Prisoners of War
On the 25th of February we were ordered to vacate St. Albert’s and the sick were sent to Bowen Road Hospital, while those who were almost well were taken by truck to the North Point Camp. On the way there we saw some of the damage caused during the fighting, and we had a fine view of the racecourse where hundreds of motor-cars and buses were parked, spoils of war but, owing to the shortage of petrol, of very little value to the enemy.
Driven by a cold north-east wind drizzling rain was falling when we pulled up outside the camp gates, and there we found that no one had authority for our entry. We waited for two hours, huddling together to gain warmth from one another, and then, with a broad grin upon his face, the camp commandant came waddling across the road, patting his stomach to let us know how well he had been fed. Soaked and frozen after the long wait in the rain we looked at him with eyes of hate, and every one of us would have relished battering his smug yellow face.
Nothing was taken from us during a brief search, and then we were “free” to enter camp.
What had happened? Who were these broken, spiritless, dirty, slovenly, unshaven, gaunt-looking spectres who stared at us with unfriendly, unwelcoming eyes? Could these be those same officers who had so recently looked so immaculate on the dance floor of the Hong Kong hotel? Two months had passed since the last guns boomed, and that scene of demoralisation made us wonder with trepidation what conditions in the camp could be. What forces had been at work to bring men so low in so short a time?
Shown to our respective huts we immediately saw one reason why new arrivals were not welcome. Conditions were terribly cramped. Bunks were arranged in double tiers at right angles to the walls, with a passageway down the middle of each hut. Huts were one hundred and twenty feet long by eighteen feet wide. Often groups of four tiers of bunks were jammed hard together, so that the men in the inside had to crawl over those on the outside to get in or out of bunk. One enterprising soul had escaped the general congestion by rigging a hammock up in the rafters.
Although the appearance of the men made such a deep impression at the time, we were to learn later that it was in the first few months of captivity, when systems were becoming adjusted to a totally altered and hopelessly inadequate diet, which morale in the prison camps was at its lowest ebb.
The dysentery hospital at North Point was a shocking reflection on our captors. That noisome place of healing was situated in a stone stable near the waterfront. The floor was of cobble stones, ventilation and light were provided by two very small windows and a small door, and the interior was always in deep gloom. Two four-gallon cans were the only conveniences provided. Four or five patients were always clustered about each of those inadequate receptacles, needing to use them at the same time, and the place reeked with the stench of ordure which ran among the cobbles and fouled the blankets of those men lying on the ground. It was a horrible place, and repeated requests were made for better hospital quarters. There were several large empty buildings just outside the camp which would have been suitable, but the Japanese cared nothing for our condition and every request was refused.
Lice and bugs began to breed rapidly, and the huts were so congested that it was impossible to keep them clean. At the same time a few of the troops were so careless of their own hygiene that compulsory bathing-parades had to be enforced. Cigarettes were almost unobtainable at times, and men sold all their belongings, including most of their clothing, in order to buy from the guards. One character, known as “Dirty Dick”, was finally reduced to a blanket in which he stalked about the camp. This individual’s most spectacular feat was to fall through a latrine floor into the outfall from the dysentery hospital, the only result being that he suffered a mild attack of typhoid fever. Anyone else would have died.
A damaged radio had been hidden in the North Point Camp, and that was later repaired and operated by Lieutenant Dixon, RNZNVR. When the camp commandant called for a volunteer to repair his radio, that was Dixon’s opportunity. Saying that he would have to have spare parts, he obtained permission to visit a factory. Dixon was a radio technician in civil life, and having reached the factory he went over the stock with the eyes of an expert, and secreted about his person everything that he thought might come in useful. The result of that expedition was that Dixon supplied us for more than a year with news bulletins direct from the BBC.
My own part in dealings with the radio at North Point was a very minor one, though one incident caused me some amusement. The set was to be hidden in a hole cut through the concrete floor of a hut occupied by Lieutenant-Commander Vernall, HKRNVR, and I was detailed to dispose of rubble from the excavation. It gave me rather a surprise one day to walk round the end of a hut into an assembly of Japanese officers and a cinematographer taking scenes within the camp. Of course they could have no suspicions of the contents of my bucket, but just imagine their reactions had they known the origin of that rubble.
