A Precious Memory

…. 5 September 1942

2009-12-29T15:06:00.001Z

A day of days! This morning out from 10 to 11 am. We were officially informed that the Nips have departed for good and that we shall henceforth be the responsibility of the Director and ordinary prison staff. It is too difficult to realise yet fully what this means, the tremendous relief from the strain under which we have lived for the past 5 months almost, to appreciate the fact that we can now live more or less normally and subject only to well defined restrictions. I have gone down on my knees today. Exchanged ‘The Alain Family’ yesterday for ‘Van Java’s Wegen’ by J E Jasper and that today for ‘Pension Vink’ by F de Sinclair. Mingail’s baby is 2 years old today. His own birthday was on 25 August and his wife’s on 27 July.

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One of the first things I did when I was once settled in my bungalow was to purchase some hens. Being town bred this acquisition had great attraction for me and I was so impatient to see chickens hatching out that a few times a day I would left up the brooding hens from their nests to see if there was anything doing under them. After a few days of such inspection I became aware of an uncomfortable crawling sort of itch all over my body and by dint of careful scrutiny of my anatomy discovered that I was simply crawling with minute vermin known as hen lice. I do not know if fowls at home are subject to this particular pest but I can answer with conviction for those of Java. Needless to say, after this experience I was content to let nature take her course without further interference on my part and in due course had as many chickens as I could wish for, to my great pleasure and satisfaction. I have heard it said that a hen can be mesmerized by having its head inclined to a chalk line on the ground but have never tried this or seen it done. I can however vouch for the fact that if you take a chicken in your hands and turn it over quickly so that it lies on its back on the palm of one hand it will nine times out of ten stay in that position until you choose to put it on its feet again. Later on I increased my fowl possession by the addition of some ‘entoks’ which, I believe, are a cross between ducks and geese. They are good eating. Their eggs, also good, are, however, sterile. Entoks I should think, are the mules of the poultry world. I man mention that within less then a year my entire poultry yard was wiped out in the course of a few days by an epidemic of chicken cholera which swept with the rapidity of a forest fire through the district. I do not know sufficient about poultry at home to be able to tell whether or not such a disease is there prevalent, but in Java at any rate it is so common as to render any attempt at chicken farming a rather precarious undertaking. The course of the disease is rapid with about 24 hours only between infection and death. In my own stock, between 30 t0 40 hens died in a single night. The cholera strikes suddenly, the symptoms being inability to swallow and standing hunched up with the eyes partly or even completely closed. I have known a hen remain in the condition for days and die eventually of sheer starvation but this is not common. As I have said, death usually supervenes within 24 hours.

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An issue of 3 packets of the ‘A’ cigarettes this afternoon. The ‘A’ which had evidently been pasted on to the packet, on being removed reveals a ‘V’. The cigs appear to be of Chinese manufacture and cost 6 cents per packet – Virginia and quite good.

31 August 1942

2009-12-14T13:42:00.001Z

Only one outing from 9.45 to 11 am. Walk around and one ball game. Some more people seem to have arrived and that is probably why no outing this afternoon, also no bath but I have just had a wash down with my flesh gloves so am not worrying very much. Mingail got a parcel yesterday and I have profited there from to the extent of an orange, a bar of chocolate, three small biscuits, tow pieces of pisang saleh (banana) and 5 Mascot ‘Royal’ cigarettes.

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It was during the period too that I was guilty of a very foolish and thoughtless action which had, however, its amusing side. It was at the Chinese New Year which the Chinese celebrate with a seemingly endless stock of fireworks which they let off for days on end, culminating in one deafening mass explosion at the actual dawning of the new year. Fenton and I, being what we were at that time, could not let this opportunity for further pranks pass and accordingly we purchased a stock of squibs large and small with which we proceeded to amuse ourselves. In an effort to very the explosive effects of the large bombs we let some off under an inverted empty petrol tin and were gratified by seeing the tin rise about three or four feet into the air with the blast. After a few times I said to Fenton, ‘I wonder what would happen if you were to sit on the tin?’ Fenton replied, ‘Try it and see.’ So in my weak mindedness I lit the fuse of the large squib, clapped the tin over it and sat down – but not for long. Even the memory of the subsequent proceedings causes me to squirm as I sit on my stool. A few seconds later I was hopping around with my hands clapped to my posterior feeling as if I had been kicked by a horse, while Fenton was rolling on the ground in a fit of helpless laughter. This instance reminds me of another foolish action of mine many years ago when I was about 15. I had cycled into the country on Saturday afternoon to visit the Primrose family who were spending their summer holidays at a farm some miles from Aberdeen. The son, Norman, and myself started amusing ourselves somersaulting over a heap of hay in the farmyard, We did this by running at the heap and just in front of it putting our hands on the ground and throwing ourselves head over heels so tha we landed on our feet on the far side. At length, encouraged by our prowess I suggested throwing ourselves over without using our hands and agreed to be the first to try the experiment. So I ran towards the heap, pushed my head into the hay on the rear side and over I went. My momentum was such, however, that when I landed on the other side my head kept on travelling and came down on my knees with such a whack that I was almost knocked unconscious. My nose suffered most because the bridge of that organ came in violent contact with one bony knee. Not only did my nose bleed freely but the blow raised a bump on my nose which, even after all these years, is still visible.

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1 September 1942

Out today from 9.45 to 11 am and 3 to 4 pm. shave with own razor in cell. In the past 3 days I have exchanged ‘Woodstock’ for ‘A Scarlett Sin’ by A & C Askew, that for ‘Caucasion Tales’ in Dutch by Lee Tolstoi and that again for ‘Fromont Junior and Risler Senior’ by Alphonse Daudet.

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2 September 1942

Fatty is back. Out from 4.15 to 5.30 pm. Two ball games. Exchanged ‘Fromont’ for ‘Freely Forgiven’ by J B Horton & Kate Drew, which without reading have exchanged with Jack Husband for ‘The Alain Family’ by Alphone Karr.

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3 September 1942

Out from 4.30 to 6.15 pm. Run round, jerks. Races of 100, 200, 400, 1000 metres. Prize giving tomorrow.

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4 September 1942

This was the 5th day of another reign of terror, hence the little writing done. Out today from 10.45 to 11.30 am prize giving and jerks. Less than half an hour later out again for inspection by big bug who together with all other jays took salute. The BB’s informed us this afternoon that all had departed. Very strange.

30 August 1942

2009-12-14T13:41:00.001Z

No outing this morning probably on account of the ground being wet as a result of heavy rain overnight. Out for a walk from 2 to 3.20 pm. One ball game. Saw Str. Excellent Sunday supper again this afternoon. Stewed potatoes and vegetables with a piece of meat.

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From the time of my arrival on the Estate I had talked freely regarding the fact that I had become engaged before leaving home and that it was my intention to let my fiancee join me as soon as I had got together sufficient money for her passage. The manager was going home on leave at the beginning of 1928 and proposed that Miss Simpson should travel with them on their return. Fenton suggested that the idea at the back of FV’s mind was to procure gratis the services of somebody to help with the children. He was probably correct in his surmise but the plan was very attractive to me as it was definitely preferable for the young lady to make the long journey in the company of the FV family than to travel such a long distance alone. The matter was thus arranged accordingly and the FV family had already been in Europe for some time when the blow fell. I cannot do better than to quote the correspondence which passed between the parties concerned, commencing with the letter which I received from my prospective father in law. (The correspondence referred to will be inserted here when, if ever, opportunity offers.*)

So, as Robbie Burns says, ‘the best laid schemes a’mice and men gang aft agley’, but how often are we capable of appreciating the providence which seems at the time, to have dealt us a blow from which we shall never recover. With now more than eight of the happiest years of my life behind me I can implicitly believe that whom the gods love, they chastise. I can wish my former fiancée no better fate than to have had as much happiness in her second choice as I have experienced in mine. While FV was on leave, Fenton was Acting Manager and acquitted himself in that capacity exceptionally well. I must admit, however, after the office was closed at 5 o’clock, he and I used to fly kites, just like a couple of small boys, and to defy any semblance of authority by flying them right in front of the big house. I am ashamed when I recall my annoyance the first time Fenton cut my kite loose in mid air having previously surreptitiously treated the string of his own with a preparation of powered glass. Kite flying is a favourite pastime with the natives but I really do now know what they thought when they saw the manager and bookkeeper indulging in this, for us under the circumstances, high undignified amusement. But I am afraid we enjoyed ourselves too much to worry about that.

* The correspondence disappeared during the Japanese occupation.

29 August 1942

2009-11-16T17:19:00.001Z

Out twice today from 9.15 to 10.30am for walk around and again from 4.10 to 4.45 pm walk and ball game. Some more people have arrived. Fighting Mieck included. No extra food after today, I am informed.

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The manufacture of Sole Crepe is a special operation. Sole Crepe, as the name implies, is the rubber used for the soles of tennis shoes etc. It is possible that, since my time on Langen, manufacturing methods have changed. On Langen strips of ordinary Crepe were built up one on top of the other, on tables specially designed for the purpose, until the required thickness was attained.

The strips, or laminations to give the technical name, were caused to adhere to each other by forceful slappings of the open hands applied to each strip as it was stretched out on the table. It should be explained that even pressing two pieces of Crepe together is sufficient to cause them to adhere strongly to each other. By beating with the open hands, the strips became, as it were, welded together into one thick sheet. The necessary laminations having been thus stuck together, this thick sheet was then passed through a pair of heavy rollers where the intense pressure completed the operation of producing Sole Crepe ready for use. Sole Crepe was manufactured in thickness of 1/8, 3/16 or 1/4 inch and experience had taught the exact number of laminations to be slapped together in order to produce the required thickness when milled. As an example of the strength of the Langen product, I may mention that in 1927 I had made for me a pair of sandals soled with Sole Crepe made under my supervision and these sandals I threw away only a few months ago and only then because the lether had at last given way. In spite of my having worn the sandals regularly every day for 15 years, the rubber soles showed only moderate signs of wear. One of the difficulties connected with manufacture was a water shortage during the dry season. Ordinarily, water from the Tjutandoei river was pumped along a pipeline to a deep concrete reservoir in front of the factory. This water was then pumped up into a water tank situated on a skeleton tower about 60 feet from the ground thus ensuing by gravity the pressure required to supply the faucets in the milling batteries and the many other points throughout the building. During very dry seasons, however, the river fell so low that the inlet of our pipeline was left high and dry some feet above the stream. We always had the reservoir to fall back upon but that supply was, of course, not inexhaustible so that a continued drought could have very seriously interfered with the manufacture. For many years, therefore, experimental boring was carried out in the hope of striking a subterranean source of supply but without success until, in spite of repeated failures in the immediate vicinity, the manager with characteristic pigheadedness insisted on the engineer sinking a shaft just between the reservoir and the factory building. Water was found, a pump rigged up and the precious element poured forth in a continuous stream. I translated a glowing report to the company on the success which had at last crowned FV’s efforts. It was only after the report had been dispatched that it was observed that, when the shaft pump was in action for any length of time, the water level in the reservoir fell and continued to fall the longer pumping went on. Alas for FV’s hopes and his glowing report. It was only too evident that the concrete basin of the reservoir had sprung a leak and that the supposedly tapped subterranean stream was nothing less than the seepage from that source. It took, however, some three months of repeated pumping and observation to convince FV of the fact.

28 August 1942

2009-11-06T17:13:00.001Z

Last night just before turning in composed a melody for a Cavalier ballad quoted in Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Woodstock’, chapter 20 titled ‘Glee for King Charles’. This is the second song I have made since coming here. The first one, which I completed about a month ago is a to a little poem called,’My Lady verily awaited me’ by Austin Dobson and quoted in F Amtey’s novel, The Pariah. Many more people arrived overnight, apparently mostly young lads. Out for a walk round 9.30 to 10.45 am. Out again from 3 to 4.30 pm. Walk and one ball game. My rib is still painful on getting up in the morning.

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My appointment was specified in the contract as that of book keeper to the Estate but it was stipulated that the manager could make use of me in any other capacity such as necessity demanded. One point I omitted to mention in connection with my interview in London was Mitchell Thom’s reply to a rash query of mine as to the working hours on the Estate. He just fixed me with his eye and replied coldly ‘twenty four hours a day and seven days a week!’ This was a slight exaggeration because we did go to sleep overnight. However, it was the company’s intention that young men like myself should be trained in every branch of Estate work with a view to forming a reserve of future managers from those who displayed the required ability during the first five years. A book keeper’s duties were not at all a full time job, so after a month or two I was given the whole manufacturing process from the reception of the liquid latex to the dispatch of the finished article and it was quite a mouthful for me to chew, considering that I had never before occupied a position of authority. Besides I found myself all at once with almost 150 people under me and with all the power and responsibility pertaining to such a charge. One department especially used to reduce me to a state not very far from blue funk. This was the Sole Crepe room where between 50 to 60 girls and women were employed and I had to screw up my courage every time I entered there in order to be able to withstand the glances from a battery of over a hundred eyes and the smiles and soft spoken comments of the one to the other of the damsels there assembled. It was most uncomfortable, the more so as I did not yet understand their languages and was therefore uncertain as to whether their observations were complimentary to myself or otherwise. But one gets used to anything in time (even imprisonment) and it was not very long before I had a complete grasp of all the necessary details of manufacture and packing, I will endeavour to describe briefly what goes on inside an Estate rubber factory. When the latex (literally the milk of the rubber tree) arrives in the factory it is received into large vats or tanks for the preparation of what is known as Crepe Rubber or into small rectangular basins in preparing Smoked Sheet Rubber. Whether Crepe or Smoked Sheet is to be produced, the first equipment is to cause the latex to coagulate or bind together like, say, a corn flour pudding, by the addition of formic acid. After being allowed to stand for two hours or so the mass is sufficiently congealed to be handled as required. For making Crepe the coagulated latex is passed through a battery of rollers in lumps, starting with rough and grooved and ending with smooth rollers, eventually producing a strip of wet rubber, light yellow in colour, and from 8 to 10 inches broad. This strip, which could be, if required, continued to any length, is cut off in lengths of about 10 feet to allow of their being hung up to dry on racks in the drying house. The drying house is just a big shed containing four or five tiers of wooden rails about 5 feet from the ground and between each tier, some 8 inches apart and extending the whole breadth of the interior with the exception of a narrow passage down each side. The Crepe strips are hung over these rails and left to dry, drying being complete within 5 to 8 days, depending on the humidity of the air. In very wet weather, the drying process can be assisted by introducing a current of hot air into the shed by means of a special apparatus. When the Crepe is dry it is removed from the racks, folded and packed in the regulation veneer chests for export of rubber. Smoked Sheets being with coagulated cakes contained in the small rectangular basins which measure approximately 24 by 12 inches. The flabby slab from each basin has these measurements and is, before milling, about 2 inches, thick and pure white. This slab is passed through a battery of four graded rollers, ultimately emerging as a sheet of wet rubber, still opaque white, measuring 36 by 24 inches and about 1/8” thick. These sheets are then hung to dry and cure in what is known as the Smokehouse. Simply described the Smokehouse consists of a row of rooms fitted with racks as in the Crepe Drying Shed. These rooms are situated on the first floor of the building, the ground floor containing large drums, usually converted oil drums, in which wooden logs are kept smoldering to produce both heat and smoke. Each room has its corresponding drum and the heat and smoke rise through interstices between the planks forming the floor. Within 7 to 10 days, depending on the weather, the sheet are dry and smoked to a golden brown and are semi transparent. They are then removed from the racks and packed in veneer cases as is the Crepe.

27 August 1942

2009-10-29T17:25:00.001Z

Out from 9.15 to 10.45 am. Walk around and one ball game. Issued with 2 packets of 20 ‘Mascot’ cigarettes. I still have 3 Capstans left and 2 squares of toffee. Rumoured that we are to have a big match this afternoon between our bunch and the convicts.

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I must admit that my first impressions of the Dutch were not very favourable as it seemed to me that all reported meanness attributed to the Scot was as naught compared with that of the natives of Holland, so much so indeed that in a letter home I misquoted a proverb to the effect of ‘cast your whole bread upon Dutch waters and it will return to you a half loaf’. That this opinion was not altogether unjustified, let the following experience prove. As I have already stated, I arrived on Langen towards the end of November and as Christmas and New Year approached, I felt naturally very homesick at the prospect of being so far from home and among strangers in a strange land during that, in all former years, so happy and festive season. It was therefore to my great joy and satisfaction that I was informed that there would be a Christmas party at the Big House and to which the whole staff was to be invited. And not only a party by a Christmas tree as well. My spirits soared at the prospect. The manager’s wife asked me one day what I should like off the Christmas tree. Fenton suggested half a dozen pillow cases as I had forgotten to include these very necessary articles in my outfit. I considered not only Fenton’s suggestion but also what I took to be the Dutch way of arranging Christmas presents as extremely practical indeed. Accordingly I acquainted Mrs F V with my desire and got my first shock when she intimated, ‘You understand, you pay for the present yourself – only it is rather nice to get it off the tree.’ Anyhow, by Christmas Eve I had somewhat recovered and became, although still puzzled, somewhat reconciled to the strange Dutch custom. We duly forgathered at 8 pm on the night on the spacious open verandah of the Manager’s house where on arriving we sat down in a large circle, radiating from the decorated Christmas tree which stood in one corner. At 2 am we were still in the same position and during the six hours there had been, if I am not mistaken, not more than two rounds of drinks. The Christmas tree was hung with many parcels, and many more lay on the ground round about it. I learned later that the feast of St Nicholas, which is the children’s feast on the 5th December, had on the occasion, probably with a view to economy I should imagine, been combined with the Christmas festival. St Nicholas is the counterpart of our Santa Claus but it is honoured by the Dutch, and probably by other continental countries as well, with a special feast day on the 5th December each year when, just as Santa Claus does with us on Christmas Eve, he bring presents to the children. St Nicholas is always accompanied by a black faced attendant, known as Black Peter, who carries a birch in one hand and a large sack over his shoulder. Black Peter is an object of much apprehension to the very young as it is his ascribed duty to wield the birch and even to bear away in the sack any reported bad boy or girl who is so refractory as not to promise St Nicholas to mend his or her ways in the future. I have attended many St Nicholas parties arranged for the children of members of the Concordia Club in Bandung where the good Saint and Black Peter were wont to appear in person and it was a delightful sight to see a few hundred mites in their party best regarding St Nicholas and Black Peter with eyes big and round with mingled awe and apprehension. This feast, in the home particularly, provides an opportunity for members of the family to play tricks on each other in the form of fake parcels purporting to contain something of actual value but yielding, when opened, some trifle or other, together with a screed of poetry, ridiculing or poking individual fun at one or other characteristic of the recipient. On this particular night, St Nicolas did not, of course, appear but the parcels were legion. The manager had four children – there were no other on the Estate at that time – and, apart from real presents (such as mine) the other thousand and one parcels had reference only to the FV family. The accompanying poems were in some cases pages in length and what with the reading of these and the opening of parcels themselves, which were prepared mostly in Chinese puzzle fashion, each parcel revealing a small one when opened and so on, six solid hours were spent in this (to me, at any rate) highly unedifying amusement. I might have enjoyed the proceedings more had I understood Dutch, but I doubt it. At 2 am we adjourned to the dining room where we were regaled with a very indifferent dinner accompanied by red and white wines – one bottle of each only. I feel sure, I was really so sleepy by this time that to eat anything at all cost quite an effort and the rest of the company could have been in no better state. I will not be so uncharitable as to suggest that the serving of the meal was timed to this end, but it is a fact that what was not eaten on that occasion was quite sufficient to provide meals in the manager’s house for a few days after. However, let it pass and haste on to the climax which provided me with a shock compared with which the previous one was but a slight start of surprise. This was given me at the beginning of January in the form of a debit note for 7.60 guilders, being my share of the Christmas dinner, yes, even unto the Christmas tree itself and the decoration thereof. I am glad to record that my first impressions of the Dutch, thanks to this experience, have for many years now been utterly removed but it will be appreciated that from such a wound my recovery was slow and followed a long period of convalescence.

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Rumour was correct. Out from 1.30 to 2.45 pm to witness a handball match between us and the convicts. We got a bad beating 13-8 being the final score.

26 August 1942

2009-10-17T12:04:00.001+01:00

The terms of my contract, which I do not think I have yet enumerated were as follows: Commencing salary 250 guilders per month rising by annual increments of 25 to 350 per month in the fifth year. Six months European furlough on full salary at the expiry of 5 years service, passage, 2nd class, free to Europe and back again to Java in the event of the contract being renewed for a further period of 5 years. Free house, fire and light. Free medical attendance (excluding dental treatment and illness caused by misconduct), free Personal Tax and an allowance of 12 guilders per month for a garden coolie. Also an allowance of 40 guilders and four days local leave every 3 months. The most important item, however, was the bonus to which every employee was entitled and which was based on the profits made by the Company in the course of a year. In the golden days of planting bonuses were often of such proportions as to ensure an employee being in a position to retire for life at the end of his first contract. These days had gone for ever by 1926 but there were still reasonable prospects of being able to double one’s nominal salary. Alas for my expectations. Rubber began to slump in 1927 and by 1931 the bottom had fallen out of the market altogether. My first year’s bonus was 760 guilders, and the next year’s 1200, and for the next three, what will all allowances cancelled and salary cut, I might claim that the company paid themselves back for the bonuses, I had received. This wonderful contract, for all its lovely seals and flourishing signatures, although it protected the company against my leaving their service within the 5 year on pain of the payment of £100 plus so called ascertained damages, was, as far as my rights were concerned, only so much waste paper when the company’s results began to evidence themselves in the red figures. In my fifth year, I was much worse off than when I started, receiving only 240 guilders a month and no extras whatever except hours, fire and light. The Personal Tax I have mentioned is a Poll, or Head Tax imposed by the Dutch authorities in addition to usual Income Tax and is based on house rent and the possession of motorcars, cycles and horses. The four days leave every 3 months were according to the contract, to be spent at one or other resort in the mountains for health’s sake but on occasion I have been 9 months at a stretch at Langen without any such break and sometimes simply because it did not suit the convenience of the manager, Fits Verploegh who was a big built, red faced man of about 37 who has been planting since his 18th year. He had an air of great authority and owed his position, I suspect to this more than to actual ability. Although there was not a soul on Langen, who by reason of his position could dispute his title as manager, he always insisted in signing himself on all correspondence and reports as ‘Head Manager’. His policy was to keep his assistants as far as was possible from adding to their planting knowledge anything more than he himself chose to impart to them in somewhat patronising fashion. He even went as far in this matter as to take great pains to prevent the circulation of any agricultural periodical which might reach him in his official capacity. Practically every other manager I have known was insisted on his employees reading such papers in order that they might keep abreast of the latest methods and up to date as to experiments being carried out in their particular field. Fitz Verploegh had an efficient secret service system recruited from the native overseers on every Division, by means of which, he kept himself informed of the state of work and of everything else on the Estate without being under the necessity of exerting himself in any way whatsoever. I have known him not to stir from his house for a whole month on end and yet, to my amazement, at the end of that period, to send me his monthly report of sometimes 12 foolscap pages to translate and type and that report consisting of a wealth of detail which one would have sworn was impossible except by personal observation and inspection. His spying proclivities extended on occasion even to pirate correspondence and quite frequently Fenton and I, at least, have had our letters from home passed on to us days after they arrived on the Estate and displaying obvious sings of having been tampered with. This was on account of the fact that the Estate mail was fetched from Banjdar, the nearest village and post office, every day by a native postman specially employed for that purpose. Letters etc were collected by an agent in Bandjar and locked in a post box carried by the postman and the duplicate key of which was held by the manager. So all letters, no matter to whom addressed, were first delivered to the Big House and thereafter, often very much at leisure, further distribution took place. We knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that our letters were held up at the Big House from the date stamp of Bandjar post office. While efforts were being made to form a Planters Union, we had ample proof that all letters and literature sent to each assistant individually on Langen by that body were suppressed. It was a long established rule on Langen that each assistant should have one Sunday free every two weeks but this privilege was on most occasions torpedoed by the manager, who, making one of his rare appearances, would stroll along to the office resplendent in white ducks and topi on Saturday afternoons when wages were being paid out to the work people and say, ‘Well, gentlemen, what about a spot of hunting tomorrow?’ That meant getting up the next morning at the usual time and walking and running through the jungle from sometimes 7 am to 3 pm, more fatiguing than an ordinary day’s work. To refuse would have been to bring upon one’s self the managerial displeasure and only one who has actually been employed on an Estate can appreciate the manifold ways and means which can be employed in the expression of that sentiment. Fitz Verploegh has been known to confine an assistant who had offended him within the boundaries of his own Division. It was an understood thing that even on a free Sunday we were not supposed to go beyond the Estate boundaries without first obtaining his august permission. He was a perfect survival of the type, formerly very common, but fortunately even then almost extinct, which in the early days of planting considered itself absolute monarch of all it surveyed and whose power stopped not very far short of life and death over those under it.

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Out from 2.45 to 4.30 pm. No run or jerks. One ballgame. New command specs. Rutherford Greeuw arrived. Perry day before yesterday. Cell inspection and search after lunch today, looking for razors and other sharp objects apparently. My searches greatly taken up with Ineke’s photo on my table. Took it up and pressed it against my mouth on leaving, smiling broadly. Search very perfunctory – just looked into cupboard and did not even open suitcase – majority not so lucky.

25 August 1942

2009-10-09T11:58:00.001+01:00

The Tjitandu was a troublesome river during the rainy season, often causing serious floods in its lower reaches, where Langen was situated. As protection for Langen and other neighbouring low lying Estates an earthen dyke had been thrown up along the south bank for a distance of 9 kilometers but even this precaution was on occasion not proof against the forces of the water and a break in the dyke would result, with serious consequences not only to the gardens but also to native kampongs and to the railway. I had only been a week or so on Langen when such a break occurred but fortunately this took place near the east boundary and actual damage to garden was slight. Much more serious was that in, I believe, the beginning of 1931 when the dyke gave way about the middle of our river boundary. I was garden assistant on Straits of Java Division at that time and my young garden in the south east corner of the Estate was flooded to a depth of 4 feet of muddy water. I had to go out with the gang of native labourers to secure the wooden bridges which spanned the big drains crossing the roads at intervals and I floundered up to my arm pits in water from 7 am till noon with snakes of all kinds, which had been driven out of the undergrowth by the encroaching water, swimming literally in dozens past my nose, sometimes uncomfortably close to that organ. The instinct of self preservation was however too strong upon them and they were not interested just in a mere man. Later on, when I walked, or rather swam, along the southern boundary, which was marked off by a high hedge of lamtoro trees, these trees were simply festooned with snakes which had at last found something to hang on to. On that memorable occasion my favourite dog, Lockie, a dachshund of somewhat doubtful parentage, accompanied me the whole time, swimming like the other which is the natural prey of his breed, with, an occasional helping hand under his chest from myself. And as luck would have it, on that day he actually found an otter in one of the major drains and a terrible fight ensued in which poor Lockie was more under water than above it. The other won, that is to say in as much as Lockie eventually decided that on this occasion discretion was the better part of valour and retired from the fight. The houses on Langen were, for the most part, well and solidly built, high in the roof and with thick brick walls, a construction which ensured their being as cool as was possible under the circumstances. The heat and humidity were indescribable and I do not exaggerate when I state that for 5 years my body was never dry. The atmosphere lay on one like a heavy, damp, woolen blanket and it was very seldom, hemmed in as we were by high rubber trees, that we experienced the relief of a breeze. My first house consisted of four apartments, dining room, sitting room, bedroom and a verandah open on two sides, except for a low balustrade, kitchen, store room, bathroom etc were outbuildings built in a row and connected with the house itself by means of a roofed over passage which ran from the rear door of the dining room. it was in this house that a thing, for which I have never been able to offer any natural explanation, occurred. The servants leaving every evening after dinner, I was always alone in the house from about 8 pm till 5.30 next morning when my ‘boy’ roused me by knocking on the window of the bedroom. Last thing at night before going to bed I used to check up on all doors and window fastenings. One morning, on emerging from the bedroom into the dining room to open the rear door for my ‘boy’, I was amazed to find one of the four chairs placed round the dining table lying flat on its back on the floor, just as if it had been placed carefully in that position. I well swear that the chair was in normal upright position when I went to bed the night before and that nobody could have entered the house during the night. Also, I had not been disturbed by any noise. I should add that the chair as quite intact when examined. So, what is the explanation? I was puzzled then and still am. Servants were soon engaged for me, a house boy, a cook and a garden boy. My boy was an elderly Javanese named Resodikromo, or Reso for short, and he served me faithfully for my 5 years on Langen. Cooks and garden boys were more like a procession during that period. Some cooks were bad, others not so bad, sometimes Soendanese, sometimes Javanese. How they ever managed to turn out anything eatable at all from the very primitive kitchen and appurtenances thereof is a mystery. Along half of one wall of the kitchen ran a sort of tunnel of brickwork about 10 inches square, open at one end communicating with a chimney at the other, and with three or four circular openings in the roof of the tunnel on which pots and pans could be set. Billets of wood were inserted at the open end and, when set alight, the flame was drawn by the draft along the tunnel. The circular hole nearest the the mouth gave, of course, the greatest heat and each successive hole a lesser degree so that cooking in all its stages could be dealt with. Primitive indeed but immensely practical. Holes not in use at any time were simply covered with a piece of tin cut to fit the apertures. There was of course no lack of firewood as diseased trees in the gardens were being continually uprooted and firewood, in the terms of my contract, was free, like the house and garden boy for whose wages an allowance of 12 guilders per month was granted. We usually paid 8 guilders and so were 4 guilders to the good in that respect.

