by Pacific War Uncensored: A War Correspondent's Unvarnished Account of the Fight Against Japan
The story was then handed in to the censors as normal. It was a great shock to me when on the following morning I was sent for by a colonel in charge of the military censors. He said that he was very sorry but I would not be allowed to send any more “signals,” which was the army description for cables, and that I was to be investigated by a military tribunal. I then found myself in front of three officers who were questioning me about the story I had written, and they seemed very interested in the piece about the leg of pork! They said, “You describe here the right end of a leg of pork. What do you mean by the right end of a leg of pork?” I said that I always understood a large end of a leg of pork to be the part of a pig from where you got the biggest slices. They said, “How would you describe the other end?” I said that I had not even thought about it. They said, “You weren’t thinking about right and left?”
They then went on to explain to me that in their way of thinking, Singapore Island was shaped like a leg of pork, and they accused me of using subtle nuances to convey something in my cables to our offices in New York and London. In other words I was trying to evade the censorship. I was amazed by their findings, but fortunately was saved from what appeared to be a very ugly situation by the intervention of Bob Scott of the Ministry of Information. He explained to them that this was just a harmless feature story, and that I really was not trying to evade censorship at all.
On the following day I got another telegram from Hugh Bailey, who was the president of the United Press at that time. He told me that I should now use my discretion about trying to get away from Singapore, and said that I had achieved the distinction of being the most intrepid war correspondent in this war.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Escape from Singapore
The need for me to escape Singapore was becoming increasingly more urgent, and I was concerned as to how I would find a way of getting off the island. If I needed a reminder as to how urgent the situation had become, I only had to look outside the front of Marie’s quarters where soldiers and sand bags had replaced what was once a lovely lawn. After my trip up country I went back to the office on Battery Road to tell Wee Kim Wee that the time had come for me to leave Singapore. He had never let me down the entire time that I was reporting from the front, and quite understood my position. Wee Kim Wee, though, planned to stay on the island with his wife and children in spite of the danger from the Japanese attacks.
I remember on the same day meeting a Mrs. Hosford, who like Marie was a Queens Army school mistress. I was amazed to see her still walking about in the city when clearly the situation was unsafe, especially after all other women and children had been evacuated. She seemed to be quite at a loss as to where to go and what to do, and the only advice that I could give her was to go to the military headquarters to see if they were making any provision for her to get away. To my relief Marie met her some years later at a reunion of Queens Army school mistresses, and found out that she had eventually managed to escape without incident. To me, though, it was quite an incredible situation that she should have been allowed to stay for so long when there was clearly an imminent threat of invasion; it demonstrated the lack of information available for those people that had been left behind in Singapore.
It was now 11th February. Cliff Bottomly and I decided to go to Marie’s quarters and get all the tinned food from under the stairs that had been left by the volunteers on Christmas Day. We filled my Dodge motor car with these tins, and took any clothes we thought would be necessary. I also picked up a carving knife which Marie had bought when she was first posted to Hong Kong in 1926, and which I still have today, in case we got stuck in the Jungle. The next thing we had to do was to find a ship. Captain Henry Steele told me about a “tender” lying idle along the wharf in Singapore harbour that could be requisitioned for our escape (a tender is a smallish vessel that ferries people ashore from big ships lying offshore). After making further enquiries we managed to put together a “scratch crew,” which amongst our numbers comprised an RAF man who was able to navigate. My role was to take responsibility for the engine rooms.
We were now ready to set sail, and we let as many people as possible know that we had a way of getting away from Singapore. I went to see some of the people that I had become acquainted with, including David Waite, editor of the Singapore Free Press, but he was quite indignant and said that he did not think it was the time to be leaving. George Seabridge, editor of the Straits Times took quite a different view, and both he and his wife were willing to come onboard and take a chance with us. There was also an inspector of police by the name of Pringle, who had a wife and two children. I also looked in vain for Stanley Jones, the man who I had hired to temporarily look after the office.
While all of this was going on, the Japanese unleashed a heavy bombardment on Singapore from both the sea and land. It was a terrible sight. Telephone wires were strewn across the streets and fires blazed from many buildings and the island that we had known so well was now becoming almost unrecognisable. At sea two ships were burning, one of them being The Empire Star, which we knew had taken aboard women and children only the day before.
It was late at night in pitch darkness when we loaded most of the people that we had found onto the boat, which included soldiers, RAF men and civilians. I will never forget that at the last moment, Pringle, the inspector of police, suddenly took his family off the boat as they felt it was too dangerous to set sail. They had looked out to sea and been horrified to see The Empire Star ablaze, and decided that it would be too risky. There was no time to waste though, and I could not find the time to try and persuade them otherwise. So with no further delay we set to sea with no lights on, and made our way very slowly away from the island.
