The Military History of William (Bill) Powell
By Bill’s son, Museum Member Mark Powell
With the outbreak of hostilities in September 1939, Dad, like so many other young men and women headed off to their local enlistment station and eagerly signed up for the cause. For many it was a chance to escape the grip of the depression that nearly brought this nation to its knees; for some it was a chance to follow in the footsteps of their fathers that trod the muddy and bloody battlefields of Europe some 30 year earlier; others were just off with their mates looking for adventure and a chance to have a go at the Huns.
For Dad it was a sense of duty - something that just had to be done; join up, do the job and then get on with a normal life. Outwardly most never gave a moment’s thought to what may be their fate -death, crippling permanent injuries, a life after service of mental torment etc, but sign up they did in droves and all volunteers.
Dad first enlisted in the 2nd AIF and accepted in as a mechanic which was his trade and was destined to serve in a motor transport group, however, during his basic training Dad took ill and was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer. Treatment was slow and a full recovery at that time was not guaranteed, so Dad was given a medical discharge and found himself back in civvies and watching the war roll on from the sidelines.
In 1939 dad was only 20 or 21.…. His exact date of birth was, and still is, a mystery as his father never registered the birth. Dad lived his life with no birth certificate, but used the 1st of March 1919 as this was the date his father said was “about right”; even the year has a question mark next to it, it may have been 1918, but such were the way things were often done back in the day.
After his discharge dad went back to work as a mechanic, and being young and fit, and with time and sound medical advice the ulcer healed, and with a clean medical report in his hand Dad fronted back to the recruiting office and headed to the R.A.A.F section, worried that the army medical review would not look with favour on this second review. He took his chances that the R.A.A.F would take him on this first medical, and so it was, Dad was enlisted into the air force as Airman William Powell.
With his mechanical background dad was sent to engineering and trained as a Fitter 2E (Aircraft Mechanic). Basic training was conducted at the MCG which was converted into a large military training depot during the early stages of the war.
With the war raging in Europe and the conflict in the pacific brewing but not yet a concern for the government, the Australian forces were heading to the UK and North Africa.
A call went out for volunteers to join 10 Squadron R.A.A.F who operated Sunderland flying boats based out of RAF Mountbatten located on a peninsula in Plymouth Sound, Devon, England.
Dad was accepted into the draft and was sent off to do a conversion course on the Sunderland. This would have been done at the R.A.A.F base at Point Cook. The squadron's major tasks during the war were escorting convoys, conducting anti-submarine patrols, and air-sea rescue. It sank its first U-boat on 1 July 1940.
But unfortunately, the war closer to home was snowballing and by 1941 conflict with the Japanese was a growing concern, so the military decided that Singapore needed reinforcing and the convoy sending troops to the UK including airman Powell was diverted and sent to Singapore.
The dream of serving with 10 Squadron and flying in the Sunderlands evaporated in the steamy heat of South East Asia.
After disembarking, dad was sent to a muster camp on Singapore Island, and from here he was attached to No 1 Squadron which operated Hudson Bombers out of Sembawang. The squadron relocated to Kota Bharu, near the Malaya–Thailand border, in August 1941. Dad joined 1 squadron only 3 weeks before the Japanese attacked.
Dad said he was impressed with the Hudsons; they were a sturdy and reliable aircraft, not so the fighter support on offer; out of date Vickers Vildebeests and Brewster Buffalos; he forever admired the courage of these pilots, heading out to face a far superior enemy defence and with a very real prospect of facing a uncertain future.
Two days before the attack on Malaya, the Hudsons spotted the Japanese invasion fleet but, given uncertainty about the ships' destination and instructions to avoid offensive operations until attacks were made against friendly territory, Air Chief Marshal Sir Robert Brooke-Popham did not allow the convoy to be bombed. Dad said we could have stopped then then and there as they had little or no air cover, but the bloody poms in charge had no idea of what they were doing!
Shortly after midnight, local time, on the night of 7/8 December, the Japanese force started landing on the beaches at Kota Bharu, close to the airfield, and from about 02:00, No. 1 Squadron launched a series of assaults on the Japanese forces, becoming the first aircraft to make an attack in the Pacific War. The Hudsons sank a Japanese transport ship, the IJN Awazisan Maru, and damaged two more transports, the Ayatosan Maru and Sakura Maru, for the loss of two Hudson’s, an hour before the attack on Pearl Harbor. By the end of the day, Japanese ground forces had advanced to the outskirts of the airfield, forcing the squadrons remaining airworthy aircraft to be evacuated to Kuantan, and from there back to Singapore.
During the retreat from the northern base dad found himself being flown to Sumatra and then onto Java, with the aim of reaching Port Darwin in Northern Australia.
When the Dutch capitulated, they were left high and dry and it was every man for himself. Dad fell ill with malaria while in Java and was forced to hold up for a few days as he was not able to keep on the move. He remembered hiding in trenches, under burnt out huts and even sleeping in an open grave for a day or so, though he did admit that he was the only occupant of that spot at the time!
When he regained enough strength, he headed off with the remnants of other units scattered through the jungle and slowly may their way towards the west coast, as they had encountered a group of men heading north saying that advance units of the Japanese army were not far behind. Being unarmed he found a rifle and ammunition and kept on the move, and at one point there was a small firefight ahead of his position and he thought that he’d better check his firearm just in case. On inspection he found a broken pull through lodged in the barrel, if he had fired it, it would have probably blown up and killed or seriously injured him. Dad recalled “I just tossed the so and so thing to one side and just kept my head down until it was safe to head off again.”
