Escape to Pagan

by Brian Devereux

  “One day I was overjoyed to hear that the De Souza family had moved into the end house of our terrace in Tada u. I quickly rushed over to see them and was shocked to learn that since we last saw them at Yu, only three females of the family had survived and they had lost everything. Only Maria De Souza left the house to visit us every day; she was such a lovely girl; it was now our chance to help them find food and give them money.”

  I am not sure what misfortunes had befallen the De Souzas since we last saw them, as I was always told to wait outside whenever my grandmother or mother went to visit them. I only ever saw the oldest daughter, Maria; she looked after me sometimes and came foraging with us. I can’t ever remember seeing the younger sister or their mother and Mum never mentioned what tragedy had befallen them. Grandmother was happy to repay their generosity and cooked their evening meals, cared for their mother and gave Maria money.

  “Many of the internees who arrived in Tada u died of hunger and disease once their money had run out, as they were expected to look after and feed themselves. It was not long after the De Souzas’ arrival that my mother received news from people who worked on the railway and were travelling through Tada u. She heard that her youngest son Victor, my brother, was seriously ill with malaria. She went to see the Japanese commander immediately to get permission to go and bring her son back to Tada u. How my mother got this permission I do not know; perhaps she bribed him as she was still carrying some rubies. Written permission was given in Japanese.

  “My mother made the journey to get Victor firstly on foot and then caught a train at Shwebo; many people she knew still worked on the railway. Eventually Mother found Victor and paid porters to carry him on a bamboo stretcher. They also travelled by bullock cart and boat. The return journey was a great strain for a woman of your grandmother’s age. She used all the money she had to hire and bribe Burmese officials and porters wherever she could.

  “One night a tiger was heard roaring as they sheltered in an old dilapidated hut in a deserted village. It seemed to be approaching their hut. My mother sat with her unconscious son cradling his head. She was sure that, had it not been a dark moonless night, the terrified porters would have deserted her. The roaring stopped at the outskirts of the village. Exhausted she fell asleep. The following morning when they resumed their journey they passed a dead bullock that the tiger had been feeding on during the night.

  “The whole journey took over two weeks. It was late one night when Mother arrived back at Tada u with Victor. She was so upset; poor Victor had somehow contracted cholera on the journey and was now dying. Victor died in my mother’s arms a few days later. It was the only time I saw my mother weep; her one consolation was that she was able to grant her son’s last dying wish: a glass of sugar water.”

  I remember Uncle Victor lying on the floor hidden behind a waterproof ground sheet screen. I used to sit just out of reach of his long bony fingers and stare at his shrunken face framed by long blonde hair until he opened his blue-grey eyes; I had never seen such eyes before and they scared me. Victor would call my name as if wanting me to move closer; I would quickly scuttle away. I had been told never to make contact with Victor. Grandmother and Mother always sat with him when he was conscious. He would say “Mother, get my guns – I will go shooting later.”

  “In moments of consciousness he recognized Mother and me. We found out from Victor that after we were separated on the Myitkyina train he went on to Maymyo on his own while Cyril returned to the hills and stayed with the Shans. Lucy returned home to her family. The night my brother Victor died the Banshee was calling from the trees nearby. My mother told the Japanese that Victor had died of malaria.

  “The following day Mother wrapped Victor’s body in some cheap cotton cloth. He was so thin, only skin and bone; he used to be such a tall strapping young man. We had to bury him quickly. The coffin was only a wooden box; too small for my 6ft 2in brother. Mother struggled to get Victors body into the makeshift coffin. I could not bear to watch. We took Victor straight to that grim, overgrown graveyard in a covered bullock cart. My mother had paid some Burmese men who were grave diggers to have the pit open when we arrived. Maria De Souza, several Christian families and some of the Burmese villagers accompanied us. Halfway to the graveyard we were joined by two Japanese soldiers who were armed; they may have been ordered to keep an eye on us, or perhaps they were Christians. Many of the Japanese soldiers from Nagasaki were Christians. These two soldiers just watched proceedings from a distance.

