by Gillian Chan
We could hear the noise of fighting, but had no direct contact since we were far south on Obelisk Hill. We waited for an order to move forward, hearing the sounds of battle off in the distance, the dark sky lit up by mortar fire and tracer bullets. C Company, who were meant to be in reserve, took the brunt of it on Mount Parker, and were then sent to Sai Wan fort, only to find that it had fallen already. So much for intelligence on what weak soldiers the Japanese were; they were top-notch fighting men. By the time morning broke on the nineteenth they were trying to capture the hills around Tai Tam Reservoir and had penetrated into the Wong Nei Chong Gap that split the island in two. If they took that, they’d separate us from West Brigade and the Grenadiers.
God, it was a confusing time. We were tired, wet and hungry and would get one set of orders, only for them to be countermanded. It seemed like we spent the day lugging our guns and equipment up one hill, only to be told to bring it down again. It was nerve-wracking too, because we knew that the enemy was getting closer.
We got orders to relieve C Company and set off. I was almost too numb to feel scared. I think we all were. We battled our way up the steep hillside, clutching at the scrubby bushes.
“Ike,” I said, “this is it …”
He nodded, not replying, just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
“If I don’t —”
“Stop right there, Jacko.” Ike flashed a sideways look at me. “I don’t want to hear it. We’ll both make it through. We have to believe that.”
“Silence in the ranks,” Oldham hissed. He had come up behind us. “Do you want to warn them we’re on the move?”
As it turned out, we got ordered back down before we even reached C Company. While the Japanese continued their advance, East Brigade headquarters was being moved from Tai Tam, near our old position, back to Stone Hill. We got the order to fall back to Stanley Mound.
It was not an easy trip. The hills on the island were horrific, steep and covered with a layer of small stones that slid underneath us. I came close to tumbling back down quite a few times, hanging on by digging in my boots. We took some casualties there from broken limbs even before we came under fire from Japanese snipers who had advanced ahead of their main troops.
It’s true, bullets do whine through the air. The Japanese had 150-mm howitzers too. The first time we got shelled, we all hit the dirt. I was so scared that I felt like I was trying to push my body into the dry, hard earth by sheer willpower. Our khaki uniforms blended in well with the ground, but I lay there thinking that our pale Canadian skin, even if we were sunburned, must present a really good target.
A bullet pinged off a stone close to me, sending a chip flying into my face. I could feel warm blood trickling down and I offered a silent prayer of thanks that it had not been near my eye. I didn’t dare move, not even to wipe the blood away.
I sensed movement behind me and wondered whether someone had been hit, but a familiar, rasping voice sounded in my ear. “Finnigan, we can’t lie here all day like ladies taking an afternoon nap!”
Sergeant Oldham had belly-crawled alongside me. His face was a mask of dust, the whites of his eyes and his yellowing teeth the only colours showing.
“When the bugger stops to reload, I’ll give the signal to make a run for it, but you need to move fast, understood?”
Worried that my voice would be shaky with nerves, I nodded.
Oldham stayed where he was and I could hear him muttering. Was he praying? Then he yelled and I could hear the lieutenant’s voice up ahead too, like a distorted echo, “One, two, three, go!”
I don’t think that I’ve ever moved so fast before. It felt like I had launched myself into a run before I even cleared the ground. I ran zigzagging and crouched over, trying to present as small a target as I could until I reached the shelter of an old, half-demolished wall where the rest of the platoon were arriving.
It was pure luck we took to no casualties and I think we might have even dealt with the sniper. Well, our lance corporal, Durand, did. He stayed behind to cover us. When he came running after us, unscathed, crouched low, he had a huge smirk on his face.
“That Jap boy, he won’t bother us no more!” he said, his accent thicker than usual.
I had forgotten about the nick from the stone chip until I saw Paddy staring at me, his mouth hanging open. “Jacko, you’re hit!”
“No, I’m not.”
