“The following afternoon we walked around the small market looking for something to eat. The vendors were selling ordinary items and cooked food but out of sight there were goods for sale taken from the warehouses near Yu. We recognised the red Chinese characters, as Burmese script is totally different from that of the Chinese. All villages had been warned in advance by Japanese agents and leaflets dropped from their planes that looting or any damage to property was unlawful. All booty left behind was now Japanese property.
“Mother bought us another set of Burmese clothes and new slippers at this market, as our own had worn out. She also bought more aspirin; this was the only pharmaceutical drug we had to treat everything during the war. Aspirin had many uses but despite this it was not popular with the Burmese villagers or with the Japanese, as it gave them indigestion. I was hoping we would find some toothpowder, but my mother said using toothpowder would give us away as not being Burmese. They would use charcoal and a yellow twig of some tree to clean their teeth.
“Soon all the food stalls had their braziers heated and the smell of various Burmese dishes drifted on the air making us hungry. The stall holders were selling all kinds of Burmese dishes like moingha, garnished with chopped boiled eggs and raw onion. There was another food item on sale called ‘par-a-jo’, which we all liked. I used to try making them, but they never tasted the same as those bought in the market or the ones your grandmother made. It was a mixture of large lentils, chillies and other ingredients and deep fried in peanut oil. We sat by the stalls and ate while your grandmother spoke with the villagers. They were eager to know all about us but directed their questions to my mother only. I did not like the idea of being thought of as backward but my mother had told me not to speak. My mother answered all their questions and asked questions of her own. You were soon happily playing with the little village children.
“One day soon after we had arrived, your grandmother came into the hut and said all the food looted from the warehouses near Yu had disappeared from the market. This probably meant that the Japanese were arriving soon. My mother began hiding our possessions and food in-between the thatch matting of the walls in our hut. A few days later a large Japanese patrol arrived and their officer was seen talking to the headmen. We knew this would happen sooner or later; the Japs were now tightening their grip on Burma. Even so, it was still a shock to us. We were very fortunate we had arrived and established ourselves in the village before the Japs appeared.
“The Burmese villagers were happy to see the Japanese troops, as they would provide protection against any of the retreating armed Chinese soldiers. At that time we did not realize that the Japanese were intending to stay permanently in the village, for Pybaw was situated at a strategic crossroads. The Japanese troops were greeted as liberators by the villagers. Several huts were made available to them near the crossroads and the well. The soldiers were led by a Sergeant Enoda. The first job the soldiers did after placing their packs in one of the huts, was to shoot and bayonet any dogs in the vicinity attracted by the smell of dried fish and eels that the Japanese had brought with them. The Burmese, despite not being dog lovers, were rather shocked at this action as the py-dogs had their uses.
“Another shock awaited them when the Japanese thought nothing of bathing naked by the well. They would vigorously rub their bodies with clean white towels till they took on a pinkish hue. Although the Burmese were Buddhists like the Japanese, this kind of nakedness in public did not go down well. The villagers complained to the headman who in turn complained to Sergeant Enoda. Naked bathing was stopped. Village dogs suffered in many ways during the occupation in places where Japanese troops were billeted. The Japanese pride themselves on cleanliness and considered the presence of dogs unhygienic. By contrast, for the many Koreans who served in the Japanese Army, dog meat was a national dish.
“Jack says that he and other British POWs also took every opportunity to capture and kill any stray dogs or cats within sight; such was the craving for protein and the strength and wellbeing it brings to a starving body. In fact, most prisoners considered cat a tastier meat than dog.”
The arrival of Japanese troops in Burma generally went smoothly with the locals as the Burmese were considered allies, but in other countries this was not often the case. The inhabitants of a village in Malaya, after watching the British Army retreating in panic, waited expectantly for the Warrior Gods of Dai Nippon to appear. While waiting they proceeded to cook up the waste food for their pigs. Suddenly two scruffy and blinking Japanese scouts appeared out of the jungle gloom and stared at the Malayan villagers with open mouths.
