BBC Peoples War - Sumatran and Javanes Stories

From Indonesian War Archives
http://www.bbc.co.uk/ww2peopleswar/categories/c54592/

FAMILY JAPANESE IDENTIFICATION CARD ISSUED TO US ON ENTERING THE CONCENTRATION CAMP.

My experiences in Japanese Concentration Camps on Java, Indonesia (former Dutch East Indies)
1941 — 1945

J.E.H. Rijkee

INTRODUCTION

At the time of the attack on Pearl Harbour, on the 7th of December 1941, we were living near the town of PALEMBANG in the South of Sumatra, Indonesia.

My father was an engineer working for the SHELL.
Soon after Pearl Harbour, women and children were evacuated to Java. My father had to stay behind to assist in destroying the oil installations. My mother, sister and myself traveled first by train and then by ship to Java.

We crossed the Strait of Sunda between Sumatra and Java and had to stay on deck with our life jackets on for the duration, the reason being the danger of Japanese submarines.

Our journey ended in the town of MALANG in East Java, where three weeks later my father joined us.

In MALANG we stayed in a house with another family who had two older boys.
During the air raid warning we sheltered in the garage and through the side door we could see in the distance the dog fights over the Malang Air base.

After the war I read that SABURO SAKAI,one of Japans famous fighter pilots, fought over this air base.

In June 1942 my father was picked up to be interned in a concentration camp for men.
Later that year we were interned in DISTRICT MALANG (a housing estate surrounded by a barbed wire fence)

NB:
I have carried out some research at the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives at King’s College, London.
I used the SALEX MASTIFF Report written by Wing Commander T.S. Tull M.B.E. which is at this centre. As Officer in charge of a parachuting team he was dropped at Magelang, Central Java. His orders were to safeguard and help the 24000 APWI's (Allied Prisoners of War and Internees) until the arrival of the Allied Forces to accept the Japanese surrender.
This report gives an accurate description of our liberation by the British.

The abbreviation CIC ( Civil Internment Camp) denotes the official numbering of the Japanese Camps all over the Pacific.

CIC 289: DISTRIC MALANG (Housing Estate) East Java

This was our first internment camp and we stayed there from July 1942 until November 1943.
In this camp we were living in a house with several other families.

The food situation was gradually getting worse but we still had a bit of privacy and space.

In November 1943 we were transferred to
CIC 254: KARANGPANAS in SEMARANG (North Coast of Central Java)

CIC 254: KARANGPANAS SEMARANG (Central Java)

Although the distance was only 500 miles the train took two days to get to
SEMARANG. We had only hand luggage and hardly any food or water with us. During the journey the train would stop for hours on end in the searing heat.
A lot of people became ill and because it was so crowded you could not move or
use the bathroom.

When we reached KARANGPANAS camp I was mentally so affected by this journey that I was brought to a make-shift “hospital”.
This “hospital” was just an empty room without any furniture.

Since our other luggage never arrived, I and many others, had to lay on the
cement floor.
After three weeks I was allowed to leave the “hospital” and join my mother and sister in a barrack.

In the barrack there was a long continuous plank bed alongside both walls. Each person was allocated 20 inch (50 cm) of space. No more space or privacy.
This was a real concentration camp.
The food situation was terrible and you never knew when food would be next handed out.

In this camp a lot of the men were already very old and since they were dying like flies my mother managed to obtain mattresses for us.
The dead were carried to the make-shift morgue on a stretcher covered with a white sheet and when I asked what was happening I was told that the person was asleep.

For the rest of the war we had to make do with only our hand luggage.

In June 1944 we were transferred by bus to
CIC 256: CAMP 6 AMBARAWA - (Central Java)

CIC 256: CAMP 6 AMBARAWA - (Central Java)

This camp was better organized than the previous one. However it was a very crowded camp. Space per person was now 18 inches (45 cm).
The food situation was still very bad but at least they gave you something twice a day.

Many times we were chased out of the barracks, when the Japanese wanted to search for forbidden articles such as money, pencils, paper, diaries, gold items etc.
I managed to hide my father’s signet ring by putting it on one of my toes and covering it with dirt or mud.

Since by this time the older boys were sent to the camps for men, all the menial jobs were done by the younger ones.
This was the only camp where I had to work. The hardest job was cutting grass between the barracks which was done by using a kitchen knife. One day when I was cutting grass I put my knife down for a moment to rest. Somebody then stole my knife, which was a major disaster because my mother had now only one knife left.

The lightest but most frightening job was sweeping the Japanese quarters near the gate. Not only were the Dutch inmates punished there but also Indonesians from outside the camp.

One day while I was sweeping, two Japanese were beating an Indonesian gentleman with bamboo sticks. When the blood was pouring out of his mouth one Japanese got an old food tin to collect the blood. They then forced the man to drink his own blood.

Another time when I was sweeping the Japanese Commander’s bedroom, he came rushing in and ushered me outside pointing to a high flying British or U.S. war plane. He then forced me to hide under his bed. I suppose he wanted to convince me that the plane was the real enemy.
When I finished cleaning his bedroom he gave me a biscuit.

In May 1945 we walked with our belongings to
CIC 262: AMBARAWA 8 - (Central Java)

CIC 262: AMBARAWA 8 - (Central Java)

This was a work camp for making rope.

However the situation became so bad food wise that not many people were able to work.
My mother became seriously ill and had given up. My sister and I had to fend for ourselves.

Then the Atomic Bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan.

We did not know what was happening in the world. The food situation suddenly improved and my mother pulled through.