Oldham was there in a flash. “What’s going on, boyos?” He looked us over and said, “Rifleman Finnigan, since you’re standing and making too much noise as usual with your friend here, I am presuming that you are quite hale and hearty despite the fact that the left side of your face is covered with blood!”
I gently touched my face, finding the left side wet and sticky. There was no pain when I explored further and found what felt like a small notch taken out of my forehead, just above my left eyebrow. Damn, it had been closer than I thought to my eye.
“Yes, Sergeant, just a scratch. Looks worse than it is.”
Oldham looked at me and nodded. “Slap a dressing on it, Finnigan, and next time you hit the dirt like that, try and cover your face.”
There was always that little dig with Oldham.
I was so tired that I thought I’d have no trouble sleeping when we finally made it back, but even after the first hot meal in days, sleep wouldn’t come. I lay there on the rocky ground thinking about Alice, even my family, picturing them getting ready for Christmas, wondering if they were thinking about me. Alice’s family was as big as mine and they would all gather and celebrate together, although there was probably a bit more churchgoing than she would like.
Ike and Paddy were thinking of family too, I guess, because Paddy suddenly piped up, “If I was at home, I’d probably be out with my pa scouring the woods for a tree. He likes to go out on a cold evening with a flask of whisky in his pocket and last year was the first year he gave me any.” His voice was dreamy, and I could picture the scene so clearly, a snow-covered wood, the two figures bundled against the cold with the stars burning brightly above them.
“Us, we buy a tree,” I said, thinking of the tattered ones that my sisters always chose because they felt sorry for them.
“What about you, Ike?” I asked. I didn’t think that Jewish people celebrated Christmas, but maybe they had a holiday round the same time.
“You great lummox! Jews don’t celebrate Christmas.” Ike was laughing. It did me good to see that; he’d been so drawn and serious lately. “Me, I’d be working in my dad’s deli. Just because we don’t celebrate, it doesn’t mean that we can’t help all you goyim do so!”
Even though I could hear the rattle of small-arms fire in the distance and shells bursting a ways off, it was a peaceful moment — one I’ll always remember.
“Boys?” a figure appeared out of the darkness, then crouched down beside us. It was Sergeant Oldham.
I immediately scrambled into a sitting position, ready to spring to my feet and stand to attention.
“No, no, rest easy.” He motioned with his hand that we should stay as we were. “The lieutenant has just got our orders for tomorrow. Brigadier Wallis has ordered D Company to retake Violet Hill and connect with the Grenadiers in Wong Nei Chong Gap.”
Paddy stifled a snort. “Bet they’ll change again before morning, Sarge!”
I froze, waiting for Oldham to explode as he usually did if he got anything less than the respect he thought he deserved.
“Not this time, Houlihan. We’re definitely going in.” Oldham’s voice lowered. “Now try and get some sleep if you can. We’ll be moving out at first light.”
North Point Camp, Hong Kong Island, July 1942
We’ve been taken out on work parties to Kai Tak, building runways — one day us, one day the Grenadiers. It’s back-breaking work. We don’t have the tools. Half the time we move the earth and rocks with our bare hands. You have to be careful not to get a scratch or cut because they become infected so easily. One poor
guy lost a leg and nearly died when that happened. Doc Banfill pulled him through. God, we all have it tough, but it’s going to be tougher still for that poor guy. I just hope he has good friends to help him out, buddies like Paddy has in me and Ike.
The work parties are at least a break from the prison camp, seeing the same faces day in, day out, hearing the same stories over and over, listening to descriptions of meals that make your mouth water and your stomach hurt when you know that all you’ll have is a bowl of rice and a sliver of rotted fish if you’re lucky. We get trucked out as dawn breaks and put on barges to Kowloon. Hong Kong is not the same city that I loved so much before all this started. There’s bomb damage everywhere and the people look as hungry as we are.
If you have a good guard, they might give you a cigarette when you break for lunch, where you get a steamed bun too. I don’t smoke, never have, but I always take one to give to Ike. He’s still not well so he never gets picked for the work parties. He guards our stuff, this notebook in particular. Most in the camp are good joes, but there are some who’d rob you blind given any chance.
