Digger’s Story: Surviving the Japanese POW camps was just the beginning

by David

  This state of affairs made little difference to Digger, Mick, Jack and Yabba, who continued as the gravedigging team. They were by now very familiar with the routine and totally dedicated to doing all they could to make money, to enable them to buy extra food and drugs. Two events then occurred to upset their routine.

  First, Takeo Harada was transferred. He was the one and only decent guard whom Digger ever encountered. The two were never friends – that was impossible – but trust had built up between the two. Just before he left the camp, Takeo gave Digger a large box of Japanese cigarettes.

  Second, the Japanese had neglected to pay any attention to the camp hospitals’ sanitation and hygiene. All suggestions in this regard by POW medical officers were resented. New latrines were not dug until the old ones were full and overflowing, and the Japanese never took advice about where these should be. The romusha were defecating everywhere, flies swarmed and dysentery was rife. Colonel Benson stated that ‘conditions could not have been worse than in the dirtiest of Indian Bazaars’.

  These conditions were certainly in evidence at the No. 2 Coolie Hospital. Not surprisingly, cholera broke out in May 1944, and immediately the Japanese replaced their own dressers in the cholera wards with Allied medical officers and orderlies. Sanitation was then immediately attended to.8

  When cholera broke out, Digger was ordered to report to a sergeant in the guards’ quarters, between the camp and the railway. The sergeant quickly and forcefully explained to him that he was now ‘sanski boy’ for Major Buto and the other Japanese officers who lived there. This meant he was now their house boy, cleaner, servant and general dogsbody, and he did not like the idea.

  Digger was not too sure why he was chosen for this job, but it probably had something to do with the fact that he was always clean in appearance and habits, polite and – on the face of it – willing in all his work. He knew he would loathe it, however, and he also knew he could not steal anything from them without being immediately suspected.

  I didn’t want to be a sanski boy for these bastards but I could see it offered me opportunities to get back at them. Getting away with it would be the trick. It would be a bit like using the snakes against them. The lads that worked outside the camp were always on the lookout for snakes. Usually they caught them for the pot – the bigger, thicker ones such as pythons. But the smaller snakes were often the nasty poisonous little beggars, and the men used to capture them alive if they could.

  They would smuggle these snakes into camp and pass them on to any POW who had access to the Japanese guards’ quarters. The snakes were surreptitiously released into the drainage ditches that surrounded all the Japanese dormitories. These ditches were built quite deep and wide so that if an air raid came during the night, the Japs could just sort of roll out of their bunks and into the ditch. They’d then get bitten by one of our snakes – that was the theory, anyway! I don’t know if it ever happened but it was worth it just thinking about it.

  Although the opportunities for revenge were good, Digger did not enjoy his new job. He might have appreciated the relatively easy life but the respectful demeanour that had to be maintained at all times, along with the ever-so-polite and ingratiating conversations he was forced to conduct with the Japanese officers, began to get him down after a week or two. Eventually, all that he could think of was how to get out of this job.

  The only thing he could do was contrive to somehow get sacked. Asking for a transfer was not an option. One of Digger’s daily tasks was to fill and heat a large drum of water for Major Buto to bathe in. One day Digger built a larger than usual fire under the bathwater. Strangely, it was not really an intentional decision on Digger’s part. He knew perfectly well what he was doing, but while one part of him was telling him to stoke the fire, another side was thinking about the likely consequences of this act. They weren’t pleasant.

  By the time Major Buto arrived for his bath it was too late to stop what was about to happen. Digger simply braced himself.

  Major Buto was short-legged and obviously well fed, not at all like the majority of the lower Japanese ranks. He always looked very smart in his uniform, complete with belt, sword and scabbard, leather knee-length boots, cap and badges of rank, but as he climbed up the timber steps to get into the drum, he looked a little ridiculous and decidedly vulnerable in his nudity.