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Out today from 2.40 to 4.30 pm. Run round, ball game and jerks. This morning got 2 Davros cigarettes from a jay sentry. Gave one to Mingail, my neighbour, whose birthday it is today, his 33 rd. The Director personally brought to him a photo of his baby girl, aged 2, but apparently nothing else was, allowed in. In connection with the cigarettes I got this morning, my neighbours ascribe this to my usual luck. I protest that it is not so much luck as merely adhering to the maxim that if you don’t ask for a thing it is practically 100% certain that you will get nothing, whereas if you do ask, there is a fifty fifty chance of your getting something, even though it may by only a kick in the pants.

24 August 1942

2009-10-01T18:08:00.001+01:00

However, with what was left, it was possible to purchase such necessaries as a dining table and chairs, sideboard, wash stand etc all second hand of course. I also bought half a set of the cheapest plain white crockery. Fenton then brought ne to one of the hospitals, as I have omitted to mention Graham’s also doing in Batavia, to satisfy the authorities, that I betrayed no symptoms of cholera. In accordance with regulations and because, I believe, an outbreak had occurred in Singapore while I was there, this examination had to take place on three successive days. Between Bandung and Langen we had to break our journey the following day at a place called Tasikmalaja for the same purpose. While awaiting the train in Tasikmalaja, we sat in the Club there which was quite deserted except for ourselves and an elderly fat Dutch planter, manager of an estate in the vicinity, who offered us drinks and was scornfully amused at the idea of a Scotsman preferring a sweet soft drink to his native whisky. We reached Langen Estate in the early afternoon and repaired to Fenton’s house, where, according to custom, I would stay a month in order to become accustomed somewhat to things in general before being left to paddle my own canoe. As a matter of fact, it was Fenton who left at the end of the month, I remaining in the house, he having been transferred to another part of the Estate. After lunch, we went to the Estate office where I met Mr Fitz Verploegh, the manager, who after greeting me said, indicating the office, ‘Well, this is your place for the next 5 years.’ The prospect at first sight did not seem encouraging. The office was a bare looking room about 20 feet square with whitewashed walls, with a battered looking desk in the centre with an equally decrepit chair behind it and one or two tables and chairs against the walls. In the corner opposite the doorway was a small safe set in a projecting mass of concrete. This safe, I learned later, had formerly stood against the wall on a strong wooden rest, but one day, the then bookkeeper had closed the door of the safe, which locked automatically, leaving the only key inside. The only way to right matters was to burn a hole in the back of the safe with an oxyacetylene blow lamp and subsequently the only way to preserve the safe’s usefulness was to embed it in concrete. It was a brilliant solution because in its present state it afforded a hundred times better security than it had done as a loose steel box. To give a general idea of Langen Estate I would explain that practically the whole area was reclaimed marshland and as flat as a billiard table. Drainage of ground water was the major problem and an elaborate system of drains and pumping installations was the result. The Estate was divided into so called Divisions; an employee residing on and being responsible for each Division. These Divisions were subdivided into Gardens marked out in square areas. The rubber trees were planted in straight rows and equally distant from each other. Between each third row of trees, in both directions, were ditches for leading off water. These ditches communicated, by way of deeper ditches crossing the garden at intervals, with drains about 6 to 8 feet deep running round the borders. These again were linked up to so called main drains, which were really miniature canals, and which flowed, albeit sluggishly, into the marshes to the south. The oldest trees on Langen had been planted in 1905. A rubber tree comes to maturity and can be safely tapped at 6 years old as a general rule. There was no road on to or off the Estate as far as the outside world was concerned. The only communication was by the railway which cut the plantation in two from East to West. Langen had a miniature station, known as a Halte, at which only the local train stopped, and from the main line a siding ran to the Factory godown (warehouse), where the cases of rubber were stored against despatch. Java is divided roughly into three parts, known as West Java, Middle Java and East Java. There is a strong similarity in population to our own country, in that Java harbours two distinct races, the Javanese to the East and the Sudanese to the West. These two people are as distinct in race on the Scot and the English, but even more so in language, dress and custom. Roughly speaking, the Sudanese inhabit the West Java and the Javanese Middle and East Java. Langen was situated where West merges into Middle Java with the result that the labour was a mixture of Sudanese and Javanese, thus occasioning a knowledge of both languages in addition, as was my case, to Dutch and colloquial Malay. In due course, I spoke six languages every day. English to the manager because he preferred to speak that language, Dutch to the other assistants, Sudanese to my native overseer, Javenese to the coolies, Malay to the office clerks and Scots to my dogs! The Halte was situated about the centre of the Estate, the manager’s house and two assistants’ houses forming a triangle with the Big House at the apex, about two hundred yards to the East of the Halte on the North side of the railway and roughly a hundred yards from the track, and the Factory buildings immediately opposite on the other side of, and about 50 yards from the railway, my house was situated at the base of the triangle nearest the Halte. When I arrived the staff consisted of the manager, Fitz Verploegh whop was Dutch; Fenton of Scottish parentage but brought up in England; Van Der Meulen (from whom my bed was purchased) a Dutchman; Drost, idem; Vacquier, Eurasian; Sator de Rotas (engineer) idem; and Raden Kusumbrata, Soendanese. Fenton, whose place I was taking as book keeper, was now going on full time garden work with his own division. Van Der Meulen, Drost, Vacquier and Kusumbrata were all divisional garden assistants. The divisions were, from east to west, Langkap Lantjar (Drost); Hevea (idem); and Straits of Java (Fenton) south of the railway, and ‘A’ Block (Vacquier); Langen (v/d Meulen) and Tjigaron (Kusumabrata) north of the line. Langen Estate, as it now is, was really an amalgamation of several small estates in previous years and which had bequeathed their names to the divisions which they had now become. Seem on a chart, Langen Estate was an irregular rectangle about 5 miles long by 3 broad situated, in its length, between two natural boundaries the Rawah Lahbok marshes to the south and the River Tjitandoei to the north.

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Out from 2 to 3 pm only this afternoon. Library books collected this morning. New issue this afternoon. Got ‘Woodstock’ by Sir Walter Scott. Run round, jerks and only one ball game for veterans today.

23 August 1942

2009-09-17T14:02:00.001+01:00

Today 9 years ago Ineke and I became engaged. Yesterday we were out from 2.15 to 4 pm. Exercise started with a run round the exercise yard, this time in the South East triangle where we have not been for some weeks. There was no compulsion to keep on running but I was rather bucked at finding myself able to carry on until the order was given to halt. We must have covered 3 kilometers at a conservative estimate. I should have died at the very thought of running such a distance 5 months ago. My rib is still somewhat painful but my performance of yesterday I have proved to my own great satisfaction that there can have been nothing seriously wrong. After the run, we had 20 minutes fairly strenuous physical jerks and then one ball game. Chatting with my neighbour, Mingail, yesterday evening, I was interested to learn that he has been actual eye witness of the far famed Indian Rope Trick, Mingail is a Jew and hails from Calcutta. He saw the trick performed at a place, called Hardwa, in the United Provinces, where it takes place only once a year in connection with some Brahmans festival. He was one of a crowd of some 5000 spectators and described how the fakir showed to the audience a length of rope about 6 or 7 feet in length and introduced the small boy who was to assist in the act. After a lengthy discourse on what he was about to do a description of what they were to see, turning around as he spoke and gazing intently of the spectators who were grouped in a huge circle round the open space where he performed, the fakir handed the rope to the boy. In response to an incantation, the rope straightened itself and became apparently rigid with one end resting on the ground. To a running commentary on the boy’s action mingled with unintelligible incantations by the fakir, the boy climbed up the rope about a foot at a time until, on reaching the top, he vanished from sight while the rope became limp and fell to the ground. The boy appeared some time later from among the spectators. Mingail could give no explanation. Religious books are being issued this morning and I have received ‘Jesus of Nazareth’, in Dutch, and which I can keep as long as I like. This book in particular is for Protestants, Catholic get ‘The Catholic Church’, also in Dutch. This is due to the efforts of the Indonesian prison director, who seems to be a very good man.

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On the occasion, I did not naturally, follow the example given by the Dutch people but waited for the fried eggs I had ordered. When they were at last served I was rather handicapped by having no second plate on which to put my bread but made a satisfactory meal in spite of the difficulty. We reached Batavia on 21 November 1926, a Sunday, and again I looked anxiously for the H & C representative and again I looked in vain. This time I had no qualms about going to the hotel and, with Hodson’s assistance, I was soon in the Hotel der Nederlanded in Batavia. The port for Batavia is Tandjong Priok and the 10 kilometers road between the port and the city must be, I imagine, one of the finest in the world being macadamed, wide and perfectly straight over long stretches and bordered each side most of the way by the picturesque flamboyant trees which were then in full boom so that we seemed to be proceeding along an avenue of flaming torches. Hodson left me while he went out to look out some of his pals from whom he could borrow some money. He had given me a fairly broad hint as to his financial embarrassment but I was then too much of the canny Scot and too suspicious of everybody in this strange new world to offer assistance. It was then, while Hodson was absent, that I perused one of his poetry books which he lent to me. That evening I dined alone in the large dining room of the hotel, feeling desperately self conscious. My condition was not improved on my observing that I was an object of amusement to the native waiters in my immediate vicinity. I can hardly blame them in retrospect but at that time I was not in the mood to feel disinterested. It was appreciatively warm that evening, as it usually is in Batavia, and I had as yet no clothes suitable for the tropical climate. I wore a rather heavy thick pair of dark flannels and a lined tweed sports jacket which, with the heat, made me feel as if I was indulging in a Turkish bath at full pressure. The perspiration was dripping off the lobes of my ears and the point of my nose into the soup and my hands were so wet that spoon, knife and fork kept turning and slipping out of my hands. It was without exception the most uncomfortable meal of which I have ever partaken. The next morning I presented myself at Harrisons and Crossfield’s office and, as before in Singapore, explanation and apologies were profuse as to the failure to have me met at the boat as had been arranged. Mr Graham, one of the younger members of the staff, took charge of me and after showing me something of Batavia in a taxi, put me on the train for Bandung, with instructions to proceed to the Preanger Hotel there were a Mr Fenton, one of the assistants on Langen Estate would be waiting for me. All went well from then on. I duly met Fenton, whom I liked at sight, and who, I am glad to say, is still one of my best friends. We were to stay a day in Bandung for the purpose of giving me the opportunity of buying furniture, cooking utensils, crockery etc for my house on the Estate and in this matter Fenton was most helpful. I should explain that one of the conditions of my contract was the allowance of 250 guilders for furnishing, with the condition that the articles purchased would remain the property of the company. I had fully expected that I should have this full sum at my disposal and was therefore very much surprised when Fenton, rather embarrassedly, informed me that a bed costing 100 guilders, and a food cupboard of 25 guilders, had already been purchased for me on the Estate. Fenton later admitted to me that this transaction, strictly unethical as it was, had been arranged between the manager and a then favourite assistant and was really nothing less than a barefaced swindle. He could not, naturally, air his opinion then and I myself knew no better, although it did seem strange to me, especially the 100 guilders for a bed.

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Out from 2 to 4 pm. A run of 6 times round the yard, physical jerks and two ball games. Hot tea, without sugar, available as has been the case for the past few days. A capital supper – stewed potatoes with gravy and sliced cucumber with a nice tender piece of meat. Very tasty. Exchanged ‘William Pitt’ yesterday with Mingail for ‘Bindle’ by Herbert Jenkins and the latter today for ‘Calico Jack’ by Horace W C Newtie, a story of the music halls of the Gay Nineties.

22 August 1942

2009-09-07T14:02:00.001+01:00

Lights full strength past 2 nights, but still shades on outside lamps. Food greatly improved generally during past 10 days. Distribution and serving now being controlled by Indonesian warders. Formerly left to trusties. ‘Trusty’ is I believe, an American term used to describe prisoners who have been entrusted with positions of some authority in the prison organisation. Reading ‘Macaulay’s' essay on ‘Pitt, I am struck by some passages which might have been written of the present day instead of with reference to the years 1803 to 1805. Here are a few of them. ‘The English army, under Pitt, was the laughing stock of all Europe. it could not boast of one single brilliant exploit. It had never shown itself on the Continent but to be eaten, chased, forced to re-embark, or forced to capitulate.’ ‘The Habeas Corpus Act was repeatedly suspended. Public meetings were placed under severe restraints. The government obtained from Parliament power to send out of the country aliens who were suspected of evil designs, and that power was not suffered to be idle. Writers who pronounced doctrines adverse to Monarchy and aristocracy were proscribed and punished without mercy. It was hardly safe for a republican to avow his political creed over his beefsteak and his bottle of port at a chop house.’ ‘Bonaparte, now First Consul, was busied constructing out of the ruins of old institutions a new ecclesiastical establishment and a near order of knighthood. That nothing less than the dominion of the whole civilised world would satisfy his selfish ambition was not yet suspected; nor did even wise men see any reason to doubt that he might be as safe a neighbour as any prince of the House of Bourbon had been. The treaty of Amiens was therefore hailed by the great body of the English people with extravagant joy.’ ‘Had Napoleon content with the first place among the sovereigns of the Continent, and with a military reputation surpassing that of Marlborough or Turenne devoted himself to the noble task of making France happy by mild administration and wise legislation, our country might have long continued to tolerate a government of fair intentions and feeble abilities. Unhappily, the treaty of Amiens had scarcely been signed, when the restless ambition and the insupportable insolence of the First Consul convinced the great body of the English people that the peace, so eagerly welcomed, was only a precarious armistice. As it became clearer and clearer that a war for the dignity, the independence, the very existence of the nation was at hand, men looked with increasing uneasiness on the weak and languid cabinet which would have to contend against an enemy who united more then the power of Lewis the Great to more than genius of Frederick the Great’. ‘War was speedily declared. The First Consul threatened to invade England at the head of the conquerors of Belgium and Italy and formed a great camp near the Straits of Dover. On the other side of those Straits the whole population of our islands was ready to rise up as one man in defense of the soil’. ‘But the genius and energy of Napoleon prevailed while the English troops were preparing to embark for Germany, while the Russian troops were slowly coming up from Poland, he, with rapidity unprecedented in modern was, moved a hundred thousand men from the shores of the Baltic to the Black Forest, and compelled a great Austrian army to surrender at Ulon.’ Verily, there is nothing new under the sun.

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My other recollection of Singapore is a visit to the Museum there, impressed upon my memory by reason of the fright I got when entering the building. There was a wide main staircase branching off at a landing to right and left. Climbing the first main flight, I only raised my eyes when a few steps from the landing and almost had heart failure at the terrible spectacle of a giant gorilla, about 8 feet high, a ferocious looking beast, coming apparently straight at me. They really should not leave specimens lying about like that on Museum landings. When the day came, I went on board the ‘SS Melchior Treub ‘ which was to bring me to Batavia and where I again met Miss Lund and another fellow passenger of the ‘Khiva’ named Stephen Hodson, a young man who was returning to Java, having just enjoyed his 6 moths furlough after his first 5 years as a rubber planter. This Hodson, whom I met again many years later, was a very tall, well made chap, but to my opinion rather effeminate as to features. He was very languid in movement and manner, and used to be a source to many on board the ‘Khiva’ of somethat contemptuous amusement, combining as he did the habits of heavy drinking and wandering about looking soulful with a volume of poetry in his hand. Later, in Batavia, I had the opportunity of glancing through one of these books of his and there was precious little soul to be found in any of the verses – rather the reverse, in fact. The voyage between Singapore and Batavia was uneventful although it was a new experience to find myself on a foreign ship and where those of my own nationality were outnumbered by about fifty to one. Being, of course, quite unaccustomed to Dutch customs, I was quite bewildered the first morning at breakfast. I happened to enter the dining room either very early of very late, I forget which, and found myself the only occupant. The tables were laden with all sorts of eatables, bread, ham, meat, fish, sausage, cheese etc but no steward came bustling forward to enquire my pleasure in the way of breakfast. I sat down at one of the tables with the array of foodstuffs before me and quite undecided as to what I ought to do. it did not seem quite right or proper to me to pile in without somebody more or less in authority indicating that I could begin. After about 5 minutes a native steward appeared and merely asked me if I would have tea or coffee and would I like eggs. Some Dutch people coming in and taking their places just then I noticed what they waited for nobody but started right in to eat but in a fashion which struck me as being rather uncouth, to say the least of it, a slice of bread, spread with butter was covered with either ham, fish or sausage etc and then eaten with a knife and fork. Whatever I thought of the customs then, I have long since adopted myself as the only way of sensibly eating with bread and butter. Just think of the unnecessarily complicated method employed in the British custom with one plate and a fork and knife for the meat or fish and a smaller side plate with a knife for the bread and butter, lying down the fork and knife every time a mouthful of bread is required and laying down the knife to lift up the fork and knife again. The Dutch method is much more practical and has the additional advantage of keeping the hands quite clean during the process.

21 August 1942

2009-08-04T13:49:00.001+01:00

Mr Templeton assisted me in buying a cheap suitcase and a solar topi in Penang. The suitcase was necessary because my mother had packed my trunk and leather suitcase so well that after having removed various articles in the course of the voyage, I could not with all my ingenuity get everything back in again. In fact it was even a tough struggle with an extra bag. My friend strongly advised me to buy a good topi while I was at it and recommended an Ellwood which, he assured me, would last me for years. He was quite right, I have that topi yet. But all the same such a topi had its disadvantages. In the first place it was far too heavy and secondly the shape was not fashionable in Java. A cheap, light, pith topi which can be purchased for a few guilders is much more comfortable and serviceable in addition to being of a shape which gives very good protection for the back of the neck. When it begins to get shabby it can be passed to your ‘boy’ as a very acceptable present and a new one purchased and it will be many years before the expense of a succession of such topis equals the cost of an Ellwood. I paid $30 for mine. In spite of the above stated disadvantages, however, true to type, I wore the Ellwood for the 5 years of my planting career and, just because it cost so much have not yet been able to bring myself to parting with it. In the afternoon we ascended by funicular railway to a tea house set on a hill and from which a marvellous view of Penang and lesser island around about could be obtained. When we arrived in Singapore a day or two later I looked out anxiously for the representative of Harrison’s and Crosfield who was to look after me. To my dismay nobody appeared. I was at my wits’ end, for remember I was for the first time in my life absolutely alone and with only myself to depend upon and I had so far no experience of standing on my own feet. Furthermore, I was in this condition in a very, very strange land, thousands of miles from home. Ultimately, a fellow passenger and brother Scot named Barker, who was transshipping at Singapore on his way to the oil fields in Miri, British Borneo, suggested I should go with him to the town and find the office of the firm. We stepped into a taxi which soon brought us to the building. There we found everything closed and learned that that day was a public holiday in Singapre and all offices closed. Going into a post office along the street to buy some stamps, I noticed that the door of the bank just opposite was open, so leaving Barker for the moment in the post office I crossed the street and entered the building in the hope of finding someone who could put me in touch with the powers to be of H & C. There was only one man, a European, seated at a desk in the large office and to him, apologising for disturbing him, I explained my difficulty. He was very sympathetic and informed me that I would have very little chance of finding anybody that day and advised me to put up at an hotel and call H & C’s office next day. He asked me where I came from and when I told him Aberdeen, it was strange to hear him remark, ‘Is that so? I was up at Aboyne just the other day.’ He had apparently just returned from leave shortly before. In the course of our conversation he learned of my destination and conditions of employment. When I mentioned that the commencing salary was 250 Guilders a month he exclaimed, ‘What a damned shame. How can they expect anybody to live on that?’ Needless to say, this did not help the least little bit to raise my already fairly low spirits. Happily, however, as it proved, he couldn’t have known what he was talking about. The salary was ample, but he was probably applying Malaya standards to the sum stated. On rejoining Barker, who had also not yet removed his luggage from the ship, we returned to the ‘Khiva’. As I was somewhat apprehensive of putting up at a hotel, being not too flush with money and also not very certain if such a course would have the approval of H & C, and knowing that the ‘Khiva’ was to lie two days in Singapore, I made bold to ask the purser if I could stay the night on board, explaining the circumstances. He just looked down his nose at me and replied, ‘The PO Company undertook to bring you to Singapore. You are here, and we have no further concern with you.’ Since then I have felt that if there should be no other ship available but a P&O liner, I would rather swim than let that company have a penny of my money. However, Barker and I got our luggage together and having passed the Customs without difficulty we repaired to the Adelphi Hotel where we each took a room. The next morning early I was at H & C’s office. Empty apologies, of course, for the blunder and all that and just send the hotel bill to them. I found I had to stay five days in Singapore before I could get a boat to Java and during that time Barker and I wandered about Singapore although I cannot recall very much of what we saw or did. Only two things are vivid in my memory. One occurred the first night I was in the Adelphi. My room, whcih was on the second floor, overlooked a narrow busy street and just after darkness had fallen I was startled by a hellish commotion of shrieks, yells, shouts and shooting from the street below. Quite convinced that I had landed in Singapore to see the beginning of a revolution, I dashed to the balcony rail and peered cautiously down. I then discovered that the noise was caused my some kind of procession, which was preceded by several persons letting off squibs and firecrackers to a running accompaniment of weird yells. I learned later that it was only a Chinese funeral and that all the noise is indulged in with a view of scaring away any which may have evil designs on the soul of the departed. I may state here that my idea of a revolution was not so far fetched because at that very time a fairly serious revolution was taking place in West Java and of which we had had daily wireless bulletins on the ‘Khiva’ and reports in the Singapore newspapers. Fortunately, however, by the time I reached Batavia, where many serious incidents had occurred, the rising had stopped and the authorities had the situation well in hand. It is interesting to note that in the book ‘Out of the Night’ by Jan Valtin, the writer claims that it was he, as a Bolshevik emissary, who conveyed the instructions and plans for the 1926 Java riots to a Chinese woman in Singapore.

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Out from 2 to 3.30 pm. Two ball games, first for veterans. Second game broken off during the first half by order to return to cells. Issue of one packet of 20 ‘Mascot’ cigarettes. These issues are, of course, debited to us and paid for from the money we brought in with us. No money, no cigs. I had about 30 guilders and have since had transferred to may account of 50 guilders and later 25 by my partner, Sparkes, who brought 600 with him. My balance at the moment in the region of 40. The rest has gone on so called medical supplies for which we have had to pay outrageous prices. Exchanged ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ for ‘William Pitt’, a biography by Macevlay. Also reading a crime Penguin, ‘The White Cockatoo’ by M G Eberhard which Benson lent me yesterday.

20 August 1942

2009-07-21T16:13:00.001+01:00

Out yesterday only one hour, 3 to 4 pm. One ball game for veterans over 45. New Officer. Light dim all last night. No alarm.

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Talking with my neighbour No.315 Mr Mingail, about the Port Said nuisance, he told me an amusing story of the experience of a friend of his in that sink of iniquity. One form of nuisance which I have omitted to mention is to be found in the conjurors and sleight of hand merchants who seem to be the first on board when a ship docks. This specialty seems to be the producing and causing to vanish of day old chicks but the programme is varied by sleight of hand with coins etc. On this occasion the conjuror had as usual succeeded in collection a small crowd of passengers around him by various feats of his art when he suddenly said, ‘Will one gentleman give me a £1?’ A spectator handed over a £1 note (the sap) and the conjuror then said to him, ‘Now, gentleman, must say what I say – quick!’ After repeating ‘Go'!’, ‘Come back’, etc while the £1 note, in the hands of the conjuror disappeared and reappeared accordingly, the rascal said, ‘Now gentleman say quick, ‘Run like the devil.’ The gentleman did and the conjuror did, to the great amusement of the other spectators and to the great discomfort of the gentleman concerned, leaving him a poorer, sadder and, let us hope, a wiser man.

I made the acquaintance of some nice people on board, particularly a Mr & Mrs Templeton and a Miss Lund. The Templetons were a Scotch couple. Templeton himself being a mining engineer employed at the mines in Ipoh, FMS (Federated Malay States), returning to duty after furlough. Miss Lund was a middle aged little woman who was going to an estate in Java as governess to the manager’s little daughter. Mrs Templeton undertook to assist me with Malay and, thanks to her helpful hints, when I arrived in Singapore I was fairly capable of making my wants known in that language. Unfortunately, however, these studies did not help me, when I reached Java, where Malay differs greatly from that spoken in the British settlements. The Malay language of Java and other parts of the Dutch East Indies is very much influenced by Dutch and even remnants of Portuguese. I refer, of course, to the colloquial form. Books and newspapers are printed in pure Malay and can be read anywhere by those who understand the pure tongue. Miss Lund, who had held a position in Java before and although she could not speak Dutch, was able to help me considerably with that language by her knowledge of it otherwise. It is quite common to find British people, but especially the English, in Java, who understand Dutch but who do not speak it, either because they dare not, or, as I personally am inclined to believe, because they will not on lamentable conservative principle. We arrived eventually at Colombo where (all I can recall on that occasion) a party of us visited Mount Lavinia Hotel, picturesquely situated on the sea shore. I can also remember how interested I was in the carved, so called ebony, elephants which were being offered for sale along the approach to the hotel. The next port of call was Penang where my friends the Templetons disembarked. They spent the day in Penang, however, and we had a pleasant lunch together in one of the hotels there where I was introduced to the repast known as ‘rice table’, or rijst tafel is it is called in the Indies, where, I understand, it originated. No guide book of the Dutch East Indies or book of memoirs describing a visit to these delectable isles, would be complete without a chapter devoted to the description and the delights of rijstaffel. Although these rambling jottings are neither the one nor the other I shall, however, endeavour to describe rijstaffel procedure. The dish varies greatly in scope and variety but to give an idea of rijstaffel in its most comprehensive and expansive state I cannot do better than take as an example the serving of it as extended at a first class hotel in Java, such as, for instance, Hotel des Indes in Batavia.

Imagine yourself sitting in the large dining room there, preferably under one of the many ceiling fans and that you have decided to indulge in rijstaffel. Having given your order to the ‘boy’ who waits on your table, the decks, so to speak, are first of all cleared for action by the removal of such appurtenance before you as pertain to the eating of European food and the setting before you of a deep soup plate (in some hotels almost twice normal size) a smaller flat plate on the left, and a knife, fork and spoon. The fork and spoon are the actual weapons with which the dish is attacked, the knife only being brought into action occasionally in cutting a piece of meat etc. In due course, a ‘boy’ appears at your elbow offering white boiled rice in a large bowl. Turning to help yourself to rice you will notice a second ‘boy’ behind the first, a third behind the second and so on apparently ad infinitum. If this is your first experience of rijstaffel you may be pardoned if your first inclination is to bolt from the literal chain of events which your simple order has put into operation. From your table, winding like a snake among the other tables in the dining room, right to the entrance to the kitchen, in a procession of dusky, white clad waiters, each bearing a dish in each hand. And as each submits his particular offering and moves on, it seems that another adds himself to the chain emerging from the kitchen until you feel that you are doomed for the rest of your life to being served only and that the time will never come when you will be allowed to start eating. The second ‘boy’ presents a greenish liquid which is a sort of soup of green vegetables and which serves more or less to dampen the rice already heaped on your plate. Thereafter in succession you are offered a truly bewildering variety of dishes representing fish, meat, poultry, vegetables etc in a myriad disguises, practically all flavoured and spices with strange and assorted sauces. Meat appears, in addition to plain sliced roast, shredded and fried mixed with grated coconut for mixture, chicken livers and kidneys diced floating in a brown sauce, fish friend or salted, eggs smothered in curry sauce or other condiment, cucumber garnished with Spanish pepper, chicken roast or curried, oysters and shrimps boiled or fried with various sauces and a countless assortment of concoctions in which fried bananas, tomatoes, peanuts, grated coconut are mixed, each having its distinctive flavour depending on the mixture and spices and sauces employed. Without foreknowledge or more or less expert advice in choosing these dishes, you will probably feel that the top of your head has blown off as the result of your having unwittingly put into your mouth a spoonful of skillfully camouflaged chili peppers. For real, rip snorting dynamite, I commend you to the chili peppers (tjabe) of Java. You are, of course, perfectly free in your choice and selection of the dishes offered you but there is a real art in knowing what to accept or refuse and also how much, or rather how little, of each dish. if you are tempted to take large portions from, say, the offerings of the first 10 boys you will be sorely put to it to find room on your plate and side plate for the very appetising looking dishes which ‘boy’ number 26 or 27 presents to you. Generally speaking, the side plate is used for pieces of meat, game, fish etc, the cutting up of which would be impracticable on the deep plate which is heaped with rice and the other 57 varieties. In the actual eating of rijstaffel you may mix the whole up together, thus combining all taste and flavours, or you may flit from meat to fish, fish to chicken etc achieving a different effect on the palate which each accompanying spoonful of rice. By the time you are finished eating, you will feel that you will not require another bite of food for another week at least and your immediate desire will be to retire to your bedchamber and to spend the next 3 hours in profound meditation.