  “When we got to the overgrown graveyard we found to our horror that the grave had been dug in the exact spot where another person had been recently buried. The woman’s body was laying not far away, her long luxuriant black hair partly covering her scull. My mother was so angry with the two grave diggers; she called them all kinds of names in Burmese. Some of the Burmese women joined in the insults. The two grave diggers looked sheepish and said that a fresh grave was too hard to dig so they had to dig up the woman’s grave because the earth was much softer there. Mother got them to move the woman’s body further away but the smell still lingered.

  “My mother conducted a short service in Latin and Victor was buried. I just could not help balling my eyes out – what a waste of such a young life. My mother told the grave diggers that she would visit the grave of her son every day, if she found it had been disturbed she would then report them to the Japanese commander. We cleaned around the grave and placed wild flowers on it. It was such a lonely, dry and barren graveyard almost completely surrounded by jungle; it was not a place where a Christian soul could rest in peace.”

  I can distinctly remember the dead women the grave diggers had unearthed. Her black hair was long and thick and firmly attached to her skull. Her whole skeleton was still in one piece, held together by tough dark sinews and cartilage. Her mouth was wide open as if she was screaming, her perfect white teeth clearly visible beneath strands of her long black hair. Her bones were still in that black stained stage and her fleshless and naked pelvis could be glimpsed through her rotting longyi. The smell of the woman’s earthly remains dominated that sad and humid Burmese afternoon.

  My grandmother visited that lonely graveyard every day to make sure her youngest son’s grave was undisturbed. After a while I and some of the younger boys (hearts racing) sneaked past the pagoda and rushed in among the graves to pick up fallen bay fruit, then rushed out again. By that time the woman’s bones had been scattered and splinted by hyenas; only long wisps of her black hair remained.

  “Somehow news of the war [be it out of date] filtered into camp. We never knew where it came from but the local Burmese were now becoming disillusioned with their new allies. In 1944-45 Allied planes began attacking targets in and around Tada u. To add to our worries, people who lived in our terrace began to disappear during the night; no one knew what had happened to them as often their meagre possessions were taken away. We began to suspect the Kempeitai. Our dread of them grew.

  “We were so excited when we heard rumours that British troops had crossed the Chindwin and some time later had crossed the Irrawaddy River. There were also rumours that the American and Chinese Armies were still pushing the Japs back. We waited expectantly to hear the sound of fighting. We were so happy at the possibility of being liberated and watched the behaviour of the resident Japs, expecting them to start running around jabbering in that excited way of theirs. But they did nothing and carried on as usual with their parades and patrols into the hills. It wasn’t long before our hopes were dashed by the Japanese, who boasted that ‘the American and Chinese Armies had been defeated and pushed back with severe losses.’ They also claimed that the British Army had been beaten and had retreated back across the Irrawaddy and Chindwin rivers, leaving behind many dead and wounded men, equipment and pack animals. The most heartbreaking news of all was that the Japanese Army and Indian forces were attacking India and would soon be in Delhi. It seemed that Burma was still totally occupied by the Japanese. All the same, the amount of Jap
anese troops passing through Tada u increased and captured British tanks, together with Japanese tanks, were parked on the playing fields.”

  These could have been the smaller Jap 94 type tankette or the bigger Type 95. Both tanks were obsolete but had reliable air-cooled engines. Captured British tanks were often used by the Japanese.

  “They were very proud of these tanks and had them constantly guarded and covered in cut branches. Curious children were chased away.

  “Although we could not see the Indian families, we could hear them celebrating the march on India. But I think most of these poor Indians knew by now that India would end up like Burma, part of the Japanese Empire.”