On the 22nd of August the camp commander held a speech in the Indonesian language which I could understand. He told us that the Emperor of Japan had the pleasure in telling us that he had decided to end the war.

When the gate was opened there was a crowd of local Indonesian people to welcome us.
I was adopted by an Indonesian couple. They gave me extra food and I could have a shower every day.

My father managed to reach our camp thanks to the Red Cross.

However after a couple of weeks the Muslim Militia was infiltrating the area. They were forcing the Indonesian population to stop helping us. In those days these Militia were called extremists or permoeda’s, nationalists, T.K.R. Indo’s etc.

They all had their own agenda and sometimes were fighting each other. It became very dangerous to leave the camp. Many people who did were kidnapped and murdered. The Japanese were ordered to protect us. When the English troops landed a real shooting war started with tanks, planes(Typhoons) heavy guns etc.

The Japanese under the command of Major KIDO fought shoulder to shoulder with the British against the Indonesian uprising. The seven camps in and around Ambarawa were attacked by thousands of Idonesian rebels which prevented any food transport. Because of this we were supplied by Dakota's dropping food containers by parachutes.
This is all described in Wing Commander T.S. TULL’S report.

On the 22nd of November 1945 the Indonesian rebels broke through the camp perimeter and herded the camp inmates with their arms above their heads, to the central area where they started shooting and throwing hand grenades into the crowd. A lot of people were killed or wounded but miraculously my family and I survived this attack without a scratch.
When they heard the engine noise of a British tank coming to our aid, they all fled being so afraid of Gurkha soldiers.

After this horrendous attack in Camp 8 (see Tull report — Part four “Total War” page 13) the fighting was so severe that it took two days before the dead could be buried in a mass grave. The British caught one attacker of the atrocity. He was placed in the middle of the field with bound hands and feet, where he was kicked by the camp inmates.

To shorten the defense perimeter we were moved to the pre-war hospital (camp 7) near the center of Ambarawa. For days on end heavy fighting went on all around us. Next to our building a British 25 pounder gun was continually firing.

Every time the gun fired my father started counting until he could hear the muffled impact. In this way one could work out if the enemy was coming nearer or retreating.
Looking back on this I realize now that this was my first awareness of the travel of sound waves.

The Indonesians were firing back with mortars and 75 mm guns (ex. Dutch army)
One day we had a direct hit. The roof caved in and you could see the blue sky. Again we were lucky and were only slightly wounded.
The tailfin of a mortar grenade hit my knee and when I touched it, it was very hot. Unfortunately I had to hand this tailfin over to a British Officer who came to investigate the incident for intelligence purposes.

In December when the British managed to open the road to the coast, we were evacuated in a heavy armoured convoy to Semarang. In Semarang the fighting was less severe. I will never forget that, in spite of the fighting, the British and Gurkha soldiers organized a marvelous Christmas party for the Ambarawa children. I was given a Meccano set No.1 which was over-whelming after years of suffering.

On the 28th of December we boarded a landing craft and sailed to a British commando-assault ship which was to take us to Ceylon. For safety it was moored a long way from shore. On our way we passed two British war ships (Sussex and Caprice) who were giving ground support.
When we reached our ship we were hoisted up and given a corned beef mash potato meal.
The first good warm meal in years.

During the voyage to Colombo the ship's crew organised entertainment for the children. Also a lot of films and cartoons were shown.

After staying three months in Kandy, Ceylon, at the former headquarters of Lord Mountbatten, we were transported in a Dutch troop ship to Amsterdam. We stopped before the SUEZ CANAL and were then transported by train into the Egyptian desert. We were welcomed in a British army camp by a music band consisting of German prisoners of war from General Rommel’s “Africa Corps”. These German POW's also operated a make-shift playground and handed out sweets.

Also winter clothing and shoes were distributed. After walking bare feet for three years it was strange to wear shoes again.

On the 5th of May 1946 we arrived in Amsterdam. We consider this date our Liberation Day.
After sixty years I still remember all the good people who were so friendly to us. The local Indonesian population, the british soldiers and ghurka's, the british sailers and last last but not least the german POW's. Even the japenese commander had a weak moment when he gave me a biscuit.

These were my experiences of the Pacific War.

My father, Frans Banning, survivor of the Sumatra Railways, poses, dressed as a slave labourer, for 'Traces of War' in 2001.

TRACES OF WAR. SURVIVORS OF THE BURMA AND SUMATRA RAILWAYS, by Jan Banning

Description:

Victory for the allied forces in the Pacific theatre of the Second World War will be celebrated in August, 60 years after the Japanese Emperor Hirohito conceded defeat. There will be among the celebrants a small, largely forgotten group who will once again have to relive their nightmares of the war in the Pacific.

Dutch, English, Australian and American POW’s were among more than a quarter of a million Asians - so called romushas — foced by the Japanese to work on railways in Burma and Sumatra. They worked in desperate conditions. Between 50 and 80 per cent of the romushas did not survive the regime, not least as a result of being torpedoed in transit. The sinking of the Junyo Maru, for instance, resulted in the deaths of 4000 romushas and 1500 prisoners of war.

In Traces of War the Dutch photographer Jan Banning has interviewed and photographed just 24 of the Dutch and Indonesian survivors. Among them is his father. The haunting images show them as they worked, naked from the waist up. The words elicit, with a matter-of-fact disinterest, the misery of their constant understanding of death. Unsurprisingly, after their experiences, they have hitherto been loath to discuss their ordeals.

Jan Banning’s Dutch publication of Traces of War has all but sold out. Trolley presents the English language version for the many thousands of relatives and children, and the few survivors, who want to know the truths of what happened in Burma and Sumatra.