I’m so tired by the end of the day that all I want to do is eat my rations, then sleep, but I do want to record what happened, so I must find the energy to continue and describe my first face-to-face encounter with the enemy.
Hong Kong Island, December 20, 1941
At 0800 hours on the dot we were on the move. We were next to No. 18 Platoon and Sergeant MacDonell was leading them. He had made a recce of this area before the invasion so he seemed to know what he was doing. We followed behind with Lieutenant Mason in the lead and Sergeant Oldham at the rear. Our objective was to retake Violet Hill, but we had a secondary one: to remove a Japanese machine-gun emplacement that had been set up at the base of the hill near the Wong Nei Chong Reservoir.
For once the weather was bright and clear, and my heart was thudding hard as I wondered how we were going to get into position with almost no cover. I was sure that this was going to end in a massacre. No one looked steady. Ike was sweating, big bullets of it popping out on his forehead, then running down his face into his collar. Paddy kept fingering a crucifix he had on a chain with his identification discs. The only one who seemed cool was Sergeant MacDonell, and when he outlined his plan, I started to breathe easier. It was madness, but there was just a chance it might work.
All over Hong Kong, there are these huge catchwater ditches that run down the sides of the hills and along roads to cope with the rain. When it rains here, it rains hard. Rain like you’ve never seen it before, so relentless that you can’t see a foot ahead of you, and these ditches fill with a raging torrent. MacDonell’s plan was that we would use them to hide our advance, creeping along until we were within range of the gun emplacement. Once we took that out, we could make for Violet Hill and fight our way up it.
Watching the other platoon go first, I could see it wasn’t easy to get into the ditch. They’re about 4 feet wide and 5 feet deep, made out of rough concrete; the sides have only the slightest slope. I elected to jump down and, once I was there, stood to help and catch those who followed. I’d seen how badly scraped up some of those who tried to slide down were — a stupid move when all they were wearing was their tropical kit of short-sleeved shirts and shorts.
Oldham was the last one in and he held my forearm for a second, then nodded before waving me on to join Ike and Paddy.
With the ditch being so shallow, there was no way we could walk or even run normally. We scuttled along, bent over like crabs, laden down with our rifles and some with Bren guns too. A mortar team behind us was going to provide cover when we started up the hill. I felt sorriest for the guys lugging the mortars.
It wasn’t so bad for Ike. He’s a real shrimp. Barely over 5 feet tall, all he had to do was duck down a little. The tall ones like me and MacDonell, both over 6 feet, had to almost bend double or risk being seen. It was murder on the back and thighs. We were trying our best to be quiet so that we weren’t spotted. I kept gasping and I realized I was holding my breath, just waiting for either the gun emplacement or the troops higher up the hill to see us and open fire. I thanked God that our uniforms were drab enough to blend in with the walls of the ditches and that our helmets were so dusty and spattered with mud that no sunlight would glint off them and give away our position. I just hoped that Paddy didn’t lose his helmet or get it knocked off, as his bright red hair would be like a beacon in the night!
As we got closer, the risk of being heard was added in too. Luckily the machine guns kept firing in bursts and we tried our best to synchronize our movements with them to cover any noise that we made. When Sergeant MacDonell signalled that we were in place, I breathed a huge sigh of relief and patted Ike on the shoulder. He managed a grin back and a thumbs-up.
We peered cautiously over the lip of the ditch. We had come out directly across from the machine-gun nest, maybe even slightly above its position on the other side of a road. There were some pack mules there and as we were getting ready to open fire, a Japanese staff car drew up just a little ahead of the machine guns. An officer stepped out. It was the first time I’d seen a Jap up close since the fighting began. He was all braid and shiny, leather, knee-high boots. He must have been sweltering in the heat. I know I was, even in my shorts and shirt.