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Out from 3 to 4.15 pm. One ball game. A chap named McLaren in the East Wing got a nasty smack on the nose playing ball last week and was afraid it might be broken. He went on sick report and the doc without even examining or feeling his nose prescribed him some aspirin powders. My neighbour, Mingail, who has a sprained ankle goes to the doctor tomorrow and we are expecting that the treatment in his case will be a dose of castor oil

19 August 1942

2009-07-18T10:08:00.001+01:00

Out yesterday from 3 to 4.30 pm. Usual ball games. Lights dim again last night with complete black out from 8.30 to 9.30 pm. Food is improving every day. Excellent soup yesterday afternoon – also a mug of tea. This morning our trusty came round the cells asking whether we preferred tea or coffee in the morning. My hat! If this thing continues we shall be thoroughly spoiled in no time and we shall have to be forcibly persuaded to go home when the time comes.

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As the time of departure drew near, realisation of all that it meant became clearer and the thought of breaking with loved ones and dear lifelong associations counter balanced my exited imagination which leapt forward to the expectation of strange scenes and a new way of life. At last the inevitable day of parting came, the 13th October 1926 and in memory I am seated for the last time at the tea table, eating bread and butter with boiled ham and tomato sauce and having a dreadful struggle to swallow each mouthful, father, mother and sister being no more successful in that operation. I had taken leave of my fiancée the night before. We became officially engaged in the course of the last week and I had bought an engagement ring out of the money remaining to me after purchasing my outfit. At the station there was quite a turnout of relatives. Partings such as these are too sacred to be described in detail. Sufficient to say that in due course I found myself in a railway carriage being whirled away rapidly towards the unknown, really alone for the first time in my 23 years, feeling very lonely and sad and not a little apprehensive as to what was to become of me now that I must stand on my own feet and make my way through life by my own unaided efforts. Mother used always to say, ‘The young birdies maun spread their wings’, which, is, of course, true, but I must confess that my wings were pitifully weak when my flight commenced. My uncle Joe had very kindly suggested that I should spend a day or two with him and his family in London before embarking, hence my departure from Aberdeen 3 days before the actual sailing date. Joe came with me to the boat and as we moved away down the river I stood and looked and looked at him, waving until he was no longer distinguishable among the many who stood on the quay and then, turning away, I looked forward on our course realising that the last link with all that had been my life before had snapped. On board the ‘Khiva’ I found that I shared a cabin, 2nd class, with an Italian named Vaccaro who was a saleman of some kind. It is amusing to recall that I considered him foppish because he was in the habit of rubbing his face with Eau de Cologne after shaving, a confirmed drunkard because he now and then became a bit noisy on account of having taken the slightest drop too much, and morally depraved because he had brought a copy of La Vie Parisienne along with him. Oh, I WAS young and green and strait laced at that age with a vengeance. Since then, many is the bottle of Eau de Cologne I have used for the same purpose and more often than I care to recall have I been much more drunk than Vaccaro ever was, although to be quite frank literature of the La Vie Parisienne class had never appealed to me. We became quite good friends, however, and he taught me to sing ‘Mussolini, nostre Duce’ while I on my part improvised an accompaniment for same on the piano. But one night, when we were in the Red Sea, Vaccaro’s behaviour was too much for my then Puritan soul and resulted in my requesting a transfer to another cabin the next day. His offence was by no means henous but I was extremely shocked my this standing at our cabin door with only his trousers on and calling ‘Coo-ee’ along the passage in the hope of attracting some female attention. I was really sorry about the transfer after a few days because I had offended my Italian friend deeply by my action, but the damage was done. I was ashamed of myself then and I am more ashamed of myself now and I should like to have the opportunity of apologising to Vaccaro for my narrow minded foolishness. But there, how many things do we not do throughout our lives which cause us regret and remorse to the end of our days. That is the cross we all have to bear and the fashioning and burden of it are of our own making. In changing my quarters I had a bunk in a three berth cabin and the great joke was that, although such was my state of innocence that I did not realise it till 12 years later, I had then a couple of sodomites for company. The explanation of much that had then been only mildly puzzling became clear to me when the clean up of homosexuals in the DEI and elsewhere startled everybody in the Far East in 1939. But of that, more later. The voyage, once the novelty of shipboard life had worn off, was rather uneventful except, of course, for stoppages at ports of call which were Port Said, Colombo, Penang and, for me, finally Singapore. At Port Said I was fascinated with the spectacle afforded in coaling operations going on in a vessel close to where the ‘Khiva’ was lying. The sight of hundreds of apparently sub humans, dirty, ragged and pitch black, running squealing, shrieking and shouting in unending streams up and down planks stretching from quay to ship, each bearing a basket on his head, was like a peep into some choice corner of Hell itself. And then the mystery of black veiled women with their noses seemingly enclosed in a metal casing, and the swarming touts and vendors of Birmingham manufactured relics of TutanKhamen who kept shouting ‘Aye Aye Mr Mackintosh, Ah’m Mr Macpherson, frae Aiberdeen, Ethel Macfechel, Auchtermuchty’. These pests gathered and hung around us like flies as soon as we set foot on shore and were not to be shaken off by any means what ever. Several of them specialised in ‘Dirty postcards, sir, dirty postcards’ and kept trying to entice one away from the party round a corner to prove their assertion. There was a young Lancashire lad on board whose dialect sounded to me like a foreign language until the night we left Port Said. He emerged from his cabin cursing and sweating with extreme fluency and lucidity carrying a packet of plain postcards in his hand, the wrapping around which he had just then removed in anticipation of all the merchant, by means of sample cards, had guaranteed him. The plain postcards were no doubt better for his morals than the others would have been but his experience did not seem to have bred in him a spirit of Christian resignation and thanksgiving for temptation removed. Of course, I had to pay a visit to the world famous emporium of Simon Arts and it was too much to be expected that I should get back to the ship without a box of genuine tasteless Turkish Delight. I pride myself that I avoided that pitfall when I again visited Port Said. We left Port Said in the evening after dark so I missed seeing something I had been looking forward to – the Suez Canal, but that loss was fully compensated for 11 years later.

18 August 1942

2009-07-08T16:18:00.001+01:00

Lights dim last night and also from 9.30 to 11 pm. Again this morning from 9.45 to 10.30. Book issue yesterday afternoon. I have ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ very small print. Had a shave this morning with my rolls and have taken off my moustache just to see what has been behind it all these years. The revelation does not greatly please me so now that my curiosity is satisfied I shall let it grow again. Razors are issued about every 10 days. These together with all other sharp objects like scissors, nail clippers and nail files had to be surrendered on entering here. Goodness knows why – there are plenty of other ways to committing suicide if one is determined to do such a silly thing. The only chance of getting one’s nails cut is to go on sick report and to take advantage of the presence of an impossible pain of surgical scissors in the dispensary. I had my rib painted again with iodine yesterday, thanks to my getting through the door to the dresser as he passed along the corridor. It feels better but is still far from being as it should be. Lay till 9 o’clock this morning. Our daily routine is as follows: Awakened by the clutter of breakfast preparations in the corridor between 5 and 5.30 am, the cell doors are opened a few at a time at 6 am and we pick up our plate of rice porridge or ketan hitam (black sticky rice pudding) which has been laid down outside the door and extend our mugs for coffee which is brought round in a large basin carried by two coolies. The rice is slightly sweetened but there does not seem to be any sugar in the coffee. I improve matters by adding sugar and powdered milk, of which fortunately I still have supplies. Having partaken of this repast in the half dark, the empty plates are recollected and at about the same time the first light for cigarettes, or pipes is brought round. All matches and lighters were taken away after we had been about a month. The light, or ‘api’ as it is called in Malay, is given by means of a smoldering piece of twisted rope which is pushed at us through a small circular hole of about 1.25 inches in diameter whcih is situated at about chest level in the iron door of the cell. Immediately above this hole which can be closed from the outside by a circular metal shutter, there is a small window of thick glass measuring about 9 by 2.5 inches, which is practically fully covered by a metal flap hinged above it on the outside so that we can be fully observed if necessary while our view of the corridor is limited to a mere strip under the bottom of the flap. i never smoke so early in the day so after the plates have been removed I go back to bed where I stay until the bell, which hangs just inside the main entrance of the prison, strikes 9 am. I have quite a comfortable bed. I have three prison blankets. Three months ago when the grass was cut outside, it was left in heaps in the exercising yard and I took advantage of this opportunity to make myself a mattress out of one blanket by having it doubled in the length and sewed up into a bad which I filled with the fresh, dry hay. Mr Frommelt, a South African missionary did the sewing for me as I had then no needle and thread of my own. A few others followed my example and more would no doubt have done so, had the further removal of hay not been forbidden soon afterwards. I lie on the mattress with the second blanket spread over it and use the third for cover and sleep as snug as a bug in a rug. On getting up, blankets etc are shaken out at the window and then I commence my housework which comprises going over the inside of the door, the cupboard, table and chair with a damp rag, cleaning the toilet inside and out and finishing up with swilling out the whole floor with water and drying off with my rag – an old pair of prison pyjama trousers issued to me during the first week. Every ten days or so I go over the walls and ceiling with my small broom, wash my bed frame with soap suds to keep away the bugs, and clean my windows and bars. The window opening which measures approximately 6 feet high by 2.5 feet broad is barred by 4 vertical iron bars strengthened by a cross bar in the middle and set in an iron frame built into the concrete walls. These bars are equidistant from each other about 6 inches apart. The bottom of the window is about 3.5 feet from the floor. On the inside, there are three window panes which can be opened or closed at will. The upper frame, of four glass panes, covers the top half of the window opening and opens inwards and downwards like a skylight. The lower half has 2 frames of 2 panes each which open inwards from the centre, one to each side. Housework occupies about an hour and, that done, I wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair and dress. Dressing means putting on an undershirt, a pair of shorts, socks and sometimes a sports shirt or pyjama jacket if the morning is chilly, as it often is. When very cold, I wear long khaki trousers in addition to all the rest. After performing my toilet I have my first cigarette of the day, usually at 10 am. The ‘api’ collie comes round the cells about once an hour the whole day until lights out. After the cigarette and a chat with my next door neighbour on my left, I usually write these notes, read, play patience, sew, darn or wash some clothes according to the exigencies of the moment. At noon, lunch is served. Two courses are the rule – soup and rice.

The soup is made from a variety of vegetable and with the rice, in addition to the variable dab of hot spicy compound (sambal) or other mysterious native concoction, we sometimes get half a duck egg, salted or fresh. Three times in four months we have had a small dried fish which stinks to high heaven but which has nevertheless been highly acceptable as providing some taste to the palate. The plate of rice we pick up from the ground, the soup we receive in our tin plates from a big basin as with the morning coffee. After lunch and plates removed, a smoke and chat and I then let down my bed and lie, usually reading, sometimes dozing until recreation time which has been lately roughly from 3 to 5 pm. Recreation over, we return to the cells to be let out for a shower in batches of 10 or 15 minutes, later. The bathroom, each containing 4 showers, are situated at the end of each wing nearest the centre of the building. The prison is built in the form of a cross within a square. The cross, two storied, contains cells, about 130 to each wing, the wings being designated North, East, South and West respectively. My cell #316, is on the ground floor of the South wing, the sixth cell from the far end. The arms of the cross radiating from a circular hall in the centre run towards the corners of the square of workshops, offices, hospital etc which forms the outer wall of the prison so that within the precincts four open triangles are thus formed, each triangle being bounded by one side of the square and two sides of the cross. The cross and square stand quite free of each other, the end of each arm being about 10 or 12 yards from its respective corner. The southwest and southeast triangles which are situated at the rear are used as exercising yards, the other two are more or less planted up with shrubs and flowerbeds.

After the bath, supper is served and consists, like the lunch, of soup and rice, although the soup is usually rather tasty and thicker by the addition of peas than at midday. On Tuesdays and Fridays a small piece of boiled meat is added, also two bananas. Supper is served at 5 pm and plates are removed and cells locked for the night about half an hour later. Until the lights dim at 10.30 pm the time is passed in smoking, chatting with one’s near neighbours, reading and playing patience. Each day is exactly like the other except that on Sundays breakfast is half an hour later. Depending on the whim of the doctor in charge, and changes in command occur about every 5 days, our recreation hour may be in the forenoon, afternoon, or both and can vary from only 20 minutes to 3 hours.

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Note from Pat O’Neill

Sukamiskin prison was used from the late 1920's as a prison for Indonesian nationalists and was known to the people as a symbol of colonial suppression. President Sukarno was here in prison, after his conviction in the sensational trial against him and some other Indonesian leaders in December 1930. The irony was that Sukarno some years earlier, during a short period as an architect, probably worked on the building drawings himself. During the Japanese occupation Sukamiskin was a prison for Dutch civil servants, until February 1944.
http://www.geocities.com/bandungcity/paseban.htm

17 August 1942

2009-06-26T16:55:00.001+01:00

Out yesterday 3 to 5.15 pm/ Three ball games. Supper very late – 7 pm instead of 5 pm but worth waiting for. A change form the Ketan Hitam this morning. Rib improving but still painful. In spite of doctor’s instructions that the part should be painted with iodine every day, this has not been done. As the medical service is here, it would be very surprising indeed it it had been. I shall just have to practice Christian Science. Two alarms already this morning but quite evidently only practice.

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I returned to Braemar the same day and finished my holiday there. A letter from Harrisons and Crosfield awaited me at home, with the request to be at their office in London on the following Tuesday for interview. It was asking rather much to require leave of absence the very day after I had resumed duty but I was granted one day which was quite enough for my purpose. I accordingly left Aberdeen at 7 pm of Monday evening, arriving in London at 7 o’clock next morning, returning by a train leaving London at 7 pm Tuesday which got me to Aberdeen by 7 am Wednesday morning, in good time for work. Arrived at King’s Cross Station, I had a wash and shave in the toilet rooms there and then breakfasted in the Station restaurant. My interview was for 10 o’clock but I was already in the vicinity of Great Tower Street by 9 am and sat on a bench on Tower Hill overlooking the Tower of London until the appointed hour.

I was interviewed by Mr Mitchell and Mr Thom who himself was a native of Dyce and the ordeal passed pleasantly. At one point during his questioning he said to me, ‘You are not thinking of getting married, are you,’ to which I replied trustfully and rather bashfully, ‘No, not yet – but I have a girl.’ This simple question and reply were to have momentous consequences later. However, after an interview of about half an hour, Mr Thom expressed himself satisfied and intimated to me that the appointment was mine. The contract would be made up and I must return at 3 pm to append my signature and receive my copy of the document, together with sailing instructions etc. Greatly elated at my good fortune, my first action on leaving the building was to send off a telegram to my parents which contained only two words ‘Got it’. Thereafter, feeling in fine fettle I set out to see as much of London as my limited time would allow of. Somehow or other, I found my way to the Monument which I climbed. It was a beautiful sunny day and the panorama of the great city spread out below me amply compensated for my breathlessness. I forget exactly how many steps there are in the Monument but more than enough is a fairly accurate estimate.

From there I found the direction of St Paul’s Cathedral which I reached in due course and where I ascended to the Whispering Gallery, in which the guide demonstrated the famous acoustic properties, and then to the top of the immense dome itself from which another magnificent view compensated me for my weary legs.

I must have lunched somewhere but have no recollection of the proceeding and at 3 pm duly presented myself again at the office in Great Tower Street. The contract awaited me, an imposing looking document of 8 foolscap pages simply bristling with seals and flourishing signatures. As our American cousins would put it, it sure looked a million dollars but it proved itself latterly to be as valuable as the illuminated share certificate of a phoney gold mine. Mr Thom informed me that I would sail on 16 October from London by SS Khiva of the P & O line, transshipping for Java at Singapore, where I could apply to their office there for the necessary assistance and that the boat would be met by a representative who would arrange accommodation etc in Singapore for me. On arrival at Batavia, Java, I should also be met and taken under the wing of a member of the office staff there who would see to it that I reached Langen Estate safely and in one piece. I was also advised to buy Hossfeld’s Dutch Grammar and Hugo’s Dutch Simplified. This I duly did and to this day have never got beyond the first page of Hossfield. But I must confess that Hugo’s book was very helpful indeed. I spent my few remaining hours in London on the open top decks of buses, enjoying myself immensely in the contemplation of the most fascinating sight London can offer – the traffic. A few days after my return to Aberdeen, I received my passage ticket and luggage labels and a cheque for £10 travelling expenses. I was however very short of money for the purchase of the necessary outfit and consequently rather worried on that account. I was at Northern Branch at the time and I confided my difficulty to Mr Grainger who very kindly approached a friend of his, a depositor at Northern, on the matter. This was Mr William Riddoch, an elderly cattle dealer, with whom I myself was only slightly acquainted, but whom I learned to regard as a true friend and to respect as a Christian gentleman of the finest type. William Riddoch was a bachelor and a plain honest living and God fearing man whose guide in all his dealing with his fellowmen was the Good Book. I learned later that I was by no means the first, and I am sure not the last, young man whom he assisted in a practical manner towards the goal of his ambitions. In fact, it was rather a hobby of his to do good in this way. Briefly, he advance me the sum of £60 which I undertook to repay as soon as I could. I am glad to say that I did so within the year, thus discharging the financial obligation. His kindness can never be repaid. He himself considered that he was amply repaid if his protégés made good and was always ready to adopt one, even although in some cases he had been bitterly disappointed in his trust and his kindness shamefully abused. When I expressed my gratitude to him, he replied, ‘ That’s alright laddie. But just remember later when you have the means and opportunity to help some young lad as I am helping you now. That’s all I want.’ Could there be a better rule for living than that? William Riddoch was a simple man with I imagine, little education, but with more men of his stamp and less so called education, this world would be an infinitely better place. He as passed on now but to me his memory will every be green and I shall not fail him in his precept.

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Out from 3.10 to 4.30 pm. Ball games. Bill Leslie got a parcel in yesterday from Lydia. He gave me 2 biscuits, double ones with icing in between and 3 candy balls. All finished. I have still got 2 squares of Swiss milk toffee and 5 Capstans.

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My outfit was soon purchased and packed in a steel trunk which I bought from Shirras Long and a suitcase which was a parting gift from the Grosvenor Choir. I had quite forgotten about my Choir until mention of the suitcase reminded me of my career as a choir conductor. It is difficult to recall how it came about exactly but I suppose I was asked to form the choir which was composed of members of the ILP (the Independent Labour Party) of which my mother, having inherited her father’s interest in matters political, was an active supporter. Politics have never interested me but if I have had my leaning in that direction at all, it has been towards the Socialist movement on account of its practical policy of endeavouring to secure better conditions for the masses. I spent many pleasant evenings in the Grosvenor Rooms in Bridge Street where the ILP members foregathered and where, after the Grosvenor Choir was formed, rehearsals were held. The choir was a mixed one of about 45 members, some staff readers but the majority sol fa and it was due much more, I am sure, to the unbounded enthusiasm of the choir as a while than to my capabilities as a conductor that the enterprise was so successful. Without boasting, I think I can claim that the Grosvenor Choir was as good an amateur ensemble as could have been found in Aberdeen at that time. It was, I believe, in 1924 that the choir was formed and I remember very well our first performance which took place one Sunday evening in the Picturedrome in Rosemount Viaduct. In addition to the many part songs, about 12 in number, there were solos and quartettes and instrumental items as well as a few humorous Scotch recitations and our debut was an unqualified success. From the ranks I had been singularly fortunate in forming a mixed quartette whcih , for the perfect blending of four voices, I have never heard equalled. None of the voices was a powerful one and no ne voice at any time predominated so that singing in harmony was well nigh perfect, and especially in such a part song as Sweet and Low. My sister Marjory was the soprano, Edith duff (?) the alto, Frank Pirie, tenor and Alex Catto (latter Councilor) bass. Frank Pirie possessed one of the sweetest natural tenor voices I have ever heard. He was very thin and consumptive looking and solo singing was apt to distress him somewhat. Hardly to be wondered at considering that the poor chap was under nourished and had been out of work for about 2 years already at that time. He was one of the finest men I have met and it is a privilege to have known him. Poor frank was one of the victims of the first bombing attacks on Aberdeen in September 1940. When I resigned from the conductorship on leaving for Java, my uncle Peter took over the choir but some six months later, I believe, it was disbanded. However, as I have already stated, the Choir presented me with a splendid leather suitcase which I used still and which forms a link with a very happy period of my life.

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Note from Pat O’Neill

Last year my daughter was taken to the Whispering Gallery where her future husband proposed, little realising that her grandfather had been there all those years ago!

16 August 1942

2009-06-24T16:23:00.001+01:00

Last night lights dim till 9 pm then complete black out till 11 pm after which lights dim for the rest of night. Rib still painful, pain now localised under right breast. Twenty odd new people including 2 women, have arrived and are in the West wing. Too far to see who or what they are.

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Mention of John Wilkinson reminds me of a serious illness I had, in, I believe, 1932, of which John was the indirect cause but not in the least responsible. He was a very fine swimmer and one Saturday afternoon while we were together in the Bathing Station of the Beach, I persuaded him to teach me to dive from the springboard. I got the knack of it in due course and was so enthusiastic that I kept on diving long after John had left the bathing station.l The same evening I had a bad headache with a dull throbbing in the ears and by the next morning I was in agony with earache and running a high fever. The doctor was called, diagnosed abscesses in both ears and prescribed treatment. For days I lay practically unconscious with the intense pain. In due course, thanks to my mother’s careful nursing, the pain subsided, but leaving me as weak as a kitten – and stone deaf! The doctor told my mother that there was nothing more to be done as both eardrums were perforated and that I would never recover my hearing. Fortunately, I was not aware of the verdict, whcih was probably just as well and my mother refused to accept it. on her own responsibility she intensified the treatment, washing out and dressing my ears every hour, day and night, and achieved a miracle. My hearing gradually came back until eventually it was as good as formerly, probably better on account of the drastic clearing my ears had undergone during the treatment. I owe the recovery of my sense of hearing to my mother alone, God bless her. It was during those years, too, when I took enthusiastically to the Muller System of physical training, to which I was introduced by Douglas Campbell, and there can be no doubt that this habit stood me in good stead in later life, building up, as it did, latent powers of resistance to disease and reserves of physical strength. In my opinion, the Muller System stands alone and in view of its simplicity and the absence of any complicated or expensive apparatus in its execution, is within the reach of every young man or woman who is willing to sacrifice a few packets of cigarettes or a pound of chocolates to procure the book ‘My System’ which costs only a few shillings. No investment will ever pay larger dividends. The desire to get out into the world still being strong within me, I tried on two occasions, before finally breaking away in 1926, to satisfy the urge of applying for a position, first with the Hudson’s Bay Company and later with a Bank in Cuba. My lack of inches debarred me from consideration for the Hudson’s Bay appointment, the minimum height stipulated being 5ft 8ins, and in the second case, the conditions did not sufficiently appeal to me. For a year or two, my wanderlust slumbered until in 1926 it was awakened by the fact of James Webster having secured a planting job in Java. This started me off on hunting through the ‘situations vacant’ columns of the papers again and, sure enough, about the middle of August, and just as Jimmy Webster must have been disembarking in Java, the following advertisement appeared in the Scotsman, the newspaper which was to be found each morning on the counter at Head Office:

‘Assistant wanted for Rubber Plantation in Java. Apply to Harrisons and Crosfield, Ltd, Gt Tower Street, London’

The same day I wrote applying for the position and a few days later received a questionnaire which I was requested to fill in and return. This I did and then followed a few weeks of excited speculation and expectation. In this interim my annual holiday, which I always took in the last week of August and the first week in September, intervened and it was after having been a week in Braemar that I received a forwarded telegram from London requesting me to submit myself to a designated doctor in Aberdeen for medical examination. The telegram arrived on Friday evening and the next morning I started early to cycle the 16 miles to Ballater where I caught the train for Aberdeen. Arrived there, I first dashed home to communicate the news and then proceeded as quickly as the tramcar could take me to the house of the doctor, whose name I forget, in Albyn Place. Such was my excitement, that, between trams, I was under the urgent necessity of relieving myself in the public urinal at the King’s Statue, a circumstance which was to have a rather ludicrous consequence. The doctor put me through examination which culminated, naturally, in the request for a urine sample. Having never been examined in this exhaustive fashion before, the request, or rather command, was quite unexpected and as in addition the source of supply had been exhausted a very short time previously, I was quite nonplussed. However, I had to make an effort, but after 5 minutes behind a screen with a tumbler in my hand, I had perforce to give it up as a bad job and to reappear shamefacedly with a still empty glass, confessing to the medically inability at that juncture to deliver the goods. He looked at me with that half amused half contemptuous smile which doctors seem to reserve for such a confession (I wonder why?) and then suggested that I should come back two hours later for the purpose. I therefore returned home where I spent the time granted me in drinking glass after glass of water until I was almost in danger of drowning or, at least, of becoming completely waterlogged. At the doctor’s house again at the appointed hour, the door, in answer to my ring, was opened by a very young and attractive maid who immediately asked me if I was Mr Smith, explaining that the doctor as not then at hoe but that I had to telephone him at a number she gave me. From the half smile playing about her life I received a strong impression that this lass knew my secret. I rang up the doctor on his own phone and he gave me clear instructions for finding the necessary receptacle which he had placed for me on a shelf in his surgery. My suspicion that the maid knew what it was all about became a certainty when, after, hanging up the telephone and without having yet spoken a word, she said, ‘This way, Sir,’ showing me immediately into the surgery and the maid, still with a badly concealed amused expression on her face, showed me out of the house, which I left with a face as red as a beetroot and the fervent wish that I should obtain the Java appointment, if for no other reason than that I should not be exposed to the chance of coming face to face again with the girl in question.

15 August 1942

2009-06-17T08:37:00.001+01:00

The prison siren has gone twice in the past hour. It is now 11.30 am. Perhaps practice, perhaps not. Long in bed till 9 am. Yesterday afternoon did my rib no good by throwing ball which had gone over line, back on to field. Quite forgot I was not fit but the action reminded me of the fact very sharply. dimmed light all last night. At 9 pm the most wonderful astronomical phenomenon I have ever witnessed. A shooting star or comet of a brilliance which turned the darkness to daylight travelled across the sky from the east to west. The light lasted at least 10 seconds and I thought at first that it was a parachute flare. Let us hope that this is a happy omen of what is to come. The direction from which the star came is the right one and it is starts we are looking for.

__________________________________

During my years in the Bank many changes occurred within the family circle. I may be somewhat lazy as to the exact date but it was in 1923 I think, that my grandfather died. My grandmother followed him the next year and in 1925, I believe, the family of still unmarried aunts and one uncle emigrated to America. It may seem strange that when referring to grandfather, grandmother, uncles and aunts, these are always of my mother’s side. The reason is because my father was the only member of his family in Aberdeen. When I was very young, grandfather and grandmother Smith stayed in Northfield Place. in thinking of grandfather, a picture forms in my mind of myself standing at a table, with the top of which my head is just at a level, watching with greedy expectant eyes while a fairly tall, grey haired and rather gaunt man is preparing to break up a large peppermint ‘pandrop’ with the hammer he has in his hand. That is my only memory of grandfather Smith. He must have died when I was about 3 or 4 and then my grandmother removed to Edinburgh to take up house with her youngest son. She returned to Aberdeen some four or five years later, staying with us for a few months but later taking up residence in a small house in a side street of Powis Place, the name of which escapes me. I recollect her a small bent body, still fresh complexioned, blue eyed and with her greying brown hair drawn tightly back from her forehead and gathered into a ‘bun’ at the back of her head.

________________________________

2.30 pm had just been to doctor from 12.30 t0 2.10. We go in batches of 5 or 10 at a time and come back in the same way, being searched both going and coming. My rib is not broken, probably only a severely strained muscle. the part painted with iodine, sunbaths and rest advised. We have a new doctor, an Indonesian, Sastrowirojo, I believe his name is. Door of hospital was open, so saw and waved to Sparkes. We have just been issued with 2 packets of 20 Mascot cigarettes each. Today we begin 5th month here and this is only the third time we have got cigarettes. On 13 June we got 40 Davros cigs and on 17 July 20 Mascots.

_____________________

My only vivid recollection of Grannie Smith is seeing her wandering all over the house peering at everything while drying her face after washing. It was a habit of hers to do this and I know it used to amuse my sister and myself greatly. I do not think she could have been a type to inspire affection otherwise my memories of her would no doubt be much clearer! From what I gathered in after years, I believe she was the type of mother who disapproved of daughters in law on general principle and consequently relations between her and my mother were not cordial. In my father’s family there were four sons and one daughter. The eldest son, David, emigrated to Canada many years ago. As far as I am aware, he never married. The second son, John, was my father; the third William, killed in a railway accident a few years ago, was married and resided in Glasgow as did also the only daughter, Jean, who, I understand had made an unfortunate marriage and was consequently pretty much lost sight of. The youngest son, James, residing in Edinburgh, was also unfortunate in ,matrimony and divorced his wife after a few years. I do not believe that correspondence passed between the brothers and sister and consequently the uncles and aunt on my father’s side are known to me practically only from hearsay. My maternal grandfather, George Mackintosh Riach, was a clever man and gifted with great organising ability. In a higher walk of life, he would doubtless have achieved distinction. As it was in a humble way, he was well known in Aberdeen and, when younger, took a very active part in the support of various candidates for municipal honours. He claimed descent on the maternal side from the Mackintosh as the result of a misalliance between a groom and a daughter of the illustrious family, but how many generations back, I never heard tell. Every Saturday evening a sort of forum was held at my grandparents’ house where the politics of the day were discussed and argued with various members of the family, my grandfather, so to speak, occupying the chair. There is no doubt that he possessed a wonderful insight into things political and a keep foresight of the trend of events and, young as I was, then, I used to enjoy these Saturday evening parliaments. During the War, we were deprived for the time being of the Aberdonians famed morning rolls – in local parlance, ‘buttery rowies’. How it came about I cannot recall but on a certain occasion I found myself competing with my grandfather on a poetic contest in connection with this circumstance for a wager of a penny. The family were the judges and on the appointed evening, grandfather read his poem, which went as follows:

Oor forefathers likit their bannocks and ale
And aye kept good store in their bowies
But for enjoyment what niver can fail
Is a breakfast wi’ buttery rowies.

