Digger’s Story: Surviving the Japanese POW camps was just the beginning

by David

  During this procedure, the four gravediggers were ordered into the grave so that they were mostly out of sight; Takeo Harada was required to stand to attention. At these times, the Australians generally talked quietly amongst themselves about what was happening, enjoying the short rest.

  Five minutes after the ceremony, Digger would ask Takeo if it was okay to eat the sweet rice cakes that had been left for the gods or the romusha spirits or whoever. Takeo would signal assent, and he and the gravediggers would then share the sweet treats.

  On another occasion a very scrawny dog, so scrawny that no one had bothered about claiming it for the pot, wandered too close to the gravediggers. They promptly bumped it on the head and threw it into the pit with the bodies. They hated reburying bodies that dogs had dug up in the night. Unfortunately, two Japanese officers arrived and went mad when they saw the body of the dog in with the romusha.

  ‘Demi dana, gura gura!’ they yelled at Digger, who was in the grave, packing the bodies. Digger knew immediately that they wanted the dog’s body out of the grave, so he threw it up to the others.

  The actions of the Japanese – making offerings at the shrine and worrying about the dog in with the bodies – were difficult to reconcile with the way that they treated the romusha in life. But the gravediggers gave it little thought. Gruesome as the burial process was, like all routines it got easier as their skills increased.

  Rations at the No. 2 Coolie Hospital were particularly poor. Breakfast consisted of rice pap – a sloppy porridge consistency. Lunch brought more rice and the day’s vegetable ration in a watery stew. Dinner was rice alone.3

  If the food had been adequate to keep the men in reasonable health, they might have survived without resorting to trading or stealing. As it was, Digger knew that they had to have additional medicines and nourishment. Everyone was always ravenously hungry. Rice and vegetables were in very short supply, and meat or fish were almost unheard of.

  The pap that they ate in the mornings invariably had weevils and even maggots in it, but the consistency was such that they could not be easily picked out. But so great was the men’s hunger that it all went down the same way. Knowing the benefits of protein, they never complained.

  All the POWs were also subject to bouts of diarrhoea and, at times, to what they suspected was amoebic dysentery. They all suffered from malaria, and they all got the occasional tropical ulcer. In general, the Filthy Seven managed to escape the worst of the nutritional diseases – such as beriberi – because they were aware of how to avoid it. They chewed on grasses, ate specific leaves and fruits, such as the wild passionfruit that grew in many places.

  Above all, they never reported sick. If one member of their group was sick, the others took on most of the workload until he recovered. Officially reporting as sick was always regarded as a last resort, because camp policy was that the sick were only entitled to half their usual rations, making recovery all the harder.

  Digger still had his own small supplies of M&B 693, quinine and iodiform, but he and his mates were gradually using them up. They were always asking questions, listening to the talk around the camp, getting useful information from some of the guards – anything that might help them acquire extra food and drugs. Trading with the locals was strictly forbidden. A severe beating would be the minimum punishment, and it could even cost you your life. If somehow the POWs did have money, they could buy food at the store camp, which was owned by Major Buto, one of the Japanese commanders.

  After being at the No. 2 Coolie Hospital for about a month, Digger heard about Boon Pong, a Siamese trader who traded at camps along the railway. Boon Pong was apparently eager to do business with those at the No. 2 Coolie Hospital.

  I can’t remember exactly how I first met Boon Pong, but he likely knew or made himself aware of our routine of burying the romusha. What I do know is that in no time at all he and I were great mates. It’s no exaggeration to say that my meeting that man probably saved the lives of the Filthy Seven and many more in our camp. He and I would meet at least once a week. We always arranged our next meeting but he knew that if I didn’t turn up then it wouldn’t be my fault.

  Boon Pong could get just about anything we asked for – quinine, M&B 693 and iodoform. I used watches, fountain pens and cigarette cases to trade with him. Boon Pong would also exchange money for us – Australian pounds, Dutch guilders or American dollars for the local Thai tical – so that we could buy food from other locals.

