HITHERTO, we had ruled out escape in mid-winter; for in the two earlier winters of the war, prisoners had been too weak to survive exposure in an open boat or the rigours of a prolonged cross-country journey. We now had a plan which dispensed with the latter; and the doctors felt that some of us were sufficiently fit to risk the former. The plan was to escape in February along the frozen surface of the Yalu River to the sea. It was certainly feasible in white clothing on the snow-covered ice for any small party of men determined to succeed. The first two pairs amongst the British began to prepare: Peter, a young subaltern of the Rifles, and Tom, who had commanded a platoon in our D Company, Sid and I. At the same time, Guy heard through his liaison with the Americans that the Air Force Colonel Mac and Harry, an infantry major, were planning to go about the same time. It was agreed that we should all try to make our escape from the compound on the same night; for if one party went several nights ahead of another, the guards, who did not expect a break in this bitter weather, would be alerted and a second escape would thus be far more difficult. We all had to escape with fairly large loads because we needed food more than ever in these low temperatures, and escaping from this compound with such a bundle would be exceptionally difficult if the sentries were alert and at full strength.
There were many anxious moments. Mr. Hobbs had procured us beans from the cook-house previously, and Donald—now a cook— had supplemented these with other items. Sergeant-Major Askew, of Franke’s Mortar Troop, had stolen meat for us. Sid was parching the dried beans over a kang fire behind the huts one morning when one of the Chinese compound staff appeared—an unpleasant man we called Clem. Something had gone wrong with the warning system and I saw the blood ebb from Sid’s face as he threw the beans far into the back of the fire and pretended to be heating up some potato soup saved from breakfast. Clem was looking in all the fixe boxes as he came along; he paused and looked in the one where Sid was sitting. I thought he was never going on but, at last, he seemed satisfied and walked away. The days passed as we slowly assembled the various items of kit that we needed. Duggie, the 8th Hussars Doctor, and Bob, checked on the food value of each item we intended to carry in our rations and warned us that we should be existing on an absolute minimum diet.
Colonel Mac very kindly offered us the first place in the order of escape. Tom drew cards with me to see who should go out first: he won. That night we dressed in our kit and prepared to break out as soon as possible after dark. But, to our annoyance, the guards seemed unusually alert, and the compound staff were inside the compound in strength, shining their torches around the square whilst the sentries did likewise behind the buildings. We decided that it would be better to postpone the attempt for twenty-four hours, expecting that the state of alertness would diminish.
On the following night, the first two pairs got dressed again; Colonel Mac and Harry got ready to pull their kit out of hiding as soon as they had the signal that Tom and Peter had gone and we were in process of going. But we got no further than that. Two members of the compound staff came straight up to Peter and picked him up with all his kit on him, arresting Tom in the same way a few minutes later while he was actually in his room. Then they began looking about for more of us. I had barely stripped myself of my foodpack and handed it to Sergeant-Major Strong for disposal before Yang came up to me and shone his torch all over my clothing. Plainly I had no pack or bundle on me and he went off unhappily, muttering rude Chinese words, looking for Sid, who had just managed to get rid of his kit also.
We had just recently started to have gramophone concerts of classical music—another result of the increased allowance for prisoners. That particular night in late February, one of these concerts was in progress. Sergeant-Major Strong and Anthony sat listening to Tchaikowsky in apparent rapture as they dispersed the contents of a large pack of concentrated food. Fortunately, we were able to wam Colonel Mac and Harry in time to stop them from getting out their kit from its hiding-place.
As we went to bed that night, heavy-hearted at our failure and at the arrest of Tom and Peter, one thing became abundantly clear. Someone in the compound was acting as informer for the enemy— a suspicion we had formed long ago. Only a fellow-captive could have told the Chinese who was taking part in the escape, and when. Either through fear or malice, someone had told them what he knew, and they had thus been able to come straight into the compound, pick up Peter and Tom, and check the remaining four. Someone had signalled to our enemies that two men had got dressed for an escape while Sid and I were actually in the process of dressing. We retired to our kangs with bitter hearts.
