I know there were many who went through the "Jungle Days" in Thailand or languished in the Changi Prison Camp who gave serious thought to writing the story of their experiences. Many actually did this. I think particularly of Rohan Rivett and his excellent book "Behind Bamboo" or of Ray Parkin (that very gifted artist) who wrote "Out of the Smoke". There were hundreds who would have kept a diary and dreamed of the day when they would be back home in Australia, America or wherever they were from.

      Then came the day when we were set free and all our thoughts and dreams of home and loved ones became a glorious reality. Some were sadly shattered when the first news from home told of a wife who, under the strain of those long years, had sought the companionship of another partner; or a fiancée long since married to someone else.

      I had the sad experience of learning that my beloved father had died almost a year before. But I was coming home to a mother and family, and most of all to a beloved who waited patiently and was more than willing to take me whatever condition I happened to be in. One dear old spinster was amazed when Jessie told her she was going to marry me. I would never marry one of those P.O.W.'s she said, "They're full of diseases".

      I have tried to give a brief picture of the glorious reunion with family and friends and the wonderful love that surrounded me and helped me to get back into a normal life again. There was so much I wanted to forget; yet at the same time those years made up a priceless experience. Naturally it was an experience I would never want again, but I am glad I lived through those days. I am richer for it all. I proved through it all that you can live by faith, so long as you join your faith in God with your faith in your fellowmen.

      But I wanted to forget the traumatic times. So the little diary went on to a shelf and because I was immediately caught up with further study and the serious business of marriage I never seriously pursued the idea of 'writing a book'.

      In more recent years different ones, including family, have dropped the occasional hint. Over the last couple of years I have begun to wander whether at least the family might be interested to have some record of those days. Perhaps my involvement in editing the book on my father, "J. E. Thomas Unlimited" has given me some urge to do something about it. So out came the diary and a handful of ancient pictures, and I have allowed my subconscious to come to the surface.

      Now forty years after the event I have put pen to paper and have come up with the following pages: Most things I could recall fairly clearly; some things quite vividly; but a few things I have included had completely faded from memory. I know they happened because my diary tells me so.

      I now leave it with the publisher to do what he will. At least I have been able to go through the exercise of remembering again, and in some ways, getting joy and satisfaction out of doing so.

      My faith in God and in my fellow man never wavered at any point through those years of testing.

      J. B. Phillip's translation of Hebrews. 11:1-3 sums it up:

      "Faith means putting our full confidence in the things we hope for, it means being certain of things we cannot see. It was this same kind of faith that won their reputation for the saints of old. And it is after all only by faith that our minds accept as fact that the whole scheme of time and space was designed by God--that the world which we can see is operating on principles that are invisible."

      After an unsettled period during which time I was not at all certain what I really should be doing with my life I determined during 1938 to enter the College of the Bible. Glen Iris, Victoria to train for the ministry. In early school days I had a desire to become a doctor. Then on matriculation I was persuaded to study dentistry with the argument being that there were too many studying medicine. But I had no real interest in being a dentist and there was no serious application to studies. A couple of years at University produced little visible result so I sought employment elsewhere. After a period in the office of a clothing warehouse I then found a job in a small printing establishment. My main success at the University had been in Chemistry so I next returned to studies at the Melbourne Technical College with my sights set on Industrial Chemistry. During second year I looked around and following an interview with the head Chemist at the Australian Paper Mills I was offered a position in the factory with the suggestion that I could continue studying part time.

      My parents had always given me strong and positive support but never for one moment did Dad seek to influence me in my final decision. But their Christian influence and the encouragement and witness of the late Harold Patterson who followed Dad as minister of the Balwyn Church led me to feel that God was calling me in a very real way.

      So I was accepted and enrolled to commence my course at the College of the Bible at the beginning of 1939. That first year of study and fellowship in the College community was a wonderful experience. My class mates in that year were Ed Roffey, Jim Wright, Harold Steel, Bruce Coventry and the late Doug Pike.

      In September of 1939 came the Declaration of World War 2, but it was not until well into 1940, after I had successfully completed Term 1 of Year 2 that I felt a call to serve as a medical orderly in the A.I.F.

      I came in for a deal of criticism and one person even condemned me. "You have put your hand to the plough and now you are looking back." He did not bother to finish the quotation. I chose not to listen. I firmly believed I was doing the right thing and all my friends understood. Dad and I discussed it together and we prayed about it.

      He said, "The decision must be yours, son." Dad had been in part time chaplaincy service since during World War I.

      I talked also with Principal T. H. Scambler and he was marvellous in his support once I had made my decision. So were all the fellows in the College fraternity. One of my prized possessions still is a little book presented to me by "The Boys" of Glen Iris. "In the Service of the King," and autographed by all the students and faculty. It bears this inscription (in Greek) Luke 22:27 "I am among you as one who serves."

      On the 29th July 1940 I entered Royal Park Recruiting Depot and became Private Thomas D.A.V. VX36610. On our first day in camp I met up with Des Tarran from Manangatang. Des had been training for the Methodist ministry but had decided, as I had, to offer for service in the Army Medical Corps.

      It was an experience getting our equipment. The old soft-toed army boots (World War I variety) proved extremely comfortable especially for marching; but what about those work clothes, generally known as "Giggle suits" and coming in two sizes, big and bigger? In our hut was a little Englishman, George. He was about 5 feet 3 inches. The work trousers issued to him were a perfect fit--under the armpits and at least 12 inches too long in the legs. But in one hut were the Salvation Army volunteers busy day after day with their sewing machines and working miracles with our misfit clothing.

      Then there was little Jockey Gellie. One day on parade the old Sergeant called out, "Gellie, how tall are you?" (He was no more than 4 ft. 11 inches, and the minimum height for a soldier was 5 feet). The quick reply from the little fellow was 'Five feet, sir.' The staff Sergeant barked back, "Whose feet?" To which Gellie replied, "Pig's feet, Sergeant." The whole parade roared with laughter.

      Our days passed with physical training, route marches, and a variety of jobs such as kitchen or hygiene fatigue. Each morning on parade the Sergeant major would make his announcements including the plea, "Any volunteers for the provos?" The "Provos" were the Military Police, obviously short staffed at that stage but apparently not very popular. I do not recall one person volunteering.

      We were always on the alert for a call from the Orderly Room. Runners frequently arrived where we were exercising or assembled with a list of personnel required for interview for a prospective unit. Then one afternoon the names Tarran and Thomas were among those called for. We hurried off for the interview. It was with Colonel Walter Summons, Commanding Officer of the 2nd/7th Australian General Hospital. He had been in charge of a General Hospital in World War I. Already he had recruited his Quarter-master, Major Bailley and Matron, Sister Johns who had also served with him in 1914-18. Colonel Summons was a kindly man. His civilian practice was in Burke Road, Camberwell, and he was an active member of the Church of England. There was a twinkle in his eye when he learned that I was a Theological student. "I suppose you will do your best to convert your patients," he said. I assured him that we would be out to do all we could physically and spiritually for those under our care.

      Our first move was to the Camp Dressing Station (hospital) which served the old Seymour Camp. We must have seemed a motley crew to the nursing sisters in charge who had the unenviable task of training us as ward orderlies. Most of us were keen to learn. But there were some who did not want to work in the wards. Of course there were many other duties for most of these men. But one or two had been drafted into the unit against their will. For instance there was big "Gerry", a tailor by trade, with his own business in Melbourne. When he enlisted he was assured of a spot in Ordnance, in his own trade. He flatly refused to work in the wards and was more or less permanently employed as a camp cleaner, often an "Emu Parade" picking up matches or other debris. Gerry remained with our unit until we reached the Middle East. Then one day a Signal arrived from Tel Aviv. Away went Gerry and a few hours later arrived back to collect his belongings, already in his uniform of a Warrant Officer in Ordnance. His superior officer in his new unit happened to be his junior partner in the tailoring business back home.

      I recall the first day in the long ward at Seymour. The sister handed me a bucket, soap, scrubbing brush and squeegee. "There you are, Private Thomas, the floor can do with a good scrub." I guess it was a fair test, but ironically, next day, I was put to work in a different ward.

      A few weeks later we received injections for Tetanus and Typhoid and vaccination against small-pox. After a few days I went down with a wallop as the vaccination took effect. I was put in ward with "Vaccinia" and a high temperature. But after one day I was out again as our group was assigned for duty at the Camp Dressing Station at the newly constructed Bonegilla Camp, near Albury. Those who are old enough will remember the famous "March to Bonegilla" from Seymour. About 5000 men included four infantry battalions, the 2nd/9th Field Ambulance and several other units. The Field Ambulance was under the command of Lt. Colonel Hedley Summons, a brother of our C.O. Alan Garland, one of our ordained Churches of Christ ministers was a theatre corporal in the Field Ambulance. He preferred to serve in the ranks rather than as a chaplain. But Lt. Col. Summons refused to accept a chaplain appointed to his unit. His preference was for Corporal Garland. Alan did a magnificent job in his dual role right up to the time of his untimely death just before the end of the war.

      As our hospital was to consist of 1500 beds our personnel was divided into three groups. Our detachment was to train at Bonegilla; another group was stationed at Darley, near Bacchus March., while the third group was assigned to the Balcomb camp near Mornington.

      Our training consisted mainly of ward experience interspersed with basic lecture by doctors and sisters, and as much physical training as possible. Most of our doctors had no

previous army experience, but Major Jimmy Sewell, who was something of a fitness fanatic organised our regular physical jerks and for all not actually on duty, frequent route marches. These marches were enjoyable, especially if we were following one of the battalion bands.

      I remember our first day on duty in a ward at Bonegilla. Three of us detailed to one ward included Corporal George J. who went to great pains to explain that he was not in the unit as an orderly but as a masseur. (We were to learn that there would only be masseuses in our unit).

      The sister in charge gave her order, "Corporal you will please take the temperatures". The fun started when George whispered to me, "Which end do you put in his mouth, the glass end or the metal end?" As I had often used a thermometer at home when any of the family was sick I shared my knowledge with the bewildered Corporal. When all T.P.R.'s were checked and recorded the sister then asked George to sterilize the thermometer. He dropped it into the boiling water of the instrument steriliser with disastrous results. The sister was too stunned to comment. But that was not all. Next day at the dispensary I found the sergeant dispenser rocking with laughter. "You will never believe this," he said. "George brought the pieces of the thermometer in yesterday to see if it could be repaired." I was never called upon to work alongside George again.

      A new development about that time was the introduction of sulpha drugs, in particular, M. & B. 693, the specific cure for pneumonia and meningitis. It was considered highly desirable for anyone on such treatment to be on sulphur free diet, especially avoiding eggs and onions. So on the diet list would appear--full diets; light diets; special diets; M. & B. diets. Our camp cook at the time happened to be a pharmacist in civilian life. Mac rocked with mirth one afternoon when an orderly brought down the diet-list from one ward, announcing that there were three patients on M. & V. diets. (Tinner M. & V. meat and vegetables, was readily available from the army canteen).

      One of our doctors lecturing on the use of these new wonder drugs was discussing the various reactions of different patients to the same drugs. He observed that these drugs kill the infection without quite killing the patient. One dramatic incident highlighted the use of M. & B. 693. A very sick looking boy was brought into casualty. The doctor on duty immediately diagnosed it as a case of meningitis. He was immediately put onto M. & B. 693, the "wonder drug" and within a few days he was convalescing. His unit was isolated but there were no further cases. But it took weeks to convince the locals at Albury that there had been no epidemic.

      However there was a near epidemic of mumps which is quite serious for an adult and can be extremely painful. I was one assigned to the mumps ward. I was not sure if I had ever had mumps as a boy but resolved merely to take reasonable precautions while still doing everything needed for the care of the patients.

      Other orderlies were apprehensive and kept as far away from possible infection as they could. I was the only one not to catch the disease. I learned later from mother that I had mumps as a little fellow which of course rendered me immune.

      Part of our recreation was cricket. We had marked out a fairly good field and even managed a concrete pitch. It was a comfortable distance from the outer line of our huts, or so we thought. One day when I was batting I managed a full-blooded hit to square-leg. I watched, fascinated, as the ball crashed through a window. Fortunately the hut was unoccupied. One of our doctors, Major Powell, who was playing, loudly applauded. I was never booked for damages.

      Eventually, just after Christmas 1940, the whole unit came together at Puckapunyal, and a few weeks later we were sent home on pre-embarkation leave. Our entire complement of doctors, nurses and all other staff numbered about 250. Those were precious days I spent at home with dad and mum. One of my treasured photos is dad and me together in uniform. It was taken on the last day we spent together.

      It was early February that we were moved by train to Sydney. On the 4th February 1941 we embarked on the "Aquitania" a 46,000 ton liner serving as a troop ship. I did not realise then that ten years earlier mother, father and sister Ruth had crossed the Atlantic from England to U.S.A. on that very ship when they attended the first World Convention of Churches of Christ in 1930. It was an awe-inspiring experience as we moved out through the Sydney heads in convoy with the "Queen Mary" and the "New Amsterdam". A few days later we were joined by the "Mauretania" sailing from Melbourne.

      Two things were "taboo". Firstly, gambling was forbidden on troop ships. Then, so we had been informed, we were not to have cameras. We had scarcely moved away from the wharf when the inevitable two-up ring was set up on deck. The game seemed to continue almost every daylight hour for the rest of the voyage. And in every available corner some enterprising individual was operating a crown and anchor board. Then, it seemed, most officers on board were carrying and using cameras.

      In due time we arrived at Fremantle having followed a route some 200 miles south of Tasmania. From there it was full steam ahead escorted by a naval cruiser and a destroyer. Somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean the "Queen Mary" left us. We learned later that she had taken the first troops of the ill-fated Eighth Division to Singapore. We continued on to Bombay.

      With strict black-out precautions there could be no organised deck activities after dark. The only place we could gather in any numbers was on the mess deck. Each evening we shared in an informal Bible Study fellowship. Most who attended were from our unit. The only Chaplain who regularly met with us was a Salvation Army officer, Captain Knudsen from Queensland. He shared with us every night and his friendship was a great encouragement to the group. We became very attached to him.

      In our unit was an ordained Methodist minister, Jack A, a grey-haired man around forty years of age. He chose not to do medical work and was employed throughout as an officer's batman. We were scarcely surprised when one afternoon one of our chaps came below and said "What do you think of Jack A? He's up on deck playing two-up!" When we tackled him about it his retort was, "Oh, I'm having a spiritual holiday."

      The 'Aquitania' only took us as far as Bombay. There we disembarked although it seemed certain by now that our destination was to be somewhere in the Middle-East.

      Our C. O., Colonel Summons by this time was affectionately known as 'Uncle Wally'. He called us together and spoke of possible places we might be seeing. He told us that once we were established he would expect a maximum effort from everyone. At the same time he promised that he would enable us to see as much as possible of any places we visited or passed through. He certainly proved to be a man of his word.

      While in Bombay we were billeted at the permanent army barracks at Colabar. This was on the sea front and within walking distance of the central part of Bombay. We were occupied with exercises, marching and occasional lectures during the mornings but were free from 1 p.m. to midnight each day. In the fortnight we were in Bombay we were able to see much of the city and its surroundings and met many interesting people.

      One afternoon we arranged to meet our friend Captain Knudsen. On our limited pay we thought it might be an opportunity to "lean" on him a bit. We had arranged to catch a bus to Breach Candy, a fashionable swimming pool. Perhaps he might pay our fares. Knuddy was all apologies when he greeted us. "Look fellows, I'm going to have to depend on you today; I haven't been paid yet." Well the laugh was certainly on us. We cheerfully paid for his fare and his refreshments. But it was not without its reward. Next day we visited the Salvation Army headquarters at Byculla, Bombay. Adjutant Lewis and his wife, from Sydney were the officers in charge. We enjoyed their hospitality at tea and shared a pleasant evening with them. The following Saturday afternoon they sent a large open truck to the barracks and took about twenty of us to Juhu, a delightful beach resort along the coast. We enjoyed swimming and later sampled the fresh green coconuts the native boys picked for us.

      One memorable day was spent with my brother Colin, his wife Jean and two year old daughter Lois. They were stationed at Baramati on our Churches of Christ mission field about 200 miles from Bombay. I was able to send them a telegram and was granted a full day's leave for the day they planned to come to Bombay. What a thrill it was to meet them at the Victoria station and spend a whole day with them. We visited a few places including the famous Crawford market with its many streets of shops, but mostly just sat together and talked. Little Lois was very shy of the strange white uncle, but as soon as she went off to sleep I took her on my knee. When she woke an hour or so later she quickly clambered back on to her mother's knee.

      Dad had given me several addresses at random, just in case I went to places where these people were. He had met many while overseas on his way to the World Convention in 1930, and again in India during his visit there to our mission field and for Colin's wedding in 1934. "If you get to Bombay look up Bishop Pickett of the Methodist Episcopal, Church." Well here we were in Bombay. I found the street, The Bund, but could find no church building. On the first Sunday morning we attended the regular church parade at the Garrison Church. Then Colin Thomson, Jim Savage and I went off in search of the Episcopal Church. As we walked along The Bund we heard singing and then noticed a board alongside a stairway up between two shop fronts. It led up to a spacious auditorium where about fifty people were gathered. They were singing a hymn and the person on the door offered us hymn books and showed us to a seat. But we never sat down. The hymn concluded and then the young American minister pronounced the benediction. As the service ended he came straight to us and warmly welcomed us. He was Rev. Jim Matthews, a son-in-law of the great Dr. Stanley Jones. Twice during that week we were invited to have tea at their comfortable flat. The second occasion was to arrange for the evening service the following Sunday which we agreed to conduct. Jim Savage was studying for the Methodist ministry. Colin Thomson returned to study for the Presbyterian ministry. So it was a truly ecumenical service.

      On the first Sunday evening in Bombay Colin Thomson and I found our way to the Church of Scotland. It was a very modern air-conditioned building with a large congregation, mostly European, many of them army personnel. The minister was Rev. McRurie who had been a chaplain up on the North West frontier for a number of years. He was a middle aged bachelor with his flat on the Colabar sea front. He invited us home for an evening meal and he was quite a character.

      Then on the second Sunday evening we were back to the Episcopal Methodist church. Having seen only about fifty in the morning congregation on the previous Sunday we were expecting a similar number to be present. As we moved onto the platform we were surprised to see almost every seat taken and just before the service started Bishop Pickett along with his wife and family took his place in the congregation. We greatly enjoyed the whole experience.