  This was very risky work. It was dangerous for Boon Pong and very dangerous for me also, so both of us made money from it. I charged a commission on the trades I did for everyone in the camp, except for those in my own group.

  I needed the help of my gravedigging mates to organise the meetings. We would be busy digging the graves but also listening for a special bird call from the nearby jungle – the signal that Boon Pong was there waiting for me. I would then ask permission from Takeo to go to relieve myself: ‘Benjo-e?’ Takeo would always just say, ‘Benjo-ka?’, and I would take off into the jungle.

  The other workers would carry on digging but would be ready to signal with a special noise if the coast was no longer clear – if an officer or more guards arrived, for example. I was pretty sure that Takeo knew what I was up to but I never took it for granted.

  One morning, when Boon Pong brought a cup of coffee to their meeting, Digger decided to test Takeo’s attitude. Coffee was completely unknown in the camp, and this coffee also had sugar in it. On returning to the gravesite, Digger asked Takeo whether it would be all right if, by some strange power, he was able to drink some coffee. Takeo signalled okay, and Digger bent down and recovered the coffee from behind a nearby rock.

  ‘Ah, magic!’ said Takeo, smiling as Digger shared his coffee with his mates.

  Over the months, this unspoken agreement developed into a reliable business. On many occasions Takeo was not the only guard in the vicinity, and there were sometimes even Japanese officers, but Digger and his mates believed that these risks had to be taken if they were to survive.

  Despite all the hardships, life was still very much worth living. Trading enabled the Filthy Seven to acquire supplies of food and medicine that allowed a standard of living that was just a notch above survival. They could treat their malaria, arrest the growth of tropical ulcers and eat the occasional duck egg.

  ‘What more could one ask for?’ Vic Kearns would say, as they added a little extra tow gay (mung beans) to their evening rice.

  Yabba and Digger were also involved in other food-stealing ventures. Digger knew that if there was one thing they could rely on the Japanese for, it was that they abided by a strict routine. The morning parade was held at exactly the same time each day, and the sequence of events during the parade never changed. The POWs lined up in front of their huts and the storage area and faced the Japanese flag. The guards would initially face the POWs, with their backs to the flag.

  The first activity was for the POWs to number off in Japanese – ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku and so on. Woe betide the man who failed to learn his number and shout it out at the right time. This might be followed by an announcement from the IJA. Generally it would be about how badly the war was going for the Allies or some such nonsense.

  For the final part of the parade, the Japanese turned to face the flag. With their backs to the POWs, they said their morning prayers and incantations to the Emperor. Yabba and Digger worked out that this took exactly five and a half minutes. At the end of this ceremony, the soldiers and POWs alike would be dismissed. The Japanese would usually move away from the area, and the POWs would have about fifteen minutes to gather their tools and assemble in their work groups.

  And so, after very careful preparation, Yabba and Digger and their mates went into action. They determined to steal what they could during the five and a half minutes in which the guards were making their prayers to the Emperor. First, they made sure they were in the right position within the ranks of POWs. They learned the proper rank numbers,
as did those who had volunteered to swap places with them, and then spent at least two mornings conducting dry runs.

  Once they decided to act for real, Yabba and Digger stole food such as tow gay and cooking oil from the storage rooms. They would return to the ranks with their haul, and on dismissal others would crowd around as they carried the food into their hut. They were very careful to steal amounts that were likely to go unnoticed. They continued stealing during the rest of their stay at Kanchanaburi, and to their knowledge they were never even suspected.

  Another enterprise organised by Yabba and Digger did not go so well. Major Buto owned the camp canteen. The POWs had long suspected that he kept their rations short so that he could be sure of selling food from his canteen. The officer POWs earned up to fifty ticals a month but the privates received just five ticals, of which a certain proportion was deducted for accommodation and rations. No wages were paid if a man was sick.4

  Major Buto sold the same goods that were supposed to be available as regular rations: rice, vegetables, tow gay, dried fish, tobacco, eggs and so on. Yabba, Digger and the rest of the Filthy Seven had no qualms about stealing from his canteen. As with the store, they figured that taking small amounts would be the way to go.

