Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

  Once the prisoners below in No 2 hold realized their captor’s intensions, plans to break out began. This was organized by Colonel Stewart of the Middlesex and his junior officers. Below the Middlesex Regiment on the next level were the Royal Scots; they could only wait helplessly. The single light bulb on this level that barely illuminated the hold was suddenly switched off from above by the Japanese. The Royal Scots were now in complete darkness. Blind panic ensued. From somewhere candles were produced which provided a weak flickering light in the foul thickening air.

  Many men not in close proximity to the life-giving ladders began to panic. Fighting broke out in the far corners of the holds to try and reach the area of the ladders. Men already on the ladders leading to the top level of No 2 hold were pulled off by those below. A free for all began. The weaker and exhausted prisoners were slowly pushed to the bottom of the hold where they were trodden into the polluted mess. In the panic it became the survival of the strongest. Many men had to be restrained or knocked unconscious. If the panic spread it would only quicken their deaths by using up the little oxygen remaining in the polluted air. A sharp eye was kept on the candle flames.

  Somehow the free for all was contained by the officers and NCOs and reasonable discipline regained. As the filth of this hold began to rise, men were forced to take to the pumps. In the flickering candle light, the scene at the bottom of No 2 hold (Royal Scots) where many scrawny, demented, half-naked men fought each other, while others frantically worked the pumps, must have resembled a scene from Hades.

  In the first level of No 2 hold Colonel Stewart took command and organized his officers. The prisoners began a search for tools to break out of the holds. Using whatever tools were at hand they tried to force the hatches open. But without luck; they were trapped.

  Above deck, the Captain of the Lisbon Maru argued with Lieutenant Wada (or so he said) that if the ship sank all the prisoners would drown; this was not the way of professional seamen. But after a long heated discussion the Captain was overruled by Lieutenant Wada of the army.

  Soon the Japanese destroyer Kuri appeared alongside and began to take off the Japanese troops and their wounded; she then left the scene. At least a dozen armed guards remained onboard ship to make sure the prisoners below would not escape suffocation or drowning. It did not take long for the men trapped in the three holds to realize their captors were abandoning ship. As a result efforts to break open the hatches were redoubled. At 10am the air down below in the holds was becoming dangerously toxic, especially for the Royal Scots. Many of the men had passed out and were now drowning in filthy water.

  Several miles away the Captain of the Grouper felt safe enough to surface; his batteries were low and the oxygen in the submarine was beginning to read at a dangerous level. After waiting a little longer, rechecking that the sounds of pursuit had died, Grouper surfaced. The men aboard smiled; the celebrations could wait till they returned to Pearl Harbour. Although a kill would be credited to them, the Lisbon Maru was still afloat. In fact it would take another full day for this ship to sink. The Americans were unaware of the life and death struggle that was now taking place out of sight in the bowels of the Japanese ship.

  Back in No2 hold aboard the Lisbon Maru, the ship gave a sudden lurch and it became apparent that she could not remain afloat much longer.

  A British Private produced a long butcher’s knife; with this, Col Stewart ordered a Lieutenant Howard and a Lieutenant Potter to try and break through again. They managed to push the long blade between the planks and cut the ropes that lashed the tarpaulins holding down the hatch door. This action allowed the two Lieutenants and some men to force open a gap, through which precious light and oxygen rushed into the holds and revived the gasping prisoners.

  On reaching the deck Lieutenant Howard and Lieutenant Potter then noticed some British gunners from No 3 hold (this hold was the first to begin sinking) trying to squeeze through the portholes; these men soon become stuck fast: they would drown. These two brave young officers, helped by others, then began working on all the hatches to free the rest of the prisoners. Only some three or four dozen gunners would manage to escape before the hold was eventually flooded.

  Initially the Japanese guards left behind to stop a breakout, strangely took no action and idly watched the men emerging through the hatches. This did not last long before they opened fire. Eventually some sailors in No1 hold managed with help from those on deck to force their hatches open. Below the Middlesex, the Royal Scots began to push and force their way up. Some men climbed over each other, others fell back into the hold. It was impossible to calm the suffocating men. Somehow order was regained again by the officers of the Royal Scots as more fresh air entered the ship. An orderly queue was formed at the base of the ladders allowing men to gain the upper level as most of the Middlesex Regiment were now on the ship’s deck. Trying to dodge the bullets coming at them from the Japanese guards above, Royal Scots soon took their place in the top level of No 2 hold. Then two things happened simultaneously: the ship tilted stern down and one of the two ladders leading up from the bottom of No 2 hold snapped. Unfortunately, ninety per cent of the men trapped in No 3 hold, now underwater, drowned. All the portholes were blocked by dead men who had tried to escape earlier. It is said by witnesses that these brave gunners realising there was no escape, began singing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” until the water rose above their lips.

  The men in No 1 hold helped by those on deck, also began to climb out. By now the firing from the Japanese guards above had ceased. Groups of Gunners and the Royal Scots, who had escaped at the beginning, rampaged through the ship. Some were looking for alcohol, others for revenge. Many of the Japanese guards were grabbed from behind and thrown over onto the main deck where they were killed by the waiting prisoners.