Author/Photographer Details:

Jan Banning was born in the Netherlands in 1954, and studied social and economic history at the University of Nijmegen . He has published 7 books, for which he has won numerous awards, including the the Dutch Icodo Award 2003 for Traces of War and the World Press Photo 2004 Portrait Stories Award.

ISBN: 1-904563-46-5
EAN: 9-781904-563464

RRP: UK £19.95 US $34.95 €29.95 CAN $44.95 AUS $49.95

PUBLICATION DATE: 2 AUGUST 05
REPORT CODE: NP

BIC CODE: AJ / JWXR / HBB
CATEGORY: PHOTOGRAPHY

BINDING: HARDBACK
EXTENT: 144 pp
FORMAT: 225 x 245 mm / 8.86 x 9.68 in
ILLUSTRATIONS: 24 DUOTONE B/W PHOTOGRAPHS
MARKET RIGHTS: UK AND EUROPE

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author.

Nel's Story: Part III: Internment in Work Camp Kampong Makassaricon for Recommended story

by anak-bandung

Womens work camp Kampong Makkassar... Our last camp

Mama’s feeling that something was up, turned out to be correct. We had to go. First that long walk to the station, then those stinking cattle wagons again, half standing, half hanging. When we finally arrived in Batavia we had to walk all the way to the camp Kampong Makassar. It was 17 March 1945.

“……..One of the Japs — in a confidential mood - explained that Rangoon had taught them that they had made an error of judgement: they had placed the interned men at the coast; the women in the interior. When the allied forces occupied Rangoon they found the men immediately prepared to help by freeing the women. As they were now expecting an attack on Java within two months, they were planning to do it differently: ‘we will place the women at the coast; the men in the interior. When the allied forces then arrive, they will be hindered in their military actions by the presence of thousands of women and children who will beg for food and who would need to be taken care of’. Based on this reasoning Batavia (now Jakarta) would have to become one enormous camp for women!

Bent over their eternal administration in their headquarters in Bandung, the
Japs had already transported us on paper to the already overpopulated camps on the coast. They themselves had a most curious appraisement for these paradises, with two extremes: ‘Tjideng’ as a place of punishment under the infamous Sonei and ‘Kampong Makassar’, an Eden of fresh air, vegetables and fruit (for the Japs of course).

We ended up in this Eden”.

(the above is an excerpt from the book ‘Het Verbluffende Kamp’ by Ko Luijckx, publishers A D M C Stok, Zuidhollandsche Uitgevers Mij., Den Haag)

The whole camp housed approximately 3500 women and children who were divided amongst 19 barracks. After having to wait a long time we were allocated hut 14. They told us to pick a place. There were almost 200 of us women and children, most of them very small, in that hut. We were allocated 60 centimetre per adult and 45 centimetre per child. Not too spacious, but ‘sudah’ (never mind) we could sleep. We covered the lumpy and filthy mattresses with a sheet. Another was pinned up as a wall and we then had the feeling we had our own little ‘house’, ouw own private place. The small case served as a table on which I had put the photographs of papa and Rob.

Every morning, afternoon and evening we had to go and stand in front of our barracks and bow ‘keirei!’ for the Emperor! If you did not bow correctly, even a centimetre too high or too low, you would be beaten. As this camp was a working camp, everybody had to work, outside on the fields, inside in the pigsties, kitchen, hospital or was put to work in the building group who maintained and built the barracks.

The day after our arrival we were ‘medically’ inspected. Never mind how weak you might be or whether you suffered from dysentery, etc., if your legs looked fine, that’s to say, not too swollen from oedema, you were strong enough to work. Older women like my mother were given the care of the small children. Mama would be looking after Robke. I was allocated garden duty and had to irrigate the gardens. That meant ladling out some human excrement with a small tin from the cess-pit behind the latrines. My tin was exceptionally small, but sudah, I had to do it.

From the cess-pit, forming a long file to the garden (garden 3) outside the camp, to a tomato field alongside the ‘kali’ (small river). Then dumping the manure around a tomato plant, trudging back again, collecting some more shit and once more back to the tomato plants — day in, day out.

One day, I slipped when I was ladling more manure for the tomato plants. I fell into the cess-pit where I rapidly sank up to my neck. Lucky for me one of the women was quick-thinking and grabbed me by my hair to keep my head above the filth. With all their might they were able to drag me out. Thank God I had been a ‘good girl’ lately and had not had my head shaven for a while, otherwise……

I had a lot of trouble getting cleaned up. First the women rolled me through the grass and later they ‘donated’ a few buckets of water, for which I was very grateful, for we only received a few buckets-full per person. When I was ‘clean’, another dear soul poured the rest of some of her old perfume over me, which was not such a good idea after all. That night my closer bed-fellows requested me to sleep outside the barrack. Mother told me also that the smell made her feel sick. I wonder what is worse: the smell of shit, stale perfume or the combination of the two?

I seem to have had continuous situations to do with baths. When we were working in the fields, it was always a race to be one of the first to get to the bathing hut, for then you would have more water. Everybody of course juggled with her allocated water supply. One bad day I took a shortcut, together with one of my hut mates, through a hole in the fence enclosing the Tenko field. We were the first and had loads of water! We gleefully soaped ourselves, but did not get the chance to rinse it off. The filthy Jap had spotted us and ordered us to get out immediately, naked and still covered with soap. We had to stand there, on a step on the Tenko field, for the remainder of the day beneath the burning sun. For a long time after, we would foam whenever we rubbed a wet finger over our skin, which also became very dry and somewhat painful.