  They knew they could get into the canteen easily enough. There were no locks on any of the buildings because none of the buildings were built to be secure. Whether it was intentional or not, the lack of food, the overwork and the disease combined to have a debilitating effect on most prisoners. This, together with the fear of the consequences, was more than enough to protect the canteen.

  While many POWs took no risks if they could avoid it, Digger and the Filthy Seven did. They knew that life was miserable if you gave in and toed the line, so they devoted themselves to beating the system. They talked about this all the time, and they fantasised about the forms that their revenge would take. Stealing was just part of the survival plan. It kept them busy and alive, and it was one more way they could get one over on the Japanese.

  On a very dark night, they went ahead with the raid on the canteen. They knew what they would steal – a small amount of dried fish and a small parcel of local tobacco – and they were familiar with the layout of the canteen. They believed they could be in and out within a minute.

  It was easy getting to the canteen in the dark. We had practised walking there during the day with our eyes shut. And getting into the canteen was no bother either – we just opened the door, very quietly. But then we got the fright of our lives. All I heard was a quiet ‘Fuck!’ from Yabba, immediately followed by grunting and a struggle – but not loud. Then I heard what I later found out was the Korean guard’s rubber boot drumming on the hard earthen floor as he died with Yabba’s hands around his throat. Yabba had walked straight into him sleeping in a chair. He was probably strangling the poor bugger before he was even awake.

  We knew immediately that the only way out of this predicament was to burn down the canteen. I hated this because it was not what we had planned. I had failed in the planning and should have known about the guard.

  We quickly helped ourselves to a bit of tobacco. I knew where the lamp usually hung and used its kerosene to soak a pile of dry bamboo leaves taken from the roof, which I set against the bamboo wall. I lit it and we quickly got out of the building. I also checked that the guard was dead. If he had suddenly come to life then we’d be dead, of course.

  By the time Digger and Yabba reached their hut, the building was well alight. No one had yet raised the alarm.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Mick when he heard them returning.

  ‘Not good – tell you tomorrow,’ Digger replied. ‘Just shut up and sleep.’

  Mick knew to say no more and they all pretended to sleep. Digger could now hear the alarm being raised.

  Luckily, the Japanese believed that the guard had fallen asleep while smoking. The canteen was rebuilt and operating again within two days, but Digger and Yabba decided that they would not steal from it again.

  The Filthy Seven also did what they could to get additional protein. They soon learned that an excellent source of this were the local rats. But there was competition for them, of course, so – like the snakes in the Changi swamp – they became quite scarce.

  Rats were very easy to cook. You simply threw the dead rat into the dying embers of the evening fire for a few minutes; being small, they would be cooked in no time at all. They could then be opened up along the belly, and the gut would come out in one piece, leaving the tender white flesh intact. This was shared out between members of the group.

  One-seventh of a rat was not a large portion but it was always appreciated. As Vic Kearns never tired of saying, ‘it all goes to make a turd’. Food and eating was such an important part of their lives that there was a spate of turd jokes that went around the No. 2 Coolie Hospital, such as:

  Officer: ‘What’s your most important job today soldier?’

  Soldier: ‘To build a turd, sir!’

  Officer: ‘Correct! And remember, soldier, a turd a day is the healthy way.’

  Vic Kearns created these jokes mostly because he was a natural comedian, but they also boosted the men’s morale and delivered an important health message.

  There were so few opportunities to get any meat that when two Japanese officers came and asked a small group, including Digger, whether there was anyone who knew how to butcher a pig, Digger immediately saw the possibilities. No one said anything initially so Digger volunteered for the job, even though he had never butchered anything bigger than a rabbit.