Dad ended up with a group or three or four other men and they eventually reached the coast. As one of the men was a sailor, they hatched a plan to “borrow” a boat and try and sail to freedom. They managed to liberate a small fishing boat and headed south. The boat was a boat in name only as they spent the first few hours bailing water just to keep afloat. The managed to run it aground on a sandy beach and headed into the scrub to ponder their next move. In the morning they inspected their transport for the first time in daylight only to discover that it was a miserable excuse for a fishing boat that had well passed its use by date and the original owners must have abandoned it as it was in such poor condition.
They decided to head back to Banda Aceh as this was the only place they knew that allied troops would still be located. Eventually he was rounded up with all the other stragglers and ended up in Bandeong. Dad suffered another severe malaria attack and was sent to the camp hospital. While in hospital the men he had been with during his time on the run were sent onto other camps - he never saw or heard of them again.
When he was well enough he was taken in for the formalities of interrogation and registration, being RAAF, Bill was given a somewhat closer scrutiny as he was one of only a handful of R.A.A.F personnel - the odd man out amongst so many Army and Navy servicemen. With this done he was given his P.O.W number in Japanese; this he had to commit to memory and be able to respond to the number being called, and recite it flawlessly when on roll call or requested by a guard. His number was 6962 Roku , Kyuu, Roku, Ni…… Dad was then attached to Weary Dunlop’s group known as “D Force”.
On the 4th of January 1942 Bill was assigned to “Java Party Number 6” and loaded aboard the IJN Usu Maru in Bativia and sailed to Malaysia arriving three days later on the 7th January.
On arrival in Malaysia the men were formed up and marched over the causeway that connected Mainland Malaysia and Singapore Island. Dad said that he was shocked with the level of destruction that Japanese had wrought; the towns and villages were just smashed to pieces….. As they marched into captivity, they pondered their fate, this must have been a very daunting time for Dad and this mates.
As they headed through the destruction, they saw groups of prisoners working at clearing rubble, filling bomb craters, burying the dead, toting supplies all under armed guard. They made their way to Changi prison which had been turned into an internment camp.
“When we entered the jail, we were interrogated for what was about the 100th time or that was what it felt like, given a prison number in Japanese which we had to memorise and be able to repeat it back in Japanese, then released into the prison population”.
Dad recalled in those early days at Changi, things were not all that bad considering…. The prisoner’s looked after thing without much interference from the guards, they were sorted with billets or they could sleep under the starts if they wished, food was not a huge problem, water was ok, and if you did what you were told and kept a low profile you were normally not harassed. The early days were spent in work parties doing all manner of jobs outside the prison or being kept busy in the jail cooking, cleaning, washing and tending the wounded and ill in the “hospital”
One job dad was Involved In was working on the reclamation of swamp land and the building of a runway for fighters and bombers, this runway is long gone, but on its foundations, reclaimed from the jungle all those years ago, buy the toil, blood and sweat of prisoners using only basic tools and wicker baskets, now stands the Changi International AirPort.
Back In the camp many men would look to the Chaplin or their own god for solace In these hard and unpredictable times, the men were permitted to build a simple chapel as the Japanese did allow men to rest on a Sunday and you would see many men attending the service at the chapel,
This was a basic structure made from corrugated iron and wood, a small concession allowed by the Japs and mainly constructed by Australian Prisoners. When hostilities ceased the original chapel was dismantled and transported to Australia and is on public display in the grounds of the Duntroon Military Collage in Canberra.
In the early days there was a lot of bartering with the villagers, selling odds and ends that some prisoners had for fresh eggs, fruit and milk; this was all done under the wire at night. If you got caught doing so you could easily end up with a bayonet in the belly and the locals would get shot. It was very risky but many gave it a go. The natives would barter with anything of value, watches were good currency, as were pen knives and clothes, the trouble was villagers always got the better end of the deal. Dad was in Changi for only a short time. His time there was spent clearing the jungle to construct a new airstrip for the Japanese fighters. This rough bush airstrip is now long gone, it’s remnants are now hidden below the Changi International Airport.
It was while working on the airstrip he heard a rumour spreading around the camp that a large group of prisoners would be taken from Changi and sent to a new camp in the north, to relieve overcrowding and continue working on projects for their Japanese masters.
On January 20th after a breakfast of rice and tea, a group of bewildered and worried men assembled under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop. Included in this group was Dad, Airman William Powell. They marched out the gates of Changi jail to places unknown, a new chapter had begun. Dunlop Force marched through Singapore and headed to the railway marshalling yards. Here they were loaded into a variety of goods wagons, and cattle trucks and started the journey north, many days would pass in terrible conditions, men started dying, poor to no sanitation and poor rations started to take its toll, “we were able to do a little bartering along the way when the train had to stop for fuel and water, if the japs were in a good mood, we could try our luck with the natives. Eventually the train arrived in Ban Pong (Thailand) in late January, and then trucked to the Konyu region. New prisoner numbers were Issued for the railway parties, dads' new number was 6962, or Roku, kyu, Roku,Ni.
Dad, along with another 624 prisoners, were loaded into the cattle cars of a train designated as train “37” this large group of prisoners were and headed north into Thailand. . This group which consisted mainly of the fitter men from Changi was one of many such “forces” sent into Thailand. This was the start of a long journey; many days would pass in terrible conditions, and men started dying from poor to no sanitation and poor rations.