  Digger felt dread at his impending bashing, but this was somewhat offset by the sight of the major confidently plunging his right leg into the water, right up to his testicles. He then let out a huge roar and scrambled out, trying to escape the pain. That brought other officers out of the nearby house.

  Buto grabbed a bamboo pole from another guard and, with both hands, smashed the pole into the left side of Digger’s head. This fat little Japanese officer, completely nude, with one red leg and one white leg, continued to shout and bash Digger about the head for what seemed to Digger like an eternity. He only just managed to remain standing. Major Buto threw the pole down and barked an order to an officer, who dragged Digger to the gate of the small compound, threw him to the ground, kicked him repeatedly and told him to be on parade the next morning.

  Digger dragged himself to his hut. As he approached, he was conscious of Yabba and Vic helping him inside and gently laying him onto the sleeping platform. Within half an hour Digger’s eyes had almost disappeared amid his swelling face, and his jaw, which may have been broken from previous bashings, was certainly broken this time. He was fed a thin soup through his swollen and bruised lips, but Yabba swore he could see the beginnings of a smile on Digger’s face.

  ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’ asked Vic. ‘No, don’t answer that. I can see you can’t, so just shut up for now and swallow the soup.’

  Despite the considerable pain Digger was in, he went over the scene in his mind. God, how he wished he could tell the story now. But he couldn’t speak, so he took Vic’s advice and concentrated on getting the soup down.

  The next morning at parade, Digger was not surprised to find himself allocated to the cholera ward. This was probably the worst job that Major Buto could think of, as a suitable punishment for this fool who was unable to get his bathwater to the correct temperature. It probably never entered Major Buto’s mind that Digger had intentionally made the water too hot. If Buto had thought that, Digger knew, he would not be alive now.

  Digger was happy in the cholera ward because he knew that the last thing he would see there would be a Japanese guard. The Japanese were terrified of cholera. Most of them carried around a small bag filled with herbs of some kind, which they believed increased their body temperature and thus protected them from the disease. Digger and his mates knew how to protect themselves from cholera – you simply didn’t drink water that was likely to be unclean – and as he recovered slowly he concentrated on keeping himself out of bother.

  Both the death house and the cholera ward had split-bamboo walls and attap palm roofs. The romusha patients lay on the bare earth down one side of the hut; down the other side, inside the hut, was the latrine. This was so that those who were otherwise unable to walk far could relieve themselves close to where they slept. Many patients were actually past walking, so the conditions inside these huts for all whose misery ended here was utterly appalling.

  Digger never once saw any romusha patient receive treatment for his condition in the death house or in the cholera house. As a medical orderly in the cholera ward, all that Digger was permitted to do was to get the patients, if they were fit enough, to kneel with their bare backsides facing him in a row, and he would spray their arses with a liquid given to him by the Japanese. Digger expected this was just salt water. No romusha ever recovered in these wards. The cholera patients all had other complicating and debilitating conditions, such as dysentery, malaria and beriberi.

  It took Digger a good two weeks to recover from the bashing. His jaw was still painful and tender when he attempted to chew, but since there was no steak on the menu this didn’t trouble him too much. He kne
w that as the bones mended this would come good over time. His hatred for the Japanese had only grown.

  Digger had three things going for him as he planned his revenge. He knew the routine in the officers’ quarters back to front. He also knew and trusted the new sanski boy POW who was employed there. Finally, he had twenty-four-hour access to the cholera house.

  Digger still had a large syringe in his kit that he had acquired in his days working in the mortuary at Changi. One afternoon, he filled it with liquid from the latrine trench that was laden with cholera bacteria; it was a relatively clear liquid. He went to the officers’ bathhouse and gave each toothbrush on the rack a good soaking straight from the syringe.

  Major Buto survived this attack of biological warfare, and Digger was unable to find out whether any other officers had succumbed. If officers did get sick, they were always immediately removed from the camp. Still, Digger felt much better to have taken some revenge. He resumed his usual activities of stealing and dealing.