One other bad day, the self-same Jap gave me a beating. He probably didn’t think I had bowed low or quick enough. Anyway, I fell to the ground when he hit me and he started to kick me in the stomach with his big, heavy boots. In the camp hospital, the female doctor diagnosed a possible internal bleeding and tried all sorts of things. It stayed very sensitive right up till the end of the war. Much later, in Holland, they discovered that the Jap had done quite a bit of damage and it was diagnosed I had no abdominal muscles left and for the rest of my life had to be content with a ‘hang belly’.

Those who did extra camp duties on top of all the hard work already done, would receive ‘corvee’ rations — extra fatigue duty rations — , a small amount of almost inedible bread which should weigh 110 grams but often would weigh no more than 65 grams. Small and bad as these extra rations were, they often made a difference between life or death.

Complaining about more rations was of no help, to the contrary. When sixteen of us from our hut, at the beginning of July, rebelled and asked for more and better quality, we had our heads shaved as a humiliation and thrown in a very small, windowless punishment hut. The following day all the food for that day was gathered up and taken to the big field. We had to dig a large pit and throw our food in and cover it with earth. The whole camp then was denied food for two days. The camp hospital also had to share in this scandalous punishment. The Japs also switched off the water supply where they could.

This has been the worst punishment ever.

On certain days there were some handouts in the ‘toko’ (shop), a very large word for such an insignificant establishment. Sometimes we were given some tobacco, at other times some sugar or ‘sambal ‘(a very spicy pickle made from chilli peppers), to give your ‘meal’ a little more taste.

When I worked in the camp hospital, Robke, small as she was, would take my place to stand in the queue for the handout to start. From where I worked I could keep an eye on her and when it was her turn I could go and receive whatever was being given. The weird thing was that little Robke would not eat from the sugar, but would devour all the sambal if she got the chance. Maybe her body knew it needed the vitamins.

Freedom on the horizon

When we heard, on 17 August 1945, that the war was over we found it difficult to take it in. But how happy we were. However, we were still not allowed to leave the camp, because the Indonesian population was not to be trusted. No, that is not true, only the younger ones who had been in collusion with the Japs and worked with them could not be trusted. We had no courage to flee the camp.

One day, though, men arrived in search for their wives and children Oh, what a sad sight that was, all those skeletal-like men only clothed in a ‘tjawat’ (loin cloth). In their hundreds the women and children flew towards the gate to see whether their husband and father was amongst them. Robke, loudly shrieking, came running into the hospital.
‘Mama, quick. To the gate! Otherwise all the daddies will be gone!’
What did she know what a daddy was. She had so often stood in the queue when something was handed out and thought we might miss out if we weren’t there quick enough. That moment I felt like crying. I told her she already had a daddy, that the man on the photograph was her daddy.

It took several weeks before we were allowed to leave the camp. Robke and I were taken to the hotel Der Nederlanden in Batavia (Jakarta) and were given a room with a real bed close to a real ‘mandi’ (bath) room. O, that bathroom! All that fresh water, not only in one measured ‘gajong’ (bucket), but an endless amount of ‘gajongs’, as many as I wanted. How often did I bathe then!

The dining room! What a miracle that was after all those dreadful years and that awful food! We did not just eat during this period; we gorged ourselves! Robke discovered there were enough ‘pisangs’ (bananas) to take some back to the room. It was a feast for the eyes to see that child savour her food. She had been deprived of so much all those years. I wondered how she would react to all the new experiences.

While we were in Batavia, I had violent headaches and was admitted to hospital. There they discovered I had meningitis and to relieve the pressure of all the pus, they had to drill some holes into my skull. Once again I ended up with a shaven head. Once out of hospital I covered it with a cloth from under which some hair peeped — kindly donated by my friends. It was sewn into the material and it looked as if I had a full head of hair!

Note: Later on in Holland, a passerby saw a burning cigarette end, thrown from an upstairs window,land on top of Nel’s headscarf. He quickly wrenched it off her head and then recoiled in disgust, calling out‘You dirty ‘Moffenhoer!’ (Jerry whore!)

(The Dutch women who had been intimate with the occupying forces had their heads shaven as punishment after the capitulation)

Repatriation
Being a widow with a child, I had no choice in whether I wanted to stay in Indonesia or leave. As I had no means to support myself and my child, we had leave for Holland on the first repatriation ship. This was the liner ‘Nieuw Amsterdam’. But first we had to be taken to Singapore. The ship we found ourselves on was an old trader, called the ‘Stavanger’. We were all given swimming vests to wear and most women found a spot down into the hold. I refused to go down and took refuge on deck, next to the galley. It was a very frightening journey and later I heard that many similar ships full of women and children perished after hitting mines.

In Singapore we embarked on the ‘Nieuw Amsterdam’ which also took on board British POWs from the Burma line due for Southampton. Quite a combination: widows and POWs who had not seen a woman for more than three years! Though were they got the energy from?

Robke managed the long boat trip quite well. For her it seemed one big feast after the other. There was no bed for her, but the purser made a bed up for her in the bath, made very comfortable with blankets and pillows. The purser was crazy about her. He made sure she was given a warm jacket, made from a grey blanket, which was necessary for it was going to be cold in Holland where we would arrive in January.

A British serviceman was also taken with my child. At first I thought he had designs on me, but he showed me a picture of his own daughter, taken at the same age as Robke was then, and the likeness was uncanny. He spoiled her rotten and took her all over the ship, giving me some longed for privacy.

In Aden we were given clothing which had come from donations from people in Britain. It was meant well, but a lot of the clothing was very unsuitable. Robke lost out for she was in sick bay with measles at that moment and the whole sick bay was overlooked.