Soon the main body of Japs appeared, led by an officer who promptly slapped the headman’s face while soldiers beat up the young men for not bowing to their liberators. Seeing the pig food cooking they mistook it for the villagers’ midday meal and quickly polished it off, and then for good measure (public relations) raped two of the village girls before leaving. No doubt the villagers soon wished the return of their former less rapacious old masters, the British.
“Not far from the water well at Pybaw near the crossroads of two bullock tracks, the Japanese set up a roadblock, a check point with a big bamboo pole lowered across the track. All passing traffic was checked including Japanese military vehicles. There were about two dozen Japanese soldiers under the command of Sergeant Enoda (Gunso). Sergeant Enoda was big for a Japanese soldier. He had a bull neck and small piggy eyes. All the Japanese soldiers were terrified of this non-commissioned officer who would often beat them with a bamboo stick when they were on parade outside the guardhouse. We often heard him bellowing at his men from our hut. We also heard from the Burmese trackers that accompanied his patrols that he tortured suspected dacoits and insurgents for information.
“Sergeant Enoda had a pet, a kind of drill monkey. It was chained to a big pole near the guard house and was a vicious brute. It only feared Sergeant Enoda, even the py-dogs were afraid of it. This monkey was a great amusement to the young Japanese soldiers and they would tease it when Sergeant Enoda was out on patrol. They would throw a gunny-sack to the monkey containing a live chicken; the monkey would take the chicken out and would immediately begin turning the squawking bird around inspecting it. Then holding it down with his hind legs would begin to pluck the poor live squawking bird till not a single feather remained. I always felt sorry for the poor bird having all its feathers removed while still alive. Once they gave the monkey a sack with an angry cat in it just to see what would happen. The monkey’s surprised reaction and the resulting fight between the two sent the Japs and the watching Burmese into fits of laughter.
“One morning the big monkey was missing, it had been killed by a leopard. When Sergeant Enoda returned two of the soldiers were beaten by him for allowing this to happen. Everybody was pleased to be rid of this vicious drill monkey.
“Most of the Burmese villagers including us kept away from the guardhouse, but you and all the naked village children were always hanging around staring at the Japanese soldiers. Sergeant Enoda and his soldiers seemed to like little children and used to line you all up as if on parade and make you stand to attention. He taught you all to bow to him correctly. He would walk around with a stern face as if inspecting his troops, giving light whacks with his stick to any child that got it wrong. All this would be watched with amusement by his men. Sergeant Enoda sometimes did monkey impressions to make the village children laugh. But he would also bellow at the children if they disturbed him when he was busy, this sent them all running and screaming in every direction, you included.
“Sergeant Enoda would soon become friendly with my mother, often sitting with her outside our hut; all Japanese welcomed those who spoke Nippon Go correctly. My mother and Sergeant Enoda also had a common interest: knitting. My mother was a fast and skilful knitter and often knitted with many needles. Japan is, after all, a cold country in the winter, and perhaps the knitted items were to send back to their families. Most of the Jap soldiers here and at Tada u wer
e keen knitters and were delighted when they found large amounts of knitting wool in Burma. Many of them had served in Manchuko [Manchuria]. All Japanese soldiers had a great fear of catching a chill in their stomachs; for this reason most of them wore a cloth belt of a thousand stitches around their waists. They also believed that this belt had the power to deflect bullets.”
In the west, a man knitting in public would be considered effeminate; to Nipponese manhood there is no such stigma. It was not uncommon for us to see a group of front line soldiers sitting around after bathing, knitting quietly and softly grunting to each other in that way of theirs when at repose.
“Perhaps my mother’s stern face and proud demeanour reminded Sergeant Enoda of his own mother who had died; he was then adopted by his grandparents, as is the custom. I believe all Japanese men have a special place in their hearts for their mothers. Sergeant Enoda’s presence would soon save my, Mother when she had a confrontation with an armed Japanese soldier, I was terrified she would be killed. Despite this friendship, Mother told me never to trust him.