“We were able to do a little bartering along the way when the train had to stop for fuel and water. If the Japanese were in a good mood, we could try our luck with the natives.”
Eventually the train arrived in Ban Pong (Thailand) in late January, and the prisoners were held in a transit camp. There had been a few cases of guards mistreating the prisoners and stealing what little in the way of possessions they had left. Guards would say “Where you are going you won’t need anything”, and often laugh - this was quite disturbing indeed. Many men decided to toss all their possessions down a well that was in the camp to deny the Japanese from taking it.
When I visited this camp which is now a sports ground attached to a temple and school, the location of that well is now under a basketball court, so the prisoners’ precious possessions are now sealed away for all time.
After a sort respite at this camp, the men were split up into work groups and sent further north, some were force to March the entire distance to the main camp in Kanchanaburi some 75 Kms along a dirt track carved through the jungle, others were luckier, transported up country in the back of trucks. Dad was one of the lucky ones.
While at Ban Pong the men finally learned the real reason why they had been sent north. The project was to build a railway line to join Bang Pong and Thanbyuzayat in Burma to support and help supply its forces. This railway - which was to be cut through virgin jungle - was approx. 415Km in length. Once in the camp at Kanchanaburi the men were divided up into work parties and sent further up the line to active work sites.
Contrary to popular belief, the rail line was not built one end to the other. Men were sent to various work camps and constructed their section then leapfrogged to another site to start again, with smaller sections eventually joining up to make connections to other sections and so on.
Dad arrived at Hintok road camp, only a short distance from Hintok river camp. On arrival, one half of the force struggled down through a jungle track to Konyu River camp where a group of British prisoners was already established and in a poor state of health. This camp was perched on the edge of the escarpment overlooking Kwai Noy ( the river Kwai).
Over the next few weeks, the Australians carved a new camp out of the jungle and built a bush hospital on the bank of the Kwai Noi, only to find that they were then ordered by the Japanese to join the other half of Dunlop Force. The reunited force built a camp not far from the British Camp. The prisoners at the now all-British Hintok Mountain camp were tasked with working on a section of the railway stretching from the seven-metre embankment beyond Hellfire Pass (Konyu Cutting). This work site was some kilometres distant from the camp and involved an exhausting walk at each end of the long working day over undulating ground made treacherous by the monsoonal conditions.
The Australians in Dunlop force were working from Konyu cutting and heading north to Kinsaiyok; this Involved digging several cuttings and constructing numerous bridges, the biggest being the Infamous 3 tier bridge.
This work, often in appalling conditions, started to take its toll on some of the weaker men early. Dad was involved in the work at Konyu Cutting which was better known as hellfire pass. It was named by the prisoners as during the “speedo” ( extended work hrs), the cutting was illuminated with burning oil pots and it reminded the men of Dante’s Inferno… the gates of hell. Dad recalled that The Pack of Cards Bridge, which was about ½ mile further up the line, was given this name because it was so rickety that during construction it would often start to collapse not unlike a house of cards; he often said maybe it had something to do with the lack of care in construction, but we would not let that slip with the Japs.
Dad was working on one of the cuttings in the early days; they were on the “hammer and tap” team, this involved drilling holes in the rock face with iron spikes with cutting tips; one would hit the spike with a heavy sledge hammer and the other would hold the tap, lifting and turning after each strike. This way they would cut a blast hole into the rock face so the engineers could blast the rock with explosives. Each day they had to cut a pre-determined number of holes to a specific depth and the guard on duty had a marked length of cane that he could measure the depth with and when you had completed your allocated task you could head back to camp.
Apparently one of the guards on duty with his work party was a lazy sod and often slept in the shade while they worked, so one prisoner would creep up and grab the cane and whittle a little off the end so they did not have to dig so deep and hence get off quicker! Dad said that others got the same idea and this guards probe got shorter and shorter by the day. The guard was so pleased that his gang got so much work done so quickly…. (“he was just a simpleton that he had no idea that this measuring rod was quite a bit shorter by days end”) ..until it came time to blow the rock and as most of the blast holes were so shallow that the desired result was not achieved. Dad said that there was hell to pay for that one, many a beating and the poor old guard disappeared never to be seen again; he said that the pain was well worth the result, anything to get one over the enemy. It was common for the Japanese to blast sections of the cuttings with little or no warning, many men were injured by flying debris, dad said one poor chap got killed when he was hit in the head by a fair sized lump of rock; one moment he was sitting on a small rail trolley talking to his mates and then just a body being taken away with a smashed-in skull; you just never knew what was around the corner….
Over time the prisoners learned how to conduct more devious ways of causing havoc on the line. While on the bridge work, the engineers were checking the prisoners work more carefully due to previous sabotage attempts, however on one bridge the prisoners dug a few of the bridge foundation holes deeper than required and then back filled with sticks, bracken and a little earth to make it look normal. The engineers took the measurements and if satisfied they moved on, but as the weight of the bridge increased, the supports sank Into the deeper holes and the bridge would come down.
As the line snaked it way north, tracks were laid and an old steam train would make its way up the line, bringing fresh guards, prisoners, supplies and equipment. Between major works dad found himself being charged to do line repairs, resetting derailed carriages and general work along a section of finished line. This, he said, was a choice job and was pleased to get off the really hard work for a while. Here, he could forage for extra food or barter with natives.