In Southampton the British POWs left the Nieuw Amsterdam. The British soldier said a tearful goodbye to Robke. We had exchanged addresses but never followed this up.

Holland

January 1946 in Holland. It was freezing!

When we steamed into the harbour we were told that Princess Juliana would come on board to welcome us. The railing where Robke and I were standing, was opened up and when the Princess stepped out of her car and walked up the gangway, Robke saw something she had never seen in her whole life — frozen water on which people were skating.

‘Mama, what are those people doing there?’ she asked, rather loudly.
I answered: ‘They are skating on the water. The water is frozen because it is so cold, you know.’
Enthusiastically she yelled ‘Oh, lots of Jesuses on the water! Wonderful, isn’t it mama?’
At that moment Princess Juliana stepped on board and hearing what Robke said, lifted her up, took her in her arms and gave her a big kiss. She then asked me what Robke had meant. I quickly explained and said that the story of Jesus walking on the water had always been a favourite and she thought that all those skating people……

After listening to this story, Juliana laid her hand against my cheek, smiled and said ‘Welcome and God bless you’ and walked on.

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Japanese Prisoner of War in Java

javaprisnor

10 November 2003

This is the story of my father, who wrote this for his grand children, so they would know what he went through in WW2.

Beauty of Indonesia

The island of Indonesia is the most important and most densely populated island in the world. Close to 60 million people live there, and it is 750 miles wide, 75 miles across. The Javanese people are very poor. We passed a canal outside Batavia, and the women were standing in the murky water doing their washing and bathing and also obtaining drinking water from it. The canal was also used for bodily functions.

The island at that time was governed by the Dutch, so you had two distinct classes, the rich Dutch and the poor natives. It was in 1950 that the island received its independence, and a republican government was formed.

The island is a land of beauty, with mountains, jungle, rolling hills. It is noted for the volcanoes, 400 in number - 160 are still active. The story of the volcano is that the sulphur makes the land so fertile that the rice crops are increased to three a year instead of one. The main plantations are tobacco, sugar, tea, coffee and rice. The farmers with their bullocks plough the wet land called 'paddy' fields, 'paddy' is the word for rice.

Flowering trees are everywhere. Banana, coconut, passion fruit, wild orchids and many other fruiting trees. Oranges are grown in abundance. There are various birds of all colours, not to mention monkeys and lizards which you hear at night. The most important tree in Java is the quinine tree.

The taxicab service is called betjaks. The betjak consists of a double seat mounted on a pair of cycle wheels, placed in the front of the rear half of a bicycle on which a man sits and pedals. I had one experience of a ride. The men carry their goods on shoulder poles with a large basket each side. They do a trot when laden with these goods.

I can remember, when one passed by, he was a walking cafe. On one side he had pots and pans and a charcoal fire, and on the other side he had his rice, fish and other things to cook. If one asked for a meal, he would cook it on the spot. The women carried the produce on their heads, in large baskets. They carried the babies in a sarong wrapped over their shoulders. When they went to plant the rice they carried the baby in the same way, even the young children have to work in the paddy fields.

Now to my story.

Hopeless situation at Batavia

When the war ended and the Japanese finally capitulated, the Indonesians were far more experienced than they had been before it started. Because of this, they were able to organise and to resist the return of the Dutch in 1946, when a new armed conflict began. The final defeat of the Dutch was in 1950, when the independence of Indonesia was declared. During their occupation the Japanese had given the Javanese arms, and encouraged military formations, for their own purposes - and this helped the Javanese in their struggle against the Dutch.

I will start my story on board the 'Empress of Australia', bound for Cape Town. We only had a few days there when war was declared in the Far East, so our convoy was immediately transferred to meet the Japanese.

We landed at Batavia, we were the 42 Regiment RA. We had three weeks to wait before the Japs invaded the island. Then came the news that Singapore had surrendered, we knew that Java would be next. Suddenly, out of the sky, came the dive bombers in large numbers.

The civilians were rushing to get on to boats in the harbour. We watched packed boats leave the harbour, then down came the dive bombers - sinking all the boats, most of them carrying women and children. Looting was going on everywhere.

After heavy, constant, bombing the Japs landed at Batavia. Three days later Surabaya, the Dutch naval base and the city of Bandung were in enemy hands. With the fall of these cities the fighting in Java came to an end. The Dutch had lost most of their navy in trying to prevent the landings, and the air force was no match for the masses of aircraft the enemy were able to throw into the battle. The Japanese claimed that 93,000 Dutch and 5,000 British, Australian and American troops had surrendered.

We withdrew into the hills to wait for instructions, but first we had to blow up the guns, make other equipment useless, burn all documents and make all transport useless. The regiment received orders to stack all small arms, rifles etc.

Break for freedom

Now I will take my story to when six of us made a break to freedom. Our Colonel addressed the ranks - I can hear his words now: 'It is up to you to try and make a break, but you must remember you are surrounded by the sea, your only chance is the jungle'. An officer came forward and asked for five volunteers. I was the first to volunteer. Why, I shall never know, but my decision certainly saved my life.

There was the officer, a sergeant, myself and three privates. We loaded up with supplies, tinned foods, Red Cross equipment, and water bottles, two each. One of the men carried only cigarettes. With our heavy burden we left our unit. The officer's decision was to try and make for Surabaya, hoping to board a boat for Darwin. Little did we know our task was hopeless from the start - Surabaya was crawling with Japs, but the officer was determined to carry on with his plans.