For general acclaim I won the penny by submitting the

Ode to the Departed Buttery

Broom an’ crisp, ye used tae lie within yer paper buggie
Far be ye noo, say I, ma bonnie buttery rowie?
But soon, I’m sure, ye’ll come again to cheer oor hairts forlorn
An’ we’ll see ye on the table aince mair at breakfast ivery morn.

The breaking up of the family, more or less inevitable after the death of both grandparents, brought to an end the joyous Hogmanay reunions which had characterised the ‘Clan, as we called ourselves, from my earliest years. My uncle Joe was by the time married and settled down in London. My aunt Innes, Margaret (Peggy), Eliza (Betty) and Charlotte and my uncle Johnnie, also John Wilkinson, Charlotte’s fiancé, emigrated to America, settling in Detroit. Charlotte and John Wilkinson later went to South Africa and now live in Maraisburg, Transvaal and have one daughter, May. Some years after the general emigration, my uncle Joe, with his wife, Winnie and their two children, George and Pamela, joined the American contingent in Detroit where all still reside. It is a rather unusual fact that I have never addressed my aunts or uncle by such titles but always by their Christian names, as between brothers and sisters, but how this came about I do not know, although it is probably due to childish license being allowed in this respect until it became too late to remedy the defect.

_________________________

Out from 3 to 4.15 pm. Only one ball game. Chinese were not out with us today but have had their outing by themselves later and now playing a ball game against the Indonesian team.

14 August 1942

2009-06-11T13:38:00.001+01:00

Lights came on dim yesterday at 8pm and remained so. Played a few games of patience but even that rather tiring in bad light. Have gone on sick report today – wonder if the doctor will come? Lay in bed till 9.30 this morning. That is the latest way we have discovered of passing the time. We go back to bed after breakfast and shout insults at each other about laziness until we get up 2 or 3 hours later. We are all much cheerier now that the restriction on talking appears to have lapsed. During the reign of terror, as we call it, and which lasted from the end of June until the beginning of this month, a beating up in the cell or through the window was our portion, not only for talking but for the most trivial offences, such as hanging something to dry out of the window or even leaving the window closed. The annoying thing was that we were quite unaware of any infringement of rule until we were punished for it. Each guard seemed to be a law unto himself and for a time we did not know whether we were standing on our heads or our heels. It was like living in a madhouse run by the patients themselves.

__________________

Among the senior staff I must not forget James Smith, whose position was that of second teller. He was the most interesting personality and a clearer case of a square peg in a round hole would have been difficult to find. His ruling passion was the love of literature and he may best be described as a literary intellectual. Tall, very thin and consumptive looking, with a slight stoop and a nervous habit of opening and closing his eyes quickly when animated, he possessed an intelligent face with a fine forehead, broad, high and intellectual which however tapered away to a weak mouth and an indecisive chin. He was very highly strung and lacked confidence in himself in his work. if Fate had been kinder to him and had given him the means to devote himself entirely to his favourite subject, I have no doubt that the world would have benefitted by some interesting ‘belles lettres’ and philosophical works from his pen. I was delighted to hear that after his retirement he was appointed Librarian at Marischal College and it is pleasant to know that the last years of his life were spent in the atmosphere which his soul craved. To James Smith also i am in no small measure indebted for the introduction to many books of which otherwise I should have remained ignorant. My contemporaries on the staff were Robert Wilson, James C Webster and George B Rose and each was an individual type. Wilson was tall and thin, red haired and blue eyed. He moved, thought and spoke slowly and altogether gave the impression of always being only half awake. A negative personality on the whole, it is not surprising, considering his sleepy manner, that he was nicknamed ‘Dopey’. I seem to remember that he was in due course appointed agent of the Savings Bank at Wick where he may even now be hibernating to his heart’s content. A very different type was James Webster. Sturdily built of average height, with brown hair, blue eyes and a real fighting chin, Webster as a pugnacious individual who went about with a chip on his shoulder. It was his nature to be quarrelsome and dogmatic and presumable he could not help himself, but it is disappointing to reflect that these characteristics were responsible for his early downfall when he already had become established in a position which promised a successful future. He left the Bank about a month before I did, to take up an appointment as a tea planter on one of Harrisons and Crosfield’s states in Java, and if he had been able to put a curb on his temper and tongue he would by this time have been an Estate Manager. Webster was intelligent and being as he was unamenable to discipline in any form whatsoever, he quarreled with the manager of his estate with the result that his contract with the Company was not renewed after the first 5 years and he returned to Aberdeen, no doubt a sadder and I hope, a wiser man, and where he had drifted from one clerking job to another ever since, living on the dole between times and, I am sure, having a hard struggle to provide for his wife and two children. When I last saw him, on 1938, he was holding a temporary clerking job in Campbell's Ltd, the motorcar hiring establishment but before I left Aberdeen he was thrown again on the dole. It was quite tragic to me, to whom it was evident that Jimmy would have given 10 years of his life for another chance in Java, and who saw him now cooped up in two rooms in a tenement in Huntley Street as compared with the fine house he had on Andola Estate, up in the hills of the most beautiful part of Java, and with at least four servants at his beck and call. I tried on two occasions to get him a planting job, but naturally the companies concerned approached Harrisons and Crosfield for reference and presumably their report was sufficient to damn him as a candidate for the vacancies and my efforts had no success. It is a great pity because I feel that Webster would have made a capital planter and a very capable Estate manager. George Rose was in a class by himself and frankly to me it was always a mystery that he was retained in the Bank’s service. He was so obviously all that an aspiring banker should not have been. even at that young age he was old in the minor vises, haunting low class billiard saloons and consorting with so called sporting individuals, in addition to possessing don Juan propensities which gave a distinctive flavour to his conversation. Fairly tall, slim, fair and pasty faced with a loose, weak mouth, he affected the flashy manner of the ‘sport’, employing in speech the slang vocabulary appropriate to such a character. It did not surprise me so much to learn some years ago that he had been sent to penal servitude for the embezzlement of some £6,000 as to find that he had actually succeeded in doing so as a branch manager of the Aberdeen Savings Bank. At thee same time, I cannot believe that George was a criminal at heart. He was only weak and the crime lay at the door of those who put him in the way of temptation which, to anybody with half an eye, it was quite evident he would be too weak to resist.

______________

4.30 pm But since 3pm two ball games. We appear to be in the hands of the Blue Boys (prison trusties) again, as always happens when the officer in command does not take charge of proceedings personally. The BB’s are known as such on account of the blue prison uniforms they wear. some of them are decent, most of them swine who take full advantage of the opportunity to get a bit of their own back on society in general and the European in particular. They are all native criminals, murderers, coiners, embezzlers or plain thieves. The European trusties who looked after things formerly were all replaced by natives about two and half months ago. Doctor has not come.

13 August 1942

2009-06-05T15:21:00.001+01:00

No alarm last night or this morning but lights dimmed yesterday instead of 10.30pm as formerly. Washed my bed with soapsuds today to keep away bugs. I have been very lucky, haven’t had a single bug in my cell yet. Some cells simply swarm with bugs, usually round the frame and between the mesh of the wire mattress which forms the folding bed. Rib still painful but pain spreading more towards breastbone. Hope doctor comes tomorrow.

___________________________

George Skinner was a simple soul, always good humoured and not, I fancy, blessed with an abundance of grey matter, but an accurate and efficient teller. In appearance he was a little over average height, fair complexioned, getting a bit thin on top, and pot bellied. He fancied himself somewhat as a vocalist, his favourite song being, I recall, ’The Wagonner’ of which I remember only the title. During the war he had seen Home service as a truck driver and was often hard put to it to vie with others, such as Bill Cheyne and Douglas Campbell, who had seen real active service in the trenches, when War reminiscences were indulged in, but he did his best. Actually a good, harmless chap, who, I am sure was an exemplary husband and father and who could not have had an enemy in the world. Thinking of Skinner’s efforts in the relating of his War experiences, I am reminded for a moment of another acquaintance of mine, Hector Mortimer, who was a member of the the Beechgrove choir and also of the Kirk session. Hector was a grain merchant having inherited the business in Loch Street from his father, I imagine. He was a good fellow, but very effeminate in speech and manner. He also had seen service during the War about 50 miles behind the lines and it was amusing to hear him describing the distant heavy gunfire as ‘awful bangs, you know’.

______________________

1pm. Just had a pleasant surprise in the form of a parcel containing 60 Davros and 40 ‘1001’ cigs, 2 cakes of Toilet soap, 2 packets sugar, 1/2 bottle soya and a packet of salt. The present Sub-director (?) who brought the parcel tells me it is from Mr Sner, former administrator of the prison. Bless him!

_____________________

Charlie Worling, one of the fixtures of Head Office, was a hunchback but apparently blessedly unconscious of his deformity. It was as if the Lord had provided him with a cloak of protective ignorance in that respect and as a result one was inclined to consider Charlie as somewhat feeble minded, it being difficult to imagine that anyone in his right senses could be so completely unaware of such a physical disadvantage. Nevertheless, Charlie was very far from being a fool and possessed an excellent memory which I do not consider was entirely due to a Pelman course in which he had indulged. He was a small wizened body with a pair of watery blue eyes from which, apparently on account of some weakness, tears were continually oozing. He spoke in a funny nasal, rather high pitched tone which in itself was sufficiently amusing without taking into account his other mannerisms, Charlie was, generally speaking, an object of compassionate ridicule but sublimely unconscious of the fact. He was very well satisfied with himself and, I am sure, led quite a happy existence. Passionately fond of classical music, he was never happier than when he could persuade myself or some other music lover to visit his home to hear some of his gramophone records of famous symphonies. Beethoven’s Eroica and The Planets were among his favourites. Once, during a Red Cross Week, I persuaded Charlie to consent to the sale, among the Bank staff, of a poem I had written about him. The proceeds were about 13/6 (today’s money roughly 55 pence (.80 US cents) for the good cause but I have often felt rather ashamed of having collected that money in the way I did. Here is the poem.

Charlie

My name is Charlie Worling
and at ‘clicking’ I’m a don.
I set all heads a-whirling
With the swank that I put on.
And when I ‘walk the carpet’
In the twilight’s dusky dim,
You ought to hear the girlies say,
’That’s Charlie! Yes, that’s him!’

My hair it is of chestnut brown
My eyes are limpid blue.
My ties and my suspenders
Are of bright and gaudy hue.
My socks, they are a wonder,
You could see them in the dark,
And my voice it is like thunder
When I’m acting counter clerk.

My vocabulary’s choice is wide
Tho’ sometimes rather strong.
In wordy argument there’s none
Who can withstand me long.
My intellect is powerful,
For a Pelman course I’ve had,
And so the proof is given
That this system’s not a fad.

For if the Boss is in a fix
And feeling rather blue,
This message comes across the wire,
’Send Mr Worling through!’.
From this it’s fairly evident
Promotion will be mine
And when Sir Thomas has resigned,
As Actuary I’ll shine.

And then you ought to hear me sing
My love songs – they are prime!
The teardrops start to every eye
When I sing – every time!
The I’m a nib there is no doubt,
And never will there be
One who can trumpet half as loud
Or half as long as me.

‘To be kept within the Bank’

____________________

5pm Just been out for two hours. Two ball games. New command but still very lenient and pleasant.

12 August 1942

2009-06-02T14:38:00.001+01:00

Alarm went last night at 9pm. Lights out. Also alarm twice during the night and during this morning. Definitely practice. Did not sleep too well, suspect a broken rib. Pain continuous and troublesome in movement and breathing. Will consult doctor on Friday if no improvement – and if he comes. He did not turn up yesterday nor on the previous doctor’s day last Friday. Overweg, the medical attendant, told us then there was a new doctor and would accept no orders for so called medical supplies for that reason. These supplies included sugar, soya sauce, powdered condensed milk etc made up by the chemists shops to look like medicines. On a packet of sugar, for example, is a label stating ‘Sach. Album (Latin for white sugar) One tablespoonful 3 times daily’ and soya is described as ‘Extr. Hispidae’ or ‘Prophyl Malaria as formerly’. Milk has no longer been procurable for about 6 weeks now. It will be a pity if we cannot obtain further supplies but as we are now more accustomed to the very plain diet, that will not upset us so much as it would have, say, a couple of months ago.

____________________

Alex Simpson had received his early training in a lawyer’s office and that influence was evident in the deliberation with which he spoke and acted. Very long winded on occasion, he just escaped being a bore. In appearance he was of average height, rather thin faced, with dark brown hair and moustache sprinkled with grey and blue eyes behind his pince nez. His nose was rather red as is usually the case with dyspeptic persons. By the very deliberateness which was as dear to him in his lawyer like manner, he greatly irritated those whose maxims were speed in action and quickness of decision. Unfortunately, to his own detriment, two of those who took exception to this manner were Sir Thomas himself and James Fiddes. He was no sycophant and, although it was unwise, there was much to be admired in his attitude to the Actuary. If Sir Thomas emerged from his sanctum to consult his accountant and the latter happened to be engaged in writing at the moment, Simpson would keep the Actuary waiting at his desk while he calmly completed the sentence (he was a deliberate in writing as in speech) and then raise his head and regarding Sir Thomas with a bland smile, would say ‘Well, Sir Thomas?’ That this attitude did not endear him to his chief speaks for itself. But it was of James Fiddes he had most to beware. This was evident to the most junior. Fiddes had an ingratiating manner where Sir Thomas was concerned and his feeling of enmity towards Simpson was very evident. Simpson was between two fires, therefore, as represented by his chief’s dislike of his independent manner and the enmity of his immediate inferior. As was to be foreseen, this situation resulted, I believe, in Simpson's being worked out of his position in the Bank some years after I had left the service. There was not a trace of snobbishness about Simpson, witness my own aspirations in regard to his daughter, he would kowtow to nobody and was, in general, kindly and considerate to the staff. But he did lack the necessary force of personality to succeed in his attitude and principles. As Douglas Campbell, who had the gift of summing up a man’s character in a few words, said of him, ‘Simpson is a human man, but he is not a manly man’.

________________________

Out from 4.15 to 6pm. Two ball games. Did not take part in physical exercises on account of rib. Hear that Fatty was bitten in the thigh by a dog last night. The second officer is still with us however.

_______________________

Speaking of Fiddes once, Doug remarked ‘Fiddes is a man to whom music means tinkling sounds on a piano’. And that indeed typified James Fiddes in a nutshell. He was a man to whom the arts were so many closed books, a cold, calculating, efficient human machine. He had a brilliantly logical brain and was obviously destined to rise high, which I understood he did in later years when all the Savings Bank in Scotland were brought under one organisation. In appearance he was tall, well built and very blond and active in movement. He spoke rapidly and incisively. His walk was peculiar for a man of his build. He always took short quick steps raising himself each time in the toes of the foot on the ground while the other foot was advancing, with the result that his progress was a continual bobbing up and down, as well as a forward movement. Frankly, I did not like the man. Toadyism and ruthlessness have always disgusted me and in my opinion Fiddes had more than a small share of both these qualities. I may be wronging the man in this judgment but as he evidently disliked me I may be pardoned somewhat for my prejudice.

11 August 1942

2009-05-25T09:19:00.001+01:00

Lights went on, dim, at 8.15pm last night and remained so. there is a 10 watt bulb in each cell and formerly this went on at full strength from 6.30 to 9pm. Later being reduced to half strength for the rest of the night, returning to full power between 5.30 and 6.30am. It is not possible to write when the lamp is dimmed and reading is too great a strain on the eyes. Not very pleasant in the evening now but we don’t mind under the circumstances. Ribs still very painful. I have got ‘Alice or the The Mysteries’ by Lord Lytton. 11.45am. Prison siren is now sounding for the first time. Probably practice. We shall know soon if not, I suppose.

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Once, when Thompson was still at Torry branch, he received from an Italian confectioner, whom he assisted in connection with an Income Tax return, a full box of Fry’s chocolate bars. ‘See what I got’, he said to his clerkess, a young girl of about 18, opened the box under her nose revealing the tempting display, and when she had looked her fill, he closed the box again and that was that! The poor man, I am sure meant well but was naturally clumsy and tactless and was therefore fated to be misunderstood and to be always rubbing his staff the the wrong way. When he laughed, and that was usually in response to some inane pleasantry on the part of an important depositor, it was as if the vocal organs protested rustily against such an unusual demand and the result was a harsh, unnatural and discordant bellow. Everybody was amazed when he actually got married and stunned when he lately became a father. it was like the Bill was as discovery of a volcano in the Arctic regions. William Ewen was a negative personality. He was of medium height, slimly built, with fair hair and blue eyes and the manner of a shop walker. in conversation with depositors, he always wore an ingratiating lip smile and was continually rubbing his hands with invisible soap. A good man at his job for all that. ‘Bill’ Cheyne was a great favourite with us lads. he was not yet thirty, had served in the War, being discharged on account of a bad leg wound, and had no dignity. He and I used to have great fun together singing humorous duets in the office at Woodside and many a time were we caught in the act by somebody coming in unexpectedly. One of our best efforts was the ‘Twin Duet’ which went something like this:

‘We twins are very much alike, but act like not a bit
In fact since childhood we have been each other’s opposite
When mother said, ‘Now don’t do this or you will make me sad’
Then i did not as I was bid, he not as he was bade
Chorus:

So you’ll agree, I think, with me that I and he, my brother
Are opposite and not a bit like each other and one another’.

Bill was small built with black hair prematurely grey at the temples, blue grey eyes and clear cut features. He had a cheery disposition and on meeting him many years later, in 1938, that I found him a sadly changed man. A curt, unpleasant individual with a perpetual sneer on his lips. A man obviously disappointed in life and with no expectation of future happiness. Poor chap, I suspect his marriage did not turn out successfully. He married a Miss Fowler, which reminds me that while I was at Gordon’s College during the War, a sister of that lady was our French teacher. For the first time in the history of the College (and it was founded in 1732) females penetrated the precincts and were appointed to the staff on account of quite a number of the younger masters having joined up. Miss Herbert took the lower classes in English and Miss Fowler the same classes in French. Poor women, I wonder if they cried themselves to sleep many a night during the first months of their appointment? At the age we were then, about 12, all boys, or at least the great majority of them, are barbarians and thoughtlessly cruel, and we were no exception to the general rule. We were merciless in our treatment of those two young ladies, although as a matter of fact, Miss Fowler received the lion’s share of our attentions in that respect, Miss Herbert being possessed of a quiet, natural dignity and charm of manner which shamed us into a semblance at least of attention and obedience. Miss Fowler was a sweet natured woman but of too soft fibre to withstand the shocks so freely administered by such a bunch of young fiends. Many and manifold were the devices, short of actual insubordination, to distract her from the lesson. To my shame let me admit that one of these tricks was my own. Seated on one of the back benches, I would give, two or three times in the course of that hour and a quarter, quite a realistic imitation of an aeroplane engine, by growling in the back of my throat with closed lips. Quite undetectable. Immediately, two or three accomplices in my near vicinity would jump up excitedly, crying ‘An aeroplane, Miss Fowler!’ A rare avis in those days and in about 5 seconds the whole class would be out of their seats and crowding to the windows, jostling each other aside and peering skywards for a glimpse of the aeroplane which they knew darned well did not exist. This stunt was good for a 5 minute interruption every time. The first Christmas Miss Fowler was at Gordon’s, that is to say the day before the commencement of the Christmas vacation, we made her a presentation. A big cardboard box was lying on her desk when she entered the classroom and from various parts of the room came requests to open the box in our presence. I really believe that the poor girl thought we had, at this season of goodwill, relented of our past treatment of her. If she did, then she certainly learned a further bitter lesson as to the sadistic capabilities of the youthful male. She opened the box and took out, first, an old hat trimmed with odds and ends of rag and wool, and then, a mealy pudding. I hope Miss Fowler has had much happiness in her life since those days because she certainly deserved that compensation after her martyrdom at Gordon’s in my time.

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2pm The sirens have gone in Bandoeng and have been followed by the prison’s signal. Still practicing? Another pleasant outing from 3.45 to 5.45. Three ball games. Rumoured Bt had it and present doings a 5 day trial.

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To revert to Bill Cheyne. I was his assistant at Torry Branch one very hot summer and it seems to me that we spent most of our time there eating ice cream. One day I noticed that Bill gulped the ice cream instead of, as I believe most people do, allowing it first to melt on the tongue, I tried to do the same but one swallow as enough. How he could do it and still love is beyond me. Bill was a heavy cigarette smoker, smoking probably 20 cigarettes a day but he never inhaled. What satisfaction he got out of smoking at all is still a mystery to me.

Talking of Torry reminds me that, with the exception of course of that district, in Aberdeen the expression ‘Torry English’ is used to describe the lingual result when someone in an effort to talk English succeeds only in Anglicising the Aberdeen dialect. A perfect example of this hybrid language was provided by my sister Marjory, when we were still very young, Madge about 5 and I probably 6 1/2 . One Sunday afternoon when out with my father for the usual walk, I happened to climb over a low stone wall which formed the boundary of the grounds of some building or other in the West End. Marjory, conscious of her Sunday best, the day and the district and influenced also by the approach in our direction of several well dress people, called to quite peremptorily, ‘Willy come out ower!’ Poor Madge has had that phrase thrown at her at intervals ever since. Coming back to the Bank, others whom I may mention include the Actuary (of course) Sir Thomas Jaffray, whom we rarely say, Alex Simpson, the accountant, James Fiddes, second to Simpson, George S Skinner, Head Office Teller and Charlie Working, clerk. There were many others whose names and personalities may occur to me as I go along. Sir Thomas, as I have said, was practically an ‘invisible man’ as far as we were concerned. He was, I believe, a very clever and successful financier who merely used the Bank office as a pied a terre for the prosecution of more interesting and lucrative operation than Savings banking. He was a tubby little man with a healthy tanned complexion, grey moustache and hair but almost bald. He was quick and energetic in movement and possessed a pair of dark brown eyes which were alive with intelligence and dynamic force. A really strong personality.

10 August 1942

2009-05-21T09:15:00.001+01:00

Yesterday evening the lights were blacked out from about 7.30 to 11pm and, I hear, for some hours also during the night but impossible to tell the real reason. Today, however, all outside lights have been shaded with blue covers, which certainly looks like business. Another pleasant outing this afternoon from 3.30 – 5pm with 3 ball games. Started today on my bottle of Piccalilli (fruit chutney) finished 3 days ago. Have still got some soya sauce but don’t trust it altogether – smells like beer now. Have still two pieces of Swiss milk toffee but probably won’t have these tomorrow).

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Changes in branch management occurred now and then, but in general during my time, the disposition was: Easter – Henry J Milne, Northern – James Grainger, Holburn (formerly Torry) – Alex Thompson, Rosemoutn – William Ewen, Torry (formerly Woodside) – William J Cheyne. Each of these gentlemen had his peculiarities, pleasant or otherwise. Mr Milne was a big man but rather thin. His general health was never too good unfortunately. In speech he was very, very broad and would have been taken to be, from his speech and manner, rather a farmer than a banker. He was very easy going but a capable man and very good hearted. He once did me a service which I can never hope to repay and I shall always remember him with gratitude and respect. James Grainger, until one came to know him well, was a real terror to the junior staff. He was of average height squarely built, very fresh complexioned and wore glasses with rather strong lenses. He had a most effective and terrifying trick of gazing with his blue eyes through these spectacles in a fashion calculated to reduce a weaker minded individual to a state of trembling apprehension. I got to know and like him very much and indeed when he really unbent, he kept us in fits of laughter. On days when he became really exuberant, and after the doors had closed at 3 o’clock, he would treat us to a representation of grand opera in which he sang all the parts alternately. It was screamingly funny and I used to quite limp with laughter, hanging over the counter with the tears streaming down my cheeks. I am quite sure that anybody knowing Mr Grainger superficially and remembering his usually severe aspect would be inclined to doubt this, and I would excuse them. Sometimes he could be very impressive and often said to me, with his most piercing glare to give emphasis,’ If there’s an onus, William, get rid of it’. he was merciless to inefficients and not a few of my contemporaries had a tough time of it at Northern Branch. Talking of Northern branch reminds me of Mrs Moir, who had been charwoman there since the office was built about 25 years before. She was a garrulous old body getting on for 70 years of age and with a grudge against Mr Grainger. She told me her grudge at least on twenty different occasions. One day she had said to Mr Grainger, ‘Mr Grainger, do you know it’s 20 years today since I started cleaning this office?’ ‘And do ye ken fit he said to me, Wullie?’ He jist said, ‘Well, see and keep that way then!’ She never forgave him for that and I don’t know that I blame her altogether. Alex Thompson was a cold blooded, tall, angular man with pale blue eyes and a sallow complexion. He was very unemotional and serious minded and one had difficulty in imagining that he had ever had any boyhood. Generally speaking, he was not well liked but I believer this was due to his seriousness and to certain habits in regard to the treatment of his staff which were not exactly endearing but which were practiced, I feel, with the best motives. He wanted efficiency and so on. He was quite right, of course, but at that age few of us realise that our education does not cease automatically on our leaving school or college and resent being lectured to. He also kept a ‘Black Book’ in which every error discovered in the ledgers etc was noted with date, particulars and the name of the offender. It was this, more than anything else, which made him disliked, but looking back I feel that the idea at the back of his mind was to shame the careless ones, by this means, into being more careful in their work and that his method was the result of natural tactlessness. I followed his advice by taking a course with the School of Accountancy, for which I am thankful to this day. When I was on the staff at Holburn during one bitterly cold winter, he would switch on the electric radiators as soon as we came into the office and from then on would consult repeatedly the thermometer hanging on the wall. As soon as the thermometer registered 58 degrees he switched off the radiators. He certainly considered the interests of his employees first and foremost, an admirable trait, but one which we were unable to appreciate naturally.

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Apparently we were going to have black out tonight – getting dark but no lights on in the cells. Can no longer see to write.

9 August 1942

2009-05-19T12:34:00.001+01:00

Today being Sunday I observed the fact by lying in bed until almost 9 o’clock where I drank my coffee and indulged in the luxury of a Capstan cigarette. I have still nine left of the tin I got on my birthday. One learns thrift in such things under the present circumstances. Allowing for the fact that I gave 20 away of the 50, I have been, I think very economical. We get the prison issue of native tobacco every second day which is sufficient for about 6 or 7 thin cigarettes rolled in maize leaf which is also supplied, but never enough leaves for the amount of tobacco. Everybody uses any kind of paper he can get hold of for rolling cigs, sticking them with the liquid off the breakfast rice porridge. We have heard the sirens in Bandung four times today, at 9am, 9.20, 9.30 and 12.45 but as each time the signal known to us as the ‘all clear’ was given, we are not sure what it signified. There was certainly great air activity today. Very short outing from 10.50 to 11.30 but pleasant. Just a run round and physical drill under the 2nd officer. Exchanged ‘Onder het Juk’ for' ‘Memoirs of Sarah Bernhardt’, in Dutch, with young Allen. Also exchanged my own book ‘Fate cannot harm me’ for the ‘Three Musketeers’ with Spit Jr. A knock on the right rib from Ader’s elbow during the ball game the other day continues to be rather painful. Forgot to mention that Minggail sprained his left foot rather badly in the same game.