“In the damp humid conditions of the monsoon the ingredients we had taken from Yu would soon go mouldy, so my mother decided to make sweet cakes to sell in the market. Sergeant Enoda gave Mother permission to do so and she set up a market stall in the village. We needed small change instead of the high denomination notes and Maria Teresa dollars given to us by the De Souzas. These cakes became a favourite of the Japanese soldiers.
“We had reached Pybaw around mid-May; soon after the monsoon fully broke. The warm rain came down in sheets, thank God there were no high winds with the rain as yet. It usually begins raining early in the afternoon and stops in the evening but it could continue all night and all day sometimes. The rain in the afternoon was so warm and we used to stand outside fully clothed like the locals, washing ourselves under our garments, as was the custom.”
A deadly tug-of-war
“It was near the guard house where the Japanese soldiers had set up a check point that an incident happened. I became terrified my mother was going to be shot or bayoneted by a Japanese soldier. She was so brave.
“One day, the usual long convoy of trucks bringing supplies to the Japanese check points was delayed by Sergeant Enoda in the belief he and his men were being short changed by the supply troops. Sergeant Enoda worked himself up into a fury. Very quickly a large crowd of villagers had gathered to watch the confrontation between the two Japanese sergeants. The Japanese troops in the guardhouse turned out with their rifles and fixed bayonets. Sergeant Enoda was a higher ranking Sergeant and wore a small purple tag on his chest that everyone respected. He slapped the supply sergeant’s face. The face-slapping incidents always amused the watching Burmese villagers.
“We were selling cakes in the nearby market and heard the commotion. My mother asked me to look after the cakes so she could see what was happening. By the time my mother reached the crossroads Sergeant Enoda was in a blind rage shouting at the other sergeant. He then jumped up onto a truck and began searching for something he felt he and his men should be getting. After a short while I became worried for my mother and left our stall to see if she was alright.
“The sergeant was standing on one of the trucks throwing items of captured tin food off onto the ground, like tinned cheese which the Japs did not like. He then found a case of tinned sardines in tomato sauces, which the Japs loved. His men helped themselves, the rest were gathered up by the villagers. My mother got a couple of tins.
“Still Sergeant Enoda was not happy, there was something else he was looking for, he could smell and hear it. Climbing down, he listened along the line of trucks and then climbed onto another lorry that was covered in British Army blankets and began throwing these onto the ground. Hidden beneath the cover of blankets were bamboo coups full of chickens.
“Sergeant Enoda then went into another rage and began bellowing at the supply sergeant while throwing the coops full of fowls onto the ground. Many of the chicken coops broke and the birds quickly escaped chased by the villagers and the Japs. It was the woollen blankets that your grandmother was interested in. She picked one up and told me to take it back to our hut.
“It was the second blanket that caused the trouble. Mother was spotted picking it up by one of the Jap transport guards. He rushed over and began pulling the blanket from her; she would not let go and a tug-of-war ensued. Transport and supply Japanese soldiers were not the sturdiest of men and my mother was bigger and heavier.
“The tug of war was being closely watched by a smiling Sergeant Enoda and his troops. They made no effort to intervene but their presence must have given my mother more confidence to continue. She finally won the blanket, gave the slightest of bows to her Japanese opponent and quickly left with her prize. Two extra wool blankets were a godsend to us on chilly nights. The Japanese soldier who lost the tug-of-war was furious and, as he was only a Second Class Private, could only slap the faces of the Indian truck drivers, which he did.
“The Jap transport sergeant had also lost face – there was only one thing he could do. First he slapped the guard who had lost the contest, then slapped the Indian drivers’ faces again for good measure. As some of the Indian drivers were taller than him, he stood on the step of the cab to do this. Slapping over and honour satisfied the convoy was about to move on when one of the trucks would not start. This would not be the first time we saw a Japanese soldier beat the truck engine with a stick.”