      One rather humorous incident occurred while we were preparing for the service. We had invited others of our group to share in the preparation. Our friend Rev. Jack A. heard about what was to take place. He came in and said, "Look, I am the only ordained minister in the group. I should be leading this service." "Oh, that's O.K. Jack," someone quipped, "You're on a spiritual holiday."

      Hockey, as we know, is very popular in India. For those who wished there were tickets available for one of the big games. It was the hot season so the games were timed to commence at 5 p.m. It was very pleasant sitting in the cooler part of the day watching the skilful players in action.

      Through our Salvation Army friends a group of us were invited to an evening at the home of a Parsee family. One of the older ladies was a doctor and we learned a lot about Indian customs that night. We very much enjoyed the meal that was served, then spent the evening playing mah jong. That was the first time ever I had played. It was to be forty years and more before I even saw another mah jong set.

      We seemed to crowd a lot into our two weeks in Bombay. It was rather staggering to see the contrast between the affluent area and the pitiful sights we saw among the teeming thousands in the slum areas. We were fascinated by our first experience of an Eastern country. Then came our next move. Again we were on a troop ship. It was March 12th

      This time it was the "Windsor Castle". Soon we were comfortably settled into our quarters and steaming across the Indian Ocean en route to the Middle East up through the Red Sea. The ship had had a charmed life. On a previous trip a bomb had landed amidships but had not exploded. Her master, Captain Brown, firmly believed that God had saved them. He was a devout Christian and joined us one evening in our Christian fellowship. He then invited a few of us to join him on the bridge the following evening when together we arranged a deck service for the next Sunday evening at which he spoke and gave his testimony. I also spoke at this service. It was a wonderful experience.

      Then on March 24th we reached port Tewfik. It had been a calm and peaceful trip. Now we were in Egypt. After disembarking we went by train following the Suez Canal north and eventually came through Alexandria to the staging camp at Ikingi Maruit 14 miles out into the desert. There was the railway station and a dilapidated canteen where you could buy lemonade and perhaps chocolate. Round about were a few deserted houses; one even had a swimming pool. But in the camp were the tents, the cook house and bare essentials. There were no showers out here. But one day each week we were given leave to Alexandria. There was very little of interest except for the Army Service Club where we could at least have a shower and a meal of what we saw most in Middle East canteens, sausages and eggs.

      Our first day in Alexandria we picked up a guide. He called himself "Jimmie McLean" although he was obviously an Egyptian. But he spoke good English and showed us much of interest. We saw Pompey's Pillar, a Roman watercourse and the catacombs. After a glimpse of King Farouk's gardens we visited the zoo; then on around the sea front--our first glimpse of the Mediterranean and some of the shore fortifications. Another day we visited the dock area and were able to hire a native boat to take us around the harbour. There we saw battleships fresh from the battle of Matapan. There was the Warspite, Barham, Eagle, Formidable and a number of destroyers and light cruisers. There were also several French ships under detention. Then we came ashore near the island of Pharos where we saw more defences, and then hitched a ride back into the city. We looked around some of the little curio shops and took coffee with one old Egyptian shop-keeper. He was 72.

      We had been warned about the street hawkers. I gave them a wide berth. But that evening one young fellow approached our group, offering to sell a watch. "Bob" thought he might buy one and eventually beat him down to 20 piastres. (There were 100 piastres in 1 pound Egyptian. 25/- Australian.) It seemed a reasonable deal. Bob handed over his 20 piastres (about as big as our round 50 cent piece). But quick as a flash the hawker palmed the coin and in its place was a penny. "Penny no good" he said. Bob nearly exploded. Across the street was a policeman with his large waddy. "Come on," I said "Give back the money or I'll call the policeman." It had the desired effect. Quickly he handed Bob his coin and went for his life.

      We found a cinema open and had the experience of watching an English film with sub-titles in Egyptian, French and Greek. Many of the shop-keepers and merchants in the city were French or Greek. In Bombay it had been "brown out" at night with lights subdued, but here in Alexandria--much nearer to the war zone it was strict black out. After an eventful day we found our way back to camp in a military truck.

      We had heard of the sand storms in the desert. Most of the time it was very calm, but one afternoon, although there was only a light wind we saw an ominous yellowish brown cloud rolling towards us from the west. A passing group of Arabs methodically huddled together in a shallow gully and drew their robes around them. They were prepared. We laced up every part of our tents. There was no rush of wind, but soon we were completely enveloped in the sand and dust. Visibility was down to a few feet. The order was circulated that evening meal of bread and tinned herrings (affectionately referred to by the troops as "gold fish") would be brought around to our tents. Tiny puffs of fine dust kept coming in at every possible vent. By evening the dust storm rapidly cleared as the wind dropped to calm. We spent a few hours next morning getting rid of the dust which had filtered into all our belongings, and longed for our next hot shower in Alexandria.

      April 8th was my 26^th birthday. That was the day after the sand storm. We discovered a tiled swimming pool in a vacated Italian mansion nearby. There was enough water in it for us to have a swim. On return to camp I received two letters from Australia; a great birthday present.

      We had patiently waited for an opportunity to visit Cairo. We learned that Cairo was out of bounds to Australian troops but our C.O. "Uncle Wally" Summons called us together and told us of the situation. He could not officially give us leave to Cairo, but offered us overnight leave to Alexandria which would give us time for a visit to the Egyptian Capital.

      This is how my diary "remembers" that visit.

      April 11^th. We have been to Cairo and of course the pyramids. At midnight April 9^th we caught the train from Alexandria and arrived in Cairo at 5.10 a.m., April 10^th. Col Thomson and I had bought a camera between us in Bombay. On the way to Cairo we were out of our compartment for about two minutes. During

that time someone came from nowhere and took our camera. We went by gharrie to the Victoria Hotel, the Serviceman's Club. We had breakfast and a wash. Then by 8 a.m. we had secured a taxi and a guide. He was from Mena village nearby the Great Pyramid and he spoke excellent English. We drove through part of the city along a broad road reminding us somewhat of St. Kilda Road. Then we crossed the Nile and eventually followed a canal some eight miles. Then we branched off and over the edge of the desert to the Steppe Pyramid, built about 4000 B.C. This area is called Sakarra and altogether there are 32 pyramids, mostly in poor repair. Of great interest, beneath one pyramid was the tomb of the sacred Bulls. There were other tombs and many paintings and engravings in a marvellous state of preservation in spite of the centuries that had passed. From Sakarra we drove back past a number of villages until we reached Mena where the Great Pyramid and others stand.

      We climbed up into the centre of the Great Pyramid There was no light but our guide had arranged a magnesium flare which brilliantly lit up the King's Chamber. There on the floor was a great stone coffin or sarcophagus, empty except for a beer bottle. Other Australian troops had obviously been there. We visited the Sphinx nearby and the temple of Sphinx with its mighty granite pillars. Then we drove back to the Tipperary Club (Soldiers Club) for lunch. In the afternoon we first visited the mosque and palace of Mohammed Ali, the first king of the present dynasty. The mosque is a copy of the famous San Sophia mosque in Constantinople. It is mainly constructed from alabaster pilfered 120 years ago from the Great Pyramid. From here we drove through old parts of the city, past burial grounds, along narrow streets and finally to the native bazaars. This was fascinating, but we could only spend a short time there.

      We visited the "palace of perfumes", a unique shop where all manner of scent essences could be purchased. Then it was back to the Victoria Hotel for tea before a leisurely stroll back to the station in time to catch the Diesel Deluxe Express back to Alexandria, and the final 14 miles to camp by taxi. This whole day including fares, meals and guide cost us £1.60 Egyptian (about £2 Australia.)

      April 11th is Good Friday. A very ordinary Church Parade, but a very fine sermon this afternoon at the R.C. service conducted by Chaplain Byrne. He is the only one of our three Chaplains who comes to visit the men in their tents.

      April 23rd. We are still at Ikingi Maruit. We were supposed to be going to Greece but the Germans overran that country before we could even make a move and today it was announced that we will be going to Palestine. Yesterday we had a quiet day in Alexandria. It was a Mohammedan holiday and most shops were closed. Mail is coming fairly promptly from home. It takes about a fortnight from Melbourne.

      We finally left Ikingi Maruit at 6 a.m. on Anzac Day by train. Lunch at Sidi Gaber about 10.30 a.m. We passed through some interesting towns, El Zagazig, Ismalia and finally reached the Suez Canal at El Qantara. This was our first (and last) close

look at the canal. We crossed in a punt and had tea on the other side. Here we changed our money; 1020 mls. for £1 Egyptian (1000 millimes = £1 Palestine) .

      We boarded another train and travelled all night across the Sinai desert and early next morning reached Rehovoth, about 14 miles inland from Tel Aviv in the midst of the beautiful Jaffa citrus groves. It was early spring and everything was green. What a change from the Egyptian desert! We had seen very little fruit in Egypt. Now we were among the world's finest citrus groves and were invited to help ourselves, but please be careful of the trees.

      Although we were to be extremely busy for the next nine months with never a dull moment, we were still able to enjoy seeing a great deal of the historic land of Palestine. Naturally our major task was to set up our 1500 bed hospital which spread over about 13 acres. Essential buildings had already been completed and more than 20 wards would soon be in operation. Our equipment arrived at Rehovoth railway depot in 36 railway trucks. Much of the equipment we would not use as we had to be prepared for any climate. But very soon our large square E.P.I.P. tents were pitched over concrete floors, beds and other ward equipment set in order and power connected. Then one evening our first patients arrived. They were evacuees from Crete which by then was overrun by the Germans. By the middle of May I had commenced work in Ward 11, a major surgical ward and we had our full complement of 52 patients. Our staff consisted of two sisters and two nursing orderlies by day, 7 a.m. to 7 p.m. and one sister and one orderly for the night shift, 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. Walking patients were expected to help with ward duties such as cleaning and helping serve meals. Otherwise there was no additional domestic staff. Orderlies made the daily visit to the Q.M. store and linen store; then, as required, to the dispensary, and at meal time to the Hospital Cook House for meals which were served from the ward kitchen. We worked six days with one day off; or if on night duty, one night off .

      Many of our patients had fractured femurs and were in traction. Our ward was soon known as the meccano ward because of the array of beams and splints.

      After a few months on day duty I volunteered for night duty. This meant we actually were off duty for two full days and gave us the opportunity to go further a field and see more. It was amazing how much we were able to fit into our "leisure" days.

      Let me take you back to my "diary".

      We are encamped at our hospital, a wonderful spot about three miles from the Railway station. We are actually on a hill, surrounded by crops and citrus groves. Sometimes we walk through the groves and along the lanes to the little township of Rehovoth. Here there are many shops almost entirely run by Jews, although there are Arabs (or Palestinians) about. There is nothing so picturesque as an old Arab with his white beard trotting along on his donkey. If he passes close to you he will call out, "Syeeda, George!" The weather is perfect. We are told there will be no rain until December.

      Sunday, May 4th, Our first visit to Jerusalem. We left camp by bus at 8 a.m. and drove through the picturesque Judean hills about 25 miles along the Jaffa Road. By 10 a.m. we were at the Jaffa Gate. In one shop we saw a mother-of-pearl model of the Dome of the Rock, the Moslem mosque built over the Temple Area. Soon we were able to visit the mosque itself and the nearby Wailing Wall. Along the road outside the city we visited the Garden of Gethsemane and the Church of All Nations; then on to the Mount of Olives and the nearby War Cemetery from World War I. On the Mount of Olives we saw the Church of the Ascension and a little further on the Hebrew University. From this lofty position we had a glimpse of the Dead Sea away in the distance.

      Following a meal at the Australian Soldiers Club we drove the six miles to Bethlehem and visited the very old Church of the Nativity. Beneath the church we saw the cell where Jerome is said to have translated the Vulgate.

      Then it was back to the Jaffa Gate for a wander through the old city to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the legendary site of the crucifixion and burial of our Lord. We were even shown a piece of rock supposed to be part of the stone that was rolled away. Then it was back to the Y.M.C.A. for tea and then joined the bus again for our return to camp.

      May 7th. Our first trip by bus to Tel Aviv this evening to a performance in Hebrew of 'Elijah' at the Ohel Hall by the Palestine Symphony Orchestra and Choral Society. We had a glimpse of the Mediterranean by moonlight.

      Friday May 15th. We again visited Tel Aviv. It is a remarkable city for this old world; very modern and comparable in many ways to Australian cities, although very continental with its open air cafes which line the Mediterranean beach front.

      Of interest were two refugees boats which had been run aground about 50 yards from the beach when they were refused permission to land.

      May 16. Using knap-sack sprays to camouflage our tents with some sort of oil. My face and eyes were affected by the spray. Spent several days off duty getting treatment.

      Now we are really busy and into our regular six-day work week routine. Already we are nursing men injured in the Syrian campaign against the French troops there. Ours is the main General Hospital only about one hundred miles or so from where the action is. We work hard but the organisation is tremendous and we are still able to have our regular day off.

      One evening we went by bus into Tel Aviv and stayed overnight at the Church of Scotland hostel. This enable us to get a bus at 8 a.m. next morning to Haifa. It was a beautiful drive through some interesting country. Haifa is at the foot of Mount Carmel and from the top of the mountain we had a marvellous panorama of the city and harbour. We visited the monastery on the mountain. Am American priest was able to tell us much of

interest about their work. Then came by taxi back through Tiberias and Nazareth.

      The Samaritan' countryside was much more rugged and desolate than Judea. Nazareth is in a hollow surrounded by hills and is full of narrow winding streets. Of course we were shown many of the traditional sights. There was the carpenter's shop where Jesus worked with Joseph; Joseph's burial place; the house of Mary and Joseph; even the site of the synagogue where Jesus taught. From Nazareth we drove on to Tiberias and the Sea of Galilee, a most remarkable sea, below sea level, yet fresh water. It reminded me very much of the Blue Lake at Mount Gambier although it is ever so much bigger. What a magnificent sight, surrounded by the mountains. I was reminded of the scene, "and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea." There were many such places. Our taxi took us back to Haifa where we boarded the bus back to Tel Aviv. After a quick tea at St. Andrew's Club we returned to Camp.

      A week later we hired a taxi from Rehovoth which picked us up at 7.30 a.m. and by 9.00 a.m. we were at Jerusalem. But today we were going on to Jericho, down hill all the way on a smooth bitumen road. There were many rugged spots and caves which could easily have harboured the thieves in the Good Samaritan story. Our driver told us that hold-ups were still quite common today. We saw the old village of Jericho; still an oasis with date palms and bananas growing in abundance. There was the "mount of Temptation" with a monastery on a ledge halfway up and another at the top. At Jericho we visited the excavated ruins of the ancient city and Elisha's fountain close by. We drank from the clear cool water. Was this really the fountain where the prophet changed the water from bitter to sweet? Then we retraced our steps to a branch road running through the gorge of the ancient brook Cherith, or Wadi El Quilt. It was a fascinating few miles; steep barren mountains on all sides with the gorge and water course winding its way below us. Here where the road crossed the water course we watched a little party of Arabs watering their donkeys. Back onto the Jericho road we motored down to the Jordan river and the Allenby Bridge. For a few moments we crossed by foot into Transjordania, exchanging friendly greetings with the border guards. Then we continued on down to the Dead Sea. It was as remarkable as we expected. So concentrated is the chemical content that there are no living organisms in its waters and it is quite impossible to sink. It is just as though you were sitting on a rubber ring and floating. Fortunately there were showers available in the dressing sheds. We enjoyed an excellent lunch at the Dead Sea Cafe, at that time the only building in sight of the swimming area, although I suppose today this would be a busy tourist resort. The weather was fine and hot, several degrees higher at that altitude. We were 1500 feet below sea level.

      We returned through Bethany, within two miles of Jerusalem. Believe it or not, two of the locals showed us separate sites of the tomb of Lazarus. As he was buried a second time may be they were both right. There was really very little to see here so we

drove on six miles south of Jerusalem to Bethlehem. This was one of a number of visits we made to the village where our Saviour was born. As it was war time there was a complete absence of tourists so we had the place almost to ourselves.

      We visited little shops where they made and sold a variety of goods, mostly fashioned from olive wood. We spent time in the ancient Church of the Nativity which was built around the 14th Century over the traditional spot where the inn and the stable stood. Some months later we again visited Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. A special bus was run from the hospital for all who wished to make the trip. By then it was mid winter and the weather was freezing cold, but we were well rugged up to face the icy blasts. In spite of the fact that it was war time there were large crowds of pilgrims visiting Bethlehem for Christmas. The old church consists of a huge hall with chapels of various orthodox denominations opening off it. We looked in on some of these services and then joined the throng following the stairway down to the crypt to the star said to be over the very spot where our Saviour was born. Then we walked back up the hillside to the road and the bus, there to await midnight when the Bells of Bethlehem rang out the Good News. The weather had been rough and snow was falling as we began our journey back to camp. Rocks had been washed onto the road in some hilly places and we learned later that we were the last bus able to get through that night. Jerusalem was snow-bound for Christmas. It was the heaviest snow fall experienced in Judea since the time when Australian troops were last there during World War I.

      Meanwhile in the months leading up to that first Christmas overseas we were able to spend various' days off (or nights off) profitably.

      It was hot and dusty around the old city of Jerusalem. Then one day we came across a donkey stable just inside the Jaffa Gate. We learned that for a very little price we could hire a donkey. On several occasions we saved our legs and a little time by travelling around the city on donkeys. One day we completely circled the city and then from the Zion Gate went down a steep track leading to the pool of Siloam. I have never seen such large fig trees as those growing so prolifically in the valley of Siloam. Scores of Arab children were either paddling in the pool or filling their water containers. No, not the traditional earthenware jars, but 4 gallon petrol tins. A little further along the valley is the Virgin's Fount. From here the shaft, discovered earlier in the century by Lt. Warren, leads up into the city. This was the answer to the riddle King David discovered. Because he found the water way leading up into the city his men were able to seize the city from the Jebusites.

      One other day when we decided to use donkeys all the larger grey donkeys were already hired and we could only get the smaller brown animals. But they were strong little beasts and all went well until we were riding up inside the old city where the streets were cobblestoned and slippery. All of a sudden my donkey slipped and went down. There was no damage to man or beast as I

      simply stepped down the few inches to the ground as he went over. But he was stubborn and refused to get up. In a moment we were surrounded by a curious group of children and men. There was much Arabic chatter, no doubt offering advice on how to get him up. Then one old Arab stepped forward, grasped the donkey by the tail very close to its body and gave it a sudden twist. Up shot the donkey and soon we were on our way, knowing thereafter how to deal with an obstinate donkey.