One day a train arrived with a very small steam shovel. The Japs were going to use this to help speed up the clearing of debris (or that was the plan anyway). Dad’s work gang was tasked with cutting timber and firing up the boiler each day and ensuring the water tank was full. One morning, Dad, being the rather enterprising sort of fellow, went to the Jap guarding their construction stores and said that he needed 5 litres of petrol to fuel up the shovel. You must realise, as Dad did, that these Jap guards for the most part were only conscripts, dragged from the paddy field and thrown a uniform. Most had no idea at all, and dad would say that the Japanese Officers were a different breed - ruthless and dangerous - they could easily dish out a beating to a lowly private just as quickly as they would bash a prisoner. Guards would often puff out their chest and bash, belt, kick and abuse prisoners when officers were about, but when alone could be kind and offer cigarettes or a rice ball, and talk about their families, wishing only to be home. Not all were like this though, you had to know your mark, and you never messed with a Korean guard. Dad often said that they were brutish and vicious, but I digress….
He kept this ruse up on and off for a week or so, just taking enough not to raise suspicion, but enough to divvy up amongst several sick bays and cook houses so they could keep the green wet wood fires burning, but as often was the case he was taken off this detail and sent back to general work.
Dad said that the old steam shovel hardly lifted a bucket of gravel in anger and is probably still sitting where he last saw it rotting in the jungle. He mused that he never gave it much thought then and only saw it as getting another one over the Japs, and said if they actually worked out that he was stealing petrol and kero, he would have probably lost his head to an officer’s blade.
Dad recalled the day that news reached the camps about the failed Jap mini sub attacks on Sydney. The Japanese gave the Aussies a day off work as a token of respect of sorts, as after the failed attempt by the Subs do serious damage, and their subsequent destruction, the remains of the subs crew were returned to Japan with full military honours. The Japs admired this greatly and said Aussies were honourable men and showed great respect to the brave Nippon soldier. But the next day it was as if nothing had happened, and it was back to the usual toil. He said you could just never work them out at all.
It was around this time that the Japanese allowed the prisoners to send home a pre-printed postcard. The card was designed to cross out sections that did not relate to the prisoner, such as I’m sick, I’m in hospital, I’m injured… so as the prisoners were filling out their cards they were “encouraged” to cross out the negative comments by a guard holding a bayonet or heavy club ready to inflict a severe blow if the card was not filled out correctly.
In nearly 4 years of incarceration dad was permitted to send two such cards home.
Dad would not go into much detail about some of the more vicious and cruel acts dished out by the Japanese; he often hinted about some very disturbing things that went on, you knew that it was not worth pushing any further, you could see the pain in his eyes. He often suggested to read books on the subject and gave me a copy of “Into the Smother” the second book of a trilogy by Ray Parkin. This book was his way of introducing me to the fact he was a POW.
As the months wore on and things went from bad to worse, many men started to die from all manner of ailments, sickness and injury. Hospitals were just bamboo huts with no medicine and re-boiled rags for wound dressings. Dad said that one day he was going about his business when a voice called out,” hey mate, can you lend a hand”? He turned about to see the great man himself, Weary Dunlop beckoning him over to give him a hand. He handed dad a makeshift mirror made from polishing a cut-out bottom of a kero tin and asked him to try and direct some sunlight onto the leg of a digger he was about to amputate. The man’s leg was putrid with tropical ulcers, with little more than very basic instruments he had the man’s leg off and saved his life.
Dad had nothing but praise for Dunlop; he often spoke of him and said he was the difference between life and death for many men, fiercely standing up for his men’s rights, regardless of the personal consequences it brought. Dad said Weary was a very tall man and towered over the Japs, I reckon that this intimidated them and they were quite afraid of him. One day a Jap guard was having a go at Weary over some minor issue - he was trying to slap his face but could not reach him - so Weary knelt down and said “there you go, go for your life “ he had it over the Japs. He was a truly great man. Dad cried the day Weary Dunlop passed away, he said he was one of the greatest men ever to walk this earth.
At about this time dad was also suffering ulcers and numerous other ailments, but at the daily muster, if you could stand unaided you were fit for work. In the camps the Japanese decreed that only enlisted men would work on the line. Officers would work in the camps and tend to the ill. The British took this to a higher level and often set up their own camp and left the rank and file to look after themselves. Dad would say “There were many British officers who worked bloody hard for their men”, and when some of the men slated to work and were really too sick, officers would strip off their rank insignia and take their place for a few days to give them a rest”.
Dad said that one day he was just done in and could not make the trek out to the line. This would entail up to 5 or more Kms of muddy slippery glutinous muck to get over do a day’s work that would kill a fit man and drag yourself back often in the dark and in the rain to crash onto a bamboo slat bed no covers and if lucky a hand full of burnt rice pap and some stewed bush greens. This was not just one day, but day after day after day weeks on end until you were moved out to a new camp or died of any number of ailments, beatings or starvation - you could take your pick. Dad said he headed out of camp and hid in the bush for a few days just to rest up and tend his wound as best he could, he slipped back into camp and was very lucky that he was not missed by the guards; his mates covered for him, as what he did was deemed an escape attempt and this was punishable with torture and death.
The Japanese allowed a dignified burial of dead prisoners, and in some cases attended funerals standing at attention and saluting as the deceased was laid to rest. Though indifferent to their prisoners’ suffering in life, they respected them when dead.
Food was always on their minds, one day a British sapper came running out of his hut saying that there was a bloody big snake in there, dad and a few of his mates wandered over to take a look, and sure enough a huge python came slithering out, quick as a wink, dad had its head off with an axe and into the cooking pot it went. The poms just looked on in amazement and he said that one actually said how on earth could you eat that thing, but dad said it was delicious, anything that moved or had moved not too long ago was fair game for the cooking pot. Dad would say that the poor old poms had no idea, often there was food under their noses but they never had a clue, no wonder they died in droves.