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The seven accepted cancellation, probably because they felt that they could not climb down after such a hold up. I was terribly cast down and asked Mr Whyte if there was no possibility of continuing. He replied that if I could find three other vocalists to form a quartette only, he would persuade Glentanar to continue this arrangement. Within the week I had fulfilled the condition and, Mr Whyte being satisfied with the combination, the quartette was engaged on the old terms and completed the season with never a breakdown or the slightest unpleasantness. The soprano was Miss Isabel Simpson, a member of the Bank staff and sister of the Beechgrove organist and to whom I latterly became engaged, my aunt Helen was the alto, and John Cooper, the bass. John was in business as a ship chandler. He had a rather big nose and was as self opinionated as the organ indicated, but a good fellow at heart. On Guy Fawkes day of that same year he made me a present of an immense ship’s rocket with which we wound up a firework’s display at Mrs Simpson’s home, West Bungalow, Cults. It was a most impressive burst of stars and I only hope that the Aberdeen lifeboat did not put out that night by mistake. The St Thomas church engagement led to John Cooper and myself being asked in December to strengthen the tenor and bass parts in ‘The Yeoman of the Guard’ which Glentanar was producing himself and members of his house party in the leading roles and a choir of the Aboyne villagers. We attended three or four rehearsals and what I recall most clearly is the intense cold and depth of snow which attended our journeys to Aboyne. We travelled by rail, arriving at Aboyne about 5pm by which time it was already quite dark and floundered knee deep in snow to the hotel which was fortunately quite near to the station. Rehearsal commenced at 8pm and lasted till sometimes after 11, but were very jolly. Of the guests at Glentanar, I can recall only young Lord Waleran although there were titles enough in the bunch, I imagine. I remember being quite startled on one occasion behind stage when Lady Something or other turned to me and said, ‘I have a hell of a cold’. It quite upset my conception of a special representative from the D’Oyly Carte Company and was quite a success, thanks also to the conductor, Mr Whyte, who was, and still must be, a real genius. I remember reading in the newspaper the following year that his own opera ‘The Forge’ had been produced in Aboyne. I was in the service of the Savings Bank for six and half years, sometimes working in the Head Office and at others in branch offices situated in different districts and suburbs of the town. It was the custom to shift the junior staff from office to office about every 3 months and it was a very sensible arrangement as we learned to know each other very well and also became adapted to the ways of the various branch managers. The branches were: Eastern at the corner of King Street next door to the North of Scotland Bank, Northern in George Street near Hutcheon Street, Rosemount, just opposite Esslemont Avenue, in Rosemoutn Place, Holburn, in Holburn Street near the junction with Great Western Road, Torry, in Menzies Road near Walker Road; and a small branch in the Spital near to Old Aberdeen. There were also offices, open only from 6 –8pm on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, at Woodside, Bucksburn and later at Culter. These three branches were in due course, given official rank and following the hours of the town offices which were 9.30 am to 3pm to Friday and 9.30 to 12 on Saturday, also 6-8pm on Mondays and Thursdays. A short time previous to my leaving the service I was appointed agent of Culter Branch and nearly died of enuui. On a busy day there sometimes as many as three people would come in. Most days there was not a single depositor. I have never felt so tired in all my life as I did during that period. The shifting around of staff from office to office provided us with welcome variety as each branch brought us in contact with a different class of depositor. At Eastern, for instance, we found the submerged wealth as represented by rag and bone merchants, Castlegate cheap jacks and fish vendors. These last tested the powers of our stomachs,when they used to tip their taking on to the counter of a greasy, stinking sack and we had to count the money which was perfectly horrible with fish scales and slime. Then there were the gentlemen of mysterious occupations who went about in shabby rags with dirty mufflers round their necks and who produced as much as £2 to £3 at a time from various portions of their raiment or anatomy. And then the ladies who used to dive down into unmentionable regions – but ‘nuffsed’. Torry catered, of course, mainly for the fisher folk of that district. One peculiarity which was struck me there was the names of females. It seemed that every girl and woman had a Christian name with the appendix ‘ina’ and as this was invariably stuck on to a male Christian name, the most surprising combinations often resulted. A few examples which occur to my mind were, Jamesina, Johnina, Peterina, Albertina and Thomas or Tomina, while Georginas, and Williaminas were as countless as the stars. Northern depositors were mostly of a mixed working class representing a variety of trades. One man I remember, a baker, was a real miser and came regularly every pay day to deposit what must have been the major part of his earnings. knowing as I did the average baker’s wage, I used to wonder how he lived. He himself was mere skin and bone and I do hope he had no wife or family. He paid in, it seemed, every possible penny, sometimes £2.17.10 or £3.1.1 (£2.87 in today’s money or just over $4 or £3.10 or just over $4.50) and on quite a few occasions was most upset when we refused to accept an extra half penny. After receiving back his pass book he would stand at least 5 minutes gloating over it before sneaking furtively out of the office. It was a disgusting sight. Holburn saw much of the same class with a sprinkling of more well to do depositors from the west end. In opening an account, we took particulars of name, address and occupation and it was at Holburn that I was puzzled by a young man’s describing his occupation as ‘farmer’s son’. I don’t know yet what that means as an occupation. We also had a ‘gentleman’ at Holburn. The Rosemount clientele was rather superior middle class on the whole and usually somewhat snobbishly inclined as became the possessors of addresses in such places as Beechgrove Terrace, Mile End Avenue etc.

8 August 1942

2009-05-12T14:07:00.001+01:00

Woke up in the small hours of the morning with pain of my old kidney trouble. Passing water very painful. Probably caused by unaccustomed exertion in ball game. Very worried but reassured later in day by cessation of pain. Perhaps only small gravel which has now passed. Washed khaki shorts and darned two pairs of socks. Very pleasant outing from 3 to 5.15pm. Races of 100, 200, 400, 800 and 1,000 metres with prizes. Wish I could have taken part but toe not up to it. Freddy Harper, first in 1,000 metres won a sponge cake. Other prizes were a tin of sausages (Jimmy Irens), bottles of lemonade, bananas and cigs. Everybody very cheerful, our two officers fine chaps. Hope they stay a long time.

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When the wireless station 2 BD was opened in Aberdeen I was one of the first soloists to broadcast. The then BBC seemed to spend money like water and I, for one, was paid much more than I was worth. For a 20 minute programme of 6 songs the usual fee was 2 guineas. I always sang songs which I already possessed and the bulk of them had been picked up at Low’s bookstall in the Market Gallery for about two pence each. I have always been a quick sight reader and never really studied or practiced my programmes. This had the result that I could not render my songs without words and music in my hands. But I got over that difficulty by persuading my friend, old Mr Dudgeon of Marr Woods Limited, the music sellers, to let me have copies of the same songs on sight and these I used to hold carefully while singing, giving my own mostly worse for wear copies to the accompanist. Very often I sang in the afternoons from 4 to 4.30 –5 and particularly then this method used to work like clockwork. Free of the Bank shortly after 3pm, I adjourned to Marr Woods, procured the necessary duplicates, strolled along to the studio in Belmont Street, sang my programme and immediately afterwards returned the music to the shop before going home. One afternoon I had the honour of appearing on the same programme as Constance Willis, one of the contraltos of the Carl Rosa Opera Company (1). When I arrived, Miss Willis (2) was presumably having a snack with Simpson, one of the announcers in his room because when the buzzer went for her call she dashed out and down the stairs leading to the studio crying, ‘Good Lord – I’m full of fish and chips!’ The next moment, in spite of that, her beautiful voice, through the loudspeaker was filling the waiting room in which I sat. This little incident persuaded me more than anything else could have done that opera stars were just ordinary human beings. On another occasion the permanent 2 BD choir, of which I was a member, performed the first act of Faust assisted by a tenor and a bass, also of the Carl Rosa Opera Company. Believer it or not, Faust and Mephistopheles turned up at the studio so drunk that they could hardly stand and able to articulate only with difficulty. Under the circumstances, it sounded like a miracle when they sailed through the whole act in perfect voice and without a hitch, although they were both clearly very happy at having the piano and occasionally each other to hang on to. The 2 BD choir consisted of 16 members, four of each sopranos, altos, tenors and basses but strangely enough I cannot recall a single individual of the other 15. We were paid, I believe, a monthly fee of 3 guineas (just under $5) and were liable to be called upon at any time. Some months we would perform as many as 5 times, in other months there were no more than two calls upon us. I cannot recall but one other work we produced. That was the operetta ‘The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein’ in which I had the minor part of Prince Paul. We also rendered many part songs and at Christmas time sang carols at midnight. One day, before the choir was formed, I received an urgent telegram requesting my immediate attendance at the studio. I rushed down to Belmont Street where I found seven other male singers assembled and the 2 BD staff in a state of great anxiety and excitement. it transpired that that day was the anniversary of the Battle of Trafalgar and presumably they had had instructions to commemorate the event in due form and had forgotten all about it. Anyhow the eight of us, forming a double male quartette were given each a 16 page part song bearing on Trafalgar and hustled down to the basement of the building where we rehearsed without a stop from 5pm until going before the microphone at 8pm. We made a very good job of it too, and a few days later I received a cheque for 4 guineas (just under $6). Easy money and no mistake. And to think that I had the cheek to rank myself among the many vocalists of local fame at the time. But I was a conceited pup in those days and often wish that I could meet the young man I was then and five him a well deserved lesson. On of the best, in fact the very best, of engagements which my gift of song brought me in those years was that of tenor of quartette engaged by Lord Glentanar (3) to lead the singing at St Thomas Church, Aboyne, during the summer months of 1925. This came about in a rather roundabout fashion. William Swainson, at that time the leading organist and choirmaster in Aberdeen had formed a select octet, of which I was a member, for the purpose of making a special study and giving performances of old English part songs. At one rehearsal, Mr Swainson informed us that he had been approached by Mr Ian D Whyte (now a prominent BBC conductor) organist at St Thomas’ Church, Aboyne, on behalf of his patron, Lord Glentanar, with the request that the octet should form the choir each Sunday at that church for so long as the family and house party should be in residence at Glentanar during the summer and autumn. Acceptance was unanimous and a week or two later we commenced our duties. The terms were, in my opinion, generous and conditions regarding transport and accommodation while in Aboyne left nothing to be desired. Each of us received a fee of £1 per Sunday. The first service was at 11am and the second at 6pm and both lasted no longer than one hour. A special couple of taxis were engaged and we were fetched, each from his or her home at 9am every Sunday. There was the lovely drive up Deeside to Aboyne, arriving at the church in time for a quick rehearsal of the psalms and anthem before the service commenced. After church, we were accommodated at the Huntley Arms, the best hotel in Aboyne, and provided with a splendid lunch. The afternoons were free and could be spent dozing in the lovely garden or in walking about the beautiful environs of Aboyne. At 4pm a substantial tea was served and at 5pm we repaired to church for rehearsal of the evening music and arranging of that for the following Sunday. After the service, the cars picked us up and another lovely run, now in the twilight, brought us back to our homes. What better treatment could any reasonable individual desire for such trifling service? And yet, strange as it may seem, only three weeks had passed when the majority began to grumble about being underpaid and issued an ultimatum to Mr Whyte in the form of a demand for £5 per Sunday or no play. I refused to subscribe to such a demand and said so. Mr Whyte, however, replied that he would consult Lord Glentanar and let the vocalists know his decision the following week. Next Sunday, he informed them that Glentanar refused to consider the demanded increase and that if they were not satisfied the engagement could be regarded as cancelled.

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A note from Pat O’Neill:

(1,2) The Carl Rosa Opera Company has an amazing history. If you are interested do follow the link to find out more. Regarding Constance Willis, this is the only record I could find referring to her performances. Note further down that same page the description about how ‘Miss Willis is too inclined to "slither" down from note to note when a clean scale is absolutely essential.’

(3) Lord Glentanar follow this link to find out a little of the history of this gentleman and his family.

7 August 1942

2009-05-11T10:55:00.001+01:00

Boeboerketan hitam, which is black rice porridge, for breakfast. This is what I thought was bramble soup the other morning. Washed an undershirt, a handkerchief and a pair of socks. A splendid outing today from 3.15 – 6.15pm commencing with our wing in SW triangle with nice NCO and East wing in SE Triangle, later together in SW ground. PT and many games of handball. I played in a team for the first time in my life in the first game England v Holland. Received ball on my nose very first pass to me, breaking skin. Also lost skin off the pad of right big toe from a blister. I played inside right and do not think I did too badly for a first attempt. Sundry aches and pains this evening, however, as a result. As soon as toe better will try again. We are very happy indeed with our present officers and guard.

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While in the Bank I did quite a lot of singing in church, concert platform and radio. The very first time I ever sung in public was during the war in 1917 at a concert to the troops in the Trades Hall in Belmont Street, if I am not mistaken, and the item was not on the programme. I believe that somebody failed to turn up and to fill the bill I stepped on to the platform and sang ‘Hail Caledonia’ accompanying myself on the piano. My effort was very well received and gave me the necessary courage to continue giving a song on subsequent occasions. I shall never forget the day a few months earlier when I asked my mother to listen to my voice and to give her honest opinion. I sang a few lines of a song and she just turned round from the piano, looked at me and said only sadly, ‘No Bill’. My voice had probably not yet completed the transition period, I presume. But it was a great blow to me as I had prayed for a long time to be able to sing. I have never had any training as I have never considered such expense justified unless one intends to go in for singing professionally. And the more trained amateurs I have heard, the stronger has become that opinion. No amount of training can create a voice and the grafting of technique on to indifferent material too often produces results which are painful in the extreme to the unfortunate listener. Singing should be natural in the first instance, phrasing and breathing being instinctive, otherwise the effect of training on individuals who do not possess the singing sense must result in an artificial performance which should not be justified by the description of singing. That is of course, only my opinion and I am not at all qualified to argue the matter as my personal knowledge of the how, why and wherefore of vocalism is exactly nil. I have sung for the mere pleasure of singing and if people enjoy listening, that is all I care for, except of course when they pay me for singing which is rather better, although candidly in recent years the latter consideration has, by reason of my improved circumstances had no appeal for me. Very different was the case when I was a struggling bank clerk. Then all was grist that came to the mill and in the years 1925 to 1926 I actually earned more by singing than I did in salary from the Bank. I was tenor at Beechgrove UF Church for, I think, about 4 years. Originally, I held that position unofficially as an act of friendship towards the organist and others and it was only after I had applied for the tenor leadership at St Machar Cathedral in Old Aberdeen that the powers that were in Beechgrove approached me with an offer of the same remuneration if I would stay put – which I did. The fee was £10 per annum. While at Beechgrove we presented ‘The Messiah’, ‘The Crucifixion’, excerpts from ‘ Parsifal’ etc and on the secular side, in the Church Hall, ‘Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast’ and ‘The Death of Minnehaha’. I sang the solo in ‘Hiawatha’ and this gained for me a handsome fee a short time later. Gilcomston Church produced ‘The Wedding Feast’ not long after our effort and I desired greatly to hear the work from the outside, so to speak, because when one is singing in a choir it is impossible to hear the music as a whole. On the evening that the Gilcomston performance took place I was working late at the Bank and just reached the hall in time for the first half of the programme, which consisted of vocal and instrumental solos. In due course the tenor who was to sing in ‘Hiawatha’ came on to give a solo or two, but halfway through the first number, he suddenly stopped singing, bowed and walked off the platform. It transpired that a sudden attack of laryngitis had seized him and rendered him incapable of uttering another note that evening and for some time to come. There is only one solo in ‘’Hiawatha’ but its exclusion would be unthinkable. Anyhow, someone had seen me sitting at the back of the hall and in the interval the conductor sought me out and asked if I would act as substitute soloist. I was not dressed for the occasion having just come from the office, but I could not refuse. A few days later I received a cheque for four guineas (£4.4.0 or just over $6) from the grateful committee. Manna from Heaven and equally acceptable to me in those penurious days.

6 August 1942

2009-05-08T17:46:00.001+01:00

A calamity occurred in my cell this morning. I had just dozed off after having been wakened at 5 am by the clatter attendant on breakfast preparation when I was rudely shaken into consciousness by a dull explosion. I was lying with my face to the wall and turning round quickly and raising my head I was astonished to see high up on the opposite wall a large splash of some dark brown fluid splattered in all directions. It was only when a second later I felt and saw spots of the same fluid falling on me and the bed clothes that I realised what had happened. On top of the cupboard above the bed there was a large bottle of soya sauce which I had placed in a lying position and the stuff must have fermented and blew the cork out like a bottle of champagne. Ye Gods! What a mess! The whole cell, floor, walls and ceiling even, was bespattered with soya sauce in varying degree. My pyjamas, the blankets and the mattress have a large share. It has taken me the whole morning and forenoon to put things to rights. I have had to wash my blankets, a big job when you have only one small zinc basin to do the washing and I am hoping for steady sunlight this afternoon to dry them. Fortunately, the guard was changed a few days ago and I have now dared to hang the blankets out at the window, a proceeding which would have been certain to ensure me some hearty wallops from B the B if he had still been here. We were let out at 10.30 am today – by mistake. Few steps along the corridor and we were sent back and locked up again. The east wing went out and had exercise and handball games in the south west triangle. I expect it will be our turn this afternoon. PB has gone and Fatty (our favourite so far) is again in charge. he took part himself in one of the ball games appearing to enjoy himself hugely and proving himself a good sportsman, taking everything in good part and laughing heartily at his own mistakes. We feel quite cheered up as a result. Out wing (the south) was left out this afternoon from 4 to 5.30 as we expected and we had a pleasant time. We were also exercised in the SW triangle, a run of about 10 times round the field followed by physical jerks. Two handball games. Then first bath in two days. Supper red rice, half duck egg, boiled tapioca and usual veg soup. Also my extra plate of boiled white rice and 2 bananas. Exchanged ‘Pimpernel’ with Raymond for Dutch book ‘Onder het juk’ (Yoke of Bondage) by H Bong.

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While waiting in the Head Office of the Bank in Union Terrace to be interviewed for the advertised vacancy my attention was attracted to a man of about 30 years of age engaged in some task at the main counter. He was of average height, slimly built with very sharp features, keen dark brown eyes and almost black close curling hair. In fact he attracted me so much that I found myself wishing that I should be engaged if for no other reason than to have the opportunity of making his acquaintance. It must have been fated, for this was Douglas Campbell who was to become the only real friend I have ever had and whose influence will remain with me all my life. Doug was a brilliantly clever man with an extensive knowledge and intense appreciation of the arts in general and literature in particular. He it was who introduced me to the real world of letters and to the higher realms of music, in fact to an appreciation of the higher things of life in general. If ever there was a square peg in a round hole it was Douglas Campbell in the Aberdeen Savings Bank, although to be quite frank I do not know where exactly he would have fitted in. He was a combination of revolutionary in matters of convention, socialistic idealist and agnostic in belief – and his own worst enemy. He judged himself very hardly, being extremely sensitive as to his faults, to such an extent in fact that it is my opinion that he would have made much more of his opportunities and abilities if he had not been so critical of his own shortcomings. His greatest failing was that of indulging in periodical drinking bouts which sometimes lasted for days and which led him into strange and often undesirable company. He had always spoken to me quite frankly of this failing – but I only saw him once in an intoxicated condition and it almost broke my heart. He arrived at our house in Sunnybank Place late one evening very badly intoxicated, almost speechless, and I remember mother having him lie down on a couch in front of the fire while she did all in her power to sober him up as far as possible. I am not ashamed to admit that I broke down and cried like a child when I saw Doug lying there in that condition. It was my first experience of an intoxicated person at close quarters, which in itself was a great shock, but the fact that it was this dear friend whom I practically idolised who was in this condition was too much for me. It was by no means that I had, as one may be inclined to think, discovered my idol to have feet of clay. That did not enter into my feeling at all. It was the pity of it all which affected me so strongly, the realisation of the ‘what might have been’' for Doug if he had not been cursed with such a failing. His friendship meant even more to me that ever after this revelation of human weakness. It may seem strange that such a friendship should have been possible between a youth of 17 and a man twice his age, but the reason was simple. Doug had never grown up and his boyish spirits were on many occasions more exuberant than my own. It was his suggestion, one Sunday when we were walking round by the lighthouse, that we should set his bowler hat on a rock as a target for our marksmanship with throwing pebbles. We threw stones at that hat for at least half an hour and Doug’s enjoyment at this defiance of such a convential symbol and glee when he scored a hit, were, I believe even greater than my own. We used to go for long cycle runs together out into the country and there he opened my eyes to the beauties of nature. For four years I had this wonderful companionship which, towards the end of that period, was more or less interrupted by reason of anther attachment, natural to my years, which I had formed. It may be foolish of me, but I have always felt that if my allegiance had not been divided, I might have been instrumental in averting the tragedy of Doug’s passing. Or it was perhaps fated to be so, as Doug himself had a love in his life, the object of which, with characteristic self depreciation, he regarded as one as far beyond the reach of his unworthiness as the stars. One Sunday his cycle and boots were found on the top of the cliffs between Aberdeen and Cove and it is presumed that he had thrown himself into the sea at that point. I never heard of his body having been recovered.

Let the following, which I wrote in my notebook at that time, be his epitaph:

The Guide took Youth by the hand and led him down the Way of Life.
And as they went he pointed out on each side many
Doors which Youth had not observed in his impulsiveness
As he impatiently strode along the Way, with
Eyes fixed straight ahead.
And of those doors there were many which stood invitingly open,
Some only half a jar, and a few which were tightly closed.
’By these and these’, said the Guide, pointing to the doors,
’Shalt thou gain what thou most desirest’.
And Youth so journed long by the Way and entered many doors.
Those things which he saw and learned beyond the doors
Made the Way seem a happier and brighter one
Than it had appeared hitherto.
Beauty appeared everywhere – in everything.
And those of the doors which were tightly closed
Yielded the richest treasures.
The Guide was always near, counselling Youth against
Rash and hasty judgment of those things in which
At first glance beauty and purity seemed non existent.
And Youth was I – and the Guide the best friend Youth ever had.

_____

I have lost a friend, a dear friend, and grieve deeply.
I ask myself,’Why do I grieve?’
The answer comes - ‘It is your sense of loss which is causing your grief’.
My sense of loss! That sounds selfish – and it IS selfish.
Here I am, professing a belief in another and better
World and yet grieving that my friend has crossed
To the happiness and peace of the other side.
I have no cause to grieve for him if this is my belief -
and it IS my belief.
Therefore, what I call my grief is merely a revulsion
Of feeling caused by a selfishness
Which disturbs my mental equilibrium.

5 August 1942

2009-05-06T11:46:00.001+01:00

Bramble soup for breakfast – not bad but glad have rice porridge as well. A small salt fish with the rice for supper. No outing today. Bill Leslie told me yesterday that the EW’s name for PB is B the B (Basil the Bastard). Have exchanged my book with Minggail for ‘The Scarlet Pimpernel’ by Baroness Orczy. Took down my cupboard from wall yesterday and held spring cleaning. Tough job getting it back on wall.

_____________

Bert Fullerton and I were bosom friends while at College and were the founders of the LLT which meant the League of Long Togs and membership was naturally confined to those who had achieved the distinction of wearing long trousers. The League had neither aim nor object and must have been prompted, I imagine, by the feeling for mutual support among those of our tender years who had had the temerity to a abandon shorts and knickerbockers. Yes, Bert and I were very close friends during these years which makes it all the more regrettable that the snobbery bug hit him after he proceeded to the University and he ceased to know me. A schoolboy friendship of a more worthy type was that between John Troup and myself while I was still at Sunnybank School. Though our ways lay pretty much apart after I went on to Gordon’s we never quite lost touch and it did my heart good to meet good old John again in 1938 and to recall the times and pranks we had had together. Many the time have John and I hunted the elusive tadpole in the pools of Scotstown Moor and many the pound of lead, in the form of spent bullets, did we collect from the sand hillocks behind the shooting butts at the beach, and sell to rag and bone merchants at 2d per pound. John and I only had one quarrel. The cause I have forgotten but the result was a real hammer and tongs set to in which poor John got his nose bled. In his discomfort and my own intense distress and both our efforts to staunch the flow, we quite forgot our difference whatever it was and finished up firmer friends than ever. John is now a shoemaker with his own business and two shops, happily married to a very nice girl and has one daughter. My college career was not at all noteworthy, an all round average of about 75% representing my achievements there. I had been quite used to holding it as ‘top boy’ all the time at Sunnybank School but quickly found my proper level when I found myself along with the cream of all the primary schools in town. The pupils at Gordon’s College were of two classes, those who came from the west end as paying pupils and, as the school was built, used the imposing entrance gate on Schoolhill, and those like myself, of the poorer class, who had gained scholarships and who crept in and out the back gate giving on to St Andrew Street. This is, of course, generally speaking and entirely due to the fact of the College being situated in the centre of the town with consequently one of the two gates facing more or less the residential part of the city and the other leading to the poorer districts. There was never any visible snobbery in the College. I spent four years at Gordon’s College. My scholarship was for three years, but if a pupil’s progress merited further encouragement, it lay in the power of the Board of Trustees, on the principal’s recommendation, to extend such scholarships for a further two years in order that the student might have the opportunity of going on to the University after having gained his Higher Leaving Certificate. But in 1919 I felt that my duty called me to take an active part in the supporting of the household and I decided to leave College, having gained the Lower Leaving Certificate the previous year. Consequently I applied for and obtained a position in the Aberdeen Public Library. My duties kept me in the Lending Department during the forenoon and as attendant in the Reading Room in the afternoon. I had always been an insatiable reader (and still am) but alas, for my expectations of a daily feast among the hundreds of volumes on all subjects which lay to my hand there. By order of the Librarian, G M Fraser, it was forbidden to the assistants to read. It was more that I could stand, hanging about among the bookshelves on rainy days (and there were many) when few borrowers came or to spend my time in the public Reading Room walking up and down the aisles between the tables and gently shaking the shoulders of old gentlemen who had become drowsy in the steam heated air and had dozed off over the periodicals. Hence my abrupt departure from those precincts and escape from the ennui with the Balmorals. So at last I return, almost, to the starting point of these reminiscences and as it seems to me that an explanation at this point of my being present in a prison cell would mean skipping more than twenty two years, I feel it would be advisable for a clearer understanding of my present position and also in the interest of continuity, to avoid such an abrupt termination to this biography which forms my escape from Soekamiskin. The intervening years between 1920 and 1942 will, I hope, occupy me thus pleasantly until my release. At the same time, I cannot promise that events will be related chronologically. While writing, a word here and there strikes a chord of memory and recalls rather haphazardly other events and experiences during my 39 years of life. Thinking of the Library, for instance, I see myself, on a quiet rainy day standing in the gloom between the tall bookcases scribbling my epic poem ‘ A German Sea Yarn’ and that reminds me of the period when writing of poetry (?) broke out on me like a rash. My first effort when I was 14, prompted by Heaven knows what, was quite a splash and ran as follows:

‘Soft eyes, gleaming ‘neath silken lashes,
Do smile on me; so that I
Who thought myself quite safe
From foolish pangs of love,
Do feel the blood pulsating in quick flashes
Through my veins; so that I
Needs must remove my gaze
From thy flowerlike countenance
Lest I should give offence
By mine too ardent glances.’

not exactly poetry but rather blankety blank verse. It was about this time too, that I started composing music for my poems and produced such masterpieces in the heroic sea shanties.

About this time I became afflicted with a spasm of calf love for a girl of my own age who played the violin and whom I was sent to accompany on the piano on frequent occasions. She eventually was engaged to play at a cinema in Peterhead, these being still the days of silent film when such depended on a piano or small orchestra to enhance the emotions depicted by the actions on the screen. Lovelorn, I cycled once (and only once) the 18 miles to Peterhead to see my inamorata. Rejected and dejected my reaction resulted in the following:

Till You Return
Oft in my dreams, my love, I long for you
When the nightshades gather round painting scenes a new.
God grant it be at hand, that blissful day
When we shall meet to part no more, I pray.

Till you come back once more, dear,
I shall ever be true to thee,
Tho’ the years be dark and dreary
And cast their shade o’er me.
I shall live for thee, dear,
As I know you shall live for me;
Till you return to me, my love,
I’ll be true to thee.

Tho’ I am sad and lonely and skies are grey,
Still I dream of you, dear one, by night and day.
In your dear arms, my love, may I find rest
Until we tread together on pathway to the West.

Till you come back etc.

The fit was still on me even when I was with the ‘Balmorals’, because when we were at Lossiemouth I wrote, with sublime conceit, ‘Advice from Old Age to Youth’.

I seem to have taken my own advice, all the same, because there do not appear to have been any further effusions and within a few months I had definitely settled down to make a living in the Aberdeen Savings Bank.

*******

Note from the blog author, Pat O’Neill:

I remember when I travelled to Scotland as a child with my parents being taken to John Troup’s shoe shop. It was a hive of activity and as soon as you entered you gained the wonderful rich smell of leather and polish. Before leaving John handed me a miniature shoe measuring no more than a couple of inches. It was black and a perfect replica of a man’s smart lace up shoe. I kept it for many a year to remind me of our trip.

4 August 1942

2009-05-05T13:32:00.001+01:00

Pea soup of Katjang Idjoe (mung beans) for breakfast. Out 9.45 to 10.40. Two handball games played. England – Holland and Indonesia – China. Fight started during latter game. PB dispensed judgment by slapping both offenders impartially and sending off field. Soap and book issue. Received ‘ An American Politician’ by J Marion Crawford. Good soup for supper – tomatoes in it!

_____________

These glorious summer holidays of 1913 and 1914 remind me of another splendid vacation in 1917 in my third year at Gordon’s College. I sat the examination for Gordon’s first in 1914 when I was still 10 years of age but did not get a place although I had the quite respectable average of 77% in the test paper. The next year, just after my father had joined up in the RASC (Royal Army Service Corps), I sat the exam again and to be doubly sure of obtaining secondary education I also took the entrance examination for the Aberdeen Grammar School. I passed in both, obtaining a foundation (as it was called) of free education, books and a grant of £12 per annum at Robert Gordon’s College and a bursary offering similar conditions but a grant of only £6 at the Grammar School. I chose the former, not because of the monetary advantage but also because of the fact that the Grammar School was reputedly snobbish and greatly addicted to games, for which I have never possessed much enthusiasm.

____________

Surprise outing 5.15 to 6.30 pm. Three ball games. Much more amusing to watch Aitkenhead at these times than to watch the game. He has the ball in his hands the whole time apparently and faithfully reproduces the actions of the player concerned. Only when it comes to throwing for goal he lifts his leg and kicks instead. He walks up and down the line following the play of the ball the whole time, always returning to the centre when a goal has been scored. I certainly should not care to stand before, behind or beside Aitkenhead at a football match!