      While dad was overseas in 1930 he had visited Jerusalem and had made contact with Mr & Mrs Edgar Shelley. Mr Shelley had been British Red Cross representative in the Middle East during World War I and they had been among the first to enter Jerusalem after General Allenby had recaptured that city from the Turks. Mr Shelley became chairman of the Chamber of Commerce in Jerusalem and they built their home on the hill of Evil Counsel, traditional site of Caiaphas' palace and overlooking the old historic city.

      We found Mr Shelley's office and spent a pleasant hour with him. Later during my term of night duty I was invited to stay overnight with the Shelley's on a couple of occasions. Their house was on a slope with a separate room downstairs. This was the guest room. Mrs Shelley called it the "Prophet's Chamber." There were many delightful touches contrasting with army camp life. Sheets on the bed, pyjamas laid out, and on the bedside table a torch and a Bible. "Don't worry if you hear us moving around. Rest as long as you like and come up for breakfast when you are ready." It was a lovely experience to have such wonderful hosts and all the comforts of home.

      Every Friday evening Mrs Shelley, well over 80 years of age, had open house for any of the troops in Jerusalem. There was always a good supper following an hour of Bible study led by Mrs Shelley.

      Over a period of time Des Tarran and I managed to get leave together on a few occasions. On one of our trips into Jerusalem we spent the day sight seeing and then as evening came on we made a snap decision to stay overnight in one of the Service Clubs. So around 6 p.m. we decided to book in for the night. By then the last bus back to Tel Aviv (which bus we must catch) had departed. There were three different Soldiers' Clubs, but to our dismay we found all beds taken. Well, just nearby the Jaffa gate was a little shop where we occasionally bought souvenirs or films. We were well known to the owner of the shop, perhaps he could help us. Sure enough! Just across the road was the new Palestine Hotel. It was run by Arabs, but our friend assured us that it was clean and comfortable and probably no dearer than the service clubs. There was a broad stairway leading up between two shop fronts. At the top was a foyer and a reception desk. There were numerous rooms opening off the foyer. Yes! we could certainly have a room and breakfast the next morning. The beds were comfortable and the cost no more. We spent the evening in conversation with some of the friendly Arab business men staying at the Hotel. They invited us to take coffee with them; small cups of thick,

sweet, strong coffee. This was their token of friendship. They were delightful hosts.

      A month or so later I had the opportunity to visit the Sea of Galilee again. A Red Cross bus which took walking patients on day trips had a few vacant seats. The trip was up to Galilee to watch the Palestine Police swimming carnival. It was too good an opportunity to miss. This time there was plenty of time to have a swim in the fresh clear waters of Galilee. Everything was going according to plan as we started our return journey.

      I would have an hour or two to spare when we reached camp. Plenty of time for an evening meal and to relax before going on duty at 7 p.m. But with still an hour's journey to reach home the bus broke down. By the time repairs were effected we did not get back till almost 10 p.m. No time for tea. And the poor old day orderly who stayed on till I returned had put in 15 hours on his shift.

      In the centre of our hospital grounds was our cinema and hall. Here we had our church parades. Occasionally there was a concert. On all other evenings there were films. We were not always interested in the films but we eagerly looked forward to the Australian Newsreels which often featured events back home.

      Now we had a few "characters" among the 250 people in our unit. One of these, probably the smallest in stature but seeming to have the largest feet was Private J. J. Stanley. We first sighted him back at Puckapunyal answering the call to "sick parade". How he ever managed to get overseas no one will ever know. At Rehovoth he was constantly reporting sick and always managed to present a pathetic little figure, stooped and bent. We never really knew what his complaints were, but very soon he was known by everybody as "Aches and Pains" We were not long overseas before our doctors decided to send him home for discharge as being physically unfit.

      Well, one evening in the theatre an Australian newsreel was screened. Right at the beginning it featured Australian troops arriving home and being greeted by families and friends. Suddenly there was a close up on one at the top of the gang plank with the camera following him all the way down. It was our one and only J. J. Stanley. From all over the cinema went up an hilarious roar "Aches and Pains!". As he reached the bottom of the gang plank a huge women, obviously his wife, took him in her arms. They were surrounded by half a dozen children of various ages. "Aches and Pains" had made it home.

      You may have thought by now that we were on something of a Cook's Tour. But we were kept extremely busy for the six day or nights we were on duty each week. We have already mentioned that ours was the main General Hospital during the Syrian campaign and casualties were sometimes severe. Also we had a little malaria from up north, dengue fever and other complaints. At one time in our surgical ward we had 25 with compound fractured femurs of our 52 patients. About that time we had more than 1460 patients in hospital. The work was hard but conditions were very good.

      We were well supplied with medical supplies and good food and Colonel Summons had certainly made a great selection of his medical staff of about 30 doctors. All through the busy period of the Syrian campaign the weather was near perfect. Towards the end of 1941 the Syrian fighting had ended and winter was coming on. Most of our wounded had either recovered or had been returned to Australia by hospital ship.

      By Christmas time we were finding little to do in our ward. We had many empty beds and very few patients not able to walk about and do most things for themselves.

      With the combined efforts of the Australian Comforts Fund and the Red Cross, as well as parcels from home we certainly had an enjoyable festive season. I remember we even had turkey and plum pudding for Christmas dinner.

      About this time a contingent of young ladies trained as a Voluntary Aid Detachment arrived and were duly assigned to help us in the wards. The days began to drag. We had a staff of six instead of four in each ward and, as we have observed very little to do.

      A group of about twelve of us mostly medical orderlies, applied for and succeeded in getting a transfer to the 2/2nd Casualty Clearing Station. This unit had served all through the siege of Tobruk and were needing extra staff as they regrouped. We felt we wanted to be where we could be used. Among this group were Ray Denney from Tasmania, Des Tarran and myself. As things turned out we were to share in many adventures over the next few years. We certainly got to be where the action was.

      We spent a few weeks at a staging camp in the Gaza area with our new unit, 2nd C.C.S. It was a much smaller unit and we soon got to know many of our new mates.

      During this brief time I learned that a very dear friend of mine, Joe Rhodes, was in the area and we managed to spend a Sunday together. Joe had been secretary of our Mitcham Church during my time there as student minister. He had enlisted about the same time as I did and was then with the 2/5th Field Ambulance. That was the last time we were to meet as Joe was killed in action sometime later in New Guinea. He was the eldest brother of my wife, Jessie. That family certainly contributed as three brothers and a sister all were serving overseas.

      On the evening of January 30th, 1942 we left Gaza and went by train to Port Tewfik. Next day we embarked on the troop ship "Orcades" and there was naturally much speculation as to our destination.

      Some guessed we would sail for Bombay; others declared our first call would be Colombo; everyone hoped we would be sailing home. For most of the time we sailed without naval escort. The "Orcades" was a modern ship and could sail at 24 knots while the fastest speed of a submarine was 17 knots. We were therefore considered to be safe from submarine attack .

      As it turned out our first port of call was Colombo but the authorities there had no record of us and sent us on our way. I am not sure who gave the Captain his orders but now we sailed to the south of Sumatra and on the morning of February 16th sailed up the estuary leading into the harbour of Dostenhaven anchoring some miles out from the wharf. On board with us were the 2/3rd Machine Gun Battalion and the 2/2nd Pioneers (an infantry battalion). None of us had our equipment. That had all been loaded onto other ships, all of which returned to Australia. There may have been half a dozen machine guns on board which were mounted an the decks, supposedly for antisubmarine protection. The coastline encircling the harbour was lined with dense tropical foliage growing almost to the water's edge. All day we lay in that seemingly peaceful harbour. Occasionally a Dutch plane soared overhead. Could the enemy be lurking anywhere in the vicinity? We wondered what was to happen.

      Eventually, towards evening, a lighter pulled alongside our ship and orders were given for all available fighting men and a small contingent of medical personnel to prepare to disembark. It was a shambles right from the start. There were not even enough rifles to go round and the last thirty troops were actually issued with pick handles. It was dusk as the lighter moved off from the ship and headed for the wharf which was far enough away to be out of sight from those of us still on the Orcades.

      This is what happened. As they pulled into the wharf they were greeted by the British Brigadier who wanted to know what in the world they were doing there and ordered them back to their ship immediately. There had obviously been a hopeless lack of communication. By this time it was pitch dark. It was a moonless night and a strict blackout both on the wharf and on our ship. The Captain of the lighter promised to do his best to find the ship several miles out there in the harbour. Those of us still on the Orcades waited, not knowing what had transpired nor what was to happen. Then, around 2 a.m. we heard the lighter as it crept back alongside. In another hour all were back on board and it was full steam ahead back out of the harbour. But there were still tense moments ahead. As dawn broke we saw that we were sailing up through the narrow Sunda straits separating Sumatra and Java. Only days before we learned that H.M.A.S. Perth and the U.S.S. Houston had been sunk in these waters by the Japanese navy. I am sure we were doing our full 24 knots but we scarcely seemed to be moving. Away on the horizon ahead appeared a wisp of smoke. Rapidly it turned into a ship, most likely a destroyer. We were greatly relieved in the next few moments to catch sight of the Dutch flag as the destroyer approached and passed us by.

      By noon that day we were anchored in the harbour of Batavia. The only sign of aerial activity was a flight of Flying Fortresses winging their way south. For two days we remained at anchor and there were all sorts of guesses as to our next move.

      Eventually on February 19^th we pulled into the dockside and the next morning we disembarked and our unit travelled by train to Bandoeng in Central Java. The situation was full of danger and fortunately our nursing sisters were kept on the ship and, as we learned later, safely returned to Australia.

      Bandoeng is a beautiful city in the high country of central Java. apparently free from malaria and with a superb climate. We were transported from the station to the Chrystalek Lyceum, or School. It had been vacated in the war situation and was handed over to us for use as a hospital. The buildings were excellent for our purpose but as yet we had no equipment. That evening we took the opportunity to look around the city surroundings. It was entirely "window shopping" as we had no money in the local currency. But we were more interested in the fine houses and some of the beautiful gardens.

      Next morning twelve of us returned to Batavia by train in search of medical supplies and hospital equipment. The afternoon we arrived in Bandoeng we saw the first air raid the city had experienced. During a "dog fight" overhead one plane was shot down in flames.

      We arrived back in Batavia in torrential rain, but by evening it had cleared. We were billeted at the Princess Juliana School (for girls) which the military had commandeered in the emergency. During our week at Batavia we worked solidly sorting and packing medical supplies while in the evenings we explored Batavia, travelling around in the bicycle rickshas. Every day there were air raids but none anywhere near us. Then it was back to Bandoeng with a fleet of ambulances stacked with supplies.

      Within a few days we had set up hospital. One day, about 2 p.m. 300 beds arrived. A few hours later we admitted our first patients. So No.1 Allied General Hospital was established. Air raids became more frequent; the target was the aerodrome several miles away, and soon our own men of the Machine Gun and Pioneer Battalions were in action against the Japanese. The situation was hopeless right from the start and to save what would have been a massacre of the large civilian population the Dutch capitulated on March 8th. Already by that time we had well over 200 patients including battle casualties, malaria and dysentery.

      It was on March 7th, the day before capitulation. Having a few hours of free time I decided to go into the town a couple of miles away to buy a watch to replace my own, broken beyond repair. I had made my purchase and was in a cafe for refreshments when the air raid siren sounded. All shops closed immediately and the streets were deserted, my only protection as I walked back to the hospital was my steel helmet.

      I counted about forty Japanese bombers going across in waves. Anti-aircraft batteries went into action. Bursts of gun-fire would be followed by a gentle shower of shrapnel on the house tops and pavements. But there was no serious opposition. That afternoon we treated many casualties from the aerodrome. The assault was even more intense the next day. All that day we battled to give essential treatment to the men who had suffered in the air raids. European, Chinese, Japanese, soldiers or civilians were all treated alike. Colonel Dunlop, Major Arthur Moon and Major Ewan Corlette headed the team of skilful and hard working doctors. Colonel Dunlop, our Commanding Officer, not only excelled with his medical skill; he also inspired us all by his untiring, heroic leadership. He gave opportunity to any who chose to make a break before the obvious end to do so, but, to a man all pledged to stand firmly by the patients.

      So came capitulation on Sunday, March 8th. I vividly recall that morning as a group of us shared in a communion service. We naturally contemplated the immediate future, not with any apprehension of fear but, for me at least, with a calm serenity.

      It was not until the following Wednesday that we even saw any Japanese; and it was several weeks before the inevitable happened and Japanese guards were posted at the hospital entrance. We continued our normal duties but were no longer allowed to leave the hospital grounds.

      During those short weeks before capitulation we had established a close link with many of the Dutch people in the city. A team of ladies gave us generous support in nursing duties. (Remember we were without our unit nursing sisters). They even

shared night duty with us.

      We had fellowship with the local Salvation Army who joined with us for Sunday evening services held in the auditorium which was used as the main ward. But of course, with the Japanese taking over all contact with the local population ceased.

      Then, suddenly, Nippon decided to move us. On April 18^th all patients considered fit, most of our staff including all our 2/2 C.C.S. doctors were moved to Camp 13, while patients still needing hospital care, a team of our own orderlies and other personnel and several young R.A.F. doctors were taken to the Tjimahi Military Hospital. We soon realised that we were now prisoners of war, The hospital had been stripped of most of its equipment. There were only about 30 hospital beds for more than 100 men and we had been left very little in the way of medical supplies. From now on we were on a ration of rice and enough vegetables for our cooks to serve a soup or stew once or twice a day. We were also ordered to have our hair close-cropped. We would be punished if a guard could get a grip on our hair. The Japanese guards pestered us a good deal. I suppose they were not sure how we would react. We were just as apprehensive. Occasional misunderstandings led to some face slapping. (A practise common within their own ranks). However we generally managed to keep the peace and concentrate on our task of nursing the sick.

      Everything to this point had happened so quickly. Little more than a month had elapsed from the time we left the Middle East to the moment we became prisoners of war. Now, some six weeks later, we began to come to grips with the situation we were in. Naturally we pondered many questions and in our Christian fellowship we considered together the reason why we had come to this predicament. We were naturally tempted to ask if God had forsaken us. But as we looked deeper we knew that God was leading us. The 2/2C.C.S. would have been desperately short of trained medical orderlies if we had not joined them. That would have meant that our troops in Java (and later in Thailand) would have lacked adequate care. Our only prayer to God now was for strength to enable us to care for our patients.

      Tjimahi hospital was quite large. But we used only two double wards and the isolation section at the rear of the main block. In the latter we housed our dysentery and venereal disease patients. In this section also was a spacious assembly hall. One evening we arranged a concert. There happened to be quite a variety of musical and comedy talent and so all patients able to walk and staff not on duty assembled for the occasion. We believed we were safe enough from the prowling Japanese guards who seemed terrified to venture into the isolation section. Of course being good loyal subjects we began proceedings with the National Anthem. Probably none of us had ever sung so lustily. The evening passed joyfully enough but the Japanese

      Commandant was far from pleased and the next day the entire hospital staff was ordered onto parade. From his raised dais he spoke through an interpreter (even though he spoke perfect English) and really castigated us. For sometime he sounded off that we must not sing or whistle; we had no right to be happy and we should be ashamed to be prisoners of war. The day was hot and humid and we were standing stiffly to attention. One of our lads, big Henry, who was only eighteen and well over six feet tall was obviously distressed by the heat. The climax came when the Japanese commandant announced, "and you can expect no help from England!" Big Henry went down in a dead faint. It was all the best of us could do to restrain our mirth. Soon we were dismissed and Henry revived.

      Our chaplains had both been sent on with the rest of unit so Des Tarran, Ray Denney and myself decided to do something about arranging Sunday services. We felt it important to seek permission from the Japanese so approached the young R.A.F. doctor who was our senior officer in the camp. He agreed to see the Japanese Commandant but by the Sunday morning nothing had been done. We pressed him to allow us to proceed with the service and offered to accept full responsibility for any trouble. The orderly room staff managed to duplicate hymn sheets for us and everything was duly arranged. I was to take a service down in the isolation block, then go on duty in the top ward while Ray and Des led the service in the middle ward. Everything went well until mid way through the second service when two Japanese guards on their round came upon this "gathering" singing and talking in, what was to them, a suspicious manner. They understood very little English and so Des and Ray were marched off to the guard house and paraded before the Japanese Commandant. But only the day before a new Commandant had taken over. The guards told their story and then the Commandant, in perfect English, asked Des and Ray for their explanation. They explained that they were Christians and had been leading a service of worship. Then an amazing thing happened. The Japanese officer stood to attention and saluted our men. "I, too, am a Christian, and I am sorry you have been interrupted. Please continue to hold services. Only do not sing too loudly. Japanese officers passing the hospital may hear the singing and not understand." How we praised God!

      Among the patients in our ward requiring special attention were several young R.A.F. boys. Bill and his friends had actually been taken prisoners a matter of only six weeks after they had enlisted in England. The Japanese had them out an a working party gathering up hand grenades when one exploded. Bill lost both hands and his sight. He was married with a new baby that he had never seen. The main task in nursing Bill was to lift him out of his terrible depression. We were only two months at Tjimahi Hospital when, without any warning, all our staff of Australian orderlies and convalescent patients were marched out to rejoin our fellow Australians in a much larger camp nearby. Bill and others unable to travel were left in the care of the R.A.F. doctors and their helpers. We never met up with them again and there was no way to find out how they fared. (We learned from a T.V. interview in 1985 that Bill had made it home and is living a useful and contented life).

      Soon after this, on the 14th June 1942 we were marched to the Bandoeng 15^th Battalion Barracks. Here we were to remain until November of the same year. This was a very large and well appointed camp. In various sections of the camp were many different nationalities. There were Dutch, Menadonese, Ambonese, British as well as our Australian contingent. The Japanese left our own leaders to control all activities within the camp, although regular work parties were taken outside for various duties.

      We had excellent leaders, chief among them being our own beloved Colonel "Weary" Dunlop. Very soon there was a marvellous organisation both of necessary duties and social and physical activities.

      As this was a permanent army camp the Cook House was well equipped but of course there was a limited supply of food. Rice continued to be our basic ration supplemented by a meagre quantity of vegetables and about forty pounds of meat per day for our group of one thousand men.

