The Death Railway, April 1945, by George Duffy
From MemoryArchive
Who: George Duffy What: Life and Death on the Death Railway When: April 1945 Where: Sumatra
Whenever an American Fire Department or Police Department is struck by tragedy, as happened in the Massachusetts cities of Worcester and Holyoke this past December 1999 when six firefighters and one police officer were killed while performing their duties, the outpouring of public grief and sympathy is overwhelming. Thousands of their fellow officers, from all over the United States, including bagpipe bands and color guards, travel to pay their last respects and take part in the funerals and memorial services.
On such occasions my thoughts always revert to the last twelve months before the Japanese surrender in World War II. In those days I, and about 5,000 Allied military personnel -- mainly Dutch and English, but including a little over 200 Australians and 15 Americans, were held as prisoners of war by the Japanese. We were engaged in the building of a narrow-gauge railway across the central portion of the island of Sumatra, in what is now known as Indonesia.
The northern terminal of the railway was the city of Pekanbaru (new spelling), therefore the project became known as the Pekanbaru Rail Line. In more recent years, a Dutch author dubbed it "The Death Railway Through the Jungle."
Inside the barracks at Base Camp - photo source unknown
Indeed death was no stranger there. We were overworked, underfed, provided with little medicine, and subjected to constant physical and mental abuse by our Japanese overseers.
A hospital for malaria, dysentery, pellagra, and beri-beri patients existed in name only. It was simply a dilapidated bamboo-framed, thatched roof barracks where the sick were placed to await their eventual death. Once in a while, a man recovered his health and returned to the daily camp routine, but it was not the rule.
The Base Camp "hospital" - sketch by F.A.R. de Jong, Amsterdam
"Where the doctors carried out their mostly hopeless struggle against death" - sketch by F.A.R. de Jong, Amsterdam
In April 1945, I was living and working in the Base Camp which contained this "hospital." Deaths that month (according to my journal) totaled 106; an additional 14 died out in the construction camps along the line. My job, with 29 other officers, was to cut down rubber trees and carry the logs into camp. There, another group sawed and split them for the cookhouse and the locomotives. (That's right: wood-burning boilers!) Rarely did the full complement of 30 report for work. Everyone was afflicted with malaria which reduced our number to about 20 on a given day.
We worked in teams of three - an axe man, and two carriers. Rubber trees grow tall and straight. The wood is fairly soft - and wet. Each of us became quite adept at felling a tree and we even had contests to see who could most accurately predict the line of fall. One man chopped while the other two went in and out of the camp. Burlap bags were used to protect the log carriers' shoulders and also to hide the occasional dried fish, fruit, or vegetables purchased from a passing native vendor. (Such food was available, but the Japanese would not buy it or requisition it, and actually attempted to prevent us from "smuggling" it into camp.)
"Food distribution is the high point of the day" the wooden containers held rice, the tin held stew - photo from Australian War Memorial, Canberra
"Prisoners cook their own pots of purchased or smuggled ingredients because the official rations were insufficient" - photo from Australian War Memorial, Canberra
Therefore, the "wood party" offered an invaluable, though risky, opportunity for its members to create a "black market" inside the camp. We always had a single guard with us. Due to the nature of the work, we were spread through the plantation, so most of the Japs simply spent the day sitting by our camp fire reading the pornographic books they all carried, or snoozing.
The railway workers carried their mid-day meal with them when they left in the morning. We on the "wood party" came into camp at noon for our meager cup of steamed rice and a watery soup made of tree leaves. Before we went to work in the afternoon someone from the "hospital" would tell us how many deaths had occurred in the previous 24 hours. For each deceased, four of us would be detailed to carry the straw-matting wrapped body to the cemetery which was adjacent to the plantation where we chopped down the trees. Out of respect for the dead, we covered our nakedness with a shirt or jacket. (The sole, daily item of wearing apparel was a Japanese-style loin cloth.)
Every evening after the dead were collected in the roofless barrack extension, their remains were wrapped in a straw mat preparatory to burial"- sketch by F.A.R. de Jong, Amsterdam
Several prisoners labored at the unending task of digging the graves and burying the remains. Most of the time we never knew the identities of the lost souls who we carried over the creek and up the hill. Only if a prisoner had five friends was he accorded a proper burial, generally at the end of the work day.
Such was the case on May 29, 1945, less than three months before V-J Day. Sidney M. Albert, one of the cooks on our ship, the American Leader, had died. In the evening, Stan Gorski, our ship's bosun, a U. S. Marine, an English soldier, and I, were the pall bearers. Another shipmate, Carl Kalloch, carried the shovels and the cross.
All clergy had been left behind on Java when we came to Sumatra, thus the committal service for anyone off my ship became my responsibility. It was brief. The Lord's Prayer. The 23rd Psalm, read from a borrowed Bible. Lower the body. Fill the hole. Erect the wooden cross, and, under the watchful eyes of the Jap sentry, trudge back to the gate and get inside the barbed wire before dark.
Funeral procession crossing the creek - photo from Australian War Memorial, Canberra Australians and Dutch participate in a funeral - photo from Australian War Memorial, Canberra
The cause of Albert's death was malnutrition, or as it was called out there, "beri-beri." Lack of protein and vitamins caused kidney malfunction which resulted in fluid retention. A victim would first notice a soft swelling of his hands and feet which eventually progressed to his torso. He ballooned in size to as much as 250 to 300 pounds, losing mobility, and putting a severe strain on his heart. Albert was a load.
My exertion in carrying him to his burial site so sapped me that the next day, according to my journal, I suffered "the worst attack of malaria that I've had yet. I worked for 31 days without a break, most of the time axe work, and when the 'old bug' hit, I went down for the count. The whole packet -- fever, chills, and sweats. I never imagined it could be so bad".
Albert was 49. The average age at death of the 700 who perished on that railway was 37 years and 3 months. Five were 57, one was 58, another 66. They probably had wives and children -- somewhere. Yet most of them when they died had not five friends to mourn for them.
Awaiting evacuation- photo from Australian War Memorial, Canberra
POW's arrive in Singapore - unknown Singapore newspaper
On Sumatra there were no columns of fellow soldiers, sailors, or airmen. There were no color guards. On Sumatra there were no pipers nor drummers. No flowers. No eulogies. Death on Sumatra rarely arrived as a thunderclap. It moved slowly and inexorably through the "hospital." The men who died knew it was coming, and there was nothing to prevent it.
It is a great mystery, isn't it? The 700 unfortunates of Sumatra are just as dead as the 6 Worcester firefighters and the Holyoke police officer. By comparison, though, how fortunate were these latter 7 men to have had their lives celebrated with such pomp and ceremony. How fortunate were their families to witness the out-pouring of pride and devotion and brotherhood exhibited by their men's peers. How fortunate are we all to be living in a civilization that prides itself on such responses.
How fortunate that we won the war!
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