Many parties and individuals were perfecting plans for escape, and mine were well advanced, for North Point Camp was on the waterfront and the fence along the seaward side presented no great obstacle. The main difficulty was the harbour crossing to Kowloon, for that would involve a swim of three miles or more, and a careful study of the tides. Flotation was essential for such an undertaking, and, using an electric soldering iron stolen from the factory, Dixon sealed for me a number of empty evaporated milk cans. These were inserted in a long bandolier made from gunny bags, and they fitted well in a harness round my chest and shoulders. A food pack was always kept in readiness, but the weather was still too cold for such a long swim, and my leg was not yet strong enough for the difficult walk that lay beyond. Then, before conditions were suitable, the Japanese stepped in and decided to empty the camp.
On the 18th of April 1942 most of the prisoners in the North Point Camp were transferred to Kowloon, the officers going to the Argyle Street Camp while most of the men remained at Shamsuipo. Any move from one camp to another was always the occasion for a thorough search, so transport of the radio presented a problem. Permission was obtained to take a large basket of vegetables, and the set was hidden inside. Unfortunately, in spite of the commandant’s permission the guard at the gate refused to let the vegetables pass, and the precious basket was returned to store without its contents being suspected. Nothing more could be done, so the radio was left in charge of Dutch naval personnel who were left behind at North Point. Later on they were successful in transferring it to Shamsuipo, where it gave good service until finally discovered by the Japanese.
The 18th of April proved to be a lucky day for me, for a trivial incident was important at a later date. My bulky bandolier of empty tins had been replaced by two “Mae West” life-jackets that had been bought for four packets of cigarettes, and those deflated jackets were concealed inside a pillow-case. A particularly poisonous runt of a corporal, when searching my belongings, took great delight in scattering everything on the ground. Even the smallest tins of oddments were emptied and the contents strewn about. When he couldn’t find anything suspicious he took away my combined groundsheet and cape, a loss that caused me many a wetting on subsequent parades. The last thing to be examined was my precious pillow, and as he stooped to pick it up I bent quickly, lifted it to the side of my head, closed my eyes and said “pillow”. Probably astonished at that performance the corporal grunted and passed on to his next victim, leaving me with a feeling of elation, for all my plans so far had envisaged long swims for which flotation was essential.
A small steamer took the party to Shamsuipo, and when we were all assembled at the camp, Colonel Esao Tokunaga, Commandant of all the PoW camps in Hong Kong, gave an exhibition of his swaggering arrogance which we were to come to know only too well. Combined with his natural obesity his manner earned for him the sobriquet of “The White Pig”. Spray flew from his mouth as he stamped and shouted, and he took particular pleasure in venting his foul temper on Commodore Collinson, RN, who was repeatedly pushed on the chest during the harangue. When it was all over the officers were sent to Argyle Street, and as we went we could see the Japanese stealing anything they fancied from the men’s kit.
It was almost dark when we reached camp, so we were subjected to only a cursory search before being sent into huts that were the barest one could imagine. There was absolutely nothing in them, there were just bare wooden walls from which every nail or peg had been removed, and bare concrete floors. We settled down to rest on the concrete after a most exhausting day. Our belongings consisted of what we had been able to carry, so although my load was modest because of my damaged leg, it was amazing to see the luggage with which some officers arrived. The previous occupants of the camp had departed with most of the rice “kongs”, cooking-pots shaped like deep saucers, so until new ones could be installed meals were even smaller than usual, and the hours at which they were served were erratic.
We had great difficulty at first in cutting enough wood to keep the fires going, for the only tools the Japanese would supply were one small frame-saw, one small hand-saw, and two meat choppers which certainly were never designed to be used on tough wood. That was the equipment with which we were supposed to cut firewood for a kitchen feeding five hundred and eighty men.
At a later date a two-handed saw was provided, and a number of heavy wedges mounted on handles took the place of axes. The angle of those wedges was so blunt that they would continually bounce off a piece of tough wood, and they caused a tremendous amount of aggravating toil that would have been avoided had one or two ordinary axes been supplied. That was one method of applying the mental torture which gave the Japanese such delight, just one of the petty annoyances to which we were subjected throughout our captivity.