  On gaining the freedom of the main deck, the prisoners found that the ship had stabilized momentarily. It was a pleasant sunny October day and they sat around quietly smoking. Others more cautious of going down with the ship, jumped straight into the sea.

  Tam and Willie among others, raced through the ship looking for loot. A large container of cold rice was found along with a liberal amount of Japanese beer kept in squat round bottles, individually wrapped in rice straw. Bottles of sake were also found. Soon there were drunken prisoners marauding around the ship looking for any Jap guards still alive. Some of the men who initially jumped into the sea noticed islands in the distance and began swimming towards them. These men were lucky, for the ever shifting currents were in their favour at this moment. This would not last long. Others less confident swam a reasonable distance away from the sinking ship and trod water, so as not to be sucked down when the ship went under.

  The accidental sinking of the Lisbon Maru was a tragic mistake of war. Most of the heroes (a word used too often in modern times) of the sinking, both men and officers who risked their lives helping to save others, sadly died in Japan during their imprisonment. Fate can sometimes be cruel. The sinking cost the lives of hundreds of Allied prisoners.

  The Japanese broadcasters were quick to blame the Americans for sinking a POW ship. The Japanese wireless news was soon picked up by the submariners: crew and captain were stunned. By now they could do little about it, for they were still being hunted from the air. Of course, this was excellent propaganda for the Japanese, who soon informed the world via Tokyo Rose [female English-speaking propaganda broadcasters].

  CHAPTER 17

  Mango Showers

  BURMA

  After leaving the Parsee town and its death house, my grandmother and mother wandered aimlessly for many days towards the distant hills. They were hoping to find the village they had been told existed by the tattooed hill tribe. Despite searching, my guardians saw no obvious signs of the presence of a nearby village. Instead the skeletons of domestic animals and sometimes even humans adorned the baked red earth with their bleached white bones. As the “mango showers” increased, an indication of the impending monsoon, the ne
ed to find suitable shelter was paramount. They continued to head for higher ground, avoiding the jungle.

  “We found ourselves entering a wide cultivated area containing fields of gram [chickpeas], sugarcane and ground-nuts. Some of the crops in the fields had been burnt. Flocks of jungle fowl and kelagee pheasants were feeding in the fields. There was water in all the irrigation channels from the mango showers but it was too dirty to drink.”

  Grandmother was totally the opposite from my mother when it came to killing small animals for food. When necessary she would kill then pluck or skin any edible wildlife; whether it was covered in fur, feather or scale, within half an hour it would be cooking.

  “Finally we came across a small dilapidated village. We approached cautiously as there were no dogs to announce our arrival. Reaching the first huts we were disappointed, it was not a permanent village, only inhabited by a few ill-looking Burmese. The next disappointment was that the water in the well was so low, we could not reach it. This would remain the case until the monsoon filled the underwater conduits. We would have to rely on the mango showers.

  “An old toothless Burmese woman living there told my mother that the crops belonged to Parsee money lenders. The old woman also said that some time earlier a large body of Chinese soldiers had passed through and burnt some of the crops to deny them to the Japanese. However, due to the war, the Parsees had not appeared to supervise the harvesting of their crops, leaving the local Burmese workers to help themselves. She and a few others were now the only inhabitants and would soon be returning to their own village called Pybaw [pronounced Pee-baw by Mother] some two or three days away on higher ground. My mother believed the few Burmese left in this village were opium addicts and had borrowed money from the Parsees.

  “When asked, the old woman said that she had seen no Japanese troops – only the Chinese soldiers. This woman also warned my mother that wild elephants sometimes came out of the jungle at night to feed on the sugarcane fields and that these elephants were unpredictable and dangerous. My mother never let the opportunity of stocking up with food pass so we stopped in this village for several days to harvest chick peas and ground nuts. For the time being we had a flimsy roof over our heads and could sleep off the ground; this was a luxury for us. During every mango shower we would stand under the eves of the huts and wash and collect drinking water from the run off. Although this village had no fruit trees it was dotted with large tamarind trees. Both types of tamarind pods were available (sweet and sour). Tamarind was a much used condiment in eastern cuisine. We threw sticks into the trees to knock the trailing pods down. You would run and pick up the pods and sometimes the large falling pods or the sticks hit you on the head quite hard; you were a sweet natured baby and always laughed; you must have had a thick skull. You loved the sweet tamarind pods, poor boy you were deprived of the correct nourishment to grow strong and healthy.

  “One morning my mother told me that all the remaining Burmese had left; we were now alone in this deserted make shift village used only for harvest time. The mango showers grew heavier, the ground was quickly turning into a quagmire, but most worrying was that some of the deep chaungs were filling up with water, they would soon be impassable. Pushing the heavy pram in the mud was becoming extremely difficult. Luckily for us, by midday the mud was baked hard again by the sun. It was time to move on but something happened that made us stop longer. Your laughter woke us up; you were leaning over the pram watching a young piglet that was sheltering underneath it in the shade. As soon as my mother woke up and saw the suckling pig, she picked up her knife and chased it; I soon began running after her trying to save it.

