Robert Percy Edmunds was my father. During the Second World War he was a prisoner of the Japanese. In his own words, this is his experience:
I Was There
The War Time Experiences of a Prisoner of War
By Bob Edmunds
Part Four
I was put in a party of 1000 men and 100 officers, in April 1943 we travelled overnight by a train to the port of Soerabaya. We spent a few days there and about the 22nd we were put aboard a Jap merchant ship carrying war materials for an unknown destination. We were crammed into the cargo hold, the only air came through a trap door at the top of the stairs leading to the deck; and the toilet, which was a box fastened to the rails at the side of the ship, was also a focal point for the "Geisha Girls" who travelled as "comfort girls" on most ships. Below it was impossible to lay full length, so very difficult for taller men, there were flies and filth everywhere. Our kitchen was next to the crew toilets, the food was rice and soup, for the soup fish in a wire basket was dipped in hot water, taken out immediately and cucumber or other vegetable bits added to the liquid. Items of any value were taken by the guards, all protests were ignored - little did we know then it was a first-class journey and peaceful compared with what would follow over the next 18 months for many of us!
We arrived at the port of Ambon, a former Dutch naval base in the Spice Islands. I had never heard of the place, and I wonder how many of those who read this can find it on a map, or knew of its existence? Here we disembarked and set out the march to a point on the other side of the island, it was to take two days. We marched three abreast, on my right was Alan, like myself just 22-years old, he was 6-feet 3-inches tall and a fine friendly person; on his right was Len - - not much over 5-feet tall, slim and 21-years old. It was not long before Alan began to feel the effects of the cramped conditions on the ship and his legs were giving way. By now anyone who dropped behind were beaten with rifles, etc by the guards, so Len and I helped him along. Eventually our officers obtained a lorry for those who fell out. I think at this stage our guards, who were few in number, were a little bit worried as to how we would react. After 13 months of captivity we had become a tough bunch not yet weakened by starvation, and many showed they were getting "hot under the collar"
Alan never really recovered, he worked for a while but in October died from malnutrition - going from 14 stone to a mere shadow (A plaque in his memory can be seen in Buttermere Church in the Lake District). Len was never ill ...
For the first night's stop we camped at the mouth of a river where there were just a few tents and a mobile kitchen which provided a mug of boiled maize and a cup of watery tea. Because it made a soft bed many of us slept on the sandy beach only to be awakened during the night with a thunderstorm and to find ourselves surrounded by the incoming tide! Next morning after a breakfast of watery rice, (known to the locals as "Pap" similar to paperhangers paste) and the usual weak tea, we set off on a march of about 12 miles to the site which was to be my home for the next 12 months - to the day. It was near a village called Leyate.
The camp was non-existent, just a few tents and a partly built hut. As we arrived another thunderstorm broke out so a few of us made for a tent to "stake our claim". By doing this we found ourselves at the back of the food queue, and then we reached the serving point the rice had all gone. To make matters worse another storm came and flowed through the tent like a river! We were based on the edge of a jungle area, the site was on coral rock, lumps of all sizes making it most unsuitable for a camp, no roads or path and no water.
The water problem was overcome by joining large bamboos with soft-wood collar, placed on tripods making a gravity feed from a spring a good half mile away. Due to the heat shrinking the joints it was only a trickle when it reached the camp, unfortunately this had to be near the only place where it was possible to dig the latrines, it was the lowest point also little rock.
As the first hut was completed it was filled to overflowing, it was a long hut with a door in the middle and one at each end. Dysentery had become widespread and I leave it to your imagination, the floor spaced covered with bodies, those in the middle needing the toilet making for the door, their only clothes a loin-cloth, desperate to reach their objective. A stumble over a sleeping body and it was too late - in no time 75 young men were seriously ill.
Our work was a mile from the camp, carrying earth etc; from a high point to tip on the beach to make a runway for Jap fighter planes, we were about 600 miles from Port Darwin. The earth was carried by two men in a round basket hanging from a pole between them. The first thing we did was to turn the basket upside down, stamp on it, so that the centre of the bottom reached halfway up the inside, hence we only carried about half the quantity.
Every day brought some incident, one I still remember well. We had just finished on the runway, thirty or so of us lined up to march off when a guard, for some reason hit out with his rifle at one of our men. He tried to protect himself, in doing so he knocked the rifle to the ground. He was taken away and never seen again, killed by a sword near the camp As enough fit men were not available to work, the sick men were made to help, those who couldn't received less food.
By October the Japs decided to take the very ill back to Java and asked for stretcher bearers. Myself and four pals volunteered, thinking whatever happened couldn't be worse, two were taken and three left behind. The ship sailed and was never heard of again, according to records it may have been sunk by an American submarine. All Jap ships were not marked, that is no "Red Cross".
At Christmas 1943 I was one of 100 men split into two groups to work at the town of Ambon, our party slept in a building very much like the sty we kept the pig in at home! We spent several days dispersing oil drums, the other party doing the same near a swamp area. They suffered from a cholera-like fever and many died.
In camp we were not allowed to gather in groups but sometimes we would post a lookout on the doors and hold a short service with hymns we knew and prayers, led by Harry, who had been a travelling actor before he joined the RAF.
In February 1944 I had an ulcer on one eye, then the strain of working of on white coral almost closed the other, my hands were sore with septic scabies, when I saw the Doctor I was put in the sick bay, rather a surprise as the Doc was a Dutchman not known for his compassion. I realise now I probably had a heart condition.
There are many stories I could tell you of my eight weeks stay in the sick bay, how rats ate our makeshift bandages even if you kept them near you while you slept; sores were covered during the day because of flies, and left open at night. Of scabies patients bathing in the same cut-off oil drum in P.P. crystals, one drum of water bathed a dozen or so men. Of Joe, a 6 feet 21 year old, coming into what was called bed, he said "I've had enough", he sat down and joined his Maker there and then. then there was a Dutch soldier with progressive gangrene, in terrible pain and no medicine.
My friend Stan who was still working would collect edible weeds, cook them and share them around. I was included in a sick draft that left the camp on May 1st 1944 for Ambon harbour to board a ship bound for Java. As a stretcher case I was the last one on the quay, where a Jap. C,O., a Major Anami, decided I should stand up, when I couldn't he kicked me on the tree. At last on board, there was limited space and I was placed on the edge of the hatch with an awning overhead to keep off the sun. The walking sick had to sit or lay on the deck around the hatch. This was a terrible journey, a Corporal was beheaded and a Warrant Officer badly beaten up, only saved by a crewman when he dashed into their quarters; all this happened on the well-deck of a small ship.
To be continued