Plans of escape were constantly under review. Sometimes alliances were half-formed, but those were always finally discarded because of my belief that a solo effort was the only one that had a reasonable chance of success. Only once was a partnership almost completed, when Brigadier Cedric Wallis of the headquarters staff suggested that we join forces. Our place and method of departure had been agreed, and our attempt was waiting upon suitable weather conditions when the Japanese again interfered. It was decreed that all officers of the rank of colonel and above should be sent to Formosa, and my partner was included in the draft. Before he left the Brigadier bequeathed me a tin of “Bemax”, a heart of wheat meal, and that formed a valuable item of food during my subsequent escape.
Many factors had to combine to make an attempt possible, not the least important being the physical and mental condition of the escaper. There were times when, even had outside factors been favourable, my own state was such that the requisite peak of tension could not have been reached. That could be attributed largely to poor diet, for though on the whole the health of the camp remained fairly good, judged by prison camp standards, there were times when dysentery, beriberi, pellagra and semi-blindness affected a high proportion of the inmates. Even when not suffering from any apparent illness, prisoners’ nerves were severely strained, and that too was an important factor. Still, the psychological moment was bound to come, and for that moment a number of prisoners waited and watched.
The constant nervous strain under which we lived caused normally rational beings to behave in curious ways. One lieutenant-commander, Royal Navy, had a number of small tins of food secreted in various parts of his hut, and every hour or two, when he thought no one was looking, he would take one down and with surreptitious ceremony extract a few grains of rice or a pinch of something else from his precious store.
One amusing feature was that strong animosities developed for no reason at all. A friend of mine was standing at the side of the parade ground one day, with clenched fists and a very belligerent expression on his face. He was muttering and swearing and making a show of really vile temper, and when asked what the trouble was he said, “Look at that blank blank blank”, indicating an officer walking near the opposite fence. “I’d like to punch his blank face”. I discovered that the object of all that disturbance was completely oblivious of my friend’s feelings, for the two lived at opposite ends of the camp and they had never had any contact. The only reason given for those feelings was, “I just don’t like the look of the bastard”.
On another occasion an RNR lieutenant took a dislike to someone, and his hatred rose to such a pitch that one afternoon he hit a man a violent blow on the jaw. Unfortunately the hate was so much a figment of imagination that the hater was not even certain of the man to whom his feelings were addressed, and he hit the wrong one.
Apart from those occasional little outbursts the temper of the camp was remarkably good, and there were plenty of amusing incidents to cheer us up. We had Lieutenant “Nobby” Clark, RNR, who was a famous raconteur of stories. One day he delivered the “Magic Touch”, when he discovered that he could cure headaches by the laying-on of hands. This developed into quite a business, and a string of satisfied clients went away, vowing that their headaches had been miraculously cured in a few minutes. “Nobby” was painfully thin, his ragged clothes hung dismally on his gaunt frame, and when half an inch of stubble adorned his face he was a far from handsome sight. However, he developed a perfect bedside manner and a smooth patter which amused his hut-mates immensely, and his clientele grew rapidly. One day Lieutenant McNair, RNR, advised him to commercialise his talents.
“Look here Nobby”, said Mac, “these majors and colonels have a lot more pay than you do, why don’t you charge them a tin of herrings or some peanut oil when they come to be cured? Let me be your manager and we should make a good thing out of it.”
“Nobby” was horrified, and turning a withering eye on his would-be partner he said in a most pious voice, “Mac, I couldn’t do it. How could I prostitute God’s gift in such a way?”
A roar of laughter followed that serious pronouncement, for it would be hard to imagine anything that looked less like a disciple of the Lord than “Nobby”.
Then we had Lieutenant “Barney” Crowley, RE, who traded gold to the sentries. Where did he get the gold? That was easy. Barney went round the camp telling jokes. When his hearers were laughing heartily “Barney” could be seen peering into their mouths to see if they held any gold fillings. When he found what he wanted he would go to work on his victims until he persuaded them that they were practically criminals to be hoarding so much gold that could be translated into essential food. The conclusion of these efforts would often be long delayed, depending on the fortitude of the owner and the quality of his dentist’s work, but sooner or later the deal would be completed.