Nothing happened for four days. Peter and Tom, who had been held in arrest near the Company Headquarters for the first night, were removed to the village. On the fourth day after their arrest, Chen Chung Hwei arrived at the Company Headquarters and sent for me. He informed me that he had positive information that I was one of those responsible for putting Peter and Tom up to an escape—they had actually planned it themselves—and that I had plans to escape myself If I confessed now, I would save myself a great deal of bother and retain my freedom within the compound. If not.… He cannot have been very sure of his ground for, after haranguing me for half an hour, during which I declined to speak, he gave me twenty-four hours to think the alternative over, reminding me that I had received a warning twice before about breaking the regulations, and that I had already served a jail sentence for escaping. I thanked Heaven that their records were so bad that they knew nothing about my other escapes, and went back to the compound. I had an uneasy feeling that he was not bluffing; and I disposed of the more precious articles of my kit with Mr. Hobbs and Sergeant-Major Baker.
Twenty-four hours passed and I remained in possession of my limited liberty. On the following evening, Yang came down to my room after supper and told me to pack my kit. It was the 1st of March and the day had been bright and comparatively warm. However, the evening sky was filled with thick, grey clouds, and the temperature seemed to be dropping. As I left my room, carrying my bedding, eating bowk and spare clothing, an American major called out:
“Never mind! It’s better to go to jail when the winter’s over. You’ve managed to stay loose until the spring.”
I was to remember his words later on that night.
After eight hours examination during the night, I was allowed to leave my examiners to get some rest—I thought. Chen had left us after two or three hours, handing over to a tall Chinese with an irritable face and spectacles in yellow-tinted frames. His name was Kung.
Kung followed me out on to the road and passed a remark to the guard commander who had joined us as soon as I left the house. We went back to the newly prepared cell-block (now on the south side of the road) and I expected to be put into the cell where I had stowed my kit on coming back into Pyn-Chong-ni, but I was mistaken. I was taken to an outhouse at the end of the cell block, stripped of my padded jacket, pushed inside, and locked in. I was uncomfortably aware that it had been snowing for several hours and that the temperature was well below freezing point. The outhouse was filled with old pieces of timber and a few agricultural implements but it had nothing to keep me warm. I took a certain amount of exercise but dared not sweat too much in case the moisture froze. If that happened, I should have frostbite before morning. I spent an extremely uncomfortable night, being unable to sleep because of the cold; my whole body ached with it. When the dawn came, I saw with dismay that it was still snowing.
I was not given breakfast that morning—but that might have been as much due to administrative inefficiency as malice on the part of Kung; I had been forgotten before in this way whilst in prison. An evening meal arrived just before dusk. Shortly after, Kung arrived to ask me if I had changed my mind about making a confession. I had not, and he went away without further comment. My second night was even more miserable than the first: I could not stop shivering; at times, my whole body shook uncontrollably. In the light of morning, I discovered that my fingers were blue and badly swollen: my numbed feet were in an even worse condition. I realized that I was already in the throes of cold shock.
In order to draw some attention to my condition, I refused breakfast when it came; and I refused the evening meal Evidently the guard commander reported this, for Kung appeared again at dusk, to ask what was the matter with me. I showed him my fingers. He grunted, said nothing, and went away. The sentry on duty closed the door and my heart sank: I feared that I had not been successful. At this stage of our captivity, with our names released as prisoners, I had been sure that they would not carry the cold-treatment to such extremes as the loss of limbs from frostbite. I had believed that they would stop when the danger point was reached. I had become finally convinced of my error when the door was reopened and a medical orderly came in—a decent little chap whom Tony and Sid had named “Dolly”. He took my temperature, examined my fingers and one of my feet by torchlight, and then went out again. Ten minutes later, he returned with a vile-tasting draught of medicine and instructions to move me elsewhere.
One never knew what to expect from the Chinese. I was placed in a room with a heated floor, so hot that I had to place most of my clothes underneath me in order to lie down in reasonable comfort. On the following morning, I wakened from a sound sleep to find that my shirt had a huge scorch mark on it!
My new circumstances were vastly improved. Firstly, Kung did not reappear—he had evidently had to report failure of his measures and did not want to lose more face. Secondly, some items of my kit were returned to me. Though I was not permitted tobacco, of course, I was given my pencil, but no paper of any sort. The fire was kept going under the floor for several days while the extreme cold lasted and, for two days, I continued to receive my draughts of medicine twice daily. My two daily meals were served to me regularly and, generally, fairly hot. Although they were Chinese-cooked and very monotonous, they kept my strength up. I did physical training exercises daily when the sentry was not watching.