We had to pass through some very narrow straits at the most eastern tip of Singapore, and it was at this point that a searchlight from the land snapped on, and fixed on us. Within a few seconds there was a loud bang, as a shell exploded about two hundred yards short of us. The searchlight held steady, and then there was the sound of another bang, and this time a shell went over our little boat and fell about two hundred yards to the other side of us. I thought that with a third shell, our attackers would have gotten a fix on us and we would have had it. Miraculously though, the searchlight suddenly snapped off, and we were in darkness again, leaving our little boat to just chug out into the open sea. I remember that it was just at that point when a man on board started to sing “Jerusalem,” and there seemed to me something almost miraculous about it all.
Our vessel now found a sudden spurt of speed, and the searchlights remained off, leaving us in an inky darkness. After the excitement of our escape, everyone onboard set about organising themselves with a bed for the night. Cliff Bottomly and I shared a cabin together with a cameraman known as “News Reel Wong.” The ceiling of the cabin had large protruding splinters, and in places there were holes that went right through the steel deck above, the result of damage caused to the vessel in the previous week’s conflict. One good thing about the holes, though, was that they did provide us with some ventilation, as for most of the time it was sweltering hot and airless inside.
Needless to say, conditions were not conducive to getting sleep. We tried hard to get some rest, in spite of the sweltering heat in our cabin, but I found that any slumber I managed to get was disturbed with images of muddy and bloody brave soldiers defending Singapore. All the time I was also listening out for more shells, and from time to time snapped out of my exhausted naps anticipating another attack, but fortunately they never came.
Nobody seemed to be quite sure in which direction we were heading, but the idea was that we would try and make for Java in the Dutch East Indies. Gradually as daylight broke the passengers had their first chance to look at one another. Someone who I spotted straight away was a military censor with whom I had many disagreements with in the past, and it seemed to me that wherever I went I could not get away from officialdom. There were sixty people onboard our little vessel, which was inten
ded to carry no more than twenty, making everything of course very cramped. Everyone was very tired having spent a night full of fear and trepidation, though there was some amusement created by the antics of a monkey that belonged to a group of RAF men. What food we had was rationed, and our diet mainly consisted of bully beef, slices of bread and sandwich spread. We managed to make a pot of tea, in spite of having no heating arrangements; for hot water we would let steam from the boiler drain into an enamel jug.
Later on in the day our vessel hit the doldrums, slightly halting progress, but we managed to make our way to the Leeway Islands, approximately sixty miles from Singapore. Our captain thought that this would be a good place to hide, as scouting planes had already sighted us in the morning, much to everyone’s consternation. At 4:00 pm we got underway again, but it was not long before the ominous shape of three Japanese bombers appeared in the sky. They seemed to know we were there, and circled us three times before eventually flying off. Despite the immediate relief that the bombers had left, some of the RAF men guessed that the bombers were going to load up and soon return, so our captain quickly changed position. His manoeuvre seemed to work, as we did not see the bombers again that day.
It was quite possible that by now the Japanese would have captured Singapore, and our thoughts turned to those people who had been left behind or decided not to leave. There were the Pringles, and also a Mrs. Bailey, who I remembered had the opportunity of leaving but was firmly determined to stay on with her husband, who had been cleaning a rifle and fixing a bayonet to defend his home against the invaders. There were also several soldiers defending homes at the Tanglin Barracks, but to me the possibility of holding out had seemed hopeless. During the night our worst fears were confirmed, when our radioman heard a BBC report stating that three divisions of Japanese troops were on Singapore Island. I imagined Japanese soldiers rummaging through my things, and hoped that they found the three-quarters-full bottle of brandy that I had left on the sideboard, which contained a nasty surprise for them.
Our captain still thought that we were in danger, though, in spite of our location now being somewhere near Sumatra. Once more we dropped anchor near an island, before resuming our journey in a southwest direction. Another sighting of aircraft was made on the horizon, and extra lookouts were posted and gun crews kept on a high level of alertness. In spite of our anxiety, everyone on board managed to keep cheerful, and conversation with fellow passengers was a welcome distraction. I spent most of the afternoon listening to yarns from a Lieutenant Bryan Langley, a war office photographer from Enfield, London and formerly an Elstree Studios cameraman. He was able to give thumbnail sketches of many film stars whom he had photographed, which was a most entertaining diversion. And that is how conversation seemed to be overall, with passengers reminiscing and talking about home life, and I am sure that many new friends were made on our little refugee ship.
The last news we heard from Singapore was that fifteen thousand Japanese troops had landed in Keppel Harbour. It was now Friday 13th February, and our third day at sea. There was very little breeze, and though the vessel was sweltering we still managed to make good progress. At times we were slowed by thick, treacle-like oil slicks that we had to plough through at an agonising crawl. We were fortunate, however, that the sky was full of thick grey clouds, making it harder for Japanese airmen to spot us. During the previous night there was an anxious moment as two convoys passed us and a warship’s searchlights swept along the length of our vessel. Though once the danger passed we all settled down and listened to the fine baritone of an RAF officer sing “Land of Hope and Glory.”