We had a good laugh one day when a sentry took a dislike to Lieutenant Hutton-Potts, HKRNVR. The trouble started when he was out with a gardening party, and after they were dismissed the sentry came into camp looking for his victim. Potts was warned, and he jumped out the window of his hut as the sentry went in at the door. Then began a steeplechase, Potts going in and out through hut windows with the sentry after him. Everyone who could joined in to help Potts and delay the sentry, and the hunt was still on when he had to return to duty. When that spell was ended, back into camp he came, but he was beaten. In the meantime Potts had shaved off a big black beard that he had been cultivating, and the irate sentry looked straight at him without a spark of recognition.
One afternoon we of the RNVR had some very anxious moments. Twelve of us were living in a room partitioned off at one end of a hut, and there Dixon used to work on a new radio he was making. Whenever work was in progress our own men were placed to give warning of sentries entering the camp, but on this occasion the precaution had broken down because a sentry already inside a hut had not been noticed. The set was on the floor between Dixon’s bunk and mine, and he was standing at the window filing some small part. Suddenly a shadow fell upon his work, and there was a Japanese standing facing him. Dixon went on filing, while the sentry, who knew few words of English, began to talk. The rest of us were stretched out either reading or dozing, and we froze to our bunks, almost painfully aware that the wireless was in full view of the intruder, and to our racing imaginations it assumed exaggerated proportions. After talking for a few minutes the sentry wandered off without asking what was being made, and without realising that he had been looking at a radio. We thanked our stars for the intelligence of our guards.
That wireless, in the making of which Dixon was ably assisted by Lieutenant Chown, RNVR, and Lieutenant Scott-Lindsley, RNVR, was a masterpiece of ingenuity, and when completed it kept us supplied with BBC news for several months. Then, one memorable morning in September 1943, while we were at morning muster, a large party of Japanese drove into the camp. With extra guards around us we were kept on the parade ground from 9 a.m. until 1.30 p.m., while a working-party went through the huts from end to end and from roof to floor. As they worked an amazing pile of electric wiring and gadgets grew up near the guardhouse. One wondered how on earth so much could have been smuggled into the camp, for there were hundreds of feet of wire and dozens of home-made water heaters. Only Dixon and one or two others knew that tragedy was in the air, for on that day the radio was in need of adjustment and it had not been returned to its usual hiding-place.
The set fitted into a five-gallon can that was usually kept in a hole beneath a small flower garden. That hiding-place had been brilliantly conceived by Dixon, and had the radio been there at the time its security would have been assured. The hole was covered by a wooden lid, on top of which was a brick border, and six inches of earth in which flowers were growing. The lid was hinged on one side, and on the other there were thin flexible wire handles. The whole garden swung up to allow the can to be lowered into position, and when it was down again the wire handles were tucked in, and loose earth was scraped back against the brick border. Except for those who knew, there was not a person in camp who suspected that Dixon’s flower garden was anything more than it appeared to be.
If for any reason the set was out of the hole in the daytime, a tray of rice was fitted into the can above the set, and all that one saw was a perfectly innocent looking can of rice. That was what confronted the Japanese during their search. A sick officer lying in bunk saw five searchers lift the can to examine it, and not one had any suspicions. Then one clumsy oaf tripped and knocked it over in trying to recover his balance, and the tray was dislodged.
That was the end of Dixon’s tireless and fearless efforts to outwit the Japanese, a task to which he had been devoted ever since that day, in March 1942, when he had stolen the necessary tools and equipment from the factory in Hong Kong.
The sequel to that discovery was that several officers were arrested and tortured. Dixon was given severe water torture, and together with Commander Craven, RN, Lieutenant-Commander Young, RN, and Major Boxer, he spent the remainder of the war years in prison. Luckily all survived, though when Hong Kong was relieved in August 1945 they were all in a bad way, and Dixon in particular was in a very low state through the ravages of dysentery, fever and beriberi.
After that raid the Argyle Street Camp was without any direct contact with the outside world. During the previous month, August 1943, the Japanese had broken up a complete network of land communications through which all camps were in touch with one another, and through which messages could be sent to, and received from, Army Headquarters in New Delhi. The ration trucks were the medium used to convey messages in and out of camp, and when the ring was broken the drivers were executed. More than thirty persons paid the extreme penalty for participation in that network, among them Colonel Lanceray Newnham from Argyle Street Camp. Everyone with whom he had been associated mourned the loss of a brave and gentlemanly soldier.
Thereafter continuous contact with the outside world was never again established, though occasional messages were received at Shamsuipo Camp from Indian troops who were employed as guards by the Japanese.