One morning after I had been in jail a week, I went out rather earlier than usual to the latrine. To my surprise and pleasure, the first person I saw, walking up and down nearby, was Denis, who appeared to have reasonable liberty within the limits of the courtyard of the house in which he was kept. He was taking exercise, one end of his beat bringing him close to the crazy-walled latrine I was visiting. As the sentry was standing some yards away, throwing stones into the stream below us, I risked giving Denis a quiet hail which, by good fortune, he heard. In this way, we established first contact—later devising means of communicating more fully with one another, though we came near to discovery on several occasions. Denis was able to come outside whenever he wished, during daylight, but my visits to the latrine were at uncertain times—sometimes only once, sometimes not at all in a day, according to the whim of the guard.
Gradually, I pieced together what had happened to him. At the end of his six months sentence, he was visited by an unknown Chinese who reminded him that his sentence had expired, declaring:
“Although you have not fully recognised your errors, the Camp Headquarters believes that, inwardly, you are sorry for your mistake. As a result, your sentence in prison is over.”
Denis began to think of getting his belongings together to move back to the compound.
“Fine,” he said. “When shall I be leaving?”
“Your sentence is over,” said the Chinese visitor. “You stay here.”
So the same prison life had continued for Denis for another five months in exactly the same way except that, just before Christmas 1952, he had been moved here from the lonely hut he had occupied on a hillside just above the village containing the annexe to the Camp.
Now, it seemed, he was receiving visits from Big Chu who was trying to persuade him to sign a document that he would “cooperate” with the Camp Headquarters if they returned him to one or other of the compounds—by which they meant him act as informer for them on activities in the Camp. How they had underestimated Denis! It was a great comfort to have him close by.
I spent considerable time in observing the world through a hole in the wall. Whenever the sentry was otherwise occupied, I watched the Chinese as they passed each day, noticing changes in various appointments and routines, changes in accommodation, since I was last in solitary confinement.
Three things remained exactly as before: the morning and afternoon lessons when the soldiers of the guard company continued their reading and writing exercises: the daily hour of military training which was so badly done that I almost broke out on several occasions to show them how the instruction should be put over; and the daily “hate-and-love” meeting—always timed for the last hour of daylight. All the soldiers would assemble in the courtyard opposite to sing their Marxist songs—“The East shines Red”, perhaps, or “The Chinese Volunteers cross the Yalu River”—or to practise a new one just arrived from General Headquarters. In between, there would be lectures in which one could distinguish the words “Mao-Tse-Tung”, “Stalin”, “Chou En-Lai”, “Lenin”, and other Communist leaders. The bright boys in the audience would clap loudly whenever these names were mentioned, sometimes rising to their feet and indicating to their fellows that they should do likewise. But other speeches would contain the names “Mi-goor”, “Li-gee-way” (Ridgeway), Too-loo man (Truman). The love was changed to hate, cartoons of the hated faces might be displayed, fists would be shaken by the leaders and the soldiers would be pressed to imitate this action. The meeting often ended with a song about the international brotherhood of men.
If the Chinese were consistent in nothing else, they were in their attempts to maintain order within the compounds. By the early spring of 1953, a clear procedural pattern had emerged; a pattern that bore strong resemblance to the procedure used in disposing of political offenders in the countries behind the Iron Curtain.
When any individual or group within a compound had too great an influence; or when they were suspected of being involved in some breach of the regulations, those concerned were placed in solitary confinement. Two main factors influenced the speed and measures adopted to settle these cases: the importance of the case, and how full the cells were at the time ! If there was plenty of room, and it was merely desired to keep the individual from the compound for a long period, he might not be examined for weeks or even months. If the case was really important and a “confession” desired for some special use, the examination would be set in hand without delay. If “confessions” were not obtained by stratagem— as with our Colonel—or by pressure, after a reasonable time, again the prisoner would almost certainly languish for many weeks, often months, without any attempt being made to arrange a trial. For the principle in all cases was the same: a prisoner was never released from the jail until he had made a confession of one sort or another; a trial was never held, sentence was never imposed, unless a plea of guilty to some charge—any charge—had been submitted. In this way, the Camp Headquarters could always justify their arrest.