He put this down to the British for the most part were from large towns and had no bush skills, where the Aussies often had years of bush experience behind them, or had been hardened up by the great depression, and those who did not know, were always looked after by their mates. One example dad offered was one night a British soldier who was suffering with chronic dysentery had to drag himself to the latrines many times during the night, none of this comrades helped him at all, the next morning they found the poor bugger drowned in the pits, either he fell in due to being so weak and on his own, or just decided to end it then and there we never knew, but when a fellow Aussie got ill, he had all his mates to help him to the end, very few if any died alone, that was not the Australian way…….
The one disease they feared more than any other was Cholera; extremely contagious and with a high mortality rate, causing about 12 per cent of prisoner deaths. Spread by food and water contaminated by faeces, it was prevalent in the wet season when latrines overflowed. The symptoms were horrific:
With severe loss of fluid, cholera victims became unrecognisable in only a few hours. Victims were tagged when diagnosed, so they could be identified later. They were also segregated in separate huts or camps if possible. Those who died were immediately cremated.
The Japanese feared cholera as much as the prisoners did. This was one of the few diseases for which they provided medication, testing the men with the ‘glass rod’ anal inspection and proving anti-serum.
The coolie labours died like flies, as their sanitation was non-existent. One camp was abandoned due to a near 90% mortality rate. The fires burned day and night to cremate the dead the stench was awful, “we were glad to be away from that place”.
One day an office approached dad and said that he had to come and see the camp C/O dad thought what have I done??? Luckily, he was directed to the Aussie officer and not the Jap C/O. he was told that a group of Australian prisoners had arrived in camp and that they would be here for a few days. Dad wondered what this had to do with him, this happened all the time. Then the officer dropped the bombshell, he said “We think that your brother is in this group!” Dad was knocked down with this news, he knew that his younger brother Jack was in the army, he enlisted well underage, being a typical Aussie bloke; he did not want to miss out on the war, and he was a driver in a motor transport group.
Dad was led to the compound where the men were being helped and sure enough there was Jack, not looking the best. Dad and Jack got to have a quiet catch up. To any casual observer, it just looked like two diggers having a chat. Those who knew kept it very quiet as they were unsure what the guards may have done if they knew they were brothers; they could be so unpredictable it was not worth taking any chances.
A rumour had come down the line that the Japanese had identified two brothers in another camp and torched one over an open fire to try and get information for the other brother. A day or so later Jacks’ group moved on and contact was lost again until they were reunited back in Melbourne after the war.
Dad must have seen and endured some terrible ordeals, many he kept to himself, you just knew when to stop asking questions………
For the final word on his time on the railway, I will let dad tell the story in his own words.
Back in 2005 dad was interviewed by Pattie Wright she was compiling stories firsthand from ex-POW’s to be included in a book called “The Men Of The Line”. The idea was to have one first hand story from every camp along the line. Dad’s story is of incidents that happened in a camp called Tarsau South, and this story was included in the final draft and published in 2008.
I had the honour of taking dad to the shrine of memorial in Melbourne for the book launch. Dr John Dunlop, Wearys son, had taken over as patron of the Ex POW-association and he gave a wonderful speech. Dad said you could see his father in his actions and mannerisms. There were a number of ex POW,s in attendance and it was quite a moving experience. During the official group photo, Dad, as was his want, stepped to the rear so the frail and impaired could be seen. Nothing much had changed over the years, just another example of the fit looking after the frail, well as fit as an 86 year old man can be anyway. I have a copy of the book, signed and dedicated by the author and signed by many of those ex-prisoners who attended, this is a treasured possession.
The story as published in “The Men Of The Line”…..
Bill Powell No1 Squadron Malaya, R.A.A.F DUNLOP FORCE
“I used to catch Lizards”
Bill is virtually blind now, which is a result of the vitamin deficiencies he suffered during his time on the line. It’s likely that life during the depression turned Bill into a self – reliant, resilient man, the sort of man who ultimately could withstand the hardships of the line.
I was twenty-two when I joined up. Within a few weeks volunteers were called for to join 10 Squadron in England. The dirty dogs sent me to Singapore instead and from there I was posted to Kota Bharuin the northeast of Malaya, three weeks before the japs landed. I was moved to Sumatra and then to Java before the Dutch Capitulated and left us high and dry. I ended up as a POW in Bandeong. I got malaria there and while I was recovering, most of my mates moved on. leaving me with Weary’s lot. Then we were moved to Changi for about 10 days then up the line as Dunlop Force.
I did some road clearing at Tarsau South. I was there with Bill Belford, a Spitfire pilot. How Bill managed to fit in the cockpit I don’t know, he was a big man. We were out working this day and a Jap beckoned bill over because he thought bill was not working hard enough. Bill walked over and the Jap slapped him across the face. So, Bill turned to give him a shot at the other side of his face saying, “Here, have another go”. The Jap slapped him again, “and another,” said Bill. Then again. “Have a go on this side”. Then repeat after repeat. The Jap got confused and dismissed him. I thought it was rather amusing.
Tarsau South was a good place to catch dinner. I used to catch lizards. I made up a trap, which was a piece of bent over bamboo with a cord attached. I’d lay the cord around the suspected lizard hole and when he came up and fiddled with the string, that triggered the bamboo, and the lizard was whipped out of the hole. They were good protein and had lots of meat on them, but they needed a fair bit of salt. I also got two snakes over the time I was up there, and they ended up in the pot.