____________

Looking at old College class groups I often wonder what has become of all the young lads there who were my fellow students. There were only three or four of whom I have heard anything of since. Marcus K Milne, who stepped into my shoes when I deserted the Public Library in favour of the ‘Balmorals’, and who is now Librarian there; Gordon H Swapp who I read about somewhere as a Naval surgeon; Douglas S Raitt who has achieved prominence on the Fishery Board; John F C Conn who is now, I believe, an authority on ship design (even as a boy of 11 John was always drawing ship interiors and trying vainly to induce me to share his enthusiasm); Robert Fullerton, whom I last heard of as on the staff of the Rubber Research Station in Malaya. The rest have vanished beyond my ken. In 1917 summer vacation volunteers were asked for logging operations in the north of Scotland, to prepare pit props for use in the trenches in France. Practically the school, from my year upwards volunteered and we were dispatched a few hundred strong to the wilds of Ross-shire and dispersed over a large area among the fir forests there. In some cases, there were camps of about 40 boys in charge of a master, other groups of 10 or 12 were accommodated in deserted farm houses and left to their own devices. I myself and three others, Alexander Clark, William Michie and Robert Fullerton were exceedingly fortunate in being housed in a half cottage, just a but and ben near Alness, a few miles inland from Invergordon. The other half of the cottage was tenanted by an elderly couple named Cormack and Mrs Cormack fairly mothered us four young lads and we were all very grateful indeed for her kindness. I remember when we left we clubbed together and bought her a silver (?) teapot. Poor body, she would no doubt have been very much more benefited with something more useful but in the ignorance of our years it seemed to us that nothing but a silver teapot could meet the case, I believe it cost us 25/- in Ivergordon. We had a grand time of it. Working hours were from 8 am till 12 noon and from 1.30 to 5 pm with Saturday half day and Sunday free. Our wages were 26/- per week and we had to find and prepare our own food. We four took the cook’s job week about and the cook was allowed to knock off work at 11.30 to prepare dinner for the quartet. I think it is just as well that Mrs Cormack took an active interest in our affairs otherwise our own unaided efforts would doubtless have had sorry consequences on our constitutions. We worked hard under the supervision of an elderly forester, with only one eye, whose name I forget. I should explain that our working gang consisted of about 50 boys who were quartered in the vicinity of this particular forest. We cut down the trees with cross saws, lopped off the branches with axes, sawed the logs into lengths ranging from 6 to 14 feet and then carried the logs and stacked them by the wayside, ready for the removal in trucks. It was a hard and healthy life and developed our young bodies more than any amount of other exercises could have done. Each Saturday afternoon we repaired to Invergordon which at that time was a centre of activity on account of the American fleet lying in the Comarty Firth. The town was like a beehive, simply swarming with naval men and workers and the more interesting and enlivening to us after six and a half days in the silent forests and the solitude of the countryside. Sundays we usually spent in long walks and fishing in the burns. We did catch a trout occasionally and quite often had the fish for Sunday supper. One Sunday we became musical on account of bad weather, I believe, and we had got our quartette going splendidly with ‘Ora pro nobis’ (Pray for us), myself standing on a chair conducting, when the door of our abode was thrown open with a crash and the farmer from the big house across the road from the cottage strode into the room, purple with (to him) righteous indignation and, shouting at the top of his voice, denounced in no uncertain terms our profanation of the Sabbath day. Useless to try and explain to him that ‘Ora pro nobis’ was by no means secular. We were in the wrong, and alike unto heathen, while he, roaring like a Bull of Bashan, was right and would have us all thrown out of the house if we did not accord the Lord’s Day due observance by remaining still as mice. Ah well, the man doubtless was sincere and convinced of his righteousness but is not the sort of hidebound intolerance of other forms of worship the cause of unending and unnecessary strife? A fortnight before we were due to return tot he school, Bert Fullerton received a nasty gash to his left leg by reason of his axe, slipping while he was lopping off branches and had to be sent home. But apart from this mishap there were no accidents among us.

3 August 1942

2009-04-30T11:33:00.001+01:00

PB still in good humour today. Out from 10.10 to 11.15. Three games of handball played – England v Holland, Holland v China, England v Indonesia. Smoking allowed but no talking. Great surprise for supper – nasi goreng (fried rice) and half a duck’s egg. No soup.

____________

Dad was a panel patient and the evil of the National Insurance Scheme was amply in evidence in his case. The doctor sent for immediately but presumably because it was Sunday he refused to come, although called no less than three times during that afternoon and night. If my father had been other than a patient for whom the doctor received payment from the Government whether he attended him or not, I am quite sure his behaviour would have been otherwise. He condescended to put in an appearance about 9 o’clock the next morning and, I recall being told, got a great shock and became as white as a sheet when he saw the severity of the injury. We can only trust that others benefited from what must have been to him a sharp realisation of the neglect of his duty as a physician. That Dad eventually recovered and was fit enough to be accepted for the Army two years later was in the greater measure due to the splendid constitution built up by years of clean living and honest toil. Dad’s incapacity for work for a long time was a serious matter for the household in our humble circumstances where the only income was the few shillings sick benefit granted weekly by his Union and it does my heart good when I think of how the Clan rallied round and helped in many ways to lighten the burden. One incident I shall never forget. An uncle and aunt, who shall be nameless, had visited us and it was only after they had been gone some time that we discovered a parcel of groceries behind the outer door which they had placed there surreptitiously when entering. Such kindness can never be forgotten. Anyhow, to return to the good ship, ‘Hogarth’. At the time I started that vacation, Dad was already convalescent but still far from fit for work. Father and mother and sister used to come to the quay to see me off on every occasion and it so happened that one day while they were there, the departure of the vessel was delayed on account of the second class stewardess failing unaccountably to turn up. But time and tide wait for no man or even a stewardess and it had just been decided to cast off when Johnnie, inspired, dashed down the gangway, grabbed my mother my the arm - ‘Come on, you’re the stewardess this trip’ – and hustled her aboard, leaving Dad and my sister Madge standing open mouthed on the quay. Johnnie quickly instructed Mother as to her duties which were merely to be at the beck and call of every female passenger and to assist in every way. Mother was soon busy but alas for all her good intentions to give satisfaction as stewardess on that trip. As soon as we had cleared the harbour and reached the open sea, the wind freshened to almost a gale and the poor little ‘Hogarth’ was tossed about like a cork all the way from Aberdeen to London. The second class quarters resounded with moans and cries of ‘Stewardess, stewardess’ but in vain. The new stewardess had been among the first to succumb to mal de mere and lay in a bunk praying weakly, I suppose, for death – when given the opportunity. So to all intents and purposes, the ‘Hogarth’ was none the less stewardess less during that trip. The return voyage, however, was made in perfect weather and I shall never forget the evening, with the sun sinking slowly like a great ball of fire in a sea of glass and my mother singing ‘Somewhere a voice is calling’ on the fore deck where the passengers had gathered for a sing song. Every time I hear that song it brings that scene back to me. There were doubtless other items but that is the only one I remember. It was one of those moments when it seemed the world stood still and the song with its setting were imprinted on my memory for evermore. The stewardess more than amended for her lapse on the outward trip and returned home much richer than when she set out, a great blessing under the circumstances. During one trip that summer, I celebrated my 10th birthday and I still remember the thrill that was mine that morning when I woke up and found two large cakes of chocolate next to my pillow, place there my Johnnie, the dear chap. He had also allowed me to sleep until I waked as an additional birthday present. When I did appear in the cook’s galley in due course, he came forward to congratulate me but I stopped with the the remark,’Not yet. I wasn’t born until 10 o’clock.’ And only when that hour struck did I deign to accept his congratulations. For a child of my years, I used to make quite a large sum (two or three shillings) in tips every trip. These tips came from second class passengers who generally economised by taking their food with them for the 36 hour journey instead of patronising the dining room and who came regularly to the galley to beg hot water for making tea. The task of supplying this want was delegated to me and I was quite proud of my official position as hot water dispenser. And talking of hot water that reminds me that I got into that element myself of one occasion on board the good ship ‘Hogarth’, running foul of the ship’s carpenter, albeit quite innocently. Up to the time my voice broke, I possessed the gift of imitating the whistling of a canary in a really wonderful degree, according to report. The trill in the canary’s song can, of course, be likened to a whistle with a pea in it, such as milkmen were then in the habit of using and may still do for all I know. Anyhow, the captain of the ‘Hogarth’ used such a whistle for calling the carpenter and as I had been trilling away intermittently in sheer exuberance of blithe youthful spirits one day, the carpenter, poor man, had been running up and down the stairs leading to the bridge all day to the great surprise and annoyance of the captain every time he appeared. I verily believe the carpenter would have clouted my ear if he could have got me alone. As it was, he did lift me clear of the ground and gave me a shaking but not in earnest, I suppose, but I know that I was so scared that I yelled blue murder and so upset the poor man that he hastily released me. But I was resolved from then on to keep the canary for dry land. My seagoing vacation in the following year, 1914, was broken off abruptly by the outbreak of war on 4 August. It was a keen disappointment to me – what did war mean to a child of my years? The Hogarth was later in the war torpedoed and sunk off Flamborough Head. These trips implanted in me a love of the sea and ships which has never died and up to the time I was sixteen, a sailor’s life was my ambition. During my last year at Gordon’s College, I attended the Navigation School there and had every intention of following the sea as a career. Circumstances, however, and no doubt for the best, decided otherwise. To enroll me as an apprentice on one of the steamship lines was beyond my parents’ means as a premium of anything from £40 to £100 had to be deposited and during the 4 year’s apprenticeship private means were practically essential. I was quite prepared to take the alternative course of shipping before the mast as an ordinary seaman, but immediately after the war (this was 1919) with the return of so many seamen to the merchant service, there were no vacancies to be found. So my dreams of a seagoing career had to be perforce shelved, although, the lure still haunting me, I tried to join the Navy even after I had apparently settled down in the position of a respectable bank clerk. But even there I was baulked, as there were no vacancies in the Navy either. Quite obviously, Fate had other plans for me.

2 August 1942

2009-04-21T10:09:00.001+01:00

Out from 10.20 till 11.35. PB still like a dove. Two games of handball played.

___________________

I started going to school at 5 years of age and attended Skene Square Public School

Skene Square School in Aberdeen as it stands today.

My attendance there was of short duration. I suppose that, petted and spoiled as I was by all the family, I was ill fitted to feel at ease among the ragamuffins of Skene Square and was probably pretty much picked upon as a result of my disinclination to mix with them. The fault was, of course, entirely mine as being much too sissy. However, my school mates, within a short time apparently decided that the error of my ways should be impressed upon me by means of the operation known as ‘the turkey’s nip’. This was administered as follows. Two boys held my arms while a third, having spat on the back of my left hand, rubbed the place with his rolled up tweed cap until the skin broke. I carry the scar to this day. I gather that it was this incident that decided my parents that I was not fitted for the rough and tumble of the public primary school and that I should be placed in a small private day school where I might learnt the three R’s without being the subject of such violent interruptions. In parenthesis, in self-defense for my failure to ‘make good’ at Skene Square I ought to mention that I was a sickly child and remained so until by 7th year, an operation of appendicitis then putting a full stop to the whole gamut of childish ailments, including whooping cough, measles (3 times, twice ordinary and once German, it is said), mumps, diphtheria, etc which had been my lot since birth. The private school I was sent to was such as has probably ceased to exist a quarter of a century ago and partook of the nature of the old fashioned Scotch country school where the Dominie was headmaster and whole teaching staff combined and the entire school accommodated in one room. My school was run by a Miss Reid, an elderly retired school teacher and if ever a woman had the gift of imparting knowledge and getting results from pupils, she had. I give Miss Reid the full credit for any really worth while training received by me during my years at school and college. She kept school in the sitting room of her flat which was on the top storey of a house in Rosemount Viaduct and had ten or twelve pupils at that time, of ages ranging from give to ten years of age. The children were either weakly, like myself, backward or, in some cases, actually mentally deficient. The classes were graded according, I believe, to age, so that a class by itself might consist of only tow or three pupils, if not of only one. Each child received, therefore, what amounted practically to individual tuition and benefited accordingly. I know for myself that even at that tender age the mass production methods employed in the public schools with 50 to 60 childish voices chanting in unison C-A-T, cat and D-O-G, dog used to nauseate and disgust me. There were only two of us in my class, a boy called Gordon and myself. I can remember on one occasion we were given a homework task of making up sentences containing certain words. One of the words given was ‘cheeses’. Gordon submitted the next morning - ‘The little baby died and went up to cheeses’. That is the only genuine schoolboy howler I can vouch for from experience. I was about a year and a half at Miss Reid’s school, my parents removing me when they began to notice that I was taking unto myself the habits of facial contortions and grimaces with several of my half witted classmates were afflicted. By disassociation this ill was soon remedied but the foundation which Miss Reid’s teaching had laid has been a lasting and invaluable benefit to me. After leaving Miss Reid I attended Sunnybank Primary Public School until I entered Robert Gordon’s College at 11 years of age in 1915. But the two years previous provided me during the summer vacation with a holiday such as any boy might envy. My uncle Johnnie was the cook on the SS Hogarth of the Aberdeen Steam Navigation Company, whose boats plyed between Aberdeen and London twice a week, the trip along the coast each way taking about 36 hours with a stay of the same duration in each port. Bless Jonnie for ever for his proposal that I should accompany him as supernumery cook’s boy during the summer holidays. Just imagine it – six whole weeks on board a ship and going to London every week, and that to a boy of nine! How Johnnie managed it I don’t know but as far as Captain Dow was concerned, I apparently did not exist. If he did see me, he must have, like Nelson, viewed me through the telescope with his blind eye. Anyhow, there was I, duly installed as cook’s third mate, complete with diminutive cook’s apron which mother had made for me and as happy as a lark. Mind you, I had to work and very good training it was. I had to wash dishes, polish brasses, peel potatoes and prepare vegetables. Only when selling peas I had to keep whistling. There was an abundance of good food as can be imagined (no wonder cooks are fat) and to which I did full justice with an appetite whetted by the healthy sea air, so much indeed that I recall that when I went on board at the beginning of the vacation, I weighed 3 stones 7 lbs and at the end 4 stones 5 lbs. That was in 1913 and it was in that year that my Dad met with a very serious cycle accident. It happened a little beyond Banchory where he was in the habit during the summer months of weekend camping in a tent with a few of his workmates. On this occasion he had arrived at the tent to find that the others had not yet arrived and decided to pass the time by prospecting a road close to the camping ground. The road led to a mill which was situated at the bottom of a steep incline where a bridge crossed a small stream at a sharp angle. Rounding the bend in the road, Dad found himself on the steep downhill stretch and, observing the bend at the bridge, clapped on his brakes. The brakes, for some reason or other failed to act and lost control of his cycle and half way down the hill, crashed into the stone wall running along the road side on the right. He remembers nothing more until he recovered consciousness at home many days later. We were informed, however, that the miller’s family who had heard the crash, found him standing in the middle of the road, his head split from above the right eyebrow to behind the right ear and simply soaked with blood, gravely contemplating in his hand the bell of the cycle which had been knocked off by the smash. He was brought to Banchory in a cart and was such a ghastly sight that the miller kept his head hidden under an umbrella when they came through the village. His injuries were temporarily dressed by a doctor there and he was then brought home to Aberdeen in a taxi cab. I always remember that on that day my mother, sister and myself were just on the point of going out for a walk when, looking out of the window, I saw a taxi coming up the street. ‘Mum’, I called, ‘there’s a taxi coming. Shall I engage it?’ ‘Righto’, said my mother, in the same joking spirit, ‘tell it to stop here.’ And while I watched, in idle curiosity, the car drew up and stopped at our door and mother and Madge, having run to the window at my excited call of ‘It’s stopped here’, the three of us were in time to see our poor Dad, his head and face swathed in bandages, being lifted out of the car.

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A note by Pat O’Neill about Robert Gordon’s College, as per http://AbsoluteAstronomy.com
‘It originally opened in 1750 as the result of a bequest by Robert Gordon, an Aberdeen merchant, who made his fortune from trading with Baltic ports, and was known at foundation as Robert Gordon's Hospital. This was 19 years after Gordon had died and left his estate in a 'Deed of Mortification' to fund the foundation of the Hospital. The fine William Adam-designed building was in fact completed in 1732, but lay empty until 1745 until Gordon's foundation had sufficient funds to complete the interior. During the Jacobite Rising in 1746 the buildings were commandeered by Hanoverian troops and named Fort Cumberland. Gordon's aim was to give the poor boys of Aberdeen a firm education, or as he put it to "found a Hospital for the Maintenance, Aliment, Entertainment and Education of young boys from the city whose parents were poor and destitute". At this point all pupils at the school were boarders, but in 1881, the Hospital became a day school known as Robert Gordon's College. Boarding did not return until 1937 with the establishment of Sillerton House. In 1989 RGC became a co-educational school.’

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http://www.eastlondonpostcard.co.uk In 1821 the Aberdeen Steam Navigation company began to operate a service from Aberdeen Wharf, Limehouse. General cargo was carried between London and Aberdeen. The image shown was that of the SS Aberdonian which would have been of a similar vessel to the SS Hogarth.

1 August 1942

2009-04-17T15:37:00.001+01:00

Did some washing and mending. Out from 5.30 to 6.30. Walk round only.

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Not that much drinking was done. I suppose the maxim allowance of whisky per man did not exceed a couple of drams altogether, but as all were very abstemious, as indeed the great majority of Scotsmen in Scotland are, even the smell of the cork, as the saying is, was enough to make them jolly and in high fettle to celebrate Hogmanay. The supper which was the real Scotch ‘high tea’ in its finest form, used to be sat down to, I think, about 10pm in the kitchen. Two tables were set, one for the grownups and one for the children, both completely covered with good things to eat. The ‘piece de resistance’ was invariably a plateful of sliced cold meat or ham for each person with plenty of bread and butter and good strong tea, and an abundance of plain and sweet cakes, fruit and sweets. A feast fit for a king. then there were the Christmas crackers at each plate which had to be pulled before the serious business of eating commenced and the paper hats donned and fortunes read which each contained. Such a noise of joyous excited babble and merriment as would have thawed the heart of any misanthrope. We children, I imagine, were too much occupied in giving our attention to the good things to eat to do much else, but the grownups’ table was the centre of almost continuous laughter as the one amusing anecdote or funny story followed the other. This reminds me of an amusing incident which occurred one Hogmanay supper in a later year when I myself had already qualified for a seat among the grownups. For some reason or other, on that occasion, probably as an overflow from the children’s table, my little cousin George Rickart, then about six years old was seated with the grownups. The usual stories were being told when, after the burst of laughter following the conclusion of some yarn had almost subsided, little George, in his shrill treble piping, shrieked out, ‘I know a story – I know a story’, until to silence him someone said, ‘Well, tell us your story, George.’ And George delivered himself at the top of his voice of the following:

‘There was a boy sitting in the class and there was another boy sitting behind and the teacher asked the boy, ‘Boy, who made you?’ and the boy stuck a pin in him and the boy said, ‘Oh, Christ!’

Poor George! I doubt if a funny story ever fell flatter. There was absolute dead silence for a moment while each one round the table avoided looking at the other then everybody started talking at once, desperately intent on changing the subject. On the whole, self control was wonderful. Only my aunt Margaret’s feelings got the better of her. I still see her clapping her hands over her mouth and rising hastily from the table and leaving the room precipitately, to reappear some five minutes later still wiping her streaming eyes, having had her laugh out in the privacy of her bedroom. Talking of funny stories, it is interesting and amusing to recall the type of story which was considered improper in those far off days and I ask myself whether it is a good or a bad sign that what was looked upon as improper then appears trivial and even childish to us at this day. For instance, I remember a party given at our house round about one New Year to which the family Primrose, who occupied the flat above ours, had been invited. Now, Johnny Primrose was a jolly, fat little man, always brimful of good spirits and apparently just the sort of person to keep the fun going in any company. All went well until we were seated at supper. Johnnie Primrose had fulfilled all expectations, and everybody was in high good humour and spirits when our guest, no doubt emboldened by his success as a fun maker, overstepped himself and lost face with that company for all time by telling this tale:

‘A boy, carrying a baker’s basket, entered a railway carriage and deposited the basket on the luggage rack above the seat. At the next station, an old gentleman came into the same compartment and seated himself, by chance, under the basket. After a time he became conscious of some slight discomfort and casting his eyes above beheld the basket. Removing himself hastily to another part of the compartment he said to the boy, ‘Boy, your pies are leaking.’ ‘It’s nae pies mister’, replied the lad, ‘it’s puppies’.

Believe it or not, the assembled company simply froze nor did they thaw during the whole rest of the evening, Johnnie Primrose had put himself beyond the pale once and for all. Poor innocent man! One shudders, contemplating his crime, to think of what must have been really acceptable as funny stories in those days.

But to get back to our Hogmanay gathering of the clan. We rose from the table shortly before midnight and returned to the sitting room where glasses were hastily charged and the windows thrown open to catch the first strokes of the hour which heralded the passing of the old and the coming of the new year; and in a hush in which the whole town, nay, the whole world, seemed to be listening, there would boom out from the far off steeple of St Nicholas Church the first stroke of twelve, to be immediately taken up by church bells in every part of the city and by the sirens of all ships in the harbour. And then such a hand shaking and embracing among our company in that really sacred moment when hand clasped hand and foolish misunderstandings of the past year were wiped out as if by magic and eye met eye and heart met heart with pure love and affection. And then one seats himself at the piano and, all standing, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ is sung with full voices and hearts eye, and with a tear as well. For to whom does ‘Auld Lang Syne’ mean so much as to a Scotch company and what memories come crowding in upon us when we hear that refrain on Hogmanay night? Even now my eyes are wet when I recall all the associations whcih it has for me. Hogmanay such as I have described and others later with a steadily and sadly diminishing family circle. Hogmanays spent in solitude, a stranger in a strange land and far from my ain folk with only memories for company. But there, let me thank God in all gratitude for such memories. Immediately after the New Year had been thus ushered in with due ceremony occurred the great event of that wonderful night for us children. All at once there would come a thunderous knocking at the outer door and our hearts would jump into our mouths because we knew that that wonderful person, Santa Claus had again condescended to hear our petitions and had come laden with the most marvellous yet vaguely familiar voice – nothing more. One of my aunts, Innes most probably, would go to the door, and opening it just a crack would ask, ‘Who do you want Santa?’, while we congregated in the dimly lit lobby, agog with excitement mixed with awe of the unknown. Then the mysterious voice would say a name and the child called would go to the door. And beyond, the door would be opened and nobody would be seen without. But see – there on the mat, what is that? A parcel, two, perhaps even three parcels, all bearing the name of the child whose name had been called. And so in turn, until Santa has delivered his gifts to all. No need to describe excitement and shrieks of childish joy attendant on the opening of the parcels, which, in the majority of cases, contained the recent heart’s desire of every child present. And so the Hogmanay reunion comes to an end and already the reaction of the unwonted late hour and emotion has set in for the still very little ones. The break up of the clan commences, the married folks with their kiddies returning to their own homes, while the younger members depart on a round of ‘first fittin’ which would probably continue till dawn. And so the years ended and began in the halcyon days of my happy childhood.

31 July 1942

2009-04-14T11:35:00.001+01:00

To doctor. Urine OK. Trouble no doubt caused by cold. On our side no sun until afternoon. Many others suffering same complaint. Out 5.20 – 6.15. Started PT by By but stopped by PB as B not able to remember exercises of previous day.

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Another effort on the part of my uncles to amuse me was the ‘down’ bed. I suppose that I myself with my then limited vocabulary was responsible for the description. Our house and that of my grandparents were only a matter of 50 yards apart although in different streets. We were ‘just round the corner’ from each other, with the result that ‘Smithy’, as I called myself, was rather oftener to be found in the latter house than in the former. So when I issued the decree, ‘Smithy sleep here tonight’, the down bed was conjured up. This bed was nothing more or less than a small mattress which was apparently kept under the bed in my uncle’s bedroom but it was made like a magic carpet to me. Before retiring, Johnnie would take me into the bedroom, and standing in front of the real bed, with many mysterious passes of the hands and cries of ‘Open Sesame’, would cause the ‘down’ bed to come forth from its lair. And while I gazed with eyes round with wonder, the ‘down’ bed would glide from under the valance, a few inches at a time with each call of the ‘Open Sesame’, and pass with the hands. This magic impressed me very greatly and it was quite a long time before I discovered that my uncle Joe, concealed under the bed, was responsible for the mysterious progress of the ‘down’ bed. Oh, happy happy days! And what could equal the joy of a party on Hogmanay night, which was a real family reunion in the best sense of the word. And as the years passed more grandchildren appeared, several marriages having taken place in the family in the interim, it seemed to be a case of ‘the more the merrier’. On that great day, we children were put to sleep early in the afternoon and awakened only in time to dress and fully wake up about 8pm. These parties followed the main, year after year, a sort of fixed routine in so far as the same songs were sung, the same games played. But these, generally speaking, had a significance for our charmed circle only. Take for instance, ‘The Demons and the Fairies’. How this originated, I do not know, but it was never neglected. All the children and some of the male grownups would go out of the sitting room where the company was assembled. My aunt Innes, that dear self sacrificing soul (and it was always Innes) would sit down at the piano and commence a tremolo of tinkling sound on the high keys. This was the signal for the children to come dancing into the sitting room doing their best to represent the ‘joie de vivre’ of the fairy world while the company applauded their efforts. This was no sooner accomplished than the tones from the piano changed to a deep bass rumble which gave their cue to the Demons represented by the few male grownups, who would then burst into the room on hands and knees, growling like beasts (or demons) and with gnashing of teeth would endeavour to grasp the children with their fearful claw like hands. Such shrieks from the children, such awe inspiring growls as filled the air for some minutes! a veritable pandemonium. But of course the Demons never succeeded in their fell purpose. The rest of the adult company would protect the Fairies and then drive the Demons with a combine rush out into the outer darkness of the lobby. Each child had its opportunity of singing a little song, giving a recitation, or a dance, and I do not believe that any of them ever neglected the opportunity. My cousins, Elizabeth and Margaret sang on one occasion a duet of which I recall only the following:

‘Oh, the sports of childhood
Roaming through the wild wood
Tripping through the meadows
Happy and free.’

and which was voted a great success. Another childish song, by whom rendered I fail to remember was:

‘I’m a little busy bee, roaming in the clover,
Here I go, there I go, all the meadows over.
Hear me singing merrily – Bzzz- Bzz.
Ever singing merrily – Bzzz – Bzz.’

Of all the items rendered by the grownups I believe the most popular was always my grandfather’s rendering of ‘I traced her little foot steps in the snow’. This ditty dealt with the going astray of a loved one during a snowstorm and the chorus of ‘I traced her little foot steps, etc’ was always accompanied by a few steps of a dance of grandfather’s own invention. An innovation which he introduced one year quite brought the house down. At the last chorus, he dipped his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a handful of confetti which he sprinkled over his head while doing the dance. It was a huge success. The we had my uncle Jim who gave us the ballad ‘Lucky Jim’. This ballad, a humorous one, dealt with ill luck of the singer as compared with that of his friends. ‘Lucky Jim’, the last verse related:

‘Years rolled on and death took Jim away, boys,
Left his widow and she married me
Oft I think of Jim so long at rest, boys,
Sleeping in the churchyard by the sea’

Chorus: ‘Oh lucky Jim, how I envy him.’

or words to that effect. It was a great favourite. There was always a vocal item by George Rickart, my aunt Helen’s husband, who sang a song in Irish dialect which commenced:

‘As I went out one evening to Tipperary town,
I met a little colleen among the heather brown.’

which ended with :

‘Och, the little pigs had done
Oh, the dear little girl.’

Then there was the duet by Helen and George ‘Prithie, pretty maiden’ which is I believe, from one of the Gilbert and Sullivan’s operas, and Helen herself singing ‘My dear soul’ and ‘My curly headed babby’/ What a treat were their solos and what a glorious contralto voice she had. I believe Helen once had an offer to record for ‘His Majesty’s Voice’ records and declined. A great hit of the evening was always my uncle Pat’s rendering of ‘Every bullet has its billet’ which contains the lines:

‘Pass the grog round
Mind don’t spill it.’

and which was always, by general acclaim on the part of the men folk, repeated ad lib, until my aunt Margaret, who acted as barmaid on those occasions took the hint and recharged the glasses with mountain dew.

30 July 1942

2009-04-10T12:28:00.001+01:00

Out 5.30 to 6.30. PT from By ( a Dutch internee who was a physical training instructor) who was constantly interrupted by PB. Change of guard – better type. We are daring to talk between cells.