  In fact, opportunities for this expanded while Digger was working in the cholera ward, mainly because no Japanese guard or officer would come near it. Digger was free to deal with the local Thais through the back fence. He was able to buy food and sell old clothing; woollen clothing, in particular, was in great demand. The Thai women would unravel the wool and make the most wonderful new garments with it. An old sock, no matter how worn, would get Digger a few bananas; a pair would get him a duck’s egg.

  By late 1944, the cholera epidemic had subsided. Digger and most of the Filthy Seven were back at their manual labouring jobs around the camps at Kanchanaburi. They knew the area very well by this time, and through their stealing and dealing they were able to provide themselves with the necessities of life. They still got malaria and dysentery occasionally, but they were able to survive.

  In early 1945, the bridge over the Mae Klong River was bombed. This was the famous ‘bridge on the River Kwai’ – the river was later renamed to fit the famous story.

  I was in Kanchanaburi when the bridge over the Mae Klong was destroyed. I don’t remember the time, but twenty-one Lancaster bombers appeared and an ack-ack battery opened up on the formation. One Lancaster peeled off to take care of the ack-ack battery. It disappeared but reappeared seconds later. The ack-ack battery was silenced. Three Lancasters then peeled off and knocked out the three middle spans of the bridge. The remaining seventeen Lancasters pattern-bombed the Japanese stores depot. We were ordered to clean up the mess the next day. There were Japanese bodies everywhere.

  On 6 April 1945, all L Force and K Force personnel were transferred from Japan’s Malaya Command to Japan's Thai Command. They were moved twelve kilometres south, to a large camp at Tha Muang. Unfortunately, this meant the end for the Filthy Seven as well as the two forces.

  Digger was sent east to Lop Buri, in Thailand. He was to serve as a medical orderly for a group of about 200 POWs who were building an airfield.

  Chapter 10

  Relative Respite

  Lop Buri was a full day’s journey by truck from Tha Muang. It took a convoy of several trucks to transport the 200 POWs east to their new destination in central Thailand. It was a long journey but much easier than the last one Digger had experienced – from Changi to Kanchanaburi.

  The men were carried over very rough roads, through thick jungle interspersed with paddy fields and villages, past lakes and over slow rivers in the flat lowlands of Thailand. Lop Buri was a small town in central Thailand with the occasional permanent material structure, but most of its buildings had the ubiquitous split-bamboo walls and thatched attap palm roofs.

  Their destination was a few kilometres out of Lop Buri, in a large area that had once been paddy field. The men saw a small group of very dilapidated huts, which the Japanese guards indicated was to be their new home.

  In this group of prisoners there were no commissioned officers and no medical officers, although there were some non-commissioned officers (NCOs). When K Force and L Force were disbanded, all commissioned officers were separated from the other ranks, and most of the medical officers were sent to other Japanese-occupied areas. It turned out that Digger was the only man left in the group who had any real understanding of things medical. His job, it seemed, was to look after the health of the group.

  In general, conditions at Lop Buri appeared to be a lot better than at Kanchanaburi. The Japanese organised everything through the prisoner NCOs, and this system worked well. It was quickly discovered that these Japanese guards acted very differently from those at Kanchananburi. They were not overly aggressive and gave reasonable orders. While the humiliating bowing, scraping and saluting was still insisted upon, these guards’ actions demonstrated more empathy for the plight of the POWs.

  Over time, the Allied POWs learned that these Japanese guards had served as soldiers at the front in locations such as Papua New Guinea, the Philippines and Burma. Serving in battle had obviously bred a little more tolerance and understanding into them. The guards on the railway, on the other hand, had never served on the front. Digger reckoned that many probably regretted missing out on the kudos associated with being in battle, and so took their frustration out on the POWs.

  The guards at Lop Buri listened to the men’s requests for materials to fix up the huts, and to Digger’s for basic medical supplies. They did what they could to help. The rations were by no means luxurious, but food was available in greater quantity and better quality than it had ever been since the surrender in 1942. Gradually, most POWs even put on a little weight.