There was no hesitation when the order came to shoot. I didn’t care about the officer, his driver, the mules. I just wanted to get the job done, knock out those guns so that we could move on and try to take back Violet Hill, and then press on to try and reach the Grenadiers in the Wong Nei Chong Gap. I had one of our Tommy guns. I just kept blasting away, reloading when I had to until I had only my reserve ammo left. My world was reduced to one of smoke, screams and flames. My heart was going faster than it ever had before. My mouth was dry. When the shooting finally stopped and I saw what we had done, I felt this weird mixture of pride and horror.
The car was ablaze. Through the smoke I saw the fallen bodies of the Japanese officer and his driver. The gun emplacement behind it was a blackened hole in the earth. Their spare ammunition had exploded — no one could have survived that.
I felt a rush of saliva coming and I knew that unless I held on, I was going to puke.
I didn’t get the chance.
Suddenly we were under fire. At first I was frozen, frantically trying to work out where the bullets were coming from. They were pinging off the sides of the ditch, sending chips of concrete flying.
“Move!” Lieutenant Mason was bellowing, waving his arm to indicate that we should go back the way we had come. I realized that the firing was coming from gun nests on Violet Hill above us. It would have been suicidal to continue to try to take it; the enemy were there in far greater strength than we’d expected. If we made a frontal assault we would just be mowed down as we ran — there was no scrub for cover.
Sergeant MacDonell stayed behind with a Bren gun, firing from his hip, trying to slow down any pursuit that might come. And it was coming. Glancing over my shoulder as I ran, I saw lines of Japanese soldiers running along the ridges of the low rises that were on either side of the valley the huge ditch divided. If they caught up with us before we could get out of it, we were dead men. They’d be able to fire down on us, killing us like ducks in a shooting gallery.
I was a fast runner, even carrying my Tommy gun and equipment, but I couldn’t go at my top speed because of slower men in front of me. I could hear Ike panting ahead, sounding winded already.
We made it to the end of the ditch and one guy clambered to its lip, ready to sprint across the patch of bare ground for the cover of the trees and scrub — our best hope of both regrouping and escape. He never made it. There was a rattle of a machine gun opening up and he toppled back onto the men below, dead. Sergeant MacDonell bulled his way through, briefly pulled himself up on the lip of the ditch to take in the situation, then ducked down when the bullets came at him.
We had only moments before the Japanese reached our position. Already some were starti
ng to shoot down on us, although we were still just out of their range.
Sergeant Oldham was at the rear. He shouted out, “There’s Japs coming down the ditch. I’ll try to hold them off.” He went down on one knee, ready to open fire with his Bren gun when the Japanese came in sight.
We were trapped.
In my pocket I had a pink piece of paper that the enemy had dropped in the thousands the day before. It was in English and promised that if you handed it to one of their soldiers they would not harm you when you surrendered. I pulled it out, wondering if I would have to use it, if it was of any use. There had been rumours that two guys had tried this, laid down their rifles, held out the paper and been bayoneted on the spot.
Ike saw what I had in my hand. I couldn’t tell whether his chest was heaving for breath or with huge, racking sobs. It didn’t matter.
Sergeant MacDonell was yelling, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. There was a scurry of movement as two Bren guns were passed up to him. He flattened the bipod of one of them, laying it flat on the parapet of the ditch, and opened fire. He must have been using tracer bullets because I saw the fiery stream of them as he opened up on where he thought the machine gun was. It opened fire at the same time and we all were being cut by chips of flying concrete. Suddenly it stopped. Then MacDonell opened up again, trying to find where the bullets were coming from above us. Oldham’s Bren was going too and I heard screams as he took out the Japanese running down the ditch.
As he was firing, MacDonell yelled for us to go. I wanted to get over that parapet so badly, but I knew that a short arse like Ike would struggle to get out, so I stayed in the ditch, boosting the guys out, watching them weave from side to side, trying to dodge bullets as they ran for the tree cover.
Oldham came running back down towards us, turning every so often to keep firing from the hip at his pursuers. For an old guy, he moved pretty fast. He seemed surprised to see me still there. He grunted as I boosted him over the parapet, but didn’t run. He leaned down and offered me his hand. I grabbed it and used my other hand to lever myself up and over.