      Medical facilities were arranged but we soon had to learn to economise with the scarcity of medical supplies we had and with little likelihood of any from the Japanese. Only a few were needed to look after the sick parades as everyone seemed fairly healthy; hygiene in the camp was good and we were not in a malarial area.

      A group of us decided to establish a vegetable garden. We managed to get hold of the necessary tools and our officers arranged for supplies of all the seeds we required. Soon we had garden beds dug in the area allotted to us and in a very short time we had planted tomatoes, beans and lettuce. We were in the tropics and it was the wet season. Mornings were always fine and sunny. Then around 3 p.m. each day we would have a down pour for an hour or two. Plant growth was phenomenal. On the third day after planting our climbing beans were through the ground. We erected a crude trellis for them to climb on. Six weeks from the day of planting we picked the first beans. They were a "French bean" growing to about 15 inches long. We were getting good value from our garden. The beans went into the Cook House. As tomatoes and lettuce grew we distributed them through the sick bay to those our doctors considered could do with the extra nourishment.

      It was only a small contribution among our family of a thousand but we gained a lot of satisfaction from the whole exercise of gardening and sharing our precious crop.

      There were many other activities. During the day we could attend the Camp "University." We had an amazing number of highly qualified people able to lecture on a wide variety of subjects. It was pleasing to see the numbers who took the opportunity to attend the classes. Ray, Des and I joined the Ancient History class. This was led by Don Gregory (R.A.F.)

who in civilian life was a professor in history at the Liverpool University. Don was a fine Christian and we had delightful times with him, not only in the classes but in our Bible study group. I still have a beautiful poem he wrote to celebrate Christmas 1942. It was published in the "Australian Christian" about.1946.

      Well do I remember the occasion of Don's birthday. We had carried with us a tin of bully beef and a tin of ration chocolate. We had often been tempted to supplement our diet but decided to wait for some fitting occasion. We gathered a few beans, a couple of tomatoes and managed to scrounge a little curry powder from the cook house. These ingredients added to our tin of bully beef made a very tasty stew. Ray ground up a quantity of rice, added a little brown sugar and salt and made some excellent pan cakes. The ration chocolate rounded off the meal. We invited Don and a few friends to join us for a regular birthday tea. We talked about it for days afterwards.

      We also had in the camp a number of talented actors, singers and musicians. I remember one person, Clephan Bell from England, a Shakespearean actor. He organised some very high class concerts. It was amazing where the musical instruments came from. There were trumpets, a trombone, and drums. This gave a good background for the singers who joined with the rest of the stars to provide us many evenings of entertainment.

      Our Anglican Chaplain, Fred Camroux from Sydney, invited those who wished to join him in a regular evening Bible study group. I remember we set out to study Acts. We usually had about twenty in attendance. Early on we arrived at the account of Peter preaching on the Day of Pentecost. I was interested to hear how the chaplain would handle the passage on baptism. He didn't! He by-passed it! But immediately one of the group pulled him up and insisted on a detailed discussion. From his line of argument I guessed he could belong to one of our churches. He was Herb Latcham from our Kingaroy Church in Queensland. He was delighted to meet me, especially when he knew my father was J. E. Thomas. Some years earlier dad had conducted a mission at Kingaroy and during that time had stayed in the Latcham home.

      While at Bandoeng we were not worried by the Japs. The guards came through our quarters once or twice during the day and could be seen strolling around the camp area. The rule was that if you saw a guard you had to salute. If you were not wearing a hat you had to bow to an angle of 45°. Ray loved to sit outside in the sun reading. One afternoon he was busy with his book when a Jap guard appeared at the other end of a hut about fifty yards away. Ray looked up to see the Jap beckoning to him with a wave of his hand. At that time we did not understand their signals. Ray thought it was a wave of friendship and waved in return but did not move. Fortunately the outcome was not too serious.

      The work parties outside the camp were never very strenuous and we were glad to get out and see a bit of the outside world. I recall that on one of these "parties" we were taken to buildings used as Japanese barracks. We were to clean them out. In one room was a large box of stale bread. We were allowed to help ourselves. It was a real treat as we had not even seen bread for many months. The fact that it was mouldy did not deter us.

      On one other party we were assigned to a group of Jap Air Force men. We were engaged in moving a pile of Dutch bombs of various sizes. We hoped they would not explode. They didn't. During our lunch break we sat down on the ground with our Dixie's of rice. The Japs came and sat with us. There were perhaps a dozen of us in the circle. Most of the Japs spoke fairly good English and we talked together. They were interested in where we were from and asked why were in the army. They knew we were volunteers. They had been conscripted. One little fellow was a marine engine salesman from Osaka. He proudly showed us a picture of his wife and baby and wistfully longed for the time he could be back home with them again. It was a long lunch break and if it had been left for that group of Japs and Aussies to decide, the war would have ended that day. I often wondered how many of them returned safely to their loved ones.

      I will always remember the Ambonese who were with us in the camp. They were from the little island of Ambon, part of Indonesia. The people of Ambon are predominantly Christian and almost without exception those with us at Bandoeng radiated their faith. They are of fine physical stature, black as ebony, and have a delightful sense of humour. Unlike a few of our Australians they were scrupulously clean. Most of them were well educated and spoke and wrote English well. We soon came to know a group of them and they often joined us in our cubicle for a time of fellowship. At the back of my Bible which I carried all through those days are written the names of some of these young men; names like Paul Pelupessy, Christian Kastang, Julius Matauseja, Robert Pieter. We were invited to attend their evening services. These were held daily in a large meeting room. Seated on the floor would be close to two hundred men. They had their own chaplain with them and the service was conducted in Malay. We knew only a few words of that language but we could enter into the spirit of the service. One feature was their harmonious singing which seems to be a natural gift with most Pacific Islanders. We listened to the fervent prayers of the white haired pastor and could easily follow as all joined in the Lord's Prayer, "Bapa Kami jang ada di soerega." "Our Father who art in heaven." I can still picture him as he led us to the throne of grace.

      I am certain we could easily have seen out our time as P.O.W.'s if we had remained at Bandoeng, but this was not to be, and very early one morning in November we were ordered to pack up and move. It did not take us long to pack as our sea kit bags which held most of our belongings had been loaded onto another boat

when we were leaving the Middle East. (I was able to reclaim that bag after the war from the pack store in Melbourne). We only carried our packs and blanket rolls. We were now taken by train to Batavia and then marched through torrential rain for about five miles to our new camp at Makasura.

      From a health paint of view this was to be the best camp we had occupied. It was newly built and consisted of long native huts with bamboo benches six feet wide running the full length each side of the hut. This was where we ate and slept. The perimeter of the camp was a strongly constructed 13 strand barbed wire fence about nine feet high. The camp area was about 200 metres by 100 metres with a recreation area about 25 metres wide running the full length of the camp. There were about 2000 men in the camp, about equal numbers of British and Australian.

      The rations here seemed slightly more liberal, with enough meat and vegetables to enable the cooks to serve us a fair ration of stew with our rice once a day. For those who still had any money eggs and bananas could be bought through a canteen, but most of us had run out of cash. We spent Christmas at Makasura and I remember as a Christmas treat we had a small measure of milk, a banana and a few sweets. This treat was supplied by the canteen. Nippon does not celebrate Christmas and certainly was in no mood to give us a special treat.

      We were able to keep fit with plenty of exercise and sport such as volley ball. We were also taken out on frequent work parties for the Japs. There was no room for orthodox cricket but we were able to adapt a form of cricket to suit our playing area. We only had 25 metres length but plenty of width. We had a few leather cricket balls. The hard filling was replaced by softer material packed tightly. The result was more like the conventional "soft ball". Base ball bats proved ideal as cricket bats. Rules were improvised to suit our playing conditions. We played a series of Inter-company matches and finally engaged in a series of England v. Australia Test Matches. As I was fortunate enough to gain selection I can now say I have represented my country at International level. We were victorious.

      One rather humorous incident stays in my mind. Each evening our group of about a dozen or so joined our chaplain in a time of Bible study and prayer. We would sit in a circle under some trees in one corner of the camp. Now the guards mainly patrolled casually outside the camp perimeter. There was little chance of anyone attempting to escape as the entire island of Java was under Japanese control. Occasionally a guard would come into the camp and stroll around. Of course the rule of saluting any guard in sight strictly applied here as it did earlier at Bandoeng. This particular evening we had concluded our study and were engaged in our time of prayer when suddenly from a few feet away came the familiar call, "Coora." We looked up to see a Jap guard. We all stood to attention but it was too late. We had failed to salute Nippon.

      The usual penalty for such failure would have been a few slaps across the face. (We had occasionally seen Japanese officers handing out this punishment to their own men). This time our guard made us stand in pairs facing each other. We were then ordered to slap each other's face. We began muttering in whispers what we would do to the other one if we were hurt. We pretended to slap. After a few moments of this charade the guard could contain himself no longer. As he turned and walked away we could hear him laughing to himself.

      Soon after Christmas we were again on the move. Before daylight we were back at the station and taken to Tanjong Priok, the port of Batavia. Here after a good deal of delay we were sprayed from head to foot with disinfectant and then herded down into the holds of a cargo ship, 400 to a hold. There was just enough room for each man to lie down in comfort. Some of us were fortunate enough to be out of the way of people walking by. We were fed on rice and soup three times a day. The Japs cooked it somewhere up on deck and it was lowered in buckets by a rope. From each hold a solitary ladder led up to the deck where there was one dirty latrine, one tap and a basin. Only one or two were allowed on deck at a time so it was necessary to queue up for hours. We were four days travelling in this tub. Fortunately the weather remained calm and cool. Eventually we reached Singapore, "the impregnable fortress of the East."

      After landing we were fed and then loaded into trucks and transported to Changi, but we never saw the inside of the prison. We were only about a week on Singapore and although we were in the same area as our 8th Division comrades we were officially forbidden to mingle with them.

      However these are some things I remember well. One evening we attended a variety concert presented by some very talented artists. One of these was a female impersonator who with make-up and costume certainly looked charming. Another was a comedian on stilts. I do not recall any of his patter except for his main line: "I'm happy Harry, I am. We'll never get off the island." Sometime after the war had ended we learned that he never did make it back home.

      But most of all I remember the one Sunday we were in Changi. Somehow it was usually possible to learn who was moving through. That Sunday morning I had a welcome visit from Duncan Butler and the late Alan Garland two of our ordained ministers with Churches of Christ in Australia. They were both engaged in medical service rather than serving as chaplains. I referred earlier to Alan Garland's work with the 2nd/9th Field Ambulance. He was actually officially appointed during P.O.W. days as a chaplain although he continued with his medical work. Ill health overtook him towards the end and he died serving his men. They were accompanied that Sunday by Padre Benjamin (Methodist Chaplain) well known and beloved among the troops in Changi. He led us in a very beautiful communion service. There were twenty or more gathered to share in that highest point in worship. These were the experiences that gave us great strength.

      I never saw Alan Garland again but Duncan and I were to meet up again when the war had ended. We were together for a few days in Bangkok.

      Before we became P.O.W. we usually knew a little time in advance where we would be going. But now, under the Japanese we learned nothing until almost the moment we were to move. We were only about a week in Changi when the order came to move and very soon we found ourselves in railway trucks and rattling over the causeway to the mainland. These closed in trucks were to be our quarters for the next three days and nights.

      We were about thirty to a truck. This means that only about twenty could lie down at one time; the rest of us had to sit up. Whenever the train stopped there would be guards at the doors and we would be escorted to the toilet area and given the opportunity for a little exercise. We always took the opportunity for this break as there were no facilities in our trucks and we never knew when the next break might come. At regular intervals, two or three times each day we were served a meagre ration of rice and soup. At least the Japanese cooks knew how to prepare rice, something our own cooks never seemed to manage.

      The journey passed without incident. We only knew we were heading north. Then early one morning we were ordered from our railway trucks and into waiting army trucks. Somehow we discovered we were in Thailand at Bang Pong. There was no breakfast parade and in the trucks there was standing room only. From somewhere came a supply of very small green sugar bananas, enough- for about four each. That was to be our only ration of food or drink that day. We rattled on all day mostly over rough bush tracks until towards evening we came to the outskirts of a "Prison Camp." We later discovered that this was Tarsau.

      We were herded into a sort of corral with crude toilet facilities nearby. We were not allowed any contact with the British troops already in the camp. Fortunately it was the dry season so there was no real hardship in sleeping out under the stars and just at sundown we were issued with a meal of rice and dried salt fish. We were ravenous by now and it tasted good.

      Next day we travelled on to a spot right on the river Kwai. The Japs called it Konyu. This was to be the first of our jungle camps. In all the time we were in the jungle there were no fences around our camps. After all if anyone chase to escape there was nowhere to go. Close by was a party of British troops who had already built their huts from jungle materials. This was to be our first assignment. There was a plentiful supply of bamboo growing in large clumps to about thirty feet high, three inches in diameter and twenty or thirty canes in a clump. Until our huts were built we were obliged to sleep under the stars. Most of us still had our

mosquito nets and it took little time to improvise a bamboo stretcher and a frame to hold our nets. As we were in the middle of the dry season we had no anxiety about getting wet. In spite of the primitive conditions our camp was soon established in an orderly fashion. "Weary" Dunlop had tremendous support from those reliable doctors, Major Moon and Major Corlette. They were to prove a tremendous team and they were a constant inspiration not only to those of us working with them as medical orderlies but, indeed, to every man in the camp.

      Rations of rice and some vegetables were meagre. Meat was even scarcer. At first the ration of meat was about 40 lbs. to 1000 men and this dwindled later.

      On parade the men were warned about trying to supplement their food from jungle plants. It could be dangerous.

      One morning I was an duty at our medical tent. One of the men came running up the hill, saliva simply streaming from his mouth. He had searched for extra food and discovered some roots which locked like artichokes. They were not! And his salivary glands were set working overtime. We had no drugs to help, but fortunately the effect wore off within a few hours.

      Scorpions were quite common in the jungle of Thailand and soon we learned to shake out our boots before stepping into them. A few of the men received a bite but fortunately, the scorpions we encountered were not very venomous and the effect was something akin to a severe bull-ant bite.

      We had been at Konyu about a week. Everyday work parties were busy cutting down bamboo and preparing it for building the huts. There were trenches to be dug for toilets and many other jobs the Japs found for the men. We were kept busy looking after the sick. There was no sign of medical supplies being issued by the Japs. Our entire store consisted on what we had carried with us from Java. Now it seemed that the Japs did not mean us to have a rest day each week. So Colonel Dunlop confronted the Jap Commandant with a demand for a rest day each Sunday. Reluctantly the Japs consented but to our dismay, when Sunday arrived no food rations were delivered. "Why not?" our Colonel demanded. "Oh if you are not working you don't need that food." We were to discover this to be the Japanese philosophy, and later on, when they began to "pay" us for work, anyone off sick received no pay. We also learned this was so even for their own troops. A Japanese soldier off duty received no pay and only half ration of food. But at least while we were at Konyu we had "Yasmay" or rest day each Sunday.

      Some of our officers including our two chaplains had been kept back and not allowed to stay with our party. Our Christian fellowship including Des Tarran, Ray Denney and I felt that we should do something about a worship service in the camp. Colonel Dunlop agreed it would be a good thing and notified the Japanese Commandant. So each Sunday evening after the

evening meal we gathered on a natural mound nearby and conducted an open air service. Usually about a hundred men joined us, mostly joining in whole-heartedly, but there were a few who stood around the perimeter and quietly ridiculed what was said. Earlier in the day we invited those who cared to join us to share in communion. The rice crust from the cook house* and cold tea became our bread and wine. There in a clearing in the jungle we shared together in the simple feast of remembrance. We discovered that in the nearby British camp there was an Anglican Chaplain and that they had built a simple open air chapel overlooking the river. Several of us were invited to share each Sunday from then on in a communion service.

      The Japanese had no medical service within a hundred miles of where we were apart from a medical corporal who was in our camp. Some of the guards became a bit of a nuisance hanging around our medical tent. They could speak a little English and seemed to be lost for something to do to pass the time. One Jap came one morning and complained to our medical sergeant that he had a problem. Our Sgt. Alan Gibson went along with him. It turned out that our Jap friend had haemorrhoids. "Gibby" assured him he had the very thing to fix him and gave him two No.9 tablets. (These were fairly strong laxative tablets used in the army.) He did not come back for further medication.

      One evening there was real drama. About 8 p.m. I was on duty at the medical tent. A very agitated man came in saying, "You better come quick, Jonesy's real crook." I quickly accompanied him across to the hut. Jonesy was not writhing in pain. He was simply rigid with agony. I quickly doubled back and called Major Corlette. "Get him across to the tent immediately. I'll call the other doctors." In a matter of minutes our patient was on a stretcher in the medical tent and being examined by three very anxious looking medicos. A quick consultation and they were convinced that it was a ruptured duodenal ulcer and required immediate surgery.

      Apart from our small medical tent we had one bell tent presently occupied by twelve dysentery patients. There were moved out into another area and immediate preparations for the operation got under way. A team of men quickly set about erecting an operating table made from bamboo. Colonel Dunlop had carried with him his own set of surgical instruments. The doctors also had a limited quantity of anaesthetic. The "theatre" staff got busy in the camp kitchen sterilising sheets, instruments and other essentials. By 10 p.m. the operation was under way by the light of two hurricane lamps and an electric torch. Three inquisitive Japanese insisted on coming into the tent, but at the first stroke of Major Moon's scalpel one of the Japs made a hasty retreat and a moment later a second rushed out and we could hear him retching out in the bushes. The medical Corporal stayed and watched and I am sure he marvelled at the skill of the two surgeons. An S.O.S. had gone out for bedding.

      One officer gave up his camp stretcher and from around the camp a dozen pillows and cushions were brought to our little tent where we were going to nurse the patient. By 2 a.m. the operation was successfully completed and Jonesy was in bed and coming out of the anaesthetic. In spite of the primitive conditions everything went according to plan and within a fortnight our man was walking about comfortably. By the time we left Konyu he was able to resume normal duties again.