We entered the hills to climb up a volcanic mountain which would lead us deep into the jungle. After climbing over rocks and boulders we finally made the top. To our surprise, we were looking into a deep sulphur pit. We had to cover our mouths to protect ourselves from the sulphur, which was boiling. Java is noted for these mountains. On reaching the top we discovered a hut, and on going inside we found an old gramophone - with records which happened to be in English. We stayed the night for a good rest, before our adventure into the unknown. A party of Australians joined us at this point, but had other ideas and so were leaving us in the morning.

We had tropical kit, so only had short trousers with putties, plus the good old Topy. Not a very good outfit for the jungle. We found the cigarette supply came in very useful, as we found the leeches were getting into our putties.

Out first two nights in the jungle I shall never forget. We had our ground sheets, so made our beds after making a clearance. I think the worst noise came from the monkeys. Needless to say we had very little rest - we just prayed the Japs were not coming our way.

After the third day we entered a tribal village, just small hovels scattered around. Our problem was, were they going to be friendly? I can still see the chieftain, a big native, bare from the waist upwards and decorated with beads of all sorts. He mumbled some words, which must have been of welcome! They made us go into one hovel, which was the chieftain's, making us sit around on mats. We had a meal with plenty of rice and fish. Afterwards they made signs for us to sleep so we settled down. First of all they posted four guards to watch over us, each had a large hatchet. You can image our thoughts! We stayed for two days with the natives who seemed to be very friendly, especially the topless ladies!

Before leaving the chieftain gave us four guides to take us through the jungle to the next kampon, which took us four days. We received the same friendly welcome, staying for one night, but found the following morning all our money and documents had gone.

So there we were, no name or number, and in a hostile country. Our guides left us at this point to return to their village. We carried on through the jungle until we found a rough road, which seemed to go on for many miles, then we had our first experience of tropical rain.

Tropical rain, and some good luck

We took the opportunity of having a good wash down - believe me, we needed it. The rain soon passed over, so we dried our clothes in the tropical heat and carried on. Suddenly in the distance we noticed a large building, the officers went forward to find out how we stood with the natives, and if it was all clear with our friends the Japs. He came back full of smiles. We had found a tea plantation.

The manager was a Scotsman with a charming wife and two children. They immediately made us welcome. First of all they showed us to the bathroom, we could hardly believe this was really happening, back to civilisation in the heart of the jungle! The wife found us bath robes and washed our clothes. We sat down to our first real meal which included pancakes done in brown sugar, never have pancakes tasted better!

After the meal our hosts showed us to our bedrooms, with lovely white sheets. It was just paradise, we slept well in this dreamland. The following morning we felt like different men, having had a good breakfast and with clean uniforms. We talked about our chances of escape. Our host showed us a film of the jungle and the rocky coast line we would have to travel over, as Surabaya was fully occupied by the Japs. There was a small fishing village before Surabaya. He told our officer our task was impossible - also that the Japs had broadcast a message that all troops trying to escape would now be executed on capture.

So it was live or die. He wanted us to stay in a hut in the jungle, sending us news through his natives - he was certain the Japs would be beaten in a few weeks. Our officer refused the offer, so we left our home of dreams, with six native guides and plenty of stores to help us on our way. We noticed the guides were carrying ropes, and we soon found out the reason. We came to a swollen river, which we had to cross. One guide went over after fixing a rope to a tree. Then we had to cross by hand. The natives took the stores over, which was a blessing. Safely across, we were in the hands of our guides. We had to have faith in their knowledge of the jungle. How we prayed, knowing that if we met up with the Japs it was death for us.

We carried on through the jungle. The monsoon season was now causing us great hardship, the heavy ram was making swamps, and the steaming heat was unbearable. After a time Charles Allen and I caught malaria - our quinine tablets had run out. Having had no mosquito nets to protect us at night we had already taken all the tablets. I really thought it was the end of the road for me. Then another miracle happened.

We approached another plantation which was managed by a Dutchman. He told us the Japs were moving fast, and that we stood no chance of getting off the island. It was too risky for him to take in the six of us, but he agreed to help myself and my friend, as we were beyond walking. He took us to a bedroom. There we remained for three days. On the fourth day he brought round a truck, and told us to lie down on the bottom, and covered us with sugar canes. We could see out of the truck, which had wooden sides. We went through Bandung, and could see the Japs walking about. He then drove up to an Allied base hospital, which up to that time had not been taken over.

Japanese take over control

Two days after, the Japs took over control, and we all had to line up, including some stretcher cases. I shall never forget that forced march, at bayonet point. The main prison had been emptied to occupy the troops, and here ended my episode of trying to escape. The Dutchman had saved the life of the two of us, at great risk to himself. The Colonel in charge of the Allied base said it was a miracle we had got through. Two days later we would have been doomed.

We heard the sad news at a later date that Lieutenant Sherian, Sergeant Walker, Sergeant McNeil and Private Jones had all been executed, after being captured.

We remained in our prison packed in cells like sardines, twelve men to a small cell, with a small square which we would keep walking around. We had our first experience of the true Japanese. The rice diet we had to enjoy three times a day. Our watches, all rings, wallets, photographs and everything that was personal to us was taken away, we were left with only the clothes we were wearing. Our boots were also taken from us. Finally we had to have our heads shaved, or rather cut by a native with a long clipper and a knife. There we stood, no boots, no hair, awaiting our fate for the coming three and half years.

After a long period of time our prisoner of war camps were ready for our occupation - these had been built in the jungle. This time we were transported by a fleet of lorries.

Camp

The camp was situated next to a plantation, which the Japanese had commandeered for their own use. The quarters for the prisoners were open-sided huts, with a line of wooden boards down each side. Everybody had one blanket, which either you used as a pillow or to cover over you.