I went to visit a chap in the camp hospital, if you could call it a hospital. I was sitting on the end of his bed, which was just a raised bamboo platform, when all of a sudden, a lizard popped up from underneath another chap a couple of spaces up, and I thought ‘Ahhh…. meat” I went back and got my trap and caught it. This chap was crooked on it. Turned out it was his pet. It used to come up under his bed space and this chap would feed it grains of rice. I have to admit, I thought that that if hadn’t fed the grains of rice to the lizard but had eaten it himself; he might not have been in hospital in the first place.
So, I was supplementing the protein, or well enough, and to add to it I discovered that the Jap cookhouse was a good place to find vegetable peelings. The used to clean of the rotten bits and a lot of good stuff would come with it. All the peelings went into the river, so I’d collect it and cut off the rotten bits and put it in my Dixie. For some reason I got hauled over the coals for it by one of my own Officers. It was like a court martial, where I was marched into the officer’s “office” by a sergeant. I couldn’t see anything wrong with it.
We moved up the line and then I mainly worked on rock moving at Hintok Mountain camp. It was the “speedo” time and that meant long, long hours and, for me trench feet. I worked on plenty of cuttings up there. Then there was work on a big earthen ramp up to a wooden bridge, which I saw fall down. I think it was the pack of Cards Bridge. We were moving rock and all of a sudden there was this rumble and crash and it fell down, and the Japs who were supervising us were laughing their heads off. I think there must have been some sort of rivalry between the guards and the engineers or whomever. Who knows with them? Anyway, down she came. It was three tires, practically finished.
The next day we didn’t work on the rebuilding of the bridge, thank goodness. The Japs took us down the Line, and we were blasting rock and as usual they didn’t give you much warning; one minuet you were working and the next minuet you were dodging rocks.
One poor chap copped it that day. It was yasame (rest period) and this fellow was sitting on one of those little trolleys on the rails and a rock fell from up top and killed him stone dead.
I don’t know what it did to you up there. I remember coming back from the Line on night you don’t walk back you straggled. I passed this chap crawling along on his hands and knees, crying, and I just sort of gave him a glance and kept walking. Now if that had been a film, I would have picked him up and put him on my shoulder and kept walking. Thinking back on it now, and I have often, I say to myself, “what was it, was I lacking compassion? What could I have done? Why didn’t I do something about it? I was walking back so I must have been all right, I wasn’t crawling.
Dreams? No, no dreams. But I do remember one night I started to think about the future, and I blanked it out. “Don’t think about it, don’t give it a thought”. I didn’t know if we would come home. There was a lot of rumours towards the end; the Japs were capable of anything, and they had shown that they didn’t give a toss about us. But I did feel that I would survive. Perhaps it was just my attitude, I’ve seen people who just gave up, and here’s me as happy as Larry you might say – no, not happy really but in comparison I kept going and I knew I should and get out of it, some of that was due to the fact that we were volunteers, and it was your own bloody fault that you were there! For me, growing up through the depression made me tougher and maybe more resourceful, and for the others bit was the toughness of the outback. Our mateship too, was something really valuable. It was a combination of things, I suppose, and you shouldn’t forget simple blind luck. You had to be lucky.
I remember two chaps at the Hintok River Camp who weren’t lucky. I heard them as they were arguing the toss about something or other in their tent and then we all left for the day’s work and they were dead by night, from Cholera. I felt sorry that they left life like that, and I guess here luck had nothing to do with it.
There wasn’t much religion up there that I saw; it was just ignored, I did feel sorry for the padres. I remember a padre saying as he was leaving a hut one day, “At least try to say the Lord Prayer”. It stuck in my mind, and I thought how hard it must be to convince men to believe in something other than survival now, to ask then to spend precious time praying to someone divine who might help, when there was no help. I wasn’t religious myself, so I guess it wasn’t an issue for me.
There was as church service at Tarsau South, where a padre set up a little alter, and I watched a Jap guard come up and kneel down behind the POW’s. I thought that it must have been hard for him, a Christian amongst all this mayhem. No one talked about it later that I know off. I’m not sure what the men kneeling down thought about it.
Overall, I was fortunate, I had malaria, dysentery, ulcers and all that, but perhaps through eating lizards and snakes, who knows….. Here I am.
Re told here In full with the kind permission of Pattie Wright
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Mercifully, Dad’s time on the Line came to an end and he and the remainder of Dunlop force were returned to labour camps in Bangkok. Once again new prisoner numbers were issued; Dad was 37930, San, Schichi, Kyu, San, Rei. This was to be his last prisoner identification number assigned to him. This must have been a time of mixed emotions; with the memory of mates they have left behind and the torture of not knowing what fate held in store next.
Finally out of the Inhospitable jungle, the men of the line recuperated as best they could, although things had deteriorated considerably since they left. Compared to what they had endured over the past months, this was doing it easy. With slightly better food and medical attention, many of the men regained enough condition to be put back to work.
Dad recalled one plum job was to be drafted to go work on the docks or as the Japs referred to them as “Go Downs”. Here was an opportunity to help yourself to whatever you were game to “knock off”; anything purloined was distributed back at the camp mainly for the hospital, but also for those who risked a severe beating or worse undertaking this activity. Often rice and sugar was easily got, tinned meat, condensed milk powered eggs, flour and jam were all highly prized as well. Dad said, “The trouble was that you never knew when the Japs would spring a surprise inspection. They were so unpredictable, you could go days without an inspection, then without notice, you were lined up and made to take off hats and turn out pockets”.