My case was not exceptionally serious. The Chinese suspected that I had been engaged in escape activities; indeed, they had a certain amount of evidence that this was so, but it was evidence of a very limited nature and they could not reveal the source. Having failed to extract a confession from me, I was left for several weeks without further examination as a punishment for my lack of cooperation. When my case was taken up again, sufficient time had elapsed for them to try a different angle without losing face.
It was Chen Chung Hwei who finally came to see me, wearing an oily smile and avoiding any mention of my offences or of my confinement in the outhouse. As soon as he spoke, I knew that he had been sent to obtain some sort of confession. I waited to see if he was about to offer a bargain that I could accept.
“You arc a very foolish man,” said Chen Chung Hwei, as if chiding me for betting on the last horse in the race. “I think you are tired of being separated from your friends.”
I agreed that I would like to sec my friends again. Chen nodded.
“Now, I think you have broken the Camp regulations on several occasions?”
I made no comment, waiting for the proposal.
“For instance, you have appeared late on the morning roll-call four times. And you have sometimes been on the roll-call improperly dressed—not wearing your hat.”
This was the bargain: I was ready to come to terms for my freedom. On the following day, I signed a statement that I had broken the regulations relating to roll-call and that I would try not to break them again. With a smile, Chen pocketed the documents.
“I will ask the Camp Commander to refer your case to your Company Headquarters for punishment,” he said. “I think you may be released now that you have recognized your mistakes.”
I was released on Easter Saturday. On Sunday, with great joy, I saw Denis walking down the path into the compound. It was a truly Happy Easter!
The first thing I noticed on my return was that a stout fence had been put round the compound. The first thing I heard was that agreement had been reached to exchange seriously sick and wounded prisoners and that the truce talks were expected to begin again. I began to wonder if this was why Denis and I had been released a good deal sooner than we had expected—Big Chu had been hinting for some time that Denis would soon be released but we had not really expected it in view of his refusal to sign the “co-operation” certificate. I soon observed that, since the date of the agreement by the Chinese to reopen truce negotiations, amenities in the compound had been greatly improved. The food was infinitely better; new washbowls were brought in, and there were many more of them. Tobacco rations were increased; razors were issued; three boxes of matches were given monthly to each prisoner. But there was more to come.
Unknown to us, Camp Headquarters controlled yet another compound in addition to Nos. 1 and 2 Companies and the annexe, (No. 4 Company). There was a No. 3 Company, containing those captives from the other rank camps who had proved so dangerous to the Chinese that they had required special confinement. Now, with the prospect of the outside world hearing first-hand details about our living conditions from the sick and wounded going out, the wretched lives of these men were suddenly improved a hundredfold, and a number were permitted to visit us to engage in sports contests: softball, basketball, volley-ball, and British soccer. The visitors were accommodated in Pyn-Chong-ni village and thus saw No. 1 Company first. On the following day, the Sunday after Easter, they paid a morning visit to us and, later, some of us were allowed to visit No. 1 Company for the remainder of the matches on the ground in front of the schoolhouse.
I had often been told by the Chinese and North Koreans how bitterly our men hated their officers; how we despised them. This was always a remark which hurt, but I had never foreseen an opportunity to refute it such as occurred when we saw the men who were comrades from our own units.
Riflemen McNab and Agnew could not stop shaking hands with James. And from my Battalion there were Nugent and English of Sam’s Support Company Headquarters, Sergeant Smith of C Company, and Corporal Bailey of the Anti-Tank Platoon. There were two gunners, and two Royal Marines from the Commando besides. We stood on our square after prolonged handshakes, quite unable to express fully our great joy at meeting again. Several minutes passed before we could even begin to exchange news.
The story that these men had to tell appalled us. Their rations throughout the previous autumn and winter had been the same as those given to men from Nos. 1 and 2 Companies in solitary confinement. Many of their numbers were still held separately after savage treatment during jail sentences, but there was hope that these sentences would be terminated now that general conditions were improving. Like us, they had been subjected to the minor punishments of standing to attention for long periods, beatings, and prolonged examinations. But the experiences of some of the men had been even worse. Godwin, Corporals Upjohn and Hartigan, Privates Flynn, Haines, and Lance-Corporal Matthews amongst others had been manacled and confined in boxes, six by three by three feet, for periods up to six months. Corporal Walters, my operator, had suffered such confinement for a lesser period; but had also been compelled to stand to attention for over forty hours on one occasion, until he collapsed. Fusilier Kinne, with whom I had been kept in the south during the late spring of 1951, had been kicked so savagely during a beating-up in jail that he had sustained a double-rupture and now, on his release, was no longer able to walk properly. Yet all these men had stood out against the demands of their captors and refused to “co-operate” on release from these torments. The notes our visitors had brought contained amplification of the accounts they had given us; and we could only hope that, at last, their sufferings were almost at an end.