  It was generally believed that the Japanese were natural jungle fighters and had gone through extensive jungle training. This was a myth. The fact is the Japanese had conducted no such general training; the climate in Japan, China, Formosa (Taiwan) and Manchuria did not provide the right environment. Their successes lay in the fact that they were tough, disciplined and conditioned to hardship. In truth, many Japanese were afraid of the jungle. To emphasize this, the Japanese did not succeed in subduing the hill tribes who were masters of jungle warfare. A group of Chindits had been captured by the Japanese in dense jungle. At night, the Japanese guards ordered several large fires to be built around their bivouac then arranged the prisoners into a perfect circle, in the middle of which the Japanese guards slept. Their logic was simple: if a tiger appeared it would help itself to a scrawny prisoner rather than a nice plump Jap.

  After the war many people looked on the British Major General Orde Charles Wingate, who created the Chindits, a long-range jungle penetration unit, as some kind of eccentric genius and the master of jungle warfare. This was not the general opinion. Eccentric he certainly was; a genius in jungle warfare, perhaps not. Wingate had no previous jungle experience, having served in North Africa against the Italians. It was said by many that he sometimes briefed his officers in Africa lying stark naked on his camp bed.

  The brave Chindits were usually marched until they were too worn out to fight. Long range penetrations, it is said, did the enemy little harm; yet they gave those at home a great boost to moral. However the Chindit defensive blocks were with one exception a total success. It is said Wingate asked too much of his brave soldiers. Many were left behind. The Burmese jungle is a dangerous place for a man who had the misfortune to become separated from his comrades. A guest (ex-Chindit) staying at my hotel during the late seventies recounted an event during the Burma campaign concerning a personal friend of his, a lance corporal. The column of Chindits reached the top of a hill and decided to brew tea before descending. The lance corporal walked a short distance to check the route of their descent. He never returned. Despite a search by his comrades, no trace of him was found. I have sometimes pondered this man’s fate on that far off humid Burmese afternoon. Suicide perhaps; but no shot was heard. Did he just walk away? Was the soldier’s death natural, falling prey to a predator? Was he being intently watched by the golden malevolent eyes of a feline? Or had he attracted the attention of a large Burmese python? If it was the former, death would have been instantaneous; a single bite to the neck severing the vertebra. He would then be carried away. There would be no tell-tale blood to indicate such an encounter. Death in the coils of a large python would be slow and traumatic once a thick muscular coil encased his ribcage, allowing just one soft groan perhaps before suffocation. We shall never know.

  When Wingate was killed in a plane crash in India in 1944, Brigadier Lentaigne was chosen to replace him. Mike Calvert, an excellent soldier and leader, would have been a more popular choice. Brigadier Lentaigne adopted the Grand old Duke of York tactics and marched his men up the hill and all the way down again, until they were exhausted.

  The Japanese invasion of India caught out the top brass. Despite reports by the Karen and Gurkha levies that the Japs were crossing the Chindwin in battalion strength, little or no action was taken. It seems a few of the high and mighty had short memories. When it was established that the enemy was about to attack, regiments were ordered to dig in then received new orders to change positions at the last minute: shades of 1942. The enemy only just failed to reach the massive dumps at Dimapur. If they had, the battle of Kohima would have been lost. If it was not for the brave defence of Shanshak by the Indian Parachute Regiment led by Hope Thomson, the enemy would have arrived several days earlier while nervous commanders were still shuffling their defences. The successful defence of Kohima and Imphal were due to the bravery of men and officers in the badly prepared defences. General Slim reshaped Allied tactics.