When the call went out for an inspection, chaps would bolt to try and dump what they had hidden but not all were lucky enough, and some poor chaps copped a beating and they would have to be carried back to the camp, often in a very poor state indeed.
“One day we were working unloading a coastal trading ship, and the dreaded whistle went, the usual mayhem ensured, and we lined up waiting for the Japs to do their inspection. One chap was in a panic, as he had in the lining of his shirt two small tins of jam. He was not a tall man, and stood out from the rest of us taller chaps. Being at the far end of the line, he had a few minutes, and quick as a flash he dropped the tins and stood on them and pulled his sarong down his hips to help conceal his contraband. This raised him up and he looked about the average height of the rest of us. As the guard approached, he felt his time was up and a beating at best was heading his way…. another chap in line realised what was about to happen and when the guard reached him, he deliberately squirmed and look uncomfortable the guard ordered him to turn out his pockets of his shorts and when he saw some rice and a little sugar, the belted into the prisoner threatening to kill anyone who stole from the stores.
Satisfied in finding something and dishing out a beating the guard didn’t take much interest in the rest of the line-up and moved on. We were then dismissed a few chaps crowded around as he picked up the jam and it was brought back to the camp. This jam may have been the difference between life and death for someone in the hospital, some prisoners took fearful risks to help the less fortunate back at the camp”.
Dad recalled some humorous events that happened with the Japs. “One day a Jap guard said that a Japanese war ship had destroyed the Sydney harbour bride, one chap pipped up, “what did they do? Blow out the middle pylon”? And the guard said, “yes! Pylon gone BOOM! Bridge gone BOOM1 Nippon No. 1 now in Australie…. As the guard walked off the men standing around could barely keep a straight face and stop laughing, then the Jap turned back and said, “You think I know fuck nothing… but I know fuck all” and with this they just cracked up and the poor old Jap just stood there not knowing what to do next!”
“There were many changes around 1945. The drone of American heavy bombers were starting to be heard in the skies, The Americans were attacking the ship yards and docks, and work parties were often sent out to clear rubble and do repairs. When you were working on these parties, you cursed the Yanks for the bombing as you ran the risk of being blown to hell, as some of our chaps unfortunately were.”
“Around the same time large groups of men were being moved out and loaded on ships, they were being sent to Japan to work in the coal mines. We only heard the news well after the event that one ship the “Rokyo Maru” was sunk by an American submarine with very heavy loss of life, the Japanese would not paint their ships to show that they were carrying human cargo so the Americans had no idea; you could not blame them, you could only feel sorry for them and the men lost at sea.”
“One day things took a strange turn. The guard’s attitude had changed, guard posts were unmanned, many Japs were seen in groups chatting away and not taking much notice of us. We had heard from recent arrivals to the camp that the war was not going very well for the Japs, dare we wish……”
.
“And then we were told that the war was over, and the Japs had surrendered - was it true? Had we made it? One of our senior officers was summoned into the Jap office and officially told that the war was indeed over. How things changed, the stores were thrown open, we were astounded to see the pile of Red Cross aid parcels, stores of medicine, food, clothes……”
“It was incredible what we found, if they only handed out the supplies as they arrived so many lives could have been saved, we would have been fitter and able to do the work required, but the Japanese mindset was that we were dead men already. In their eyes we had shamed our nation and we did not deserve to live. Anyway there were plenty of us for their needs, so a few dead on the side did not concern them at all.”
“We were advised not to overeat as our stomachs were in no way capable to handle overeating rich food, but some did, and they suffered for it. I did hear about one or two of the chaps took things into their own hands and more than one Japanese guard was beaten to death by men that just wanted to get even for what they did to them and their mates. In the first day or so most turned a blind eye to this, but our officers soon took control and things settled down. And order was re-established with us in control. Some of the Japs committed suicide, not being able to come to terms with becoming a prisoner and losing face.”
“The gates were opened but we were advised for our own safety to stay within the camp confines and not wander about as there were rouge Japs about more than happy to take a pot shot at you. Many Japs just disappeared. One or two of the main offenders that conducted executions and gross cruelty were locked up in cells for others to pass judgement, but unfortunately many of the main offenders had shot through. The Americans started to drop food and medical supplied into the camp by parachute. I remember one poor sod getting cleaned up by one that went through the roof of his hut.
Eventually our boys arrived and we knew that we would be going home; although the Japanese surrender was in August 45, it was not until Oct and Sept that we started to be moved out. The rest is somewhat of a blur; medicals, transport to the docks, a ship home and there was Australia…….”
“When the ship docked at Melbourne, there was no one to greet me. Maybe they weren’t told I was coming home? I was given a few bob to get a tram and taxi home and that was it…… I got home to find dad and my sisters at home. When I arrived, it was as if they had just seen a ghost, they had been told nothing, they had received the two-post card that we got to send home, but this was in 1942, and they had heard nothing since, they thought that Jack and I were dead.”
“They asked if I knew anything about Jack, I told them of our chance meeting in the Jungle but that was years ago, and I had heard nothing since. A few days later dad got a telegram advising him that I and Jack were alive and being sent home…. Well better late than never I suppose…..”