The final agreement to exchange seriously sick and wounded captives led us to hope that at least four of those in our compound would be included—possibly more. There was a major who could not be cured of his beri-beri, in spite of the recent improvements in our diet; Sergeant Shahir, a Turk, who had suffered a terrible wound in his right thigh and buttock which was still incompletely healed; an American infantry lieutenant whose heart was weak; and Tom, whose loss of a leg surely entitled him to repatriation. There were others, of course: Anthony, with a wounded leg that regularly became inflamed and gave him a high fever, and Hector, the South African pilot, whose wounds required considerable attention on an operating table, were such cases. The lieutenant and the major left us, with all our good wishes. Tom was taken out amidst the smiles of the Chinese and a cheer from us. Sergeant Shahir was not even considered, though our doctors all tried hard to persuade the Company Chinese medical attendant—an ill-trained medical orderly, inadequately disguised as a doctor—of the seriousness of his condition.
We were now permitted to hear the radio news in English from Peking, daily, except when there was news of importance that our captors did not want us to hear. On these occasions something went wrong with the master radio at Camp Headquarters and no news came through. We did, however, hear the news of the exchange of the major and the lieutenant—but Tom was not mentioned. The names of the last men to be exchanged were broadcast and his was not amongst them. Our anger was intensified when we managed to obtain the news by chance that he was still in the village, having refused to sign a paper expressing gratitude to the Chinese for the good treatment he had received.
Undoubtedly, many of those who had been returned to the United Nations’ side of the line were seriously sick or wounded men. But one could not help wondering if it was entirely a coincidence that a not inconsiderable number of them were men who had written “peace-fighting” articles praising their captors, and who now contributed articles to the London Daily Worker. For instance, one soldier—another prominent member of a self-styled “peace-committee”—was returned because he was suffering from a cracked rib, sustained whilst playing football for Camp No. 5, two weeks before the exchange.
To our delight, the truce talks were resumed with every sign of making progress. As the prospect of peace drew nearer, so our conditions improved.
In the second half of May, an inter-company sports contest was held in Camp 2—though the members of the annexe (No. 4 Company, where Joe and all the new officer prisoners were held) were not allowed to send down a team. However, No. 3 Company sent across representatives and they spent almost a week with us as a result. Fortunately, the Chinese permitted us to run the meeting ourselves and thus there were none of those setbacks which characterised the activities they supervised. MacT, a very able American captain, was an overall authority. Through him, the compound had expressed its determination that there should be no political flavour of any kind in the speeches or decorations provided by the Chinese. Niu, who was the co-ordinator for Camp Headquarters in this instance, said that he was most hurt. Looking round the meeting, attended by the committee we had formed amongst ourselves, he said reproachfully:
“You demand that we shall not bring in politics! You demand that there shall be no movie-cameras to take propaganda pictures ! I do not understand why you should adopt this attitude; why you should anticipate that we should be guilty of such behaviour. This is a sports meeting and a means of improving your daily life. Such improvements have been our aim consistently. We do not try to force you to accept our political views!”
He said it, without a smile, to men who, less than two years before, had been told that entertainments, including sports events, could only be arranged if they had a cultural motif—such as the exposure of America’s aggression throughout the world.
Times had certainly changed.
From the extra rations given to us over the period of the sports meeting, we saved a certain amount for Coronation Day, the proximity of which we knew of from letters. No. 1 Company had prepared a considerable amount of rice and potato wine in secret vats; we had kept back saki. Denis and I were both warned on the evening of June 1st that any attempt to celebrate Coronation Day would result in severe punishment. No warning was given in No. 1 Company, but Sam was arrested early in the morning of June 1st, an event we connected with their preparations for the day.