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And, talking of memories, I believe the first thing I vividly remember in my life is standing on a low stool at the sink in the scullery of my maternal grandparent's house, drinking chloride of lime out of a bottle. I could not have been more than 3 years old then but still old enough to get into mischief which might easily have had fatal results. I remember spitting the stuff out as soon as it touched my tongue – not really a spit at that age, of course, but a slobber, and I heard in later years that a blue anchor which was embroidered on the front of the little jacket I wore, was bleached white in consequence. Looking back, it seems as if all the mischief I got into between the ages of 3 and 6 took place in my grandparent’s house, probably because, I spent more time there than anywhere else. I was the first surviving grandchild (my parents’ first born having died in infancy) and consequently must have been made much of by my mother’s still unmarried 4 brothers and 5 sisters as well as by the grandparents. I think the very strong Clan feeling which I have and my ever earnest wish to keep all branches of my mother’s family united, no matter how far scattered over the earth they may be, must spring from the happy days when family affection was lavished upon me by all those dear people who are now so far away from me and from each other. They, no doubt, remember vividly my almost setting the house on fire. The smoking of cigarettes by my uncles aroused in me a keen desire to emulate them in the art of sending forth lovely clouds of smoke, and this desire, coupled with the fascination which the lighting of matches seems to possess for most children, led me to an act which might have had serious consequences. I must have been between 4 and 5, I think, when one day, having found a cigarette end and provided myself with a box of matches which had been carelessly left lying about, I crept into one of the bedrooms and, standing before a low dressing table, the mirror of which was draped with muslin curtains after the fashion of those days, I endeavoured to light up. In keeping my attention concentrated on the cigarette stub just below my nose, I had not noticed that one end of the mirror draping, blown by the wind from the open window, had made contact with the flame of the match. Just as I had succeeded in achieving my first puff, I raised my eyes in time to see the flames spread to the window curtains. Realising that I had done something very, very wrong, I must have decided that silence is golden. My guilty conscience prompted me, I presume, to say nothing about it, so I just left the room hurriedly and, closing the door behind me, returned to the kitchen, trying to look as innocent as possible. Fortunately, the opening of the door allowed the smell of burning to penetrate through the house, so that the outbreak was almost immediately discovered and the fire extinguished before very much damage had been done. I cannot recall having been punished for this bit of serious mischief. I should probably have been a better man today if I had been. A minor crime of mine in that house during those years was the smashing of practically every ornament on the kitchen dresser on at least two occasions. In extenuation, however, I should mention that I am sure that dresser did not stand firmly on its four feet. Anyhow, romping about the room, I brought up against the dresser with sufficient force to dislodge all vases, knick knacks etc, thereon with disastrous effect on those same. I remember that my Grannie used to say that my first week’s wages must be forfeited to replace the damage. I regret to say that I never fulfilled that expectation. My uncles, Joe and Johnnie, were then mere lads of about 16 and 17 and I owe them the memory of many happy and thrilling hours in the old house. They created for my especial benefit a secret society called ‘The Black Hand’ gang whose meetings used to be held in great secrecy and with much mysteriousness in one of the bedrooms once a week. I used to be warned in conspiratorial undertones by one of the other that a meeting was to be held at such and such a time and would creep to the bedroom door and knock for admission in the prescribed secret manner. The door being opened about an inch, the password would be demanded of me. ‘Death and Blood’, or some such horrifying expression, and then I would be admitted to the gang’s secret meeting place. The only light in the room came from one candle on the dressing table with, as background, a grim skull and crossbones symbol inked on a white cloth draping the mirror. We three would sit around the guttering candle and discuss, in whispers, our plans for the stealing of the Crown Jewels or some such deed of daring. There were all sorts of secret signs and oaths of secrecy to be sworn on every occasion and altogether the meetings of ‘The Black Hand’ gang provided me with such a thrill as I have never experienced since. On meetings nights, I wore one of my father’s cast off jackets which had a piece of white cloth, on which a life size black hand was painted, sewed on to the lining on the left side. In addition to the secret knock and password, the jacket had to be opened and the mystic sign displayed before admittance could be gained. While the gang was functioning, my sister fell ill with scarlet fever, and, according to health regulations, all our clothes were taken away to be fumigated and decontaminated. We often wondered what the authorities thought when the sign of the Black Hand was revealed!

29 July 1942

2009-04-08T12:00:00.001+01:00

PB is with us again but seems more subdued than formerly. Trifling incident VH who, tapped on head with paper roll, flopped as if struck dead. Very silly. Walk around only. No PE.

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Nor truth to tell, did I contemplate other than purely legitimate means of securing the necessary article. If in doubt, they say, ask a policeman and this was definitely applicable to the present issue. I repaired, therefore, to the notorious police station in Lodge Walk which did a thriving business every Saturday night in the matter of drunks and disorderlies from the Castlegate and elsewhere. Rather timorously, I entered the Charge Room and diffidently stated my business to a beefy man in blue seated at the high charge desk. The fact that he did not wear a helmet gave me more confidence than I had had before entering. To me, as I suppose to most people, a policeman complete with helmet is a rather awe inspiring sight, but a policeman without a helmet is a Samson shorn of his locks and deprived of his majesty. This particular bobby looked quite human and heard my request with polite attention. But apparently, in all his career as a minion of the law, he had never before been called upon to supply a cast off helmet. He reflected deeply and then presumably decided to call in the help of Scotland Yard, or at least a higher authority, to handle the case. He was clearly stumped. ‘Ah canna tell ye’, he said. ‘Ah’m afraid ye’ll have to see the Chief Constable aboot that. Jist sit doon there for a minute.’ So I sat down on a bench while my shorn Samson departed presumably to enquire if the Chief Constable was disengaged. While I sat there, I was approached by another polite man in blue. His approach had something conspiratorial about it and he did his best to walk on tiptoe but without much success. His feet ran true to regulation size. He stooped down until his face was on a level with mine and then asked, in a hoarse whisper, ‘Is it anything confidential sir?’ The humour of the thing struck me and I grinned and replied, ‘No, no. I just wanted to buy an old helmet.’ The poor man looked so disappointed and offended that I felt quite sorry for him. He straightened up with an injured air and, turning his back to me, retired from the scene with massive dignity. A few minutes later, my Samson reappeared and beckoned me. ‘Will ye come this way, sir?’ So I followed him through a door, up a flight of stairs where he knocked discreetly on one of the doors leading off the landing, and ushered me into the presence of Chief Constable Anderson, he himself retiring and closing the door softly behind me. The Chief Constable was seated at a writing desk busily writing when I entered. He looked up a moment and, indicating a chair in front of his desk, said, ‘Please sit down’ and continued writing. After a short time, he finished the task he was engaged upon and then, giving me his attention asked, ‘Now, what can I do for you?’ Feeling rather diffident in the presence of this august authority and, suspecting already that I had been directed not exactly to the proper department, I blurted out, ‘Can you sell me a cast off helmet?', and then added apologetically the reason why it was required. He just sat and looked at me for a moment and then said, ‘No, I am sorry. Will you go out this way?’ But as I passed him while he held a door open for me, I think I detected a slight twitching of his lips as if he endeavoured to repress a smile. And I am sure that he indulged in that smile in the privacy of his sanctum, preparatory to having poor Samson on the carpet. As for me, I descended anther flight of stairs and found myself outside in the street, having failed dismally in my assignment. And, after all, it was decided to put another sketch altogether! The programme had been arranged for the second tour and it so happened that we were to play first at Banchory, the place where I had commenced my career with The Balmorals and the place which was destined to see the end of it. We arrived in Banchory by late afternoon train and having arranged accommodation, repaired to the hall and got everything set to rights just in time for the opening of the show at 8pm. I sat in the ticket box till 8.15 and by that time the audience numbered….. two! It was a complete ‘dry up’. We gave the audience their money back and closed down. Gus declared that nothing would induce him to stay to show his face in Banchory next morning and asked Monty if he was game to walk back to Aberdeen – 18 miles! Monty was game and somehow the idea appealed to me too. So the ladies were brought to the hotel and installed there for the night while Gus, Monty and I set out on our long trek. I will always remember that walk. Gus and Monty were so cheery and humorous about the whole business, accepting the bad luck in typical trouper spirit, that the miles passed under my feet almost unnoticed. I remember we sat down at the side of the road with our backs to a wall somewhere beside Culter and I know I laughed until my sides were sore at Gus who, with a mock air of tragedy, sat calculating from the rolls of admission tickets how much could be saved from the wreck by the refund of entertainment tax. When we arrived in town, it was still too early for the tramcars to be running and I, for one, had to walk right across town before reaching home, which added quite a few miles to those I had already left behind me. I aroused a startled household about 5 am but deferred more lengthy details until I woke at 5 pm the same afternoon. That finished my connection with The Balmorals. I could have continued with them during the summer months in a Pierrot show on the beach but as the summer season did not commence until 1 May and the ‘dry up’ occurred about the end of February, I had no inclination to spend two months in idleness, or ‘resting’ as it is known in the profession, nor, candidly, could I afford to do so. I applied, therefore, for a situation with the Aberdeen Savings Bank and commenced duty there in March 1919 as a respectable bank clerk. But I had had my ‘fling’ and such a ‘fling’ as many might have envied and I have always looked back on those few months as a concert party artist with very pleasant memories.

28 July 1942

2009-04-06T14:30:00.001+01:00

Went to the doctor who comes Tuesdays and Fridays. Suspect chill in bladder. Excessive urinating during the morning and forenoon. Must send sample of mine tomorrow morning. Out 5.40 to 6.30. Usual routine.

________

To revert to the show itself, the final item was a sketch in which Stratton, Monty and myself took part in the characters respectively of the winsome heroine, the heavy villain and the soldier lover. The piece started with a discussion, before the audience, between Gus and Monty as to how the audience could be further amused and on their deciding to present a play, the plot was arranged and the parts assigned. I myself being called, as a half witted stagehand, to have my part explained to me. This explanation took at least 10 minutes, during which time Monty harangued me as to what was expected of me with the help of good old ‘slap stick’ while all I had to do was to stand and look foolish. I must have possessed a natural aptitude for looking silly and half witted because on a number of occasions the audience shrieked so much with laughter at the sight of my face that Monty had to turn my back to the public in order to be able to continue his injunctions. In self defense I must, of course, mention that my face was to such an extent made up that even my mother would not have recognised me. The ‘slap stick’ which was applied to my face about every ten seconds, was, I should explain just a piece of paper folded a few times, to a breadth of about four inches and a slap with it across the face is quite painless, although the report of the blow sounds like a revolver shot and is very effective. However, the play having now been fully discussed and arranged, the action now commenced. The audience were invited to imagine that the platform was a lake on which the villain represented a rock on which the soldier lover was on sentry duty. The boat was an ordinary table turned upside down with the legs in the air while the oars consisted of a couple of sweeping brushes. Gus was wonderfully arrayed in a dress which had probably once served as window curtains and a picture hat sporting a woebegone imitation ostrich feather. Owing to the fact that the item preceding the sketch was of the nigger minstrel variety and in which Gus was the entertainer, there was no time to clean off the chocolate coloured grease paint so that with a wig of dark brown tresses hanging over his shoulders, Gus portrayed a very dusky damsel indeed. Monty wore a top hat and the typical villain’s sweeping black moustache. I had on an old Army tunic and a paper cocked hat and was armed with a rusty old air gun. I caused quite a mess and got a good telling off one night, when, having had one of those brainwaves which all actors suffer from in an effort to improve their roles, I endeavoured to render a firing of the air gun more realistic and effective by filling the barrel beforehand with face powder. Although the effect was undeniable, the results did not justify repetition. Not only Monty and Gus, but the first few rows of spectators looked as if they had just passed through a flour mill! After a lot of nonsensical but extremely humorous dialogue, the villain succeeds in enticing the coy maiden into the boat, and the oars being wielded vigorously one is supposed to imagine that in due course the middle of the lake has been reached. Then and only then does the bold bad villain reveal his intentions. He must have the necklace, the valuable family heirloom which the fair one wears round her dusky neck. ‘No, never – by Heaven’ she cries. ‘Curse you, give it to me’ hisses the villain, ‘or else I will throw you overboard and leave you in the watery grave!’ ‘Spare me, spare me,’ sobs the damsel. ‘The necklace then, the necklace’. ‘No, no, rather death than that!’ And with a prayer, ‘Matthew, Mark, Luke.John, hold the donkey till I get on,’ the brave girl casts herself into the water and lies floundering on the boards while the villain endeavours to manoeuvre his craft so that he may still snatch the coveted necklace before the fair one sinks for the fourth and last time. Piercing shrieks from the drowning damsel pierce the air – will the villain succeed in his fell design? Ah but see, the soldier lover on yonder heights awakes from his forty winks and taking in the whole situation at a glance levels his rifle and fires and the villain falls back in the boat; shot through the heart. And now for the rescue of his loved one. But first, he must divert himself of his tunic, from under which are cast off, one by one, no less that 14 waistcoats. During the striptease act, the yells of the heroine continue, but at last the soldier lover stands revealed in his shirt (and trousers, of course) and leaps into the water to be immediately caught up and carried off the stage by the heroine. The lowest of low comedy, I suppose, but it never failed to evoke shrieks of merriment from the audience and it was just real good clean fun.

Well, after this rather lengthy preliminary, I come back to the nearest I have ever been to prison in my life before. It so happened that after a few months, it was decided to revisit a number of places but with, naturally, a complete change of programme. A new sketch was, therefore, called for and Gus had an idea for one which had a policeman as one of the characters. For a policeman, we had to have a helmet and where were we to procure a helmet? Somehow or other, the task of procuring a helmet was assigned to me and I set about the task in the only way which occurred to me. One reads of valiant and daring souls for whom no Boat Race night would be complete if they did not succeed in securing a policeman’s helmet to mark the end of a perfect day, but as Boat Races are unknown in Aberdeen, I had neither the excuse of opportunity.

27 July 1942

2009-04-02T14:35:00.001+01:00

Washed pyjamas, towel, undershirt and socks. Did some mending and darning. Not very neat jobs. Out 5.30 to 6.30. Usual routine.

____________

Gus Stratton was a much younger man, about 30 at that time, I suppose, and was the real mainspring of the troupe. He was of a medium height and proportionally built with the mobile features of the born comedian. He was extremely energetic and had all the aplomb and self confidence, amounting practically to self conceit, which is quite a usual characteristic of the professional comedian. The skin of his face always struck me as having been made specially for the reception of grease paint. He was certainly a live wire both on the stage and off it and thanks to him in the main, I feel, the general organisation of the tour left nothing to be desired. Whether transport, ‘digs’, or getting hold of a lorry to bring Mrs Macdougal’s hired piano to the hall, he arranged everything perfectly and in fact displayed to a marked degree those qualities of determination and getting things done which were later to carry him to the top of the profession. The Scotch act performed by Gus and Mrs Stratton was definitely one of the very best on the program and consisted of humorous dialogue, song and dance. An incident in the act where Gus, after a mock quarrel with his ‘Bonnie Jeannie’ (Mrs S) used to jump off the stage and walk up through the audience to the front door of the hall until recalled by a plaintive ditty from the lips of his Jeannie, was one which never failed to thrill and amuse the country folks greatly. Mrs Stratton was a dainty little woman with a very sweet oval face. She had also a very sweet disposition, rather timid, and somehow or other I always had the impression that she stood rather in awe of her husband, whose energy was certainly enough for two and whose forceful personality no doubt impressed itself very strongly on her much softer nature. Little Gladys Stratton certainly, had from a child’s point of view, a rather wonderful time of it. How Gus managed it I do not know but presumably had a dispensation from the School Board authorities which allowed her to travel and perform, but with the stipulation that she would attend the local school in whichever town or village we happed to stop at. It speaks for itself that the exigencies of travel very often interfered with the routine, but even when she did attend the local schools it must have been quite a pleasant and interesting experience, what with a class of new schoolmates every time, not to mention the homage and respect paid to her by her sister pupils as a real little actress. But it did not spoil her in the least. she had been accustomed to the footlights since her birth practically and her position was so natural to her that I do not suppose it ever occurred to her that she was very different from other children, or the same age in the matter of her upbringing. she was then about 10 years of age, I imagine, a pretty little girl with lively brown eyes and long brown ringlets, with her mother’s sweetness of face but the softness qualified by a trace of her father’s determined character about the chin. She was a clever child and I do not doubt but that her training as Thelma had much to do with her ability to learn and remember her lessons so well.

Heartie Collins, our pianist (I remember her name now) was a frisky young thing of, I suspect, rather more than 30 summers. She was slightly built, with a mass of fluffy fair hair dressed with bow on top of her head and rather protuberant china blue eyes. Poor Heartie was rather susceptible to male attention and lost her heart to one swain or other at every place. She was a capital concert party pianist and did yeoman service every night after the performance as well. It was the custom, and a very good idea it was, to hold a dance or ‘shilling hop’ after the show. From the management’s point of view it was a golden opportunity for increasing the takings and as far as the audience was concerned it was an additional inducement to make a night of it after having come miles, many of them, to attend the show. The only new fangled dance on these occasions was the ‘one step’ which had just come into fashion. For the rest, the dance programme consisted of the real hefty stuff, like ‘Strip the Willow’, ‘Highland Scottische’, ‘Eightsome Reel’, ‘Lancers’ and ‘Quadrilles’, etc. and how the lads and lasses used to go at them. None of your fancy dancing pumps on these occasions, but good solid low heeled shoes and heavy tacketty boots which used to make the floorboards crack and skirls and hoochs enough to lift the roof clean off!

26 July 1942

2009-03-30T11:36:00.001+01:00

Out from 5.25 to 6.05. Walk, run round and PE as usual in silence.
_____________

Altogether, the show bills specified about 20 items and were rather apt to give the impression that the company consisted of at least as many artists. But even if we were only six, we certainly did the work of 20! It was a case of rapid fire and quick change all the time and the whole show went with a swing and tempo which I have seen equalled, but never bettered, since. Although I may be somewhat biased regarding the quality of our entertainment, the vociferous applause which was invariably our portion (when the audience turned up) would seem to have confirmed my own opinion that it was a rattling good show. Or it may only have been that the country lads and lasses were easily pleased with anything in the way of novelty, such as we certainly brought to them!

Thelma, the Wonder Child (little Gladys Stratton), assisted by Professor Montague, performed an act of telepathy and clairvoyance. She sat in the middle of the platform, blindfolded, while Monty went to and fro among the audience selecting a watch here, a brooch or a coin here, and asking Thelma to describe the article, tell the time from the watch or the date of the coin etc. The whole thing was, of course, based on a system of key words which were contained in the questions which Monty asked. For instance, ‘What is this?’ would mean signify a ring, while ‘What have I here?’ indicated a watch and so on. Similarly, with time and dates the numbers were conveyed in questions. For example, ‘Can’ stood, say, for 10, ‘tell’ for 2 and ‘now’ for 5, so that when the question was put, ‘Can you tell me now what the time is'?’ the answer was, of course, 10.25. The question sounded quite natural, such as ‘Tell me the time on this watch’; ‘Can you say what time this watch shows?’; ‘What is this?’; ‘Now what have I in my hand?’ and so on, and the effect must certainly have been mystifying and entertaining to the uninitiated audience. There was nothing very wonderful in the whole business but little Gladys was certainly a wonder child as far as her memory was concerned. How I have envied that child then and since for her power of memory and never more so than on one occasion when, Gladys being indisposed, Monty in an ill-omened moment, insisted that I should act as her substitute in order to fill the bill. Ye Gods, how I swotted at the code the whole of that day! And imagine my feelings when, having been introduced to the audience by Monty as the brother of the famous Thelma and also gifted with clairvoyant powers, I was placed on the chair, blindfolded, and left all on my lonesome in the middle of the stage. On being blindfolded, not only the lights in the hall were obscured, but every other light, mental or otherwise, deserted me. I have not been blessed with a good memory and realising that even then, I was in a state of sheer funk as well. The torture began, but to my shame, but none the less to my devout relief, it did not, could not, last long. I believe I answered the first two or three questions correctly, simple things such as a ‘ring’, a ‘brooch’, etc. However, when it came to the date on a coin, the last remnants of reason fled and everything went blank. And there I sat, bathed in a sort of cold perspiration, dimly aware of Monty’s voice asking the same question two or three times, giving that up and going on to something else in a desperate effort to save the situation. But all in vain. There sat the clairvoyant brother of Thelma, a complete dumb dud. Poor Monty made the best of it but I had let him down badly and he could do no more than return to the stage and lead me away. Monty was one of the best natured souls alive, but I can find it in my heart to forgive him if he suffered from some slight homicidal tendency that evening.

In this way, Monty was quite a character. He was, I suppose, about 50 when I knew him and had been, I believe, connected with the ‘profession’ in a rather third rate capacity, I imagine, most of his life. He was a fair enough conjurer but confining himself to the stock tricks of the trade and quite a passable ventriloquist, working with the usual dummy. The only bit of ‘patter’ between Monty and his dummy which I can recall went as follows:

Dummy: Who was that girl I saw you with last night?
Monty: That was my fiancée, George.
Dummy: Oh what a face – what a dial!
Monty: (Slap!) Shut up, you impudent rogue! Besides, George, you must remember that beauty is only skin deep.
Dummy: Then, for Heaven’s sake, skin her!
(Slap!)

Monty also had another act which he called ‘Papergraphy’. This was carried out with nothing else than a fairly big piece of wrapping paper, folded somewhat after the fashion of a Venetian blind, which by manipulations was made to represent a chair, a basket, a fan, etc. Rather clever and entertaining, too. Monty was fairly heavily built man and somehow gave the impression that his legs were somewhat of inadequate strength to carry the upper structure. he did not exactly walk – he stumped. His shoulders were slightly bent as though he carried a load – which I have no doubt he did, poor old chap. Failure was written all over him and even his face had a battered look about it which reminded one of an ex prize fighter run to seed. He always smoked Woodbines but, strangely enough, I cannot remember ever having seen Monty with a whole, or even a half cigarette, in his mouth. It was always a stump of about half an inch long in the corner of his mouth, the smoke from which crept continually past his nose into his left eye, which was always half closed and tearful in consequence. That cigarette stump has always puzzled me because Monty smoked 50 to 60 Woodbines a day and the whole cigarette must have existed. But, as I have said, I never saw one. Monty was clean shaven and used a good old ‘cut throat’ razor. The sight of Monty shaving was one which filled me not only with respect (I myself had nothing to shave at that time) but with a feeling akin to awe. He never used a mirror and used to wander all over the place scraping away the perpetual cigarette stump in the corner of his mouth and his face all screwed up from the combined effects of the smoke and the operation. He was one of the kindest hearted men, easy going, taking the bad with the good in an admirable philosophical spirit – a regular old trouper of the best kind, and a very real asset in a small ensemble such as ours.

25 July 1942

2009-03-26T10:01:00.001Z

Received a wonderful parcel from Ineke yesterday, my birthday, containing two pillow cases, writing pad and pencils, the pocket Bible and the pocket Testament which Dad carried with him in the last war, playing cards, needle, thread and wool, a tin of home made Swiss milk toffee, condensed milk, cigarettes and cigarette papers. I feel like a millionaire. The pad and pencils are a godsend. Out 5.30 to 6.15. The tough guys are on duty, W and W, Looney, Pokerface etc.

Yesterday, I celebrated my 39th birthday in a prison cell. And, just half an hour ago, still in the cell, I celebrated the first day of my fortieth year by sitting down on a plateful of soft boiled rice! My cell is 2.5 x 1.5 meters (8 feet x 5 feet) and the furnishing is scanty. A small oblong table, a three legged stool, a bed which folds up against the wall when not in use, and a small cupboard hanging on the wall above the bed is the inventory, if one excepts the very respectable WC pot with a zinc basin above it in the corner apposite bed and door. In removing anything from the cupboard, therefore – and I had just taken my writing pad from under the plate of rice – there are only the table and chair to put it on. The table being otherwise engaged at the moment, I placed the plate of rice on the stool, took out the pad, closed the cupboard, turned round and sat down. The immediate sensation was a surprising one – a soft yielding combined with a concave resistance, which at last suddenly gave way with a mild crack as the plate broke under me in three pieces. Realisation came with a crack, but even then a moment’s cogitation was necessary to determine how the act of rising could be accomplished with a minimum of further disaster. Taking off my shorts was a delicate operation as was the messy job of scraping the seat with my spoon. Soft boiled rice also all over the stool and floor – but all is cleaned up now and order restored, my shorts hanging on the window with the damaged portion exposed to the evening breeze. No supper tonight, though.

But to get back to this prison business. The nearest I have ever been to prison in my life before was away back in 1919. I had given up a promising position in the Aberdeen Public Library (13/6 per week which equates to, in today’s money, 67.5 pence or 94 US cents, with the prospect of becoming perhaps a junior librarian in 20 years’ time) to join with a travelling concert party, The Balmorals, which was just commencing a winter tour of practically every town and village from Aberdeen West and Northwards. I joined as vocalist, at fifteen and a half years of age, and was provided with a second hand dinner suite (30/- from one or other old clothes’ store) with a salary of 30/- per week all found or, again in today’s money, £1.50 or just over US$2. The Balmorals party was run by Gus Stratton and James Montague (Monty) and consisted of Stratton and his wife and child, Monty, a young/old lady, whose name I forget as pianist and myself. As I have said, I joined the party as vocalist but my duties as a member of The Balmorals were manifold, not only during the performance but also during the rest of my waking hours as no doubt with a view to economy, no extra help was engaged at any point. We played only one night in each place and travelled, sometimes by rail or car and sometimes even on shanks’ mare if the distance was not too great, from point to point. Monty’s son, Jimmie (poor lad) was our advance agent and his duties were to precede us by about a week to ten days, on a bicycle, pasting bills advertising the show wherever possible in, and in the vicinity of, the villages to be visited, hiring a hall for the performance and arranging for the hire of a piano if there was none in the hall. When the party arrived the first thing to be done was the distribution of handbills along the streets and outside the schools and the arranging of the seating accommodation and placing of the piano by the male members, while the ladies occupied themselves in setting things to rights ‘back stage’. I also sat at the receipt of customs, in the ticket box, when the doors opened and as soon as everybody was inside, I would close the door and dash round to the back of the stage to be ready for the ‘come on’ with the others. The program lasted about 2.5 hours altogether, commencing usually at 8pm with an interval of 15 minutes. During the first half the ‘sit around’ method was adopted as in a Pierrot show on the sands with all members of the party seated in a half circle on the stage, Gus and Monty acting as ‘corner men’, and each member rising and coming forward to do his or her turn in succession. I usually sang a couple of songs, Mrs Stratton and Gus a semi humorous duet or two, Thelma Stratton sang and danced, while Monty and Gus kept the patter and announcements going from their respective corners. The second half was another pair of shoes, consisting of individual turns and finishing up with a hilarious sketch. The items, as billed, included ‘Thelma the Wonder Child’, ‘The Strattons, Scotch Character Duo’, ‘Professor Montague, Conjurer and Illusionist’ (Monty), ‘Maximillian Sylvester, Ventriloquist’ (Monty again) and ‘Donald Munro’ (myself) tenor vocalist.

********************************

A note by Pat O’Neill about ‘The Concert Party’:

The concert party was usually composed of a group of singers, much like a small choir who performed popular songs as well as art songs. The concert party format was very popular at the time and still exists in various areas of the UK.

Although the music hall tradition continues today, during the beginning of 1900, music halls dominated the musical scene and virtually every town and village boasted music hall activities.

A very famous artist called Sir Harry Lauder was to become The World's Most Beloved Musical Humorist. Follow the link and you will get an insight to not only Sir Harry but also to the idea of a concert party.

Here we go again!

2009-03-25T12:11:00.001Z

Can it really be 3 months since I posted here? What has been happening during that time? Christmas was the biggy with family coming over to enjoy the fruits of my cooking in my old kitchen for the last Christmas before a total refurbishment. But that is another story! Various family birthdays; a new addition to our family of a boy to continue our family dynasty (can you hear the chords of Dynasty?) and so life goes on.

I promised to continue my Dad’s manuscript, the one I began transposing here below. In the posts below he describes how the Japanese came to invade Java, Indonesia and how he and my mother became involved in some years of separate internments. Now is the time to continue showing you his manuscript in which he describes briefly his experiences in prison as a prisoner of war during WWII. Although they had hard times I do believe they were a lot more lucky than so many. At least they came through it with their tale to tell unlike many of their dear friends.

One of the ways my Dad, who was ever resourceful, tried to keep his sanity during the long hours of inactivity was to cast his mind back to his youth to describe instances he could remember. This actually gives a wonderful insight to life in Aberdeen in the period of 1919 onwards. Please remember these are my Dad’s words as he wrote them. There won’t be many, if any, pictures but his graphic way with words allows the reader to use their imagination to create real pictures in their minds as they follow his words. All his words were written down by hand using any scrap of paper and a pencil that became a very small stump! He found ways to hide all this but mostly the memories were kept in his mind to be written/typed at a later date. These will be the words you will be reading.

There may be some foreign words from the Dutch language since Java was part of the Dutch East Indies and my mother was Dutch herself. English became very much the ‘indoors’ language or for English friends whilst the majority of the time Dutch was the main language. Of course, having lived in this part of the world for some time local words from the Malaysian language or Japanese would also infiltrate at times. Wherever possible I will try to translate!

And so, my friends, expect to find many chapters over a prolonged period of time. Also, please remember these words are not for copying or publishing in any other format anywhere without the express permission of the author of this blog. As the sub heading of this blog explains, ‘Many of us have precious thoughts within us and very precious memories. Unless, we explain or write about them they will remain within us and not be shared with the wider world.’ It is for this reason I felt duty bound to share my Dad’s memories to give a better insight to events of the time. Otherwise, all would have been in vain and lost to the next generation had these memories not been passed down.

I will alert readers to new posts as they are completed but the easiest way of keeping up is to click the follow button, if you haven’t already, and in this way you will be able to keep up to date.

All I have left to say, is please sit back, grab a coffee or something stronger, and drift off to another era. Do feel free to leave a comment but most of all, I urge you to enjoy the experience!

Thank you!

Not out of sight, out of mind!

2008-12-06T16:21:00.001Z

Fear not, just because I am out of sight does not mean, out of mind! I will be returning here with some more precious memories very soon.