During the morning our radioman said that the BBC had reported that the Japanese had demanded that Governor Thomas surrender, after they had brought tanks across the remains of the causeway. Some of the RAF personnel said, “Wavell’s got his hands full now,” thinking that Java would be the next target for the Japanese, with Australia being ultimately where the “last stand” would be fought. I spoke to an Australian captain, who had been in the northwest sector of Singapore during the Japanese landing. He confirmed that his troops had needed to beat a hasty retreat and abandon everything, using their own initiative to find a getaway. The civilian passengers on board now started to realise how lucky they had been to escape at the “eleventh hour.”
By 17th February, our brave little vessel reached its destination, Java. The captain carried out a count of all the passengers, which was apparently for the immigration authorities on our arrival. Another Singapore ship passed us during the morning, with women waving greetings, which cheered all our lads. There was much relief on board that we had reached relative safety, and our RAF baritone led the rest of the passengers in singing many of the old favourite songs. A small British naval unit met us, and our vessel waited for permission to enter the harbour.
There was no further news from Singapore, and I was anxious to meet up again with John Morris so that I could catch up with what was happening in the war. It had taken our little boat four days to reach Java, which in normal circumstances would have taken just thirty-six hours. It was not long, though, after our arrival that we heard that Singapore had fallen on the 15th February, so our escape from the island had indeed been a little miracle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Escape from Java
In Java there was a little United Press office that was managed by a Dutchman called John Boerman, who told me that the Far Eastern manager, John Morris, was one hundred miles further inland at a place called Bandeong. But before I went in search of him, I needed to write the story about my experience of the last days of Singapore, and my eventual escape from the Japanese. After I had completed it I showed it to John Boerman, who warned me that the Dutch censors were very strict, but he told me that he would make sure that my story would be approved. My next objective was to get a proper meal, which would be the first I had had for several days. I booked into a hotel, and after having a good bath went down to the restaurant where I had a Dutch speciality dish of ham steak.
It was now evening and I was more than ready for my bed, having been cramped up in a tiny little boat for days in sweltering hot conditions. I went up to my room and lay down and before long found myself in quite a deep sleep. My slumber, though, was once more disturbed by images in my head of those brave soldiers covered in mud and blood valiantly defending Singapore Island. My ears seemed to ring with the sound of “Roll Out the Barrel,” which was the song that the band of sailors who had survived the sinking of Repulse and the Prince of Wales were singing, as they commandeered trucks to go up into Malaya to meet with the advancing Japanese forces.
The night passed with a mixture of sleep and nightmares, and I was still very tired when the morning finally arrived. I was still in bed when I was suddenly awoken by the telephone ringing in my room, and was amazed when I picked it up to hear Ed Beatty, a United Press correspondent in London on the other end. He wanted to know all about what I had been up to, and so I sat for quite a long time recounting my stories of Malaya and Singapore. It seemed incredible to me that although there had been so much destruction in the Far East, communications were still intact to allow me to take a call directly from London.
Before leaving for Bandeong to meet up with John Morris, I decided to take a look around the area I was in and find out what was going on. I drove to the tip of the island and looked across the straits that divided Java from Sumatra. There was nothing to be seen of the enemy and everything was silent, which made the atmosphere feel a little bit eerie. The beaches around that part of the island looked to me to be ideal for landing Japanese barges, but the Dutch military did not seem to have any real appreciation for the potential threat—it all had overtones of the complacency I experienced in Malaya before it had been invaded.
With that thought in mind I then made my way to Bandeong where the military had a makeshift headquarters, and where the press corps had been gathered. I was very pleased to meet up again with John Morris, and I booked into the Savoy
Homann Hotel where he was staying with another correspondent by the name of Bill McDougall. Bill was a nice, hard working young man who had been flown out from New York, and had gained a wonderful reputation covering the war in China. During that time he had even been taken prisoner by the Japanese, but somehow managed to escape and make his way to safety.
We did not have a great deal to work on, as information was once again scarce and not helped by strict Dutch censorship. One morning while staying at the Savoy Homann Hotel I experienced my first Japanese air attack on Java. Everything seemed to be quite calm as we sat downstairs drinking coffee, while waiters were tending to the tables and near us a mother was tending to her brood of five children. Suddenly the tranquillity was shattered as an air raid siren started to wail, and we immediately got up and hurriedly made our way outside. As we did this I noticed that the mother remained seated, while calmly taking her time to drain the last dregs of coffee from her cup.
As soon as we were outside there was droning noise and then a terrible roar as nine Japanese bombers swooped low over the hotel spraying bullets everywhere. Thankfully they did not drop any bombs, but their fire caused us all to run as quickly as possible to the nearest shelter. We got there just as another bomber was swooping down, and we dived through an open window of the shelter in time to avoid the next shower of bullets. As we sat with our backs against the wall breathlessly trying to recapture our composure I noticed to my amazement that the mother and her children who had been sitting in the hotel with us were also in the shelter. How they managed to get there in time I will never know, but they were all fine and the mother was still concentrating on tending to her children, paying little heed to what was going on outside.