Largely owing to Chang’s anxiety not to have trouble at a time when the truce looked to be near, the Chinese staff remained out of the way while we had our Coronation meal on the evening of June 2nd.Our festivities went off without incident, though the Chinese looked in through the window at the outset to see what was happening. We were all ready for trouble, for we had put up the Queen’s picture—chidden safely for just this moment—and a crown that Arthur made. The singing of the National Anthem, too, went off without incident for the first time in our captivity.
In No. 1Company, however. Sun, supported by others, came in to the party given by the British under Paul—the next senior to Sam—and tried to snatch the cake made in secret from materials laboriously collected. All he actually got was the plate! So menacing was his reception by this time that he and the other Chinese leapt through the window and turned out the guard. After a good deal of confusion in the darkness—the lights were turned out at the main by Sulky Tien—the party dispersed, well-satisfied with their contribution to Her Majesty’s celebrations.
The Marine Colonel had been returned to the compound after Easter, having suffered considerably during his eight months in solitary confinement. He had been stripped to the waist on a January night outside Ding’s house. He had been beaten up. There had been demands for “confessions”, and demands for certificates stating that he would “co-operate” on his return. Now, with the renewed prospect of peace, he came into the new compound for the first time. His release led us to hope, once again, for the release of our Colonel.
In the absence of the Marine Colonel, Denis had discussed with the next senior American Officer certain draft orders regarding the behaviour of the United Nations’ captives in the event of a truce and the exchange of prisoners-of-war. It was felt that these were necessary in order that we should maintain a correct attitude towards the Chinese in all camps; that there should be neither fraternisation, nor acts of violence by hot-heads. An order was written and copies issued secretly. These were eventually circulated, unknown to the Chinese, to all camps except those holding recently captured prisoners in staging areas south of the Taedong River. In No. 1 Company, this order had been read out by Sam—the senior officer in the compound. In our compound, it was read out by the compound leader, the major of the United States Marines, sentenced at the same time as Denis in early 1952.
The Chinese got to know of both these incidents, though there were no Chinese present during the reading. Perhaps because they knew that we still retained control within the compounds, Camp Headquarters became particularly watchful and nervous. In late June, I was re-arrested.
On this occasion, I occupied the room formerly used by Denis in February-March. Four nights of examination followed, at which Chen presided until, to my delight, he was forced to retire when an abscess burst in his mouth. Moaning, spitting blood and pus, he hurried away and I was left with two Chinese I had never seen before. The fourth night’s interrogation was the longest: I was questioned and harangued until dawn, when it seemed to me that my inquisitors were as exhausted as I was. Later, after I had slept for a time, and when I was quite alone, I tried to puzzle out what they were getting at.
The questions had referred to the Coronation, to the orders issued about our behaviour in the event of a truce, and to escape activities—concerning which they were evidently guessing. But none of these points had been pressed. I had been told to confess to my crime—yet nothing specific seemed to have been mentioned. I could not understand it.
Perhaps, in all the world, there is no race as accomplished as the Chinese at auto-suggestion. In retrospect, as the days passed without further visits from the interrogators, I felt that they had been trying to suggest something to me; and that this period of respite was to serve as one in which I could dwell on their words and realize what it was that I should confess to. After coming to this conclusion, I reached another: they believed me to be in possession of knowledge I did not possess. I began to feel as if I was reaching the end of a mystery story, the plot of which I had failed to follow in detail. Thus the words of the detective just prior to the denouement made no sense to me as they dealt with matters I knew nothing about.
On July 19th, I had the good fortune to find out what it was all about.
Visiting the latrine that day, I managed to make a brief contact with Guido, who had come down to the village on a labour detail in the hope that he would see me. He told me of an attempt to assassinate the Camp Commander.
“What’s happened in the truce talks?” I asked him. “Arc they coming together again after the release of the prisoners by Syngman Rhee?”
“Well,” said Guido, “General Nam Il says——”
But I was not to learn what he said. At this crucial moment, an interrogator appeared and almost tore us apart in his fury. To my dismay, Guido was marched away and I was returned to my room. From that hour on, a Chinese orderly lived with me night and day, except during interrogation. I had no opportunity to make any further contacts with the compounds.
However, Guido’s words had served to enlighten me on the question of my guilt.