  The routine in the camp was very similar to that at the railway. There was a morning parade, then large work parties went off to labour on the nearby airfield. Other work parties were engaged in digging a large ‘bund’ around the camp – a trench more than a metre deep and a metre wide, with the earth thrown up on the outside. Still others were constructing storerooms, guard posts, latrines and the like. The Lop Buri POW camp grew very quickly.

  Although the food was better and malnutrition diseases less of a problem, malaria and tropical ulcers were still rife. Digger lacked the rank and the qualifications to be called ‘doctor’, but he had everything else that was required. He had patients with very genuine diseases, he had access to basic medical supplies, and most importantly he was the only medical help they had. All the POWs regarded him as the camp doctor; some even began calling him ‘Doc’.

  Prisoner of war or not, Digger began to enjoy his existence at Lop Buri. He had a job to do; he had quinine and M&B 693; he was his own boss – as much as one could be, in the circumstances; the food wasn’t too bad; and he was now certain that he would survive the war, no matter how long it took. The Japanese sometimes even took him into Lop Buri and provided him with money to buy the drugs and supplies that he needed.

  Perhaps Digger’s most important work was in treating tropical ulcers. If left untreated, a tropical ulcer could grow from something the size of a pinhead to a large open and infected sore in no more than a few days. The usual treatment was to clean out the ulcer with a curette, a special scraping tool. Not having one of these, Digger used a small sterile spoon, which he sharpened for the purpose. Once the wound was cleaned, a dressing of crushed M&B 693 tablets and a sterile bandage would be applied.

  Digger did his best to educate the men, stressing that prevention was the best treatment. If they could not avoid breaking the skin during work, then treatment with M&B 693 must be undertaken immediately. Only this would avoid the very painful scraping procedure with Digger’s curette. But there were always a few cases of men who left the treatment too late, and no matter how Digger tried the ulcer still grew.

  Occasionally, more drastic measures were required. One man had an ulcer between his smallest two toes; the scraping treatment was not working well because it was so difficult to get at. Digger told him straight that he could remove the small toe at the joint, and it was likely the wound would heal up well after that. He explained that he could probably get the anaesthetic novocaine, wh
ich he would inject around the base of the toe to eliminate the pain.

  As he explained this to the poor bloke, Digger appeared much more confident than he felt. He well knew the necessity for the ‘doctor’ to present a confident and calm presence. As for the surgery, well, he knew he had to give it a go. The last person he had ‘operated’ on was a corpse in the mortuary at Changi, but he did not tell his patient this.

  Digger explained the situation to the Japanese, and within a day he was shopping in Lop Buri for what he needed: a scalpel, some suturing thread, a suitable curved sewing needle, a new injection needle and of course some novocaine. The Thais with whom he did business were very sympathetic. In fact, Digger had to insist that they accept payment for the materials he was buying.

  Digger organised for an operating table to be built by a few POWs, who also agreed to help with the operation. Digger explained very clearly to the helpers – out of the patient’s earshot – that he was unsure of just how well the novocaine would work. Their one and only job was to hold the bloke still on the table, no matter what happened.

  When the time came for the operation, Digger explained to the patient that he had to be held down because the table had been so badly made that it was unstable; it had to be steady for him to work. The poor bloke probably didn’t understand, or perhaps he didn’t care at that point. He was as white as a sheet and just nodded his agreement.

  The helpers took hold of him, and Digger began to sterilise the skin around the toe. He injected the novocaine, and soon was removing the toe at the bottom joint.

  The operation went perfectly. The bloke never said a thing or even attempted to move. It took Digger more than half an hour, but he was able to thoroughly clean the ulcerated area. He didn’t know how long it would have taken a real doctor, but he was glad it was over. As the patient explained to Digger afterwards, all he felt during the operation was movement. He had felt no pain whatsoever.