  That night, all the talk amongst the Filthy Seven was about butchering pigs. Mick, who was a country boy from Queensland, actually knew a bit about it and taught Digger the theory. Dave Powrie, the camp cook, was also brought in on the discussion.

  A few Japanese arrived the next day with a pig that weighed around seventy kilograms. Digger, Mick, Dave and a few others were ready. With great difficulty, they hung the pig from a roof strut and cut its throat. They tried to catch the blood in a large kwali – a very large cast-iron cooking pot – knowing how nutritious it would be, and soon they were covered in it. Under Mick’s supervision, the carcase was then lowered down and plunged into a large kwali of very hot water, before it was slung up again and all the hair was scraped off.

  They gutted the pig, and Digger persuaded the officers, who were watching closely, to allow him to keep the offal. Before the officers realised it, Dave and a couple of helpers whisked the liver, kidneys, lungs and all the other bits and pieces to the POWs’ kitchen. They then laid the carcase on clean banana leaves and the proper butchery began.

  Digger persuaded the officers that they would not require the trotters or the head, and Mick quickly cut them off and handed them to Dave, who took them away quickly. Digger and Mick had earlier agreed where the trotter ended and the shoulder leg meat began, and they made sure that they would have the best of the bargain.

  The pig was then cut up into reasonably sized joints of pork, and the Japanese officers left with about twenty banana-leaf parcels. Yet their basket looked very small, given that the pig had originally been all of seventy kilograms. All the POWs enjoyed pork that night, and brawn made from the head the following night. Each man had very little each, of course, but it was the tastiest their evening rice had been for a long time.

  On some occasions, Digger managed to acquire the duty of going to the IJA command post in Kanchanaburi village to collect supplies for the camp. He rode in the back of the truck with another POW while two Japanese officers and the driver rode in the front.

  There was a permanent arrangement between the POWs on this duty and Dave Powrie that, if possible, anything that could be stolen would be thrown from the truck at a particular spot. Few were prepared to steal, however, because of the risks involved. Digger was always up for such activity. The goods brought back to camp were checked on arrival; for example, the number of sacks of jointed meat had to be the same at the delivery point as they were at the l
oading point. Any discrepancy would cost all those concerned very dearly indeed. However, it was known that only very rarely were the sacks weighed or the joints of meat counted.

  Once, on the return journey from Kanchanaburi, conditions were very favourable for the acquisition of at least one large joint of meat. The Japanese had picked up a young Tamil girl in the village, and she was riding back to camp – in the cab, of course. The officers and even the driver spent the entire journey flirting with her. This allowed Digger time to get into one of the sacks containing the meat and select a reasonably sized joint.

  When the truck approached the arranged spot, he could see Dave Powrie waiting for the delivery. With a quick check to see that the girl still had the full attention of those in the cab, he heaved the lump of meat towards Dave. He caught it full in the chest, and the impetus knocked him backwards. Digger’s impression, as the truck flew past, was of Dave on his back – but he was still holding fast to the meat.

  Mostly, the relationships between the POWs at the No. 2 Coolie Hospital were good. But just occasionally an individual would get up someone’s nose and an argument would result or a few punches would be thrown. Some of the British officers in L Force were a constant source of annoyance to the Australian ORs.

  One in particular, Captain W. B. Young, tried very hard to get the Australian ORs to behave towards him as the British ORs did, saluting and standing to attention when addressing him and so on. The Australian ORs called this ‘Pommy officer idiocy’. Most of the British officers had the sense to accept the attitude of the Australian ORs and so relationships were generally reasonable, but Captain Young just would not or could not.

  The situation got so annoying that, one evening, the Filthy Seven drew straws over who should take Captain Young aside to teach him some manners. Yabba drew the short straw. The next day, Yabba was able to get Captain Young on his own. No one found out exactly what happened, but Captain Young had a black eye the next time he was seen. As Vic Kearns remarked, it was like he’d been born again.