I still remember these blankets: one was dark brown and had a blue stripe down lengthwise; the other was grey with a blue stripe. The two blankets remained with us in Singapore, Malaya and England, perhaps they reminded Mum of her mother’s brave tug-of-war in a far distant country. I began to dislike both blankets. The Sergeant Major would wrap me (arms pinned to my side) like an Egyptian mummy when I had a temperature “to sweat out the fever” he used to say. Struggling to free myself was impossible, I could not move my arms and legs as the wrapping was so tight and I became hot and claustrophobic to the point of panic. Mum used to release me at the first opportunity. I would then quickly disappear, calling the RSM all the Burmese swear words I remembered.
“After the blanket incident, life carried on in the village as normal. As usual my mother and I sold cakes in the market. Her best customers were the Japanese soldiers who loved her cakes, but they always paid in their cheap printed occupation money and she had to take it. At that time everyone was now expected to use Japanese money (known as ‘banana money’). The Burmese rupee was no longer encouraged by the new masters. The Burmese rupee was still preferred throughout Burma by the villagers and the vendors. Opium was also a currency.
“By that time the Japanese soldiers got to know my mother quite well, and treated her with respect, calling her Oka-Sama, ‘Mother’ and often used to bargain with her. The pay of a Japanese soldier was extremely low and they regularly counted their money. My mother speaking Nippon Go, her noble unsmiling manner and her honesty gained their respect.”
I can clearly remember a long line of young Japanese soldiers queuing up for Grandmother’s cakes. The soldiers may have seemed old to me, but many new recruits were still in their teens. As you can see by her photograph (see plates), Grandmother had high cheekbones; when I was older she reminded me of an Apache, or perhaps (wearing a pointed fur cap), a Mongol Tartar.
“When the Japanese soldiers began to talk to me, my mother always put them in their place, with a sharp word in Nippon Go or a dirty look; she was very good at dirty looks. One day during our stay at Pybaw, we suddenly noticed you were missing. We asked the villagers if they had seen you and were told that you were at the checkpoint with the Japanese soldiers.
“On hearing this news we both became extremely worried, in case you said something about your father, as you could talk by then. We both approached the guard hut, in which a group of Japanese soldiers were lounging. As soon as we got near to the open door we heard laughter from the Japs and then heard your laughter. When we looked thro
ugh the door there you were standing on the table naked doing a jitter bug, stopping every now and then with your mouth open while the Jap soldiers threw small round biscuits into it. They then laughed at the monkey faces you pulled while trying to bite into the iron hard biscuits with your unstable milk teeth.
“Your grandmother picked you up and gave you a good whacking with her slipper for running away. The Japanese soldiers laughed at the painful faces you pulled. Looking back we were lucky in the sense that the Japanese troops we met were front line soldiers. However, with the wrong officers or NCOs, all Japanese soldiers were dangerous and capable of terrible atrocities.
“The soldiers at the check point were fresh from battle and were enjoying a rest from their forced marches. The Japanese were now surveying their new domain and stationing troops in most big villages. These troops were the new law and order. They were also here to control the hostile Hill tribes [mostly Karens] who often ambushed both Japanese and the Burmese troops. Even with the help of the Burmese, the Japanese never fully conquered the tribes that lived in the hills.
“One day a British truck arrived full of dead Japanese bodies. The headman of the village was ordered to collect wood by Sergeant Enoda. While this was taking place, the bodies were left in the truck. The smell was terrible. Any py-dogs attracted to the rotting corpses were shot. The young Japanese soldiers loved killing dogs; it was terrible to hear the yelps.
“The hard-working Japanese could never understand the Burmese lackadaisical attitude to work and lamented the time it took for the wood to arrive for the cremation. In the beginning bodies were burnt separately but as the war continued and casualties mounted, they burnt bodies communally. The smell was so strong that many of the Burmese vacated their huts and cursed the Japs. The burning bodies would sometimes move, sit up or raise an arm in salute to their emperor, as the Japs loved to believe. It was probably the contraction of sinew and muscle. All the ashes were then reverently placed in small wooden boxes with much bowing and scraping. These were to be sent back to the shrine at Yasukuni; on hearing the news their families would then proudly fly a black flag above their house.
Escape to Pagan Page 17