The saddest part of this is that when Dad and jack were posted missing presumed dead, dad’s sister took this news very badly indeed and got rid of all of their possessions from the house, everything was tossed out so when dad did return it was as if he never existed. He said was one of the hardest things to come to terms with and probably was one of the things that sent young Jack over the edge. All that exists of dad life pre 1942 is a photo of him with his father, grandfather and great grandfather and a small dinted cup he won at a school sports day, I have both of these in my possession.
Dad was de-mobbed and went back into civvies life. He went back into his trade as a mechanic but his health like so many of his fellow ex-prisoners was poor. Dad spent many months on and off in the Repatriation General Hospital at Heidelberg. I remember going out there as a child in the sixties to visit, I had no idea as to why he was there, just that he was ill and this was the best place for him. He underwent serious operations for stomach problems, and probably may other issues we were not privy too. In later life his sight failed; this also a direct result of malnutrition suffered in those grim dark days.
Dad had a very strong belief that you can’t judge a race of people for the actions of a few. He would say that he could never forgive those who allowed this atrocity to happen, nor those that did their bidding. He did not hate, he often would say that he felt sorry for the average Jap guard on the line, most never wanted to be there, nor do many of the unspeakable deeds they were ordered to undertake, as a rifle butt or at worst bullet in the back of the head could easily be their own fate for being non-compliant.
During Mum and Dads trip to Europe, they had a stopover in Singapore, they went and visited the gates of Changi prison, but did not go to the museum, nor did they go on the trip to the memorial at hell fire Pass. Dad just said that there was no reason to go back there.
I offered to accompany him If he wanted to go back to Thailand and visit the railway memorial, he politely refused saying that “my demons are buried there, I don’t want to re visit that place……..”
Dad worked hard to recover his health and worked for many years at the Government Aircraft Factories. He ended his career as an inspector and running the Hydraulic test shop, a very demanding engineering position. He took early retirement and spent many years traveling with mum around Australia.
Dad’s brother Jack suffered emotionally and physically on his repatriation. He found it hard to hold down a job. In and out of hospital and with no formal education or a trade behind him, he struggled to find meaningful employment. Jack spent many years in and out of Larundel Psychiatric Hospital as a self-admitted patient, Jack passed away in his sixties a relatively young man, but a man beaten and broken by his ordeals. As mentioned, Jack falsely stated his age, I believe that he was barely 17 when he became a prisoner, no wonder he suffered so much for the remainder of his short life.
Dad was one of the very fortunate men of the line. Not only did he survive some of the worst atrocities, deprivations and starvation, he survived with his heart and mind in one piece, so may others were consumed with hatred, this often killed them off as they could never come to terms with what happened.
I remember the day that Dad rang me to tell me about the interview for the book. He was very excited about doing it. He also honoured the ANZAC Day tradition, and only missed a handful of marches over the years. He was a proud member of the EX POW Association, the RSL Sembarwang Association, The Odd Bods, the Uncle Bobs Club, and St John Ambulance. He always gave back to society far more than it gave him.
I would imagine that Dad must have had overcome many demons. I could not imagine what terrors he relived in his mind over the years. It was only in the latter years of his life, that I really began to understand how strong he was, how compassionate and understanding ….. But often in life we often find these things out far too late……..
William Powell passed away In 2010 In his 91st year, one of his proudest and saddest moments was taking him to the ex P.O.W. Memorial In Ballarat, he located his name and that of his late brother and just sat on a nearby bench saying nothing, obviously deep In thought, he then got up walked away saying nothing….. no words needed to be spoken you could see it in his eyes, the sadness and the pain.
One of my most memorable and moving moments while researching dads time as a POW was in 2018 when I took a group of friends to the railway. We were at the site of the 3-tier bridge and related the story of his experience there. We went to the track that led back to the escarpment that had been relocated and the mud hole where dad passed by the other prisoner. This muddy patch was fed by an underground spring so it’s always boggy.
I became quite emotional and had to sit away from the main group to compose myself. One of the young Thai girls that were acting as guides sat next to me, held my hand and said, “Don’t be sad, the love you bring here drives away the evil that was here.”
Walking the rail track you look over the vista that is the Kwai Noi River Valley, now peaceful and serene. One tries to imagine what happened here all those years ago. It’s a silent place - you expect the noise of the jungle and agriculture in the distant fields to penetrate, but it doesn’t. Standing in the silence, I had an incredibly strong feeling I was being watched from the jungle. If you are so inclined you can imagine the spirits of those men are still there watching over this place, a very eerie feeling indeed.
Another place I visited was the site of the Hintok road camp, now a rubber tree plantation, and the nearby Hintok river camp used by the British. Dad says he had to walk down to the river camp. This camp is not actually on the river but on the cliffs above the river. Access to the river is a steep set of steps. Part way down, a small pool has been built that is fed from a freshwater spring out of the rock face. Dad said he and others had to carry fuel tins to that spring as it was the only safe fresh water available. He had to negotiate a slippery track with no shoes carrying the tins to fetch fresh water. Today you can walk down to the pool that has been made, and have a refreshing dip. How many people actually know this spring was so vital to these men is just another one of the untold stories along the line.
This narrative was compiled from discussions with my father over many years, the use of historical records and personal observations made on many trips to the sites that my father had worked or lived as a POW. Further research continues into my father's time at these places and that of his brother Jack.
Mark Powell 2018
Updated March 2024
William (Bill) Powell
1918 -2010
RAAF No1 Squadron
Member of Dunlop Force
Survivor of the Railway
"I can't forgive those who condemned us to this place, but I do not condemn a nation for the actions of a few."