and many items were missing. But, to the Sergeant’s delight, the last men to receive their Red Cross parcels found that, because they were at the bottom of the pile and out of reach, the cigarettes were untouched. Two of the Royal Scots were non-smokers, so that left enough cigarettes for the Sergeant and the rest of the men to indulge their craving.

  Initially, due to the heavy civilian causalities of the US bombing raid, the men were confined to their huts and given their yasumi (rest) while the bodies were taken away. Not that the prisoners managed to get much rest. The Japanese were convinced that all Allied prisoners were capable of constructing a radio and transmitter. On two consecutive days the guards, wearing white masks and gloves (the prisoners were considered un-hygienic), came in and searched the huts. Nothing incriminating was found, though one of the guards complained that his packet of cigarettes had been stolen. He lined up all the prisoners and reported this to his superior officer (a suspected Kempeitai officer). The prisoners anticipated trouble and ordered the culprit to discard the cigarettes. The grim-faced officer appeared and studied each prisoner’s “holier than thou” face for a good minute; he suddenly burst out laughing and left. Nothing more was heard of the incident.

  “Jack said later, as the bombing increased, prisoners were ordered to board lorries and help clear the streets of Osaka. The first lorry was having trouble starting up. A Jap NCO approached and gave the driver a slapping. Furious, the driver took a bamboo stick and laid into the bonnet of the lorry, watched by the NCO. Believing that the driver was beating the wrong part of the lorry, the NCO snatched the bamboo and proceeded to beat the petrol tank. The lorry started first time to the cheers of the prisoners. We had seen vehicle beating at Tada u. The prisoners were always happy to get out of camp and considered it another opportunity to find food. It was also a chance for an outing and change of scenery. Cleaning up operations was also a chance to steal useful items found in the ruined houses. Fresh meat soon became available in the form of stray dogs and cats that often roamed the ruins. Some of the prisoners who had an affinity with animals befriended both species. When the deed was done the animals were quickly skinned and hidden.

  “Jack never liked cats. He said that in Japan, when clearing up after the American bombers, he noticed that cats, when trapped in confined spaces with their dead owners, would readily eat them, beginning at the face. Dogs preferred to starve. Cat and dog meat became very popular with the prisoners and all agreed cat was far tastier than dog.

  “It was clear that the whole of Japan was becoming short of everything; it was a common sight to see civilians searching for small amounts of coal amongst the debris. This shortage had a beneficial effect on the prisoners, as the guards could be bribed to turn a blind eye to the pilfering. These Japanese were terrified of directly stealing themselves; the Kempeitai treated all thieves with the same brutality.”

  After several months at Tateyama 8B, the prisoners were moved to different camps in Yokohama and Nagasaki. At these bigger camps the work was far more strenuous and the guards more brutal and watchful. It was here the men of Tateyama first came in to contact with the Australians. Many of the Diggers went about life with a total disregard to the strict rules set by their captors, despite constantly being caught red-handed. Some Americans were present and because of their far superior American Red Cross parcels were doing well in trading. Some Yanks were bribing the Japs in charge with cigarettes and food to avoid work. But it is fair to say every man had to do his best to survive; it is also fair to say the Americans and the Australians were able to buy and get drugs into camp for the seriously ill; this helped save the lives of hundreds of POWs.

  “It was important to learn the rudiments of Nippon Go and Jack soon became quite proficient. He also learned to ascertain the likes and dislikes of his captors. For example, it was important for tall men to make themselves look smaller by stooping; it was never wise to tower over the Jap bashing you. To fall down or make eye contact when being beaten or to make a noise was a mistake. Standing to attention and bowing correctly after the beating was very important etiquette. We had noticed this at Tada u when young Japanese soldiers were disciplined. The Japanese disliked prisoners with red hair, especially those who also had green eyes [not that they were fond of blue eyes either]. Jack had black hair and brown eyes. It was wise for a redhead to pretend to be simple-minded, for the Japanese were not comfortable dealing with prisoners who they believed were mentally unstable. A red-headed Scot in Jack’s team would place a piece of coal in his mouth and pretend to eat it, prior to a beating. This would often cause the Japanese soldier concerned to walk away.

  One day while working near the surface of the mine in Nagasaki, Jack and other prisoners felt a single tremor; earthquakes were not uncommon, and together with the guards, they rushed outside to see the damage. Jack did not go with them.”

  Early on the morning of August 1945 the B-29 super fortress piloted by Major Charles Sweeny took off from Tinian in the Marianas. Onboard was a plutonium bomb called “Fat Man”. The arsenal town of Kokura was the intended target but due to low cloud, the bomb was dropped on Nagasaki instead. Fat Man exploded five hundred metres above ground creating a force of twenty one kilotons of TNT and a searing heat wave of 7,000 degrees Fahrenheit followed. Not knowing exactly where the Sergeant was working in Nagasaki, it is hard to
say when the heat wave reached the guards and prisoners outside.

  The Sergeant for some reason remained in the gloom; perhaps he was too tired or perhaps the instinct to survive warned him to remain below ground: it saved his life. The white heat wave of the atom bomb followed shortly after the tremor. Faint shadows and small piles of human ash were all that remained of the men who had gone up into the sunshine. It would remain forever their cremation site in the Cherry Blossom Islands of Nippon.

  CHAPTER 28

  The RSM Returns

  BURMA

  One day in Maymyo I woke up to find my grandmother missing; she had deliberately left while I was sleeping. I frantically searched the whole house without success. Grandmother had left to seek out her other children. Unbeknownst to me, my mother had received Army mail: my father would be arriving that day.

  The Sergeant had been promoted to Regimental Sergeant Major of the Second Battalion Royal Scots. Mother was delighted that they would finally be reunited after all these traumatic years. Her prayers had been answered. I remained unimpressed. The word “father” meant little to me; I did not even understand the implications of it. I was brought up and looked after by two women who had loved and disciplined me: kisses and cuddles interspersed with good doses of the slipper and a sprinkling of Burmese swear words. I was happy with the situation.

  I was not impressed when the RSM arrived later that day, his face badly disfigured. I did not like him, especially when I learnt he intended to stay. Hearing stories about him in the third party was one thing, but vacating my mother’s bed for him was another; I had never slept alone before. My attitude to Father did not help our first meeting; I suppose it was natural for him to react to me negatively from then on. All the same, there were times that he tried, but the initial bond of father and son was missing. The birth of my cute sister Glenis later made up for this shortfall, and she was his pride and joy. Despite my mother’s best efforts, we never had a very strong relationship. His efforts to physically discipline me often caused friction between them.