A few days before my arrest, Guido and Walt, the American fighter-pilot, whilst on a detail chasing pigs that had escaped from the sty, managed to slip away. The two had stayed out several hours, making a general reconnaissance of the area in case the need to escape arose, returning of their own accord to the compound. Evidently the Camp Headquarters had been perplexed by this. To them, it seemed that these two had gone off for one of two reasons: cither to escape—which they had not done; or to make contact with secret agents in the hills. It was a constant bogy of theirs that every boulder, every tree hid a secret agent—the Oriental mind has been so busy with secret plots for centuries past that it has a congenital plot-complex. But though they were wrong about Guido’s activities on this occasion, they had not been wrong, apparently, about the agent. On the day following my arrest—an arrest aimed at finding out who Guido had contacted, supposedly on Denis’s and my orders—a Korean had walked up to Ding, as he left his house, and discharged a revolver at him. Unfortunately, he missed! The only injury Ding had sustained was a graze from stumbling in his flight from the would-be assassin—who had been killed by guards a few seconds later.
Having no evidence against me, but convinced by their imagination, the Chinese were now hoping that I would confess that we had sent Guido and Walt out to identify Ding, by means of a photograph, to the man who had been sent as executioner.
It began to look as if I was in a very difficult position. I could only hope that the proximity of a truce would continue to save me extreme pressure in interrogation as, very probably, it had saved me until then. How I wished I had heard what General Nam Il said!
When Big Chu visited me, I knew that something important was going to happen. After two hours’ conversation one afternoon, he went away. At a quarter past eight that evening, I was taken before Ding and formally charged with being an accomplice before the fact in the attempt on his life. I had never seen Ding more angry; nor more frightened. He smoked incessantly and his hands trembled. He was a changed man from the Ding who had lectured to us so confidently early in 1952 and, before my arrival, threatened those who were “the people’s enemies” with life imprisonment in labour camps.
Though Ding spoke for over an hour, what he actually said was this: a truce was near but I would not benefit from it as he had every right to hold me prisoner for committing an offence against international law. If I confessed to Denis’s part, I would be released, having acted under his orders. But failure to confess would be interpreted as a hostile act, clearly demonstrating that I was in sympathy with the crime. It was up to me.
I returned to my cell with my escort, where I remained for several days without receiving further visits. Then, on the morning of July 27th a Chinese whom I had never seen before came into my cell carrying a long paper rolled up in his hand.
“Read that,” he said.
I took it from him and unrolled it, expecting to see a sentence of imprisonment. It was a formal notice signed by General Wang Yang-Kung stating that the Truce would come into effect that morning at eleven o’clock. I asked the time and he showed me his wrist-watch. It was a quarter to eleven.
That night, Big Chu returned. He read a confession by the American Colonel who had signed the order on our conduct in the camps after the Truce came into effect. He added that the Colonel, the senior Major in No. 1 Company, and Sam had been given prison sentences—a year each for Sam and the Colonel, six months for the major. I asked to see Sam’s confession.
“He has not confessed,” said Big Chu. “He is a very stubborn man who refuses to admit his mistakes.”
The whole point of showing me these confessions and sentences was to impress on me that they could keep captives under sentence after the others had gone home. I said nothing further and he left me.
I had one more interview with Ding; one final opportunity to confess, he said. Our Colonel, Denis, Sam and I—together with many others—were hoping for rewards when we returned home. This and not political conviction had led us to resist the truth our captors had put before us. We had sold ourselves; we were the proven enemies of the people. But even if we were returned home, let us not think that we had escaped from the power of the mighty Chinese people. They could punish us anywhere: they would follow us to the ends of the earth.
Ding’s snake eyes smouldered, the nostrils on his thin nose dilated. I suddenly realized what it meant to him to find his captives slipping away from him still unconverted to Communism. All the pain and suffering he and his staff had inflicted on prisoners in the Camp had been to no purpose. We were going and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
On August 5th, the day the first prisoners started for home, I was released—the last member but one of the prisoners kept in isolation in the village. Ding had released me without a confession. He knew perfectly well that he had no right to keep me, though there had been times when I wondered how far he would take his bluff! Back at the Company Headquarters, I found that a new company commander had arrived—a man with tinted spectacles, nicknamed “Tints”. He spoke to me through one of the interpreters.
“No trouble from you,” he said. “Now there is peace in Korea. Soon you will go home to your dear ones to lead a peaceful life. No trouble from you and you will be all right.”
I walked back down the path into the compound.