      I mentioned before that our rations were practically devoid of meat. One day Ray Denney wandered in from the jungle with a possum. It did not take long to prepare it for the pot and that evening our little group had a very tasty possum supper. When we had eaten Ray asked "What did it taste like?" "Very good" we replied. "I wasn't sure," said Ray, "It was dead when I found it." We still enjoyed it. With working hours still fairly normal there was plenty of time in the evenings to talk around the camp fires. It allowed a great opportunity to discuss a variety of topics and many of the fellows who normally would have remained silent joined in our discussions on spiritual topics.

      There was no feeling of depression but a genuine seeking after the real issues of life. This seemed especially so in the case of many who admitted that they had never before given any real thought to religion or to God.

      There seemed to be very little in the jungle to supplement our diet and we had no means of catching fish in the river. But one day, it seemed we had a find. One of our group came in with a supply of large clams he had gathered from the river bed. We eagerly waited while they were boiled for perhaps a quarter of an hour. But they were as tough as leather and tasteless. So back into the pot for another half an hour.

      If anything they were even tougher and no amount of chewing could make them digestible. It was about this time we noticed the first signs of malnutrition owing to an almost complete lack of vitamins in our diet. By now the Japs had began "paying us to work."

      Seven dollars (Thai money) a month was the generous allowance. Meagre supplies of bananas, duck eggs and crude hanks of tobacco came up rive on barges and the Japs allowed us to have a canteen. Many spent all their money on tobacco. Those of us who bought food worked it out that we could buy two or three eggs a week if we did not buy bananas. Some had carried more money with them and were able to live more comfortably but even among these malaria, dysentery and other diseases began to take their toll. Up until now we had not experienced any malaria although we knew it was prevalent in the jungle area. Gradually more and more of the men contracted malaria and a steady stream of patients reported for their regular doses of quinine. We had brought a good supply of tablets with us but after a month or so these soon went. The Japs realised they would have to keep a supply of quinine up to us if they

were to have a work force, but it was powdered quinine and the vile taste was most unpleasant to the malaria sufferers.

      After about six weeks all huts were completed and we were all under cover at last although there had not been any sign of rain. Just when we seemed well settled we received orders to move camp. This happened a few days after I went down with my first bout of malaria. The main party moved one day, marching several miles away from the river to a new camp called Hintoku. (Pronounced Hintok). A few of us who had been recovering from sickness followed the next day. We were now about three miles from the river in a newly formed camp. Here we were rejoined by a contingent of Dutch troops. These were colonials from Java who had never really been used to looking after themselves. In consequence their hygiene left a lot to be desired. Fortunately their section of the camp was quite separate from ours. But this was not the only problem we had. There was a dramatic change in our programme. For some time there had been a rumour that we were to work on railway construction. It was no longer rumour. No sooner were we settled into Hintoku camp than what we came to know as the "speedo" period began. This was to be a grim time spreading over several months and through the wet season. Never in all those months was there to be a rest day. Japanese engineers were in charge of our camp as well as the many camps spread out the 200 kilometres stretching up into Burma. This was the length of railway to be constructed as speedily as possible. There were no bulldozers or any other machines. All the work was done by the many thousands of prisoners of War, British, Dutch, Australian and American slave labour. Hours of work were from dawn to dusk which meant that the three mile march out to the work site usually began before sunrise and as the "speedo" increased our men were straggling back into camp at a later and later hour. There were two gangs employed. One was the "hammer and tap" gang. They worked in pairs with a metre drill and a sledge hammer, one holding and turning the drill in between blows of the sledge hammer by his mate. This was into solid rock and the quota each day was a full metre. Then at lunch break and after the afternoon shift the Japs would cram the holes with dynamite and blast away. The second gang equipped with crude stretchers, of a couple or rice sacks on two bamboo poles would then transport the loose rock to another area. The work may not have been so bad if rations had been adequate. Apart from a reasonable supply of rice there was very little else. Enough vegetables, pumpkin and sweet potatoes to make a thin soup and rarely any meat ration at all. Over a period of a month or more we also received a meagre ration of dried shredded turnips. When boiled the result was a brown, clear, tasteless liquid. We drank it or poured it over our rice hoping there might be some goodness in it. Eggs and bananas were dearer and had further to come. One or two eggs a week was all we could buy and these were usually of doubtful vintage.

      They were duck eggs and rather strong in flavour as the ducks lived largely on the fish in the paddy fields. However the only egg we threw away was one that exploded when we cracked it.

      By now there was an increase in the incidence and severity of malaria and dysentery was beginning to take its toll. There was no such thing as a clothing issue from the Japs and it was not long before most of our men had little in the way of footwear or trousers to cover their legs. We were soon to experience the scourge of tropical ulcers as every cut or scratch became infected. With little in the way of disinfectant other than eusol or a bit of mercurochrome, and nothing in the way of antibiotics, small sores soon grew larger and ulcerated. The pressure was now on for more men to go out to work. It was a constant battle to shield those who were sick. We had half a dozen tents for the sickest. The others had to rest in their lines. Our doctors did a remarkable job, not only caring for the sick with little medicine or equipment, but in standing up to the Japs and demanding that the sick men should have days off.

      We called our "hospital" the "wood and water hospital." We had plenty of wood and made charcoal. This, powdered, was some good for stomach complaints, and we kept a row of cans of boiling water so that hot foments could be used on the tropical ulcers. From the scant supply of salt in the cook house we commandeered sufficient so that ulcers or other wounds could be bathed regularly in saline solution. One day the Japanese handed over a few bottles of creosote pills. Well, some with tummy aches may have felt better for taking them.

      "Weary" Dunlop himself went down with malaria but it seemed to make no difference to his amazing stamina in leading the battle to save men's lives and lift their morale: I cannot stress enough the tremendous support he received from Majors Moon and Corlette. The dedication of the rest of our medical team, spurred on by the wonderful example of our three doctors, was an inspiration to the whole camp. Every man who came on sick parade received a thorough check over, and though there was little available as far as medical supplies, there was always a word of assurance and support.

      In our camp we had men from many units and from all three services, army, navy, air force. I mentioned earlier the sinking of the U.S. Houston and H.M.A.S. Perth in the Sunda Straits. We had quite a number of men from the Perth with us now and also a handful from the Houston. Among those from the Perth were two Petty Officers, Horrie Abbot and Ray Parkin. Horrie had managed to get hold of some Dutch uniforms including a coat and a broad-brimmed hat, ideal for the jungle sun. He was a lively character with a booming voice and as he led his band of men out to work on the railway you could hear him talking and encouraging them.

      Ray Parkin was an artist of quality and since returning home has written several outstanding books telling of his experiences. I recall one day we were sitting eating our midday ration of rice and thin jungle soup. Ray was in camp following a bout of malaria. He was quietly reading a tattered copy of "The Sentimental Bloke" one of the rare books in the camp. He regularly helped himself to a spoonful of rice. "Ray, you seem to be enjoying your lunch," I remarked. "I am," he said. "I tell myself this is strawberries and cream, and I love strawberries and cream."

      This was at a time well into the "speedo" period. I think Ray's attitude in that little incident reflected the calmness of spirit that was maintained in spite of everything. You would often hear the men joking and laughing as they made their three mile journey out to the railway. The Japs could never understand the Australian mood of being able to make light of adversity.

      Late one evening we had an unusual casualty. One enterprising chap had managed to secure the ingredients to make a substitute for coffee. "Hot sweet coffee" was his call around the lines. There were still some who had enough money to buy an occasional cup. This night he managed to overturn the scalding brew over one of his legs. It was 10 p.m. "Weary" Dunlop was resting with malaria. But he left his bunk and spent the next two hours carefully cleaning the leg. He called for one of our handy men to fashion a splint. Then from his personal kit he produced a tube of Tannifax. He then completed the dressing, bandaging and splinting the leg and foot and ordered it to be left as it was for the next two weeks. The slightest scratch or cut was always at high risk of infection in those jungle conditions. I was with "Weary" the day the dressing was due for removal. The bandage, splint, and finally the dressing was carefully removed. There remained a tiny spot no bigger than a little finger nail, not quite healed.

      Another day we had just finished our sick parade and had done the rounds in our 'hospital tents' when into the clearing came one of our men carefully nursing his right hand. He was a member of the "hammer and tap" crew and, while holding the drill for his mate wielding the hammer, had got his little finger in the "wrong" position. The finger seemed to be just hanging by a tendon and a bit of skin. The obvious thing was to amputate. Weary looked at it thoughtfully. Then he said, "What do you do in civvy street, lad?" "I was a grocer, sir." "If we can save that finger, it's going to help you handle the goods on the shelf, isn't it!" So for the next hour or so the skilled hands of the great man carefully cleaned every visible sign of damaged flesh. From his kit he produced 10 priceless sulphanilamide tablets and a plaster bandage. Two of the tablets were carefully crushed and packed into the wound, the finger curved into correct position and then the plaster bandage applied. The remaining tablets were given to the patient to take over the next two days. Not quite a full course of treatment, but the only available. Six weeks later the plaster was removed. Healing was perfect,

the fracture mended and the lad was able to use his finger once again.

      I do not know if anyone will ever write a book on the life of our beloved "Weary" Dunlop. Perhaps he has refused permission for this to be done. After all, so much of his work was done quietly and almost "secretly." One of our medical orderlies was Johnny Taylor, a delightful person who quietly and happily lived his Christian faith. Johnny was a barber by trade and was always available to give anyone a haircut or a shave. (We had long since used our last razorblade). But now Johnny was sick, desperately so, with amoebic dysentery. He was not a big man, but in his plight he must have gone down to about 4 stone. "Weary" also was suffering from amoebic dysentery at the time. Basic treatment at that time was a series of ten daily injections of emetine hydrochloride. In that amazing "personal kit" he carried, our leader had just 10 ampoules of emetine. It was vital for him to recover. To him it was imperative that Johnny should be saved. Apart from anything else he was a valuable member of our medical team. We knew that many of our men were also suffering from the disease but while the Japanese refused us medical supplies we were powerless to do anything more than we were doing.

      Well, Johnny Taylor and "Weary" Dunlop each received five injections. Gradually Johnny recovered and eventually returned home fit and well. He resumed work as a barber having his business in Mordialloc, Vic. We kept in touch and I occasionally called in for a "free" hair cut. (There is no way Johnny would have accepted payment). He died a few years back. We still exchange our annual Christmas letters with his widow, Edna.

      "Weary" was possessed of tremendous stamina. In spite of occasional bouts of malaria, the amoebic dysentery and a troublesome tropical ulcer he developed on one shin he never appeared to be off duty.

      We were now well into the wet season. The tropical downpours came regularly most days, but usually after a few hours rain the sky would clear and the rest of the day would be sunny. The mud and slush would dry up in an amazingly short time and you could usually pick out a firm track to walk. The nearby creek was always running and our handy men had constructed a shower house from bamboo. There were no taps to turn on or off; just half a dozen steady streams of water pouring constantly from the bamboo gutters.

      Up to this time we had managed to cope reasonably well with malaria and dysentery although tropical ulcers were becoming an increasing problem. With no adequate protection for feet and legs there was a high risk of cuts and abrasions which were an easy target for the jungle infections.

      But then one day it happened dramatically. The work parties had gone out to work on the railway construction three miles away. About midday one of the men was carried back into camp on a stretcher. The symptoms were vomiting and diarrhoea. It was our first case of cholera. By 1 a.m. next morning he was dead and during that short space of twelve hours had almost completely dehydrated. Our doctors had never seen cholera before but recognised it and acted quickly. Overnight further cases were reported. It was the beginning of an epidemic. The text book told us that cholera untreated was 93% fatal. Also, the most effective treatment (apart from vaccine which we did not possess) was normal saline given intravenously.

      No problem back home with everything readily available. The essentials were intravenous equipment; hypodermic needles, rubber tubing and jars of distilled normal saline solution.

      We quickly needed a still. The basic requirement was a length of copper tubing. Someone had spotted a Jap truck parked down the jungle track. We never learned how the Japs replaced the missing petrol tube. A team of men set to with axe and cross-cut saw to keep up a constant supply of wood to stoke the fire. The Japs were fond of their saki, a wine made from rice. It came in large bottles. We salvaged a plentiful supply of empty jars. These were ideal containers for the normal saline. Our talented chemist, Geoff Wiseman soon managed to keep up a sufficient supply ready for use. From then on we were able to keep up to six men at a time on the intravenous saline drip. During the period of the epidemic about one hundred and forty in our camp contracted cholera. Through the skill and ingenuity of our team and with careful nursing more than 50% were saved. Once over cholera there seemed to be a quick convalescence and no apparent after effects. As we passed into the dry season the danger of infection seemed to pass.

      One morning at the height of the epidemic we woke to see one of our tent mates, Ken Walker, desperately ill with the dread disease. He had gone to his bunk the night before apparently well. There in the morning he was crouching just outside the tent pale and haggard, already dehydrated to an alarming degree, and looking for all the world like a skeleton covered with skin. Ken was carried swiftly to the cholera compound and immediately placed on intravenous saline. He was desperately ill and Major Corlette, never a pessimist, held out little hope for Ken. For several days he lingered. How we prayed! We prayed for Ken, his doctor, the nursing staff. Early next morning we met the doctor returning from his round in the cholera compound. He stood still, pushed his cap back on his head and with quiet triumph announced, "Ken is going to get better." Then, he added, "There is a greater power than any human power in this compound." Ken was soon back to full health and strength and able to share his nursing duties once again.

      Just recently, I had a call from Ken. He and his wife Joyce were down from Queensland on a visit. After more than 40 years we shared in an emotional reunion at the home of our close friend Des Tarran.

      Bill Knighton was an engineer attached to our unit. Before the war he was a boiler attendant at one of our Melbourne hospitals. Bill was about 40 and loved to talk about his family back home. He often brought out the picture of his wife and children. How he longed for the day when we would be back home and he would see them again. Bill belonged to the Salvation Army and seemed naturally drawn to our little circle. It happened during the "speedo" period. Our work parties were now marched out long before day break. With well over two hundred constantly in camp needing attention our day started as soon as we had washed and had our bowl of rice porridge. Sick parades, for those able to walk, would go right through the morning and often well into the afternoon. Then as darkness fell we would wait for the stragglers trudging their three miles back into camp. Many of them would be wanting to come on evening sick parade. One evening, about 10 p.m. a little group staggered in half carrying Bill Knighton. He had fallen from a trestle bridge they were building. There was a deep gash on the back of his head. He had also lost one lens from his thick horn-rimmed spectacles. Bill could not see to read without his specs, but it would be a long time before there was anything about for him to read. All three doctors were busy with the stream of men waiting on sick parade. I happened to be working with Major Corlette when he examined Bill carefully. After looking at the scalp wound, he said "Right Don, that will need a couple of stitches. Will you go ahead and do it, please?" "But sir," I protested, "I've never done any suturing." He grinned. "You have seen it done often enough, you'll manage O.K." Bill had not heard our conversation. As I prepared to do the job I said, "Bill, I have something to tell you after I have finished." When I told him it was the first time I had ever stitched anyone up, Bill commented, "Well you did a darned good job, anyhow." Some months later we were in another camp, Tarsau, down river. Bill was sitting on the bank with a group. One was fiddling with an old spectacle lens. Yes, he had found it back on the railway, near a trestle bridge. It was Bill's lost lens. Just a few months before we were released we were at Nakom Patom. Bill was brought into our ward on a stretcher. He was suffering from blackwater fever. A few days later Bill died. We looked again at the picture of his family and resolved to visit them when we returned home. One of the post war tragedies was the discovery of some men that during their long absence wives, or sweethearts had formed attachments to other men. The news came through that Bill's wife had been one of these. It was not for us to judge her unfaithfulness but somehow we were almost glad that Bill had not lived to learn what had happened during his absence, I believe he would died of a broken heart.

      The "speedo" period seemed to have eased. The dry season made conditions a lot better in many ways. The Japs were no longer putting pressure on our leaders for more men to work. Colonel Dunlop had made complaint after complaint to the Japs of the complete lack of medical provisions and the total inadequacy of the food. But we were hundreds of miles from Japanese headquarters and there had been no response.

      Then, one morning while we were busy with the sick parade, a Japanese officer, completely unaccompanied, walked into the clearing. He spoke fluent English and we believed he may have been a medical officer. He had come to inspect the camp. He asked a great many questions about medical supplies and accompanied "Weary" on a tour of our pitiful hospital tents. He was visibly moved by what he saw, but said little. Then he asked to see the cook house and carefully observed the complete lack of anything other than sacks of rice and shredded radish. Then he asked to be taken out to where the men were working. His main interest seemed to be in their "lunch tins." All these contained was cold soggy rice and a fried rice ball. Those who went with him noted his obvious disgust. He made many notes in his book but said little.

      A week or so later we actually received a few scant medical stores including a quantity of Epsom salts and potassium permanganate. Also, fresh vegetables began to arrive and bags of dried meat. I suppose today we would not feed such meat to our dogs, but then it seemed something wonderful. Then, one day, we saw coming up the road a herd of rather lean cattle; and they were meant for our camp. They were to be killed as directed by the Japs. There was no difficulty in finding a butcher among our men. From then on our evening soup ration contained a few dices of meat and a reasonable supply of sweet potatoes and pumpkin. Indeed after so many months without either many of us suffered bouts of diarrhoea until we became used to the "rich food."

      With the work on the railway now completed most of our men were moved a few miles down to the Hintoku river camp. There were a number too sick to move so a group of us were assigned to remain with them in the old camp. Then about a month later we were all moved down to the river camp to await our next move.

      Out of about one thousand Australians in Hintoku camp we lost one hundred from cholera, amoebic dysentery and malaria. There were men with tropical ulcers. Most of these eventually recovered but many of them later died. There were no drugs to combat infection, nor was there sufficient nourishment in their diet to enable them to recover.

      One rather humorous incident involved a Japanese guard who wandered into our medical tent one day looking for a bit of attention. He pointed to various parts of his body where he said he had pain. Colonel Dunlop happened to be present at the time and made a great show of examining the "patient." Aside, he said to us, "There is nothing wrong with this fellow but we will go along with him." He called for a medicine glass, a quantity of Epsom salts and a drop of potassium permanganate. The result was a pale purple liquid. Then very seriously he said to the Jap, "Drink this and you will soon feel better." Our patient

drank it down, thanked us very much and left. He did not return for further treatment. Perhaps the taste was sufficient.

      Again, the next move came with little warning. Of course it never took us very long to pack our few personal belongings and bedding. It was September 1st, 1943 that we were moved down river, but by truck to Tarsau, where we had camped that evening on our way into the jungle so many months before.