  “News of the campaigns to the west and north flooded in to Tada u. For us there was nothing worse than first receiving good news, only to have our hopes of liberation dashed a few days later. News of the Japanese advance into India sent many into despair. We all expected India to fall quickly considering the situation there, but after weeks of fighting the monsoon broke and many Japanese sick and wounded began arriving at Tada u. This gave us hope. Some soldiers brought back parachutes of different colours and sold them to the Burmese; cloth was difficult to obtain during the war but unfortunately the parachutes were not made of silk. The Japanese now began telling the Burmese that the war would last a hundred years. Then one day we heard a name whispered: Iwo Jima.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The Lost Japanese Patrol

  BURMA

  “One day a group of Japanese soldiers set out from Tada u in a lorry on an anti-partisan patrol; with them was a Burmese tracker. Only the Japanese driver and Burmese tracker returned. The Karens were now coming down from the hills and ambushing Japanese convoys. According to the single Japanese survivor, the patrol had been a victim of an evil Outosan. He claimed the patrol was driving along a lonely jungle flanked track when they passed a large banyan tree and saw a beautiful naked Karen girl standing at the side of it while combing her long black hair. As the Japanese approached the girl, she turned into a large python and attacked them. Seeing this, the rest of the patrol ran into the jungle. We all laughed at the Japanese soldiers’ cock-and-bull yarn to hide a very successful ambush by the Karens. We had also been told previously that a Jap pilot had beheaded an enemy pilot with his sword while flying his plane.

  “The ambush was the talk of Tada u for many days; the Burmese believed the story and that it signified the end of Japanese rule in Burma. The Karens under British leadership were now coming down from the hills and attacking Japanese outposts. The Japanese made up the most ridiculous lies and repeated them to us with stony faces. My mother said the Japanese were among the most truthful and polite of races [amongst themselves that is] and that they were only just learning how to lie to non-Japanese.”

  The naked girl was probably a decoy, knowing the Japanese love of beauty. The Japanese had a healthy respect for the hill tribes and their skill as jungle fighters. These hill tribes inflicted enormous casualties on the Emperor’s troops and as a result they suffered terrible revenge. These hill tribes were badly let down after the war by British politicians.

  “One day a Burmese boy was playing with a metal object that fascinated you; it was full of small coloured wires and taken from a crashed British plane. You wanted one and asked me and my mother to come with you. My mother said it would be very dangerous and forbade you to leave the house despite your bawling. Some days later we thought you had forgotten about the metal object and let you out to play. My mother then noticed that you were missing. We searched everywhere until a neighbour said she had seen you walking in the direction of the Kempeitai building. This was dangerous. After a long search we returned home hoping to find you there; you were not. It was while we were deciding what to do next that you returned, crying your eyes out.”

  On my way to find the plane, I was forced to pass the Kempeitai building. As I walked past, the big doors were closed. I carried on along the track until the camp was out of sight. Stories I had heard about the dangers of wild animals began to worry me
and I decided to go back home. On returning again I passed the Kempeitai building. The big doors were now wide open and I could hear the angry bellows of the Japanese soldiers accompanied by high pitched animal-like screams of agony.

  I moved nearer to have a look through the big open double doors. A naked man was suspended from the wooden beams by his arms, which were tied behind his back. He was being tortured by two Japanese Kempeitai policemen. One of the torturers was holding a long length of pointed bamboo which he was pushing into the prisoner. The prisoner was pleading, wailing and screaming for mercy. This sight and the sound of the desperate pleading shocked me and I froze into a numb silence until one of the torturers turned and saw me. He screamed “Kurra – Kurra!” This sent me running home crying. Although much sand has passed through the hourglass since that day, I can still picture the scene vividly, and the glistening pool of blood below the victim. It was the first time I heard a human crying out in mortal agony. What nationality the man was I could not say, but screams of pain must all sound the same regardless.

  “British planes began attacking Tada u and the surrounding area. We could feel the vibrations of the bombs and hear the machine guns. Anti-aircraft guns were erected about a quarter of a mile from our terrace. Because of these guns, the Allied planes began to bomb the whole of Tada u camp.

  “Then one day bombs fell on the terraces. Luckily our terrace was not damaged as the planes concentrated on the barracks and administration buildings. We no longer felt safe. There were two air raid shelters not far from our house; one used by the Japanese, the second, which was smaller, situated under trees and used by the internees. If we stood up, there was room enough for all.”