After a few weeks bugs appeared, so each morning boards had to be inspected. Bugs were a great torment during the night. We tried to get mosquito nets from the Japs with little response, so we therefore also had mosquitoes buzzing around.

Sanitation was like a bad dream. A stream went through the camp, this was used for everything. Imagine using this, with the Japs enjoying the fun with a large bamboo cane. Each morning we had to parade for Bango (number in Japanese), and we had to bow to the Sun (the god of the Japanese) when the sun went down. In these parades we were told how Nipon was winning the war, how the 'Prince of Wales' and the 'Repulse' had been sunk, and how Nipon was defeating the Far East.

Each morning there was a beating for somebody - one only had to smile to be picked out for special treatment by the guards. Once, two men tried to escape. They were caught, brought back to the camp, put into the wire cage - which was a special treatment of the Japs - and left in the cage for a week, starved.

After this period they were brought out on parade, and we had to witness the execution of both men. They had to dig their own grave. Then they were tied to a post. The Jap guards then bayonet-charged the men 15 times, before finally killing them. The following day the Japanese brought flowers along, and placed them over the grave.

Conditions

The Japanese now formed us into working parties, for building blast walls and many other slave labour jobs. It did get us out of the camp, although it was against the Geneva Convention. Can you imagine? No boots, sore feet - hook worm was the main problem to the soles of the feet.

The conditions got so bad in the camp. Our diet consisted of pap rice for breakfast (just like wallpaper paste, although after a time your stomach got used to it), steamed rice mid day and again about 6pm. After a time, you got so hungry you prayed for more rice. If there was rice over we formed groups, each man had a number. If it was your group and your number came up, you were lucky. How we used to watch the rice bins, just hoping! The extra helping was called 'Legi'.

Now things began to move. In the camp, our charming hosts formed us into groups of 100 men. One morning a group was called on parade, and each man was issued with a large straw hat, a pair of wooden clogs, and an extra blanket. Working parties were being moved to other islands by ships - and later were taken to work on the Burma Railroad. It was many months before I was to see those men again.

Next draft I found myself included, but luckily for me, I had contracted yellow jaundice with dysentery, it was agony. This shipload left Batavia with all prisoners battened down below. I was taken off the draft. I later learned the ship was sunk, nobody survived.

Hospital work; victims of the Burma Railroad

I and other men too sick to work, were moved to the Dutch army barracks, which was now used by the Japanese as a hospital to get the men back to work. After a period of time I was well enough to move about, and being a medical corporal I was able to help others. The officer in charge was Lieutenant Colonel Van-de-Post. We had very few medical supplies. The army barracks had a few more luxuries than the camp, like iron beds, and the sanitation was greatly improved, but the hospital was still treated by the Japanese like a prison.

It was some months later that we had our first draft of PoWs back from the islands. The men were in a terrible state - just living skeletons, with ulcers, sores and dysentery. Some were in a bad mental state. One had to see these men to imagine that such cruelty could be inflicted on another human being. When the men arrived they had been in the hold of the ship, battened down. Some died a terrible death. These men had been worked to near death before being sent back to Java. Now our real work started - to help the men, give them the hope to live, and give medical attention to the best of our ability.

We only had two medical officers, with six other medical personnel. When the Colonel noticed how I was working he decided to keep me under his wing, which I was thankful for.

The men were now coming back from the Burma Railroad. Few of these men lived to tell the world how they had suffered. We struggled against a hopeless task, but these men wanted to die, they knew they only had to stand and they would be sent off again. We had to dig a large communal grave for those who died. There is now a cemetery in Singapore in memory of those lads who died in the prison camps.

Approach of the end of the war

We are now in our second year. Our clothes are now just loin cloths, two per man. The rice diet has just about kept us alive. I suffered much dysentery, malaria, ulcers, but when I looked round at the mere skeletons of men around me, I realised I was thankful for my medical experience and for the help I was able to give.

Towards the end of the third year things got better. The Japs altered our diet. Buffalo meat appeared in our rice, with sweet potatoes. The guards were becoming friendly, we began to realise the end was near.

Release!

We had to wait a further six months before that was to happen. The great day arrived, for those of us who had survived. Lord and Lady Mountbatten, both in white naval uniform, came into the camp to announce the Japs had surrendered, the war was over.

Need I tell you our feelings. They told us we were all being drafted to Singapore, but we had to be patient. I received my first mail from home. Then on to Singapore - the Red Cross received all the troops in Singapore. Australians, American, Indian, Dutch and the British, we were all graded according to what condition you were in. The worst cases were sent home by plane.

I was taken, along with many others, to the Sea View Hotel, which had been made the Red Cross base. The Red Cross are an organisation one must be proud of. We had every attention by the nurses and Red Cross staff. We spent four weeks getting fit enough to travel home by the troop ship. I weighed 8 stone - in Singapore, I had lost 6 stone.

The time came for us to board the ship in glorious sunshine. The first stop was to be Colombo. I shall never forget the reception we received. Bands were playing on the dockside, cars were lined up to take us to various places. I sent a telegram home to Grace, letting her know I was on the way home. We spent two weeks here with wonderful people.

Whilst we were in Colombo we had measurements taken for our new winter uniform, these were flown to Port Said, our next stop. We boarded ships for our next stop through the Suez Canal. We landed at Port Said, where there was a large marquee on the bank. We went inside to find our kit bag with all our new clothes. Even our ranks were sewn on, including war ribbons.