  “I can still see my mother’s angry red face while holding the big knife in her hand shouting … ‘Kate you may be my second youngest daughter – but if you try and save that pig again – I am going to murder you with my own hands!’

  “The little pig was finally caught – despite my protests – and that evening my mother cooked it in golden syrup in one of the communal mud ovens situated outside the village. I had not eaten properly since the Parsee death house. The suckling pig smelt so delicious I could not resist. It was good to taste crispy crackling and pork fat again.

  “The rains were becoming heavier and finding water was no longer a problem. Before we left the village, we got out all the remaining new notes we had been given by the De Souzas and crumpled them, placing them in puddles of muddy water to make them look old. We then spread them out in the sunshine and waited for them to dry. Now we were ready to leave and make for Pybaw.”

  My grandmother had a good knowledge of medicinal plants and was always on the lookout. I can still remember the vile taste of these concoctions and used to run like hell when my two guardians began whispering and looking at me. Gran also used raw opium as a medicine and usually had a dark block of raw opium resin handy. Ground down and mixed with water or sweet palm toddy it acted as a kind of laudanum once so popular in the western world for pain relief. Chewed opium can also be rubbed on flesh wounds to ease pain; I would soon need this painkiller, when a parasitic infection that I contracted reached a dangerous stage.

  “On the bullock track heading for Pybaw I was afraid of meeting elephants but we saw none, only some footprints in the mud and elephant dung in which you loved searching for beetles. Late that afternoon we stopped under a large cottonwood tree [Kapok] for the night; in the distance we could hear cattle. The next morning we took cotton from the fallen pods and after drying it in the morning sun, filled two empty rice bags; we now had pillows. We rested beneath this tree for another day to get our strength back.

  “On the third day after walking for several hours, we could see dozens of paddy-birds [cattle egrets] in the distance and later many cattle with young Burmese children looking after them. We were afraid to walk past the big Zebu bulls that blocked our path. My mother called out to the young Burmese children to drive the bulls away from us. These youngsters, some only about five or six, showed no fear of these massive animals. It would have been nice to buy fresh milk from the cattle herders but their hands were filthy.”

  My mother was always very hygiene conscious. After the war she had a weakness for the many different types of food that the local hawkers sold. “Have you washed your hands?” she would ask. The hawker would grin and nod his head.

  “Show me.”

  The hawker still grinning would hold out his hands for inspection, probably taking pleasure in the fact that he hadn’t washed his hands for a week. My mother would call our Chinese housekeeper and ask for a bowl of water and soap. The hawker would then have to wash his hands under supervision of my mother and the Chinese housekeeper’s keen eye. And then, if my Dad was not at home we would all sit around a table including the housekeeper, cook and the Arma (nanny) and eat the vendor’s food; it was a wonder my mother did not invite the hawker in as well to join us, for she had a generous and soft nature. The hawkers, both Indian and Chinese, did not take offence at this performance, for they knew Mother was a soft touch and a good customer, and regular custom in the East is valued.

  CHAPTER 18

  Pongyis

  PYBAW BURMA

  “We reached Pybaw mid-afternoon. After going through the usual performance with the barking village dogs, villagers appeared and engaged us with the usual questions. It was late afternoon when we found the headman; my mother asked if we could rent a hut in the village until the monsoon season was over; he agreed. I thanked God my prayers had been answered. My mother said the headman would be happy to be paid in money or opium; later my mother found out that the headman’s wife was an advanced opium addict along with many other villagers. Obtaining opium was becoming difficult in Pybaw and elsewhere because of the war. According to my mother, the best opium in Burma came from Afghanistan, but it was much more expensive than that of opium produced in the Shan States. The routes from India and China were now closed, so most of the addicts depended on the Shans, Karens and Chins for their supplies. Although the hill tribes
were considered enemies by the Japanese, a blind eye was often turned in return for bribes.

  My mother took care never to enquire about the presence of Japanese soldiers in Pybaw in case people became suspicious that we were trying to avoid them. The villagers were certainly pro-Japanese, as there were many small Japanese sun flags being displayed.

  “I was so grateful to have a roof over our heads; our wandering life had come to an end. We were given a well-built hut on short stilts not far from one of the water wells near the crossroads of the bullock tracks. This was the last water well in a conduit of three wells situated in other parts of the village. The hut we were given had a strong and sturdy door that could be closed from the inside with rope. But best of all, the hut contained a small mud oven on a slab of flat rock set in clay.

  “A large Buddhist temple stood at the far end of the village. We could hear the subtle sound of wind blown temple bells in the cool of the evening and smell jasmine that grew wild by the Pagoda. There were many Pongyis and novices in their saffron robes walking about when we arrived. We always had to be careful of these Buddhist priests who were well educated and politically minded; they had a great influence with the villagers. Many Pongyis spoke English.

  “We were all so tired after our wanderings; as soon as we entered the hut with the pram we fell asleep straightaway. It was so nice to have privacy and be able to close a door. As Pybaw was not far from the Karen Hills and on the edge of the dry belt, the rain and the accompanying wind was now much stronger.