      There were about three thousand men here, British, Dutch and Australian. The camp had been established a year or so and there were plenty of huts. It was a pleasant situation right on the bank of the river Kwai. However morale in the camp when we arrived was very low. The English colonel, a doctor, who was in charge of the camp did not appear to have the drive or the ability to lift the spirits at the men. It is true that everyone was suffering psychologically if not physically from the battering of the "speedo" period. There was no longer pressure from the Japs. Work parties were fairly casual affairs. But medical supplies were almost non-existent and the quality of the food was poor. Fortunately the weather was never cold; even on the coolest nights a single blanket was sufficient. There was still no sign of replacements for worn out clothing and many were already reduced to very ragged attire. There was a steady stream of men arriving from camps further up the line. Some of these straggled in on foot; some very sick arrived by barge. Mosquitoes did not seem to bother us as we ware fairly clear of the jungle. This was fortunate as we were able to use the mosquito nets as gauze for surgical dressings.

      Now our beloved "Weary" Dunlop took over command of the camp. Immediately he went into action to lift the standard of hygiene and camp cleanliness. The bamboo huts were crawling with bugs and blankets were infested with lice. A fumigation hut was built and systematically all bedding and blankets were fumigated. Sergeants in charge of huts were under orders to have the benches in the huts dismantled and each bamboo slat passed through fire to destroy the bugs and their eggs.

      All sick men were now able to have required periods of rest, but there was careful and proper supervision so that men able to work were organised into groups to do light duties. Every man able to walk was ordered to bathe in the river each day.

      Enough four gallon cans were procured so that at every mess point in the camp where meals were served there was boiling water for the sterilisation of mess gear before rations were served.

      There was a rapid transformation of the camp. Living conditions were so much better. People moved round more briskly and with purpose. One could sense the lift in the morale of the whole camp.

      I had previously had a couple of bouts of malaria. I suffered a recurrence as we arrived at Tarsau but it was only a few days before I was up and about again. That proved to be the last attack of malaria I had.

      Our major concern now was for the large number of seriously ill men. Already in the cemetery at Tarsau were more than 800 wooden crosses. The cholera epidemic had long since abated but there were many still debilitated as a result of amoebic dysentery and recurring bouts of malaria, and of course the majority were still suffering from acute malnutrition. There now seemed to be adequate supplies of rice but vegetables were always in very short supply. Meat was rarely seen, but one or twice each week we had a ration of variety of smoked or salted fish. Back home you would not have offered it to an animal but we eagerly looked for our ration.

      The most pitiful sight was the large number suffering from tropical ulcers. These were invariably on the legs below the knee, the result of infected cuts or abrasions. As soon as I was well enough I joined the team in one hut where we had about eighty of the worst ulcer cases. Sam Hitchcock, a permanent British army medical sergeant was in charge of the hut. There was no doubting his nursing skills, but more importantly his cheerful attitude to patients and staff went along way in making up for the appalling lack of medical supplies. To use a modern idiom, Sam led from the front. He was not afraid of working long hours and when, as was often the case, our supply of surgical dressings was getting low, Sam was able to "scrounge" a couple more mosquito nets.

      He seemed to sense if a patient was down in spirits and somehow would single him out that day for some "cheerup" medicine. Sam would break forth into song with one of his cockney ditties.

      Each patient had at least one large ulcer, some of these almost from knee to ankle, so it was a big job keeping up essential supplies of dressings. Strips of gauze were used time and again, always being carefully washed and thoroughly sterilised through long boiling before using again. We had no antibiotics or similar drugs, but we had plenty of chloride of lime to make eusol, and common salt for saline. Every day each ulcer was carefully cleaned and fresh dressings applied. Then hot foments, using old scraps of towelling or blanket, would be applied at regular intervals for the rest of the day. Slowly we would see improvement as the ulcers commenced to heal. Skin grafts were occasionally attempted to hasten the healing. Then, occasionally a patient would overnight, have a recurring bout of malaria. Next morning we would find the ulcer had broken down to a dirty grey-green mass again. A good diet including eggs, meat, fruit and vegetables would have worked wonders, but of course these things were not available.

      Long before this, doctors had realised that it was often necessary to amputate a badly infected leg in order to save a life. I was reminded of the words of Jesus, "If your leg offends you, cut if off." I remember one Canadian doctor, Captain Markovich, saying one day, "I'm no surgeon, but so far I've taken off more than one hundred legs." It seemed a drastic measure at first. Even so, many died as they were too debilitated to recover. But many lives were saved.

      One section of our hut was used to care for those undergoing amputation. I was assigned to the team responsible for this section. It was a joy to see the improvement of some of these men as their "stumps" healed. One day we had brought into the section a man who had just come from the operating "hut" and was still under the anaesthetic. I made him comfortable and watched him carefully over the next few hours as he gradually regained consciousness. His eyes opened once or twice and after a while opened wider in recognition. His face was pale and his cheeks were hollow. He had obviously lost a great deal of weight. He called me closer and reached out for my hand. "Do you remember me?" he asked. I had to confess I did not. "I'm Johnny Gardiner. I was with you at Konyu." There was a pause. "You remember those services you fellows used to hold an Sunday evenings? Well I was one of those who stood at the back of the crowd and made fun of you." He was quiet for a while and seemed to doze off. Then his eyes opened wide and he began to speak again. "Look. I don't know what it is. I've often thought about those evenings and the things you said. And I've seen the way you chaps act. You seem to have something I haven't got. I'd like to know what it is."

      As I held Johnny's hand I spoke to him simply about our Lord and His great love for us. Then we prayed together. "Now you just have a sleep. I will come back after tea." With those words I left him and returned a few hours later. Johnny was wider awake now and we talked at greater length. From then on I spent an hour or two each evening with Johnny. We shared the Scriptures together and it was my great joy one evening to hear Johnny confess his faith in Jesus Christ as his Lord and Saviour. We carefully nursed Johnny. But his general condition deteriorated. Physically, it was a losing battle and some three weeks after his amputation Johnny slipped quietly into his Lord's presence. It was his moment of triumph.

      Those were different days. There was opportunity of a Sunday to attend services conducted by the chaplains. They were not compulsory church parades but for the many who wanted to attend. There was an air of expectancy as perhaps a hundred or more would gather in the area set aside as an open air chapel. The Spirit of God was there among us.

      The evenings were peaceful and often at the front of one of the huts a group would gather for an impromptu sing-along and concert. I remember there were a number of very fine singers. Two of our Australians I recall by name were John Rourke from Sydney and Ivor Jones an R.A.A.F. sergeant was from Ballarat. Both had fine baritone voices and without any accompaniment sang for us many of the popular songs.

      One interesting personality at Tarsau was Major E.W. Swanton, a B.B.C. commentator and great authority on cricket. He entertained us on several evenings. He had a great fund of stories about many of the great cricketers from his memory

      bank, could answer almost any question we chose to fire at him. In the years after the war during Test Match series in England and when E.W. Swanton was giving the commentary my mind often would go back to those evenings in Tarsau.

      Christmas 1943 was a blessed time and a remarkable tribute to the spirit of the men.

      Since the previous Christmas there had been the dreadful experience of the 'speedo' days on the railway and in the malaria infested jungle. Now there was a growing surge of optimism and the true spirit of Christianity permeated the whole camp.

      There were no extra food rations from the Japs but somehow our leaders had gathered a few extras and we had "special meals" on Christmas day. There were even Christmas parties in the wards and some talented people had put together a pantomime, "Cinderella."

      Different groups practised carols and on Christmas morning we were greeted by carol singing in many parts of camp. I well remember one English group singing in beautiful harmony a carol I had not previously heard:

      Father Christmas did not come to Tarsau but Santa Claus did. The Dutch traditionally look for Saint Nicholas. Some enterprising person had produced a red and white uniform complete with flowing white beard , and there, on the appropriate day the "old saint" played his part.

      We had our own little carol service and I remember Ken Walker, long since recovered from cholera, singing for us, "O Little Town of Bethlehem."

      At Tarsau we saw very little of the Japs. Our immediate contact from then on was generally with the Korean guards. They were conscripts in the Imperial Japanese Army but were mainly used as base troops and as guards in the P.O.W. Camps. Some, we were to learn from experience, could be rather vicious, but others were easy to get along with. I remember the biggest Korean we had ever seen. He was at least six feet tall and was always friendly and happy. He spoke fairly good English and spent a good deal of his "guard duty" sitting down with a group of our men with rifle leaning up against the side of a hut. He wanted to know all about Australia and declared that after the war he was going to join the A.I.F. We called him A.I.F. Joe. He even learned to sing our national anthem. Then one day "Joe" was missing and was not seen for several days. We later discovered that he had been in gaol for stealing. His "crime" was stealing salt and other commodities from the Jap stores. Everything he had taken was handed over to our men as he knew we were desperately short of these things.

      Then in January 1944 I was selected in a small medical team to accompany a party of about 250 fit men. The team consisted of an Irish doctor, Captain McNeilly, a sergeant and two orderlies. The party was to help complete the construction of a new camp at Nakom Patom about 40 km from Bangkok. When completed the camp hospital was supposed to accommodate 9000 patients and 1000 staff.

      The entire camp area covered many acres of flat ground. From the Japanese compound at the entrance to the camp a wide earth road extended down the middle of the camp. The huts were well spaced out in orderly rows and there was ample room for any sort of sport or exercise we chose.

      One large hut had a concrete floor and was fitted out, if rather roughly, as a surgical centre. At least the windows were covered with fly wire, and over the next eighteen months some amazing work was done.

      The camp was completely surrounded by a six foot high bamboo fence. Inside the fence was a ditch six foot deep and the earth from the ditch formed a rampart of similar height, flattened on the top. Here the Korean guards would parade at regular intervals, but we were never particularly aware of this encirclement. After all there was no real purpose served in attempting to escape. There was nowhere to go, and by now we were firmly convinced that it would only be a matter of time before we would be free. Even in the darkest days that was our hope. We had gone past the desperate stage of wanting to be free within a certain short time. We were waiting patiently, and for those of us in medical work there was always plenty to do.

      The huts were built in the same fashion as our "jungle" huts, except that the benches down either side of the huts were built of timber instead of bamboo. For our advance party we had a separate hut including a medical inspection room, an area where we could bed down about ten patients and our own quarters.

      After the war we learned that some of our party were sent from Tarsau to Japan. Ray Denney was in this group. Most of our unit, including Des Tarran, went to another camp. They rejoined us at Nakom Patom after a few months and we were overjoyed to see them again.

      One of our Korean guards, always placid and friendly was known as "Granny." I never saw him angry or heard him raise his voice, although there was one time especially when he could have reacted. "Granny" called for a small party of men and they were detailed to a garden patch, where the Japs had planted tomatoes. Some of them were ripe and the order was "pick tomatoes." A few hours later the men returned with their baskets piled high. Every tomato, including the green ones

had been picked. The bushes were completely stripped. I shudder to think how many of the guards would have reacted. "Granny" just looked stunned and stared in disbelief. Then he quietly ordered the tomatoes should be taken to the Jap cook house. Somehow quite a number of choice tomatoes managed to reach our quarters.

      Around the camp grounds were many fine mango trees. At first we managed to sample the few ripe ones. By now the number of men in the camp had grown including a party of Dutch. It was not long before the Japs ordered that the mango trees should not be touched. There were only hard green mangoes left on the trees. One day a big blonde Dutchman decided to defy the order. About fifty yards from our hut were a few large trees. He secured a length of bamboo and began to knock down some of the green fruit. On to the scene came one of the Korean guards we knew as "Busty." He was a short thick set fellow who always wore sun-glasses, which meant you never could tell which way he was looking. He was a nasty type and we always took care when he was around. Suddenly there was a roar from "Busty" and the Dutchman "froze." There at his feet was the tell tale pile of a dozen unripe, very green mangoes. We watched from our vantage point. What would happen? Would the Korean wallop "Dutchy" with the bamboo? Or perhaps, a clout with the rifle butt! There was a torrent of abuse from the guard. "You are no good-e-ga" and a whole string of Korean expletives. There was a pause. Then some orders barked out in broken English. We could not understand what was said but we could follow the action. The Dutchman spread the mangoes in a line an the ground. Then he began to eat them. "Busty" stood over him until every last mouthful of hard, green mango was swallowed down. Then with a grin he turned and marched away.

      We had only been a month or so at Nakom Patom when, one day, a party of Australians marched in. They had come down from Burma and their leader was Colonel Albert Coates, a well-known Melbourne surgeon. One member of this party was Sgt. Reuben Boxhall from Hobart. Reuben was a member of Hobart Church of Christ. Almost twenty years later when our family was visiting Tasmania we spent one Sunday in Hobart and had lunch with Reuben and his family.

      One evening, not long after Colonel Coates coming into the camp I was on duty in the medical room. The colonel was called to set a fractured thumb. This was the first occasion I worked with him and it was the first time we had met. He asked my name and where I was from.

      Learning that my name was Thomas and that I was from Melbourne he looked searchingly at me and then asked, "Do you have a sister a nurse; a big lump of a girl?" I assured him this was so. He asked further, "Did she ever work at Epworth?" Again my answer was yes. "I remember her well", Colonel Coates replied, "she did a lot of specialling for me. A great girl!"

      I always enjoyed working with him; he had a great fund of anecdotes and was always ready to share a yarn while we worked. Some thought he was a bit rough in some of his treatment, but he was dedicated to using his tremendous skills with his utmost endeavour. Often, if there was a shortage of surgical instruments, he would improvise with whatever was available.

      The amputation of a leg because of a tropical ulcer became all too common in the Burmese jungle. To counter the terrible stench during such an operation Colonel Coates resorted to smoking a Burma Cheroot. When chipped about this practice, he retorted, "And what's more sterile than cigar ash?"

      In those hard "speedo" days there had been little more to eat than rice. The Colonel could offer no alternative diet to some of these desperately ill men although he would have dearly loved to. Standing at the foot of the bunk of a man unable to eat his meal of rice, he would say firmly but kindly, "Well, son, its rice or rice sacks." (We could not spare blankets for a shroud for our dead; rice sacks were used). Many a man responded to the challenge and managed to pull through.

      Around May 1944 we received our first ever Red Cross supplies. Most importantly was a fair supply of bandages and other surgical dressings. There was anaesthetic and many other essentials. At least there was enough to enable our large team of skilled surgeons and physicians now present in the camp to do some remarkable work over that last twelve months or so. Our unit had rejoined us. By now there was a full complement in the camp. Colonels Dunlop and Coates were together in command. They formed a tremendous team and it was truly amazing how much major surgery was carried out. We seemed to lose count of the hernia repairs and appendectomies performed.

      I remember one afternoon after the end of a round with Colonel Coates we were sitting around and chatting generally. He was in one of his "that reminds me'" moods. "Sir," I ventured. "If you had received payment for all the operations you have done in this camp, you would make your fortune." "That reminds me," he replied, "of the smallest payment I ever received for an operation." He drew on his inevitable cigar and then continued. "While we were up in Burma we were seated quietly in our hut one day when all of a sudden there came a loud call from the Japanese medical hut up the hill. 'Doctor, doctor, come quick.' I followed the voice and went inside the hut. There on a table in the middle of the hut was a Jap stretched out. He was under anaesthetic. A so-called medical corporal had a medical text book alongside the unconscious man. He had diagnosed appendicitis, opened him up and was now searching for the appendix. Half his intestine seemed spread out and the Jap had panicked. I moved quickly to his rescue, found the appendix which was perfectly O.K. I tied it off and snipped it out. Then in a moment I had everything replaced back inside and sutured the wound. After making sure he was O.K. I left his mates to look after him. Next day one of the Japs came down to our hut and presented me with two tins of condensed milk. I have never received a smaller fee than that. Nor did I ever

receive a more welcome gift. It was the first milk we had seen since Changi days."

      As well as the medical stores which arrived we received our first and only distribution of American Red Cross parcels. We learned later that for many months the Americans had been sending enough for one parcel per man per month. This one distribution worked out at one parcel among six men. At the end of the war, in our camp we discovered a large store filled with British Red Cross food parcels which the Japs had received but never distributed. Nor did they plunder the goods. It was not their sort of food. We had ample opportunity for Christian fellowship here at Nakom Patom. There had been a real spiritual awakening right through the camps from the jungle through to the larger camps nearer Bangkok. One of the contributing factors must surely have been the sense of relief and thankfulness that we had been spared through the last awful year. There were several Australian and British chaplains in the camp and there was a spontaneous response, not only in attendance at Sunday services but gatherings on many evenings for prayer and bible study. Two English chaplains announced a week-long mission to be held in one of the huts. We went along eagerly to the first night in high hopes. But they were Anglo-Catholic and after a brief opening they settled into a regular nightly presentation an the doctrine of Apostolic Succession.

      We fortunately had two fine men with us. Padre Pridmore was a Methodist chaplain with the British army. Padre Cunningham was Presbyterian and came from Sydney. They combined well to provide many opportunities for regular worship and were readily available at all times to men who sought counselling.

      Des Tarran and I were together again and I recall that in our group now were Stan Lance from Perth, Gordon Nelson from Sydney, Herb Latcham, the Kingaroy peanut farmer, I previously mentioned, Albany Hoyle, a bright faced young Englishman from Leicestershire and Alex Young, a delightful Scot from Glasgow.

      Our fellowship continued far beyond the end of the war. In fact I still correspond with Alex Young and his wife Christine. Alex is an art teacher in Glasgow and a fine painter. Recently he sent us a gift of one of his lovely sea-scapes done in water colours.

      Another person who shared regularly in our fellowship group was a young captain from the Scottish Highlanders, Ernest Gordon. He was a quiet, unassuming man, but I soon learned as we talked together that he was an Arts graduate from Edinburgh University and had majored in classical Greek. I requested that he would spend time coaching me in Greek as I was eagerly looking forward to resuming theological studies after the war, and Greek was an important subject I would have to take up again. We spent many happy and profitable hours together and I am certain it helped me greatly when I resumed my College course at Glen Iris, in 1946.

      Captain Gordon looked fit and healthy in those days of convalescence. He never mentioned his ordeal in the jungle when doctors had despaired of his life. It was not until some fifteen years after the war that I picked up a book just off the press, "Miracle on the River Kwai." Having been on the river I was naturally interested to read it. The writer spoke of the spiritual awakening that took place during and immediately following those terrible months. He also spoke of his own experience of being practically given up for dead and the magnificent loving care he received from two men in the camp who dedicated themselves to caring for him and eventually nursing him back to health and strength.