So once again we were in full uniform - although a bit different. Our next stop was Gibraltar for a further few days. Then on to Liverpool, the end of our journey, then straight to the army barracks. The next day a train to Euston station, there to meet Grace and Ralph once again!

So ends this story of my experience.

I may add I was mentioned in Dispatches for my services in the prison camp, this I greatly treasure.

Also I was reported missing for two and half years.

Charles Whitehead

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Message 1 - Remarkable man

Posted on: 10 November 2003 by peterking

The title just caught my eye & I have been mesmerised by your father's story. I've been to Surabaya & Singapore on holiday (and seen the war museum there) so I partly understand the inhospitable climate & geography. Not really though I guess.

I hope your father's life wasn't soured afterwards by his experiences - his matter-of-fact recount probably shows that he wasn't. You must be very proud to be associated with him.

Peter King

Message 2 - Remarkable man

Posted on: 22 March 2005 by jumpcane1

Message 1 - Flowers on the grave

Posted on: 02 July 2004 by anak-bandung

I was fascinated by your father’s experiences. It goes to show how people can survive in the most adverse circumstances.
The event describing the Jap laying flowers on the graves of those they killed is not a single one. This was done in other camps as well, as told by someone in the women work camp Kampong Makassar. The Jap, then ‘protecting’ her after the capitulation, had taken her to visit her father’s grave. She managed to prevent him from laying flowers on his grave only by being very persistent.
I wonder whether it is a custom — appeasing the departed souls?

Too little is written about people’s personal experiences, especially their suffering as POWs or civilian internees. Just after the war, when people had the need to tell what had happened to them, they were quickly silenced. It is over, put it behind you.
This also happened to my mother. She soon shut up after been told this several times, if she timidly started to talk about some incident or other. The Dutch, however, were quite happy though to let her know how much THEY had suffered. Of course they had, but they were not sensitive to her feelings. This has brought some bitterness.

I hope many more will come forward telling about their experiences or their parents’ experiences in the camps. These stories need to be told before it is far too late. Soon these people will no longer be alive.

Message 1 - Java camps

Posted on: 11 September 2004 by jeannehuisman

If you are interested please come and have a look at our new site about Dutch-Indies memories nowadays

http://groups.msn.com/opblotekakkies^{About links}

where people from all voer the world talk about heir lives and their memories.

Ineke

Message 1 - My Mother Johanna Jacoba Valk ---....Golesworthy

Posted on: 25 September 2004 by nettybarker

My Mother was a Dutch girl of 18imprisoned by the Japs her story has been written down too called The Solid Angle after her father,s invention. Her whole family were interrned her father the Managing director of the Dutch East India electric co; and brother in one camp and my O ma and her two daughters in another. The brother and other boys from her community to the Burma road. Its all such a long story that has coloured my life, I think I knew about the Geneva convention before I could walk. My birth in 47 just two years after liberation, as you say by the Mountbattens was so short a time after the war and my Mother living in miserable post war England left her no one to help her recover.

Message 2 - My Mother Johanna Jacoba Valk ---....Golesworthy

Posted on: 16 February 2005 by Lia's-Daughter

Hello Netty,
I was interested to read about your mother Johanna. It sounds all very similar to my own mother's experience - she too was 18, and in the camp (3 altogether) with her mother and sister, and her father and brother in the men's camp, and the Burma Railway. Her name was Cecelia de Keijser, her mother Johanna Voorzanger. I wonder if your mother knew them - although I know that's unlikely as there were so many women and children. It was a terrible thing to live through, and my mother went mad in the end. Best wishes, Lia's Daughter.

Message 3 - My Mother Johanna Jacoba Valk-Golesworthy

Posted on: 09 May 2005 by nettybarker

Hello Lia,s daughter,how old are you I am a young 58 (Ithink). You must be about the same age as me. This is not an easy way to talk about these things that have made us the people we are. You don,t say whether your Mumis still alive, I cannot say my Mother has gone mad in fact she,s pretty sane most of the time but the starvation has caused terrible athritis she can hardly get around,and is very anaemic,she says she wants to die, its very difficult because she fought and fought all her life, she used to say to me, in accent, you would never have survived,when I was being wimpy.
She also had TB when I was 7 my brother was4 and other brother 1.
She has been an inspiration to all of us in family but now we are so sad.
Did your mum get any compensation, all mums family did. How did your mum come to England my Mum came on the New Amsterdam met Dad a soldier and that was that, a long story.
Her family were Valk, her father was managing director of the Dutch Electric co. If you write back to me I can find out more I can,t remember it all now, its just lovely that you wrote back, because we are very diferent from other people because of
our mother,s background.

Message 4 - My Mother Johanna Jacoba Valk ---....Golesworthy

Posted on: 09 May 2005 by nettybarker

Hello Lia,s daughter,how old are you I am a young 58 . You must be about the same age as me. This is not an easy way to talk about these things that have made us the people we are. You don,t say whether your Mumis still alive, I cannot say my Mother has gone mad in fact she,s pretty sane most of the time but the starvation has caused terrible athritis she can hardly get around,and is very anaemic,she says she wants to die, its very difficult because she fought and fought all her life, she used to say to me, in accent, you would never have survived,when I was being wimpy.
She also had TB when I was 7 my brother was4 and other brother 1.
She has been an inspiration to all of us in family but now we are so sad.
Did your mum get any compensation, all mums family did. How did your mum come to England my Mum came on the New Amsterdam met Dad a soldier and that was that, a long story.
Her family were Valk, her father was managing director of the Dutch Electric co. If you write back to me I can find out more I can,t remember it all now, its just lovely that you wrote back, because we are very diferent from other people because of
our mother,s background.

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