      I had not taken great notice of the author's name at first, but I soon recognised who it was. Captain Ernest Gordon! Yes it was our companion of Nakom Patom days. At the time he wrote the book he was Dean of Princeton University, U.S.A. On his return home to Scotland after the war he had studied theology and eventually was appointed to the University position. Excitedly, I wrote to him recalling our Nakom Patom association. In a few weeks time I received his reply. He remembered those days.

      It is not humanly possible to maintain constant contact with all those you meet through the years. But there are those rich experiences indelibly fixed in your memory and you are the richer for them.

      We have mentioned that even in this so called Red Cross Camp conditions were still somewhat primitive compared with our Australian standards, but under the able and untiring leadership of our leaders, Dunlop and Coates, the whole camp was always scrupulously clean and every effort was made to ensure the best possible treatment for those under our care.

      The rations supplied by the Japanese were still barely enough to keep fit men going. There was a need for additional nourishment for those still sick or recovering after surgery, and there were ample supplies of eggs and fruit in the nearby city of Nakom Patom.

      The Japs were now paying those who worked $7.20 per month. Those who were sick and unable to work received nothing. At long last, medical staff were recognised under the Red Cross and we actually received a "Red Cross Salary." This was also $7.20 per month. The only difference was that we received payment even if we were off sick. After the war ended we discovered that the Thai dollar was worth 4d. Australian. So our actual payment was 2/4d. per month.

      The Japs allowed the camp to run a canteen through which we could buy eggs, bananas and tobacco. Our pay was sufficient to buy 3 eggs each week if we did not spend an anything else. But more importantly we agreed to a voluntary 'tax' of 20 cents per month. This went into a fund to buy extras; eggs and bananas in particular which the doctors prescribed for those

most in need of extra nourishment. It was also found that the American Red Cross supplies included a limited supply of vitamin tablets and all this made a little difference to the general improvement to the health of many of our men. There were still some who died; the rigorous months of the "speedo" period had taken their toll.

      As well as being able to buy food items, opportunity was given to trade second hand goods. Not that anyone had very much for sale after more than two years of captivity. But one day I was intrigued to find a perfectly good tooth brush for sale.

      My own tooth brush was down to its last few bristles. On inquiry I was assured that the tooth brush had been thoroughly sterilised. And so for the first and last time I purchased a second hand tooth brush. Clothing was still scarce. The Japs once made available a limited supply of sandshoes. That was when we were up in the jungle. Preference was given to men working on the railway who had nothing else to protect their feet. There was nothing I could have received from that issue. Apparently no Japs take size 10 in footwear. But now about the middle of 1944 we all received a "full clothing issue." This came in the form of what we called a "G String." It consisted of a strip of fairly tough black cotton material about 9 inches wide and about 36 inches long. A tape was attached to one end. This could be secured around your waist and then the G String tucked up and over the tape at the front and 12 inches or so hanging down as a skirt in front. For footwear we made "clumpers." These consisted of pieces of wood about ½" thick cut to the size and shape of each foot. Then pieces of webbing equipment cut to size and fastened across a few inches from the toes completed a very comfortable if somewhat noisy pair of "shoes." We copied this style from the Japs who always left their footwear at the door of their hut.

      I still had a shirt and a pair of shorts. But with the passing of time the shorts began to wear. I gradually used, first the sleeves and later on the tail of the shirt for patches. My "kangaroo" stitch eventually had added more than a dozen patches to the shorts.

      When we first moved into our huts they were comfortable enough. The timber benches were smoother to lie on than bamboo, and it is amazing how comfortable it can be with just a groundsheet beneath and covered by a single blanket. But after a few months we were not quite so comfortable. We had company! Bed bugs! So all nails were removed from the boards and at regular intervals we "debugged" the boards by passing them through a fire. Never at anytime had we need for more than one blanket.

      He was a young lieutenant in the American navy. His ship was the U.S. Houston which was sunk by the Japs in the Sunda straits along with our H.M.A.S. Perth. This action took place at the time Java was being invaded. Now he was here in our hospital suffering from a brain tumour.

      Our Colonel Coates was among the leading brain surgeons in Melbourne and during our time at Nakon Patom he performed some near miraculous operations. The young American's father was a millionaire. After observing his condition for several days, Colonel Coates summed up the situation. "See that young man. It would not matter if he was back home with all the best available equipment and America's leading surgeons. Not all his father's millions could make any difference. He would still die."

      But every day our untiring team of skilful surgeons spent hours operating, thus saving many lives and patching up broken bodies. For a few months I worked in one of the convalescent huts alongside a pleasant English doctor. But, somehow, I had developed a tropical ulcer on my right shin. It was only an inch or so in diameter but it simply refused to heal. "Right," said Weary. "You must get off that leg until it heals."

      So I was out of action for a fortnight, only walking for the essentials--toilet and meals.

      When the ulcer had healed I joined up with the team including Des Tarran in a surgical hut. Dutch, British and Australian were all together. There were also Dutch doctors and orderlies and together we looked after a wide range of surgical cases. One or two of the Dutch orderlies were a bit rough and some of the Dutch patients refused to let them dress their wounds; they demanded that the Aussies attend them.

      When we were first taken prisoner on Java we had been herded into a large compound and made to dump our belongings in rows. The Japs made a thorough search. Cameras were taken. Of course we had no arms or ammunition as we were medical orderlies. Now, after more than two years, they instituted a series of searches. We always received warning some hours ahead and arranged to hide anything we valued. All I possessed of value included my Bible which dad had given me, a wallet of photos and my small diary. But some things must have been well hidden for by now we were getting scraps of news which, as it turned out later, must have been genuine. Such items of news could only have been gathered through radio receivers. The Japs seemed to be getting "edgy" and we sensed that things might be coming our way. All through our months in the jungle we had no evidence of a war being fought. Never at anytime did we see planes, nor did we ever hear the distant sound of bombs. But now there were the occasional air raid sirens. When this happened we were ordered by the Japs to remain in our huts. But that did not prevent us looking out to see the regular reconnaissance plane as it flew overhead. As we moved into 1945 this happened more frequently and soon air activity increased. Almost daily we would see a flight of huge B29 Bombers heading up river. Moments later we would hear the muffled explosion of their bombs. Were any of these bombs landing on the bridge over the river Kwai? One day the bombs seemed to land a good deal closer. Some miles from our camp the railway passed through the village of Nong Pladuk. The Japs had their railway workshops there and this was the target. But nearby was a P.O.W. camp and a stick of bombs missed their intended target.

      A few hours later the wounded were brought into our hospital. Several were killed and were buried at Nong Pladuk.

      The Japs were placing far more demands on the railway that had been built and often trucks had to be shunted onto the siding at Nong Pladuk. Sometimes there would be open trucks bringing their wounded back from the Burma front. They could be standing their perhaps for hours in the hot sun with no one to care for them. One day a working party of Australians from the nearby P.O.W. Camp stopped for lunch nearby a train load of Jap wounded. When they boiled their billy they took some of the tea and gave a drink to some of the thirsty, wounded Japs. They saw tears in the eyes of some of them and one who spoke English expressed amazement that they should bother to show this simple kindness to the enemy.

      By now our spirits were rising higher. We were sure that the end must be near. We reserved judgement an the rumours that were now coming thick and fast.

      I remember about this time a "sports day" was organised. I do not recall all the athletic events that took place but I have vivid recollections of one "horse and rider" race. Colonel Dunlop had been a champion athlete in his University days. I remember him selecting one of our very small men as his rider. As he bolted down the track it was certainly a "one horse race."

      I had always had a good deal of trouble with my little toes which were hopelessly "hammered." For many years I endured a troublesome corn an these toes. I had been apprehensive when joining the A.I.F. as rumour had it that anyone with hammer toes would be rejected. I never kept count of the number of fellows I nursed during the war years who had trouble with hammer toes. One day after I had finished a ward round with our beloved "Weary" I put it to him that he might do something about my toes. He fiddled with them for a while. Then after a moment's thought, he added, "On second thoughts, we'll take them off." A few days later, using a very effective local anaesthetic, Colonel Dunlop removed those troublesome toes. It was rather a strange experience sitting there, watching it all happen, but feeling absolutely no sensation. Sometimes when someone notices their absence and asks what happened, I jokingly say, "the Japs bit them off." So I joined the ranks of the "amputees." Believe it or not, some months after we were home and discharged from the army I actually received a letter from the Repatriation Commission inquiring whether I wished to claim a pension for the loss of my little toes.

      One of the huts in our Nakom Patom Camp was reserved for men who had lost a leg. Once they had recovered from the amputation they seemed to regain health and strength, and, providing they had no other ailments were generally considered to be the healthiest fellows in the camp. There were, perhaps, thirty or more in the hut. It was always noisy in the evenings when they regularly played "housey housey" or "bingo." I knew some of them and occasionally dropped in for a chat. Most amputations

had been performed above the knee to be sure and eliminate spreading infection. One chap had a good six inches of leg below the knee. One evening I asked him. "Where did you have your leg amputated?" "Oh," he replied, "In Sydney. I joined up with a wooden leg." Sure enough he was a truck driver in military transport. But I always believed a man needed two legs to be classified fit for military service. I was wrong! As soon as he became a P.O.W. he threw away his wooden leg and resorted to crutches. The Japs never called upon him for a working party. I suppose you could not blame him for that.

      There was still plenty to be done and as long as there were sick men to be cared for, "Weary" was on the job. So far he had overcome amoebic dysentery and eventually an obstinate tropical ulcer on his shin had healed. But he still had bouts of malaria. After one full morning's work he came into the hut, obviously stricken by a recurrence of malaria. He began to shiver as a rigour set in. He lay down and we covered him with blankets. After an hour or so the rigour was over and his temperature had climbed to 103° F. He called for a basin of water and sponged himself down. Then he dressed and went off to attend to more of his patients. That was the dedication of this great man.

      Now the B29 Bombers seemed to come more frequently and one day I remember we counted 72 flying up river to their targets. It was only natural that we were beginning to get restless. Surely it would all end soon, now! I think Padre Cunningham must have been one of the restless ones. One evening, Herb Latcham came into our hut. With a smile on his face, he said, "Don, I'm in trouble." Herb was one who was always ready to witness. He had gathered a little group together and was leading them in a regular Bible study. One of these was a nominal Presbyterian but in the course of their study Herb had convinced this lad that he ought to be baptised. In one corner of the camp was a pond and one evening a group of us gathered there as Herb baptised him. Quite elated, the young man went and shared the "good news" with the Padre. He nearly exploded and threatened to bring Herb Latcham before our Camp Commanding Officer. This never transpired. But I would have loved to have been present if it had happened. Colonel Dunlop was C.O. and Herb Latcham was always a great favourite with him.

      Rumours of events outside were still filtering in. We were so certain now that the end was very near. Then came August 16th, 1945 and I quote from my tattered little diary: "The months have passed; sometimes dragging, sometimes on winged feet. Today since early morning everyone has been bubbling over with excited expectation. We have had numerous rumours before; sometimes the camp has reached a high peak of optimism, but never before has this same spirit of optimism permeated the entire camp. There may have been ten men in the camp not prepared to believe the war was over. Although no official intimation had been made everybody was eager and expectant. The camp C.O. had ordered a "special meal" for

      everyone including an egg, nasi goreng, bread and two rissoles. Surely that was an indication of something big. Anyone daring to suggest that the war was not over was in danger of immersion in the nearest pond.

      On the previous evening we had "Tenko" as usual, standing out on parade until all in the huts and everyone on parade had been counted. Then the news was passed around about the "special meal." It was interesting to hear various comments. "They've no right to spend all that money unless something has really happened." "Oh! don't be daft! D'yer think "Weary" or "Coatesy" would do anything stupid?" There were many similar remarks; but I do not recall anyone daring to say straight out, "the war must be over."

      So dawned August 16th. We ate and enjoyed our special meal. And I think we all had the feeling deep down, like an Christmas eve when children wonder if Santa Claus will really come. For those of us busy working among the sick the day passed quickly enough. But for the convalescent sitting around and waiting it must have seemed an eternity. Evening "Tenko" time arrived but there was no call "on parade." Then the order was sent around through our hut commanders, "Go and stay in your huts."

      All our officers moved in a group up to the Japanese compound.

      An hour passed by or it may have been longer. Then down the track came the officers. We waited for our hut commander, Captain McConchie, a young Scottish doctor. There was really no need for him to say anything. The broad grin on his face said it all. He stood for a moment at the door of the hut, gave a woof for joy, then hurled his cap high in the air and cried out, "We are free." I do not recall what happened first. Did we cheer? or laugh? or cry? I think we probably sat quietly there for a while and sent up a silent prayer of thanks to God.

      It was still daylight as we moved outside. Almost immediately small groups and larger groups could be seen moving excitedly along the roads of the camp, most of the groups following a flag. There were Australian flags, the Stars and Stripes, the Union Jack and one Dutch flag high on a pole followed by a group of Dutchmen singing national songs.

      Then later in the evening our fellowship group gathered for prayer. Already by next morning our leaders had made arrangements with merchants in Nakon Patom and truck loads of food began arriving at the Camp Store. We stood and watched as they unloaded great baskets of vegetables, fruit, meat, eggs and other goods.

      That afternoon, a welcome sight was a group from an Indian Field Ambulance unit. We learned that paratroops had landed in the area almost a fortnight earlier and our camp was kept under surveillance in case the Japs did not hand over quietly. The Indian boys looked great in their neat uniforms. They had brought tea, milk and sugar with them and soon we were enjoying a cup of real Indian tea. They were amazed at the way our wards were being run considering the primitive conditions under which we were obliged to work.

      There was so much happening now! Within a couple of days planes were bringing stores. These were parachuted onto the wide road in the middle of the camp. Apart from bales of blankets and a wide range of clothing there were much needed medical supplies. I remember that among the medicines was a strange new drug none of us had seen before--penicillin! It came carefully packed in 4 gallon cans, complete with instructions for its use.

      Our pay sergeants soon got busy and arranged pay parades It was then we learned the real value of our Japanese pay of $7.20 per month.

      Soon we were issued with new clothing; our first for three and a half years. Now we were able to move outside the camp. It was a strange feeling that first time we walked along the road into Nakon Patom in complete freedom. It was on that first afternoon as we were nearing the town that we met a party of men coming back. One of them said, "We have just been invited to the local missionaries' home. They said bring anyone who would like to come for afternoon tea." So that afternoon we met Mr & Mrs Percy Clarke who had been missionaries in Thailand since 1903. They were with our British Churches of Christ Mission. When the Japanese occupied Thailand all European missionaries were interned and the indigenous church was left with no outside support or leadership. Mr & Mrs Clarke were greatly concerned for the welfare of the Church; but they need not have been. In spite of a good deal of persecution from a hostile Buddhist government and all manner of prohibitions; the church in Thailand grew stronger than ever. When the Clarkes were released months before the end of the war because of Mr Clarke's health, they rejoiced to see how the Lord had blessed the Thai church and its leaders. Mr Clarke had suffered a stroke.

      Diminutive Mrs Clarke was limping badly but she was a real dynamo and was already active in organising the work once more. We were invited back to an evening meeting a couple of days later and it was there I met the Thai pastor of our Church of Christ in Bangkok. His name was Boon Mark Gittisarn, a delightful person about forty years of age. There were two congregations in Nakon Patom, Thai and Chinese. This was necessary because of the language difference. Mrs Clarke soon had things arranged for a combined service the following Sunday. Both congregations were to join together for a communion service and any men from our camp were invited to be present. Oh yes, I was to give the address; and the local Chinese pastor and Boon Mark Gittisarn would act as interpreters. That was a memorable experience. The service was held in the open-sided chapel of the Thai congregation. As well as the local people there was a sprinkling of Australia, American, British and Dutch and slipping quietly into the rear of the chapel just as the service began was one of the Korean guards. As the service concluded the little Korean came down the aisle to where I was standing and in halting English asked, "Will you shake my hand?" Spontaneously we clasped hands and smiled

together, and as I looked around the assembly of people from many nations I could only think of the words of Paul, "there is no difference, we are all one in Christ Jesus."

      The city of Nakon Patom is more than 2000 years old. Boon Mark Gittisarn took me on a conducted tour one afternoon, In the centre of the city is the great pagoda, originally built by King Masoka in 307 B.C. The present structure is 115 metres high and 200 metres in circumference. From our camp a few kilometres away we had seen this outstanding landmark constantly. They had attempted to camouflage it during the war but it must have been easily seen for miles. As Mark showed me around the various statues of Buddha and the extravagant murals, his usual happy face was clouded. "It is a dead religion. It can give nothing." Mark knew, he had been a temple boy in his early days. He was quiet for a while as we walked around the precincts of the pagoda. Then I said, "Mark, tell me about your conversion." With that his face lit up and he joyfully exclaimed, "Oh, it was just like coming up out of a dark bottomless pit into the glorious sunshine."

      Mark had to return next day to Bangkok, but before he went he gave me his address and made me promise to call on him when we reached Bangkok. That was not to be for a week or so. The first important move was of our sick boys who were taken to the Bangkok General Hospital and they were soon on their way home to Australia.

      It was only a few days following our release that we had a visit from Lady Edwina Mountbatten, wife of Lord Louis. Accompanied by a group of high-ranking British officers she made a good will tour of many of the P.O.W. Camps. She was a charming person and as she came through our ward stopped and chatted with each -patient. One British general was following along with her. He paused and was chatting with one of our boys. "Well," he asked, "What did you do in civvy street?" "I was an engineer, sir." "And what are you doing in the army?" "I'm in the engineers, sir." "Good Lor'" replied the General, "I would have expected to find you in the cookhouse?"

      I do not remember exactly how long it was before we were moved the 40 kilometres to Bangkok. We were comfortably billeted and hopelessly overfed. We understood that we would be working for a while in the General Hospital and our quarters were immediately behind that very fine establishment. However we soon found out that all the work was being done by the lovely Thai nurses, most of whom spoke good English, so there were no problems of communication with the patients.

      For the weeks we were in Bangkok we were free to do as we pleased so long as we kept in touch with our leaders regularly. Knowing that in the very near future we would be flying south to Singapore there was really no need to remind us of that need.

      You may recall that as we passed through Changi on our way up to Thailand I received a visit from Alan Garland and Duncan Butler. I was keen to learn if there was any news of their

whereabouts now. It was by good fortune that I met up with Duncan again, but Alan Garland had been sent to Borneo. He was acting as a chaplain as well as continuing his medical work. Then not long before the end of the war a party was sent on a forced march. Many of them were sick and although Alan was himself unfit he volunteered to accompany them. On that "death march" Alan Garland was among the many who died.

      Duncan and I shared time together an several occasions while we were in Bangkok. Mostly we talked about the future. Duncan was planning to return and serve in full time ministry with one of our churches. My hope was to complete the last two years of study at the College of the Bible, Glen Iris.

      It had been more than three years since we had been into any sort of shop. One morning I wandered into a Chinese tailor's shop and asked about a shirt and pair of shorts. The old tailor showed me some beautiful white material and offered to make me the shirt and shorts for ten shillings Australian. If I called back after lunch they would be ready. Sure enough the garments were ready and a perfect fit. I wore them for many years after returning home.

      We also found a pleasant little cafe where we could enjoy things we had not had for so long. One of our favourites was a luscious ripe paw paw cut length ways in half; the seeds scooped out and each half filled with ice cream. I do not know what I weighed when we were released in the middle of August but by the time we reached home at the end of October I was hopelessly overweight.

      At the first opportunity I went in search of the Thai pastor, Boon Mark Gittisarn. He had given me the address, street name and number and explained that where he lived was also the church. I no longer have a record of the address and it would be more than twenty years since I heard from Mark. If he is still alive he would be more than eighty years old. I set out on foot and found that it was an easy walk across town to the street. Although the Thai numerals differed from English I had no difficulty in following them. Let us say the number I was looking for was 120. I followed along to 110. It was a busy street with shops as well as houses. Then I came to a lane. Across the lane as the numbers continued the next was 130. I looked around carefully but could see no sign of any church building. I asked several people for assistance but no one understood me. It was the wet season and right then down came the rain. I had no cover and there was no shelter. I gave up and went back to our billet. Next morning I returned and quickly moved along to 100 and the lane. Then I thought to look along the lane. Sure enough the numbers continued until I found the "church." It was a square double storey timber building just like almost every other building in the street. Mark met me at the door and roared with laughter when I told him what had happened. The family living quarters were on the ground floor.

      Upstairs was the neat little chapel. Also the family slept up there where it was cooler at night. Their bed mats were neatly rolled up against the wall.

      I was keen to explore Bangkok and Mark was just as keen to show me as much as possible. We visited the local Y.M.C.A. where I was able to borrow a bicycle. Mark already had his machine and over the next few days we toured the old city. Bangkok is very flat which made cycling easy. We were not hampered by tourists and when we visited the temple of the Emerald Buddha we were in fact the only persons there. I remember we also visited the Imperial Palace and many other famous spots. Being a life-long resident of Bangkok, Mark was able to tell me much about so many interesting places.

      One evening a group of us were returning home across a bridge over the canal near the hospital. We met a European who stopped to talk to us. He was an Englishman who had lived most of his life in Bangkok. At that time he was managing a picture theatre. When he learned we were Australians he gave us an invitation to his cinema, especially as they were presently showing a number of Australian newsreels. We needed no second invitation and next afternoon we made our way down town. We had no difficulty finding the place and were warmly received. The theatre was quite large with comfortable terraced seating. The wall over on our right was open lattice to give plenty of ventilation. It also meant that we heard much of the noise from the busy thoroughfare. While the newsreels were being screened the locals moved round and talked freely. We did not know how old the newsreels were but it was a thrill to see scenes of activity back in good old Australia. Next came a Chinese film with Thai subtitles. Now all the patrons sat and watched, but there was much lively comment. The film had been showing only a short time when suddenly there was the sound of gunfire, and it had nothing to do with the film., Immediately scores of people raced to the lattice wall and looked out onto the street below. It was just getting dark as we joined the crowd and looked out on the milling throng of very agitated people. We saw someone overturn one of the bicycle rickshas and nearby a couple of big Chinese were firing pistols into the air. People were running for cover. The film kept going but by now the theatre was rapidly emptying. When we reached the street level we looked around for a safe spot. Immediately across the street was a cafe. We hurried across and went inside, but everyone inside the cafe were leaving. Just as we thought we had found a refuge we were met by the proprietor who informed us that we must leave immediately as he was closing for the night. By now the streets were emptying and as we moved out we met a squad of Thai soldiers. For a while we sheltered in a closed shop doorway. The centre of the disturbance was a couple of blocks away right in the path of our way home to our billet. We talked to the soldiers and eventually found one who understood our situation. There was still sporadic rifle fire and sometimes a burst from a machine gun; but nothing immediately where we were. Our "guide" pointed down a street to the left. "Go down there two blocks and then turn back to the right and you will be safe."

      It was quite dark now as we hurried along the way he had pointed. We had turned right and quickened our pace. The hospital and our quarters were only half a mile ahead. Suddenly a block or so behind us a volley of shots rang out. But they were not meant for us and we scampered home to safety.

      For the next few days the market and most of the shops anywhere we could see were closed. The trouble, we were told, had come from Chinese communists infiltrating from the north and trying to take advantage of the unsettled state of the country.

      A few days later we were moved closer to the airport with the knowledge that we would soon be moving south by plane to Singapore. Time seemed to drag but eventually our turn came and we were ushered onto one of the DC3s that did such valiant service through the latter war years. Most of us had never flown before but we were naturally eager to get moving an the next leg of our homeward journey. We had a couple of very sick boys on stretchers and two army nurses accompanying them. So the pilot was obliged to keep down around 2000 feet for the entire four hours of our journey down the coast. Seats and safety belts were temporarily attached around the perimeter of the plane, for these multi-purpose planes also served as cargo carriers. At length we touched down at Singapore. There was no call for customs clearance here; we had nothing to declare. Soon we were taken by army truck to the comfortable camp which would be our home for the next few weeks. We were under canvas and the camp was well serviced with shower and toilet blocks. Permanent buildings were close at hand for recreational purposes. Here we could write letters home and a few hundred yards away right on the coast overlooking the sea was an open air cinema with nightly screenings of comedy films and Australian newsreels.

      One thing you long for more than anything else when you are overseas is a letter from home. While we were in the Middle East we had a remarkably good mail service and my father must have been among the greatest letter writers of all time. As well, there was Jessie. We had made no promises to each other before I left home. I did not believe it right to bind anyone to an agreement in such uncertain circumstances. Among my priceless treasures I still cherish are all the letters I received from dad and Jessie during those four and a half years I was away from home.

      Once we left the Middle East in February 1942 we received no further mail for more than a year. The Japanese "mail service" to P.O.W. Camps was very spasmodic. A few months after our capture we had the opportunity to send home a card. This opportunity was repeated on two other occasions. It must have been about an annual event. Some of the fellows were not going to bother. What was the use? But we reasoned that there was every chance the cards would reach home. They apparently did, many months later.

      Some of us had the opportunity to say a word on the radio. Gradually, it seemed, the names of most P.O.W.s were relayed back home. Somebody heard my name come over the air and excitedly contacted mum and dad. So dad bought a short wave radio and spent many spare hours, listening. He hoped for further news. But no more came by radio.

      The cards were brief. There were three lines and we could cross out the words not required. We were fairly certain our cards would be censored if we claimed we were in poor health, not being paid and were poorly treated. So the standard completed card would read:

      I am in good health.

      I am working for pay.

      I am being well treated.

      There was an additional blank space where we were allowed to add one personal line. One bright spark sent this card; "I am in good health; I am working for pay; I am being well treated; and you can tell all this to the marines."

      Yes, we received mail. I remember at most three deliveries during our years of captivity. Comparing dates that the more recent letters were more than six months old. Our next of kin were allowed to send a 25 word message each month. I received these regularly from dad and from Jessie. Dad always included the football news. So in mid 1943 I learned who had been premiers in 1942. But each of those letters was worth more than a bar of gold.

      At the very first opportunity after we were set free I wrote two letters: one to dad and mother, the other to Jessie. Then I waited patiently for a reply. A week later I wrote again. It was a new experience to be able to write home.

      As soon as we reached Singapore we were briefed on all camp facilities. Immediately we received a whole new outfit of clothing including two pairs of army boots and, of course, new blankets. Then we were directed to the army post office about half a mile down the road. Here we could post letters and, hopefully, ask for mail. I think we ran all the way on that first day. Sure enough there were two letters for me. Both were from my brother Alan. I wondered why he had written rather than dad. My hands shook as I opened the letter with the earliest post mark. I began to read, and then I came to it. "I don't know whether you have received sufficient bits of news from home to piece together what the state of the family is just at present. Perhaps I had better give you an outline of some, of the main happenings and changes that have taken place since you went away. Well, dear, the most important and yet the saddest is that dear Daddy has gone to be with the blessed Lord until the Day dawns." Following an illness covering many months dad had died of cancer on November 27th 1944. Now it was mid September 1945. Almost a year had passed before I learned of his death. For a while

      I was stunned. I don't think I cried although I felt like it. At first I felt a deep sorrow. But then, as I read the letter again and the succeeding letters, I learned how much dad had suffered over a long period of time and I thanked God that He had taken him just when He did, sparing him any further suffering.

      But still no word from Jessie. She had faithfully sent her 25 words messages all through those earlier years. I received them up to twelve months later; of ten three or four at one time. The last note was dated 30.10.1944. We reached Singapore in September and embarked on the "Moreton Bay" on October 15th. Still no message from Jessie. On October 30th while it was still grey dawn we sailed through the Port Phillip heads. Immediately a boat bringing a few officials pulled alongside. Among them were postal staff. As I came up on deck I was greeted with the question, "Are you expecting any mail?" What a question to ask! I followed him into the lounge, where he was sorting bundles of mail. There were two letters for me, both from Jessie! I suppose I thanked the man; I don't remember. The first one had been written before she had heard from me: but the second one--well, that's just between the two us. It told me all I longed to know. Yes! as I mentioned earlier, the thing you look for most when you are overseas is a letter from home.

      In those few weeks at Singapore we were well cared for. The food was excellent. I think the army cooks had improved with years of experience. But most important were the sessions we had when different people talked to us and filled us in on happenings over the years back in Australia and in the world at large.

      I well remember the afternoon when Lord Louis and Lady Edwina Mountbatten visited the camp. Lord Louis was a remarkable man and a magnetic personality. We had learned already of his achievements as leader of the successful allied campaign in Burma. He just sat casually on a balcony rail while several hundred of us gathered around. He talked for sometime then invited dialogue. He answered all manner of questions. Meanwhile Lady Edwina moved freely among the men, talking with us and signing autographs. An hour or more passed by. Lord Louis looked at his watch and said, "Well, come along Edwina, our plane will be waiting." It must have been at least another half hour before they finally left.

      Then came the big day, October 15^th. More than four and a half years earlier we had boarded the "Aquitania" and sailed for the Middle East. Now the old "Moreton Bay" was waiting to take us home. The trip was calm for the entire voyage and we were able to relax. It was strange with no black out restrictions, and to know exactly where we were going. Our first port of call was Fremantle. That had been our last stop when we were leaving Australia.

      We tied up to the wharf around 5 p.m. and were given leave to go ashore with strict instructions to be back on board before the ship sailed at midnight. I only knew of one person who did not make it back on board by sailing time That was one of our mates, Jack McDonald from Geelong. He was such a wretched sailor that he felt sick even standing on the deck of a ship moored to the wharf. He suffered a lot without complaining, but when we reached Fremantle the doctor ordered him to complete the journey home by train.

      As soon as we were able, Des Tarran and I moved quickly down the gang plank. I had one object in mind. Dad's brother, my uncle Alf Thomas lived in Perth and I was determined to see him if at all possible. At the Railway Station we learned that West Leiderville, his home address, was only a few stations on the way to Perth. We soon arrived there and spent a happy evening with uncle Alf. The rest of the family were off to a concert in Perth so we three men had all evening to talk. Then it was back to the ship in plenty of time. There was no way we were going to be late.

      So the eventful morning of October 30th came. We sailed in through the heads and as the day dawned we were steaming along the channel heading for Port Melbourne. By mid morning we had tied up at Station Pier and there were the buses waiting for us. I do not remember what route we followed through Melbourne. We eagerly noted many familiar landmarks and soon we were pulling in through the gates of the showgrounds. One of the large pavilions had been sat out by the Red Cross especially for the occasion. As we entered, volunteer workers met us and escorted us to small tables arranged for morning tea. I was met by Mrs Ivy Funston. We had never met before but we soon made ourselves known. Two relatives of each person had been invited to be there. Mrs Funston went away and in a few minutes returned with mother and Alan. I know we drank tea and had sandwiches or cake, but that was all secondary to our welcome embrace and talking together. Alan quietly explained all that had transpired, explaining more fully what he had only been able to tell me briefly in his letters. After dad died mother had made her home with Alan and his family. His home would be my home for as long as I chose. We did not stay long at the showgrounds. Outside, Alan's car was waiting and away we went. Naturally there was a real sadness at not seeing dad again and not going home to mum and dad, but I experienced a wonderful welcome as Alan and his wife Jean opened their home so lovingly to me. As we pulled up outside the door of their home over the familiar Chemist's shop in Tooronga Road, Malvern, the door burst open and as I stepped from the car my small nephew, Douglas, took a flying leap and landed in my arms. Then I was led upstairs to my room where I could unpack my belongings. Soon it was lunch time. There were six of us to sit down to that first meal at home; Alan and Jean, their two children Shirley and Doug, mother and I.

      There were seven places set at the table, and there was a twinkle in Alan's eye that I had failed to notice. We were about to give thanks when the door behind me opened. And there was my Jessie. I do not remember what we said, if anything. She just leaned over and kissed me. I was home!

      How wonderfully God leads and provides! I suppose we often take things for granted. And yet if we ask Him for guidance and follow where He leads we will never be disappointed. Of course I was despondent when we first became Prisoners of War, and I would not be truthful if I said I never felt angry. But I was never bitter nor did I ever doubt that God was close by. I cannot say that I had many tender feelings towards the Japs, but never at anytime did I feel hatred, and I always believed that God was in complete control and that in His good time I would return home. That might sound naive. What about the many who had a similar faith but never came home? I cannot answer that one. It is just for me to have "faith as a little child:" to do what I believe I should be doing today and leave tomorrow and all the future with Gad.

      I remember a little sergeant from Adelaide named George. One day in a fit of despondency he said "I don't know about you, Don. I can't do more than three months of this at a time." "Well, George," I replied, "I can only do a day at a time. And even tomorrow is in God's hands."

      I came Home! And what great support I received. There was mother, Alan and his family surrounding me with love. Then, of course, there was Jessie who agreed to marry me soon. Well! I arrived home on 30th October 1945. We were married at Box Hill by our beloved Russell Banks on January 12th 1946.

      My "home" church until we were married was Gardiner where I had been a member of their great K.S.P. Club under the late Harold Watkins. Roy Kemp, an old friend from Williamstown days, was captain of Gardiner Cricket Club. The Saturday after I arrived home he had me out playing in the team. Also in the team at the time was fellow ex P.O.W. Fred Adams and others who had returned from overseas. A few weeks later Gardiner Church arranged a special welcome home for the many who had been away in the services. There must have been at least one hundred at the tea so beautifully prepared by the ladies. I remember that Fred Adams was called on to reply on behalf of those welcomed home. I do not recall everything he said, but in regard to ex P.O.W.'s Fred said, "I ask you just to treat us as normal people. Don't try to smother us with sympathy." Following the tea was a special service. The minister at Gardiner at that time was the late Allen Brooke. He was also army Chaplain-General, a position he accepted following dad's death. Early in the week before the service he came to me and said, "Don, I am asking you to give the address on Sunday evening and I will not take 'no' for an answer." I flatly refused. I was petrified at first, but then prayed about it and eventually agreed. I could not tell you now what I said, but that evening was a vital step along the way to my rehabilitation. "Thank you, Allen Brooke, for your encouragement."

      There were many things to do before January 12th. We would need accommodation. I advertised in the "Age" for a flat. "No chance," said the wise ones. On the Saturday I advertised I actually had two replies. (Sympathetic, no doubt, to an ex P.O.W.) We were able to choose a place in Hawthorn as the one nearest to Glen Iris as I hoped to resume my studies at the College of the Bible.

      I had no suit to wear. Nowhere in the shops could I find anything my size. But there was an old friend from Balwyn who managed a warehouse in Flinders Lane. He generously provided a beautiful suit length and persuaded a tailor to make it up for me during the next few weeks. And then we even managed to find accommodation at Olinda for a week's honeymoon in the middle of January. We would love to return to that Guest House sometime but it was destroyed in bush fires some years ago.

      The Sunday following our wedding we were in Melbourne. We attended different churches morning and evening. I remember that at each service the minister's text was Philippians 3:13-14. It was surely appropriate for that time in our lives. "Forget what lies behind, and press on towards the mark of the high calling of God."

      One other very important thing was to return to my studies. I was in something of a quandary. At that time it was the recognised thing that a student waited till after graduation from the College of the Bible before marrying. I approached Principal Lyall Williams. He was not only sympathetic, but he pointed out that I would not be breaking any rule. I had, in fact, resigned from the College to go into the army. I would be married before I was readmitted. As it turned out, 1946 saw an influx of quite a number of married students, many of whom had young families. The married students' lunch time fellowship proved to be a great experience.

      It was hard slogging getting back into study once more but I had a wonderful "tutor." When the evenings were cold Jessie and I would go to bed early and I would study with her assistance. I really believe she might have made a good grade in Church History.

      The time spent with Captain Ernest Gordon studying Greek at Nakon Patom also proved valuable. I was amazed when at the close of my first year back in 1946, the late Fred Saunders, at the time still secretary of the College of the Bible excitedly told me, "Don, you have done it! You have won the Second Year Scholarship."

      Those two final years in College and the warm fellowship and support of the Bayswater church where I was student minister seemed very much under God's guidance.

      That is nearly forty years ago. In April this year I reached my "three score years and ten." It is true we have had to slow down a bit, but we thank God for all those years and give Him all the glory and praise for anything we have been able to do in service for Christ and His Church. I thank God for the patience of my partner, Jessie; and for all her love and understanding.

      We thank Him for the children He entrusted to our care and for the joy, now of watching our grandchildren grow. We thank Him, too, that, in "retirement" we are still able to lend a hand in serving others in His name and for His sake.