I just would like to thank all my readers and followers for their encouragement and to wish one and all a very merry Christmas with best seasons greetings.

More activity

2008-11-06T17:36:00.002Z

That afternoon we were unpleasantly surprised to observe a long procession of Japanese army trucks entering Houtmanstraat from the south. We quickly closed up the front of the house and remained doggo while the trucks were parked along the open ground opposite. When night came we showed no light and although there was a lot of commotion and shouting until a late hour, we were left undisturbed. The next morning when I left for the office, I found that the row of parked trucks already extended to almost opposite the house and many Japs were in evidence. About a couple of hours later I had a guarded telephone call from Ena.

"Can you come immediately?" she said. "We have visitors".

I knew what that meant. When I arrived I found a Jap sprawling in a chair on the verandah. Elly and Ena informed me hurriedly that they had had three Nips wandering through the house until about 10 minutes before but that the other two had left, leaving the sprawler behind. I went out to the verandah and sat down opposite him. There was nothing we could say to each other so we just sat in silence, smoking. I just decided that I had to sit him out if possible, or at any rate to wait long enough to try and discover what he was after. About an hour later, he managed to convey by signs that he wanted paper and a red pencil. On the paper he scrawled some weird looking Japanese characters and leaving the verandah affixed the paper to a wooden post on the edge of the field opposite the house. He did not return.

In a short time it became evident that this sign was an indication for parking more trucks which again started to arrive in large numbers so that in due course the line had extended some hundred yards past the house to the north. We were now under Japanese surveillance with a vengeance. By lying doggo again we escaped attention that evening, but many neighbours had unpleasant experiences of Jap visitors who made themselves objectionable in ways which we ourselves knew only too well.

The next day the three of us held a council of war. Elly was all for joining her mother in Tjitaroemstraat and was kind enough to suggest that Ena and I could also be accommodated there if we wished.

So the upshot was that we decided to move the next day. Again I rang up the piano people, who must have been getting fed up with me by this time, and the piano came to rest for the second time in his warehouse. Incidentally, we never saw it again.

The following day, Saturday, found us installed in Mrs Kruseman's annex at Tjiarroemstraat 14. We had the, by this time, usual difficulties in obtaining transport but with the aid of some coolies and a hand drawn cart, and a few journeys backwards and forwards by 'sad' (dog cart) we managed to send the frigidaire back to the Dagoweg and to bring our stuff and Elly's to our new santuary.

On the Thursday of this week a notice had appeared in the newspaper ordering all British subjects to report at the Police Headquarters for registration and this Ena and I had done. On Saturday, therefore, I notified them of my change of address so that it was certainly not my fault that they had so much trouble finding me on the night of the 14th.

At the beginning of this week, too, Sparkes and his wife had both collapsed from nervous strain and had taken up their abode in a joint room at the Borromeus Hospital. I still suspect that in some way or other (perhaps from his neighbour, Mrs Graven) he had had advance information of the registration, and, suspecting (as I did) that it was the preliminary move towards internment had thought to dodge the issue by being classed as a hospital case. If that was really his idea, he miscalculated by only one day.

I recall that I visited him in Borromeus on Saturday and referring half jokingly, to the registration, said, "Thursday, we register - Friday they prepare their lists - Saturday is a half holiday and Sunday a free day, so they'll intern us on Monday".

Sparkes left hospital on Monday and was picked up the following night, the fatal 14th April.

For the past ten days or so previous to our coming to rest at Tjitaroemstraat, there had been many rumours flying around about sudden raids being held by the Japanese usually at night. Today one would hear of a complex of houses on the Dagoweg having been entered and the men taken away and tomorrow another story of the same nature would be told concerning a street in another part of the town. Already the headquarters of the Kempetai (Japanese Gestapo) in the Neetjanweg had acquired a sinister reputation and whispers were heard of the tortures which the Japanese Gestapo resorted to in order to extract confessions, real or imaginary, from their victims. Any scepticism as to the truth of such seemingly incredible tales was due, alas, to fade away in the light of subsequent events.

On the morning of the 14th, Mrs Van Ginkel rang up. She said to Ena, "Bill is probably going on a journey, but you yourself not yet." This we interpreted as a hint that she had information to the effect that my internment was imminent, but as we had by now become somewhat fatalistic in our attitude towards this possibility, I am afraid we did not react in any particular way.

And so I arrive back at the moment when the stillness of the night of 14/15 April, 1942 was shattered by the peremptory ringing of the door bell at Tjiroemstraat 14.

*********

And so, my friends, we come to the conclusion of the first chapter of my Dad's manuscript. I hope you have enjoyed and learnt from this 'taster'. In the new year I hope to be able to transcribe the rest of the manuscript into book form which will be available for purchase. This will take a little while since there will be a lot of typing! The remainder of the manuscript includes a short daily, if somewhat brief, account of life in Sukamiskin Prison whilst at the same time my father describes in detail, moments of his life. There will be a wonderful insight into life in Scotland during the early 1920s; life as a youngster at school and beyond. This proved to be a clever way for my Dad to keep his mind exercised during very long boring hours whilst cooped up in a cell. Each word was written in pencil and as time went on and paper became scarce the writing became smaller and smaller. I still have some of the writings and even the stub of the last pencil used. For me, it has been an inspiration and has allowed me to 'rediscover' my father as a very keen, sensitive person who lived through troubled times but someone who still managed to keep his sense of humour and above all, his sense of worth.

The next few days....

2008-11-05T16:14:00.001Z

During the next two days Ena and I cast around for other accommodation. Not only was everybody very cramped at Dagoweg as a result of our arrival, but quite frankly, with the threat of internment hanging over us, we did not wish to be found in the same place where we had stored the belongings we had salvaged.

On the second day, our search found us cycling along the Houtmanstraat (road)nearby where we were hailed by some people sitting on the verandah of this particular house. These proved to be friends of ours, Mrs Kruseman with her daughter and son in law, Elly and Leo Reindees . The latter had been, as all other reservists, called up months before and was in the uniform of a captain. A motor car accident a few weeks earlier had resulted in minor injury to his leg, and as he had been on the sick list when the Japs arrived, they had so far excused him from internment, but he expected to be rounded up any day now.

We learned that they had taken over this house, furnished, from a woman who had gone to Batavia to be with her husband who had been posted on duty there. The Reindees themselves had come from Batavia as Leo's duties necessitated his staying in Bandoeng. In passing, I many mention that this shifting about of men from one part of Java to another was one of the shafts of criticism levelled at the methods of the military authorities, but I am naturally not capable of judging whether or not such criticism was justified.

As soon as Elly and Leo heard of our predicament, they immediately suggested that Ena and I share the house with them as there was any amount of room. Their 18 year old son, Robbie, had already been interned and Mrs Kruseman, who had been staying with them for a few days, was returning to her own home on the morrow. Consequently, they would only be too glad to have our company.

It was really a fine large house and excellently furnished and with such congenial companions we did not hesitate in deciding to take up our abode there. So the next day, Monday, 6 April we moved in, not without having experienced no little difficulty in finding transport for the frigidaire which we had brought with us. And, as we had an impression of permanency about this place, I had the piano also brought from the shop and installed in the front room.

The Houtmanstraat was, and still is, built along one side only affording a fine open view of level fields and the foothills some miles away, with the mountains in the background. This street forms actually the eastern boundary of Bandoeng, and though it was rather far from the office and town generally, the quietness and lovely view more than compensated for this disadvantage.

On Tuesday evening, while I was giving a cinema show with my Kodascope, the 'phone rang. It was a message for Leo to the effect that he had to report for internment at 9 am next morning. It was on this evening, too, that we had listened to the BBC announcer glibly telling the world that the Dutch were still holding out in various parts of Java and that fighting was in progress in the hills around Bandoeng. The world was apparently as sadly misinformed about the course of events in Java as it had been since the capitulation of the Japs in August, 1945 up to the date of writing. Next morning Reindees left. There were now only the three of us and we could not help feeling that a net was closing around us.

In the course of the day Ena and I went for the second time to Dennenlust in an attempt to contact Mrs Graven with a view to gaining possession of the trunks we have left behind. I have forgotten to mention that we had gone to Dennenlust on the previous Sunday for this purpose but had not found Mrs Graven at home. On that occasion we had the unique experience of burgling our own house. Not being able to contact anyone we proceeded to 'Sunny Corner' just to see how it looked. As the house appeared unoccupied we had wandered round to the rear premises where we found native 'djaga"' (watchman) on duty. On enquiry we learned that two Jap officers had indeed already taken up residence but that they were usually absent from early morning until late afternoon.

When I asked the 'djaga' if he had a key to the house, he replied that he had, and when I told him to unlock the door he did. So Ena just went in and grabbed as much as we could carry away on our bikes. Music, gramophone records, ornaments and goodness knows what else of which we made two huge bundles and which we deposited in the house of a friend, a little way down the hill, to be called for later. We just said "Terimah kasih" to the 'djaga' and gave him a tip of 25 cents.

On this second occasion, after a lot of running from one place to another, we succeeded in meeting Mrs Graven who assisted us in securing the trunks and in bringing them to Houtmanstraat in her car, Niekerk at the wheel as usual.

**** to be continued

Good Friday?

2008-11-04T17:32:00.001Z

For some time past no bread had been procurable and I had taken it upon myself the task of providing ourselves with this commodity, calling upon the lore of my planting days when I used to watch my cook making bread in my bungalow up on the estate.

On this Good Friday at 11 am I was busily engaged in kneading dough in the kitchen when that bird of ill omen, Mrs Graven, came for a second time, accompanied by her shadow, the traitor Niekerk.

This time the sword definitely fell. There was no respite possible. We had to be out of the house by 2 pm as two Japanese officers were moving in. We could take clothes with us and other personal belonging but the house furnishing must remain as they were.

This was my first meeting with Mrs Graven. She was rather tall and solidly built for a Japanese woman with typically Nip features and not a bit attractive. Her age, I guessed, would have been about 40. She stayed for some time and I must admit that she was by no means unpleasant in her manner but gave the impression that she was just carrying out an order which she found neither pleasant or unpleasant.

In the course of our conversation I asked her, on my part jokingly, if we could take our Beckman baby grand piano with us. To my surprise she replied "Boleh" (You may), perfectly seriously. A little later, going through the house, she passed the large GE frigidaire which stood in the lobby outside the kitchen. "You can take this too," she said. "Those who are coming in need not know that there was ever a frigidaire here".

This was very gratifying but we could not but wonder how we were to get it away, as we had no means of transport.

She also agreed that we could leave a couple of trunks in one of the small store rooms to be called for some days later. When we wished to fetch them, we must call at her (Sparkes) house for the key.

On this occasion too, I had some conversation with Niekerk who acted as a sort of Dutch echo to Mrs Graven's Malay and he then volunteered the facts about himself which I have already set down. He also told me that he had known Mrs Graven for about 30 years and according to him, had helped her in her private affairs for a long time and as now merely standing by her in her present job. I can hazard a shrewd guess as to the nature of the link between them both before and after the Japanese invasion.

As soon as our visitors had gone, I dashed to the telephone breathing a silent prayer that it would function. It did. I just got on to the firm from whom we had bought our piano and asked the owner, whom I knew very well, if he could store the Beckman for us and, if so, to send coolies immediately to take it away. He agreed and within an hour we had the satisfaction of seeing the instrument being carried down the hill, safely out of Japanese clutches, at any rate for the time being.

My second call was to our good friend, Lt Kagee of the Dutch Military Police. As soon as I told him about what was happening, he said "We'll be right along". And they were - six of them within 10 minutes of bringing with them a 15 cwt truck and a passenger car. We shall always feel a debt of gratitude to these grand chaps who just came in and said, "Now show us what you want us to do." And the whole bunch set to work helping us pack our belongings into trunks, suitcases and baskets. The faithful Amat took upon himself the task of packing our dinner service. We decided that, in Mrs Graven's own words, "as those that were coming in need not know it was here", and what Mrs Graven herself did not know of, we should take with us, and thanks to our friends, the MPs, we were able to take away with us much that would otherwise had had to be left behind and irretrievably lost. And thanks to Ena's mother to whose house the stuff was brought, we recovered practically everything after the liberation.

The frigidaire was man handled on to the truck, which was then loaded up with other things, as was also the car, and while Ena and I and two of the chaps carried on feverishly with the good work of packing, the first load was rushed down to Dagoweg 31e, quickly unloaded, and truck and car brought back to Dennenlust again for the second load.

One of the articles taken in the car on its first trip was a Firefoam extinguisher which I had presented to the MPs as they seemed keen on having it and I did not consider it worth while salvaging. The chap who was driving had put the extinguisher on the seat beside him and coming back from Dagoweg, turning a sharp corner, the things fell of the seat on to the floor of the car. It fell unfortunately on the knob which has to be pressed to set it working and the result can be better imagined than described. The inside of the car was a mess of spattered soap suds. The poor chap had had to drive most of the way back with his thumb on the valve to keep the thing from completely emptying itself. When he drove in, he called to us in his predicament and we went to his aid, all of us doubled up with laughter. And just to finish a fitting climax to this amusing contretemps, just as he was easing himself out of the car, his thumb slipped off the valve and all of us got a generous share of the suds. It was just like an old fashioned slapstick comedy film and had the same salutary effort on our somewhat dampened spirits.

The truck and car were loaded up for the second time, including ourselves and all the livestock and, with our military escort, said goodbye again to 'Sunny Corner' and descended once more on poor old Ma, who in spite of all the difficulties attendant on our unexpected arrival, was delighted to have us back with her.

Wherever those good chaps may be now, Ena and I say bless them for what they did for us on Good Friday, 1942.

***** to be continued

Continuation of events

2008-11-03T18:24:00.001Z

But to continue the sequence of events as from the visit of Mrs Graven to 'Sunny Corner'. The day after she had turned up, Saturday, I felt it better to stay about the house in view of her warning as to an internment and in case other Japs should present themselves with an eviction notice. Our telephone had become very unreliable in the past two week and I could not get contact with the office to inform them that I was not coming into town. Not that it mattered in the slightest because there was really nothing to do.

We had,however, succeeded at an early hour in getting through to Mrs Van Ginkels, a good friend of ours, and had asked them if they could take some of our books in safe custody in anticipation of our having perhaps to leave the house at short notice. Mrs Ginkels, accompanied by a mutual friend Bert Krevels, arrived at the house about 8 am in Krevel's car which bore a Batavia licence number.

After we had told them all about Mrs Graven and our uncertain immediate future over a cup of coffee, the books, etc were loaded into the car and our friends took their leave.

Sometime during the afternoon, the 'phone rang. It proved to be some branch of the Dutch Military Police inquiring as to my whereabouts. I could not understand this interest and asked what it was all about. The MP explained that they had had a message from Sparkes to the effect that I was missing. This puzzled me considerably. About half an hour after the 'phone call, a motorcycle roared up the hill bringing a Police Inspector who was out in search of me, the local police also having been informed by Sparkes that something had happened to me. This only served to intensify our mystification.

Later on, Sparkes himself turned up and the mystery was cleared up. About 8 am he had driven up to the house intending to offer me a lift down town. Seeing a car with a Batavia licence plate standing outside the house, he had come to the conclusion, how, heaven only knows, that Japs were in the house and instead of ascertaining if this was actually the case, he had stepped on the gas and carried on into town. When I did not turn up at the office in due course, his too lively imagination had suggested that I had been taken away and he had immediately started telephoning right and left setting all authorities both civil and military, by the ears. That was the explanation of the whole business and it is a typical instance of the reactions of many people to the state of tension in which we lived during this period.

We were left in peace at 'Sunny Corner' until 3 April. Good Friday! As far as we were concerned this was a definite misnomer. It was the worst Friday of our lives!

****** to be continued

A rather unpleasant experience

2008-11-02T09:40:00.000Z

I find that I have omitted from its chronological place in this record a rather unpleasant experience which occurred on, I think the Monday before Mrs Graven's visit. I left the house a little before 8 am on my cycle to go to the office. When I reached the Lembangweg, just about half a kilometre from 'Sunny Corner', a Japanese soldier with rifle and bayonet indicated that I could not go down the Lembangweg to town, but must turn down another road. I thought nothing much about this as we had more or less become used to finding one or another road temporarily closed off, and was merely mildly annoyed at having to make a rather wide detour to reach town. When I reached the road junction about a hundred yards further on, however, I found more Japanese soldiers and a small group of people. No one seemed to know what it was all about but it soon became evident that the purpose of this action was to collect all Europeans passing in or out of Bandoeng by way of this road.

About half an hour after I had been caught, Sparkes with his daughter and Percy Eyre, one of the Soebang refugees, were also caught in the trap. They were in Sparkes' car which he had so far been fortunately able to retain. I took advantage of the presence of their native chauffeur to send him with my cycle back to 'Sunny Corner' with a message to Ena that we were held up but that I would go with Sparkes in the car when we were free to go.

As the hour dragged past the group swelled until there must have been well over 100 people standing on the road, mostly Europeans but also a number of Indo-Europeans as well. Of the latter I noticed two unpleasant looking individuals in khaki shirt and shorts displaying a badge with the inscription 'NSB Ngawi' through which ran a jagged lighting symbol. These must have been a couple of the Dutch Nazis interned by the Dutch at Ngawi in East Java, and released by their friends, the Japanese. This friendship was, however, apparently at a discount on this occasion.

Still nobody knew what it all meant but everybody was very uneasy and I am sure that I was not alone in thinking, whenever a truck with Japs hove in sight, that we were going to be packed into it and spirited away to regions unknown.

About half past eleven a Jap officer turned up a real nasty looking bit of work, with mad baleful eyes gleaming through large horn rimmed glasses. Leaning on his Samurai sword, he stood in the middle of the road issuing his orders through the medium of an interpreter he had brought with him.

After a lot of the usual misunderstanding and confusion, we understood that we were to form two queues, those going to Bandoeng to his right and those coming from Bandoeng to his left. We were also informed that we had to produce some evidence of identity, driving licence, post office legitimation card or other document of this nature.

Since putting away the car I had given up carrying in my pocket the special folder in which I kept my driving licence and other things, but I did have my passport with me. Sparkes and I were rather far along in the queue and while we moved up slowly, I showed him my passport and remarked that I hoped the Jap would not cut off my head when he saw it.

In course of time our turn came. Sparkes' daughter, Eyre and Sparkes himself were given a clean bill and were told to proceed immediately to the Concordia Club where a department had been set up for issuing permits to travel between Bandoeng and outlying districts such as Dennenlust. They got into the car and waited in anticipation of my joining them.

But it was not to be. Thinking that I might get the Jap into a good humour by showing him some of his own weird looking Japanese characters, I had opened my passport at the page visa-ed by the Japanese Consule in London in 1938. As soon as his eyes fell on this he gave an angry grunt and glared as me as if he wanted to bump me off right away. He jabbered to the interpreter turning over the leaves of the leaves of the passport the while.

"Inggris?" he spat, and I am sure he said this through his clenched teeth.

I admitted the accusation. He stood glaring at me for some moments as though he was considering letting me have it. Then with an angry ejaculation and gesture, he mentioned that I was to stand aside to be dealt with later.

I called to Sparkes, "Tell Ena I am held", and he drove off while I stood behind the Jap feeling very lonely and wondering what my fate was to be.

It was more than half an hour later that the queues came to an end. In the meantime another unfortunate had joined me but who he was I never discovered. As the last few in the queues were being dealt with, a car came off the main road. The Jap turned towards us, yelled something, and motioned towards the car which had stopped close by.

With the other man, I started forward, thinking "So this is it!" and was half way towards the car when a yell from the Jap stopped me. I was not to go. The other chap was hustled into the car which drove away quickly.

I returned to my old place and stood for about another 10 minutes while the Jap conferred with the interpreter. At last he turned and barked at me again. I came forward and had to hand over my passport again. Again it was meticulously examined and the Jap barked once more.

"Poelang!" (Go home) said the interpreter.

I bowed (we knew we had to bow by this time) said, "Terimah kasih" (Thank you) and turned to go back the way I had come some four and a half hours before.

Another yell brought me up short in my tracks. I was not allowed to go that way but had to take another road which paralleled the Dennenlust road, but entailed my having to cross the wide and deep ravine between. However, I was so relieved at getting off thus lightly that I did not mind the fairly long walk back to 'Sunny Corner'

At last I reached the house, only to find that my troubles for this day were not yet over. Ena was missing. Amat could only tell me that she had driven away with Sparkes hours before. I learned later that for some unfathomable reason, but probably owing to his nervousness while in the queue, he had gone to 'Sunny Corner' and told Ena that I had been held by the Japs because I did not have my passport with me and Ena had ransacked the house looking for what was actually the reason for my being held at all.

I walked down to the Sparkes house, only to find this also empty of everybody, except for the native boy, who told me that the whole family had left a long time before. So there was I at 'Sunny Corner' unable to get into town because of the pickets and worrying about what had happened to Ena and knowing that she would be even more worried wondering what had happened to me.

After some anxious hours, Ena turned up safely and with the news that the pickets had been withdrawn. As I had thought she had been dreadfully worried as by the time she had, with Sparkes, reached the spot where I had been held there was nothing more to be seen and had naturally assumed that I had been picked up owing to my not having identity papers. They had all gone to the Concordia Club to procure the necessary passes in the hope that with one for myself they would be able to secure my release from wherever I had been taken to, but as they had no means of discovering where this might be, had returned to Dennenlust in the hope of learning something there. Our mutual relief at finding each other safe and sound can be appreciated.

***** to be continued

New visitors!

2008-10-31T17:19:00.001Z

It was, I think, on Friday, 26 March, in the second week of our return to 'Sunny Corner' that a further development occurred in our private affairs. I had been going round to the office for a few hours each morning and it was during my absence, when Ena was alone in the house that the following happened.

Ena was washing the floor of the bedroom when she heard a car drive in. Looking out she saw a Japanese woman and a European man coming towards the door. A third man, also a European, remained in the car.

As they passed the bedroom window on their way to the door Ena addressed the woman, who, however, ignored her and by the time Ena got to the front room, the two visitors had already entered.

"Saya dari Generale Staf" ( I am from the Jap General Staff) announced the woman in Malay by way of introduction. "Saya maoe pakai ini roemah". (I want to use this house)

Ena asked where we were supposed to go. "Oh", was the reply, "You will be interned". This unwelcome visitor then proceeded to inspect the house going through it as if it belonged to her. While she was thus engaged the Dutchman (for such he proved to be) in a few remarks confirmed what his companion had already said and offered the information that the woman was Mrs Graven and introduced himself as Niekerk.

After her inspection, Mrs Graven returned to the front room and said to Ena, "I thought this house was bigger. It is too small for me. I have nine children."

She suddenly decided, apparently, to be friendly and drew Ena with her in to the rear sitting room closing the folding doors. Niekerk returned to the car. Mrs Graven had Ena sit down with her on the settee and started a long story as to how she and her husband and children had been interned by the Dutch. She said that we were to be interned and advised our having suitcases packed against this, and advised Ena to conceal her rings etc in cakes of soap. According to her, Ena and I would be interned together. Although she herself would not now be taking our house, she warned that it would no doubt be occupied in due course by Jap officers.

She then left 'Sunny Corner' and it was not long before we learned that she went straight to the Sparkes' house and commandeered that. The Sparkes family came to vacate almost immediately but fortunately were able to find accommodation in 'Cress Cottage' next door to their own house. 'Cress Cottage' had been occupied until recently by General Van Oyen, commander of the Air Force, but who had left for Australia shortly before the capitulation. We did not envy the Sparkes family with the Gravens and their spawn as neighbours during the few weeks that followed.

Now, a word about this unsavoury trio who had thrust their way so unceremoniously into our lives.

Mrs Graven herself was Japanese and had lived, we learned, in Bandoeng for about 30 years. She was the sister in law of Sakura, who had a long established and well known haberdashery on the Groote Postweg. Her husband was a white Russian, a drunken sot, at one time reputedly an officer in the Russian Imperial Army. The man Niekerk, who could only have been a traitor to his country, had at one time been employed in the Volkskreditbank (The People's Credit Bank) a sort of Loans Society but had retired, on money, I suspect, earned by espionage activities, and had built a complex of attractive bungalows some miles up the Lembanweg to the north of Bandoeng, occupying himself one of them with the exotic name of 'Nirvana'. He also possessed a number of houses in the town itself.

It gave me great satisfaction to meet this individual again in Internment Camp #4, Tjimahi, early in 1944 and to find that he was mere skin and bone and hardly fit to move thanks to the starvation cure imposed on us all by his Nipponese friends. I learned, too, that his traitorous activities were known to the Dutch authorities and I am satisfied that he will get his due reward in due course, if he has not already got it.

These three individuals were just part of the scum which the Japanese stirring up had brought to the surface at this time.

At the first opportunity after this visit we informed our good friend, Lt Kagee, of what had transpired and he advised us if anything of the kind happened again to get on the 'phone immediately and let him know. Before very long we were to be very grateful for this suggestion.

**** to be continued

The Dutch MPs

2008-10-30T15:11:00.001Z

The Dutch MPs had been retained by the Japs in their functions for the time being and it was a clever move as it had relieved the Nips themselves of the responsibilities for keeping order in the town. It speaks for itself that the European, and most probably also the native population appreciated the fact. Ena and I were to become very friendly with the MP party which had been detailed to look after Dennenlust. The NCO in charge was a certain Onder Lieutenant Kagee, a fine type of long service military man and we often wondered what became of him. He was terribly broken up about the Dutch capitulation and told us that he simply could not take it in, that the Dutch Indian Army had ceased to exist. It had been his whole life, poor chap.

The MPs used to patrol regularly and we never let them pass the house without calling them to come in and have a glass of beer, of which we still had a small stock. It become the regular custom in the weeks that followed for them to drop in once or twice a day for a chat, a snack and a drink and we were only too glad to be able to do something for them as the rations they were receiving from the Japs were quite insufficient and they were always hungry.

Even in those early days the Japs gave evidence of the muddle headedness of their ways of doing things. One day these MPs would be armed with revolvers and the next day another Jap would take way all fire arms from them, while on the third day still another Jap would insist on their being armed and issue revolvers and ammunition again. We accepted this as being due to the general confusion to be expected at this particular time but it was proved indicative of the usual Japanese way of doing things and it will, I think, always remain a mystery to the Western mind how the Japs were able to accomplish as much as they did. In all our experience of them no reason or object could be traced in their methods and the proof, in my opinion, that their success was attributable to the mistakes and blunders of others and not to their own organising capabilities, it is to be found in the eventual, chaotic state of all territory which they occupied. They showed themselves to be past masters in the art of ruining a country in an incredibly short space of time and the mess they made of Java in three and a half years baffles description. One can only conclude that they realised from the beginning that they had no chance of achieving ultimate victory and therefore determined to do as much harm as they could in the shortest possible time. It seems the only explanation.

***** to be continued

Return to 'Sunny Corner'

2008-10-29T17:13:00.001Z

About 11 am Sunday, a Dutch MP on a motorcycle came to warn us that 'Sunny Corner' was empty and suggesting that we should return to Dennenlust immediately. We needed no urging. In record time, the Hillman was loaded up with the dogs, cats, birds, ourselves and sundry articles of baggage and off we set for home, the faithful Amat following on his bicycle.

Our progress up the Dennenlust road was in the nature of a triumphal procession. The news had spread and all the folks in the houses on each side of the road smiling and waving to us, from their verandahs, as we came up the hill.

As soon as we had unloaded the car I set out to Dagoweg 31e again to fetch some remaining items. Coming down the Dagoweg not far from the Borromeus hospital a Dutch MP signaled to me to stop. When I did so, he informed me that all cars had to be surrendered immediately and that I must get out and leave the Hillman standing at the roadside.

"Have a heart," I said. "I've just got back my house after being evicted 6 days ago and am bringing my belongings back home," and suggested that he turn a blind eye to the telescope until I had made this one trip. He was a decent and reasonable chap and agreed, but I had to promise him that I would deliver the car to the Jap authorities at the Technical High School in the Dagoweg the grounds of which were being used as a collecting centre, as soon as I had made the trip.

I got back to Dennenlust in due course with the second load but just as I was leaving again to hand in the Hillman as promised a terrific rainstorm started which continued all afternoon until after dark. I had strapped my bicycle on to the car as I should have to cycle back, but in such a downpour with a very high wind, I would have been half drowned on the return journey. I decide, therefore, to deliver the car to the depot early next morning, but when I arrived no Japs were to be seen, although the grounds were full of cars of all description.

The European porter who was still on duty told me that I could put the car there if I liked but I agreed with him that it would be foolish to do so with nobody there to receive it. He informed me that he had heard that the Japs concerned were to be found in the Ursuline Convent up the road, so I decided to go there and hand over the car as arranged. But the convent was also void of Japs, so not knowing what to do about the matter and also considering it unwise to continue using the car, I eventually ran it into a garage behind Ena's mother's house and there it remained for some months until the Japanese discovered it in one of their periodical searches and took it away.

'Sunny Corner' was in a bit of a mess after having been occupied by 40 Japanese soldiers for almost a week, but not nearly so bad as might have been expected. Our carpets particularly had suffered as the Nips had walked over them with their muddy feet and a broad dirty track ran diagonally across the large Chinese carpets in the front room and dining room. All the furniture had been pushed into corners to achieve sleeping accommodation on the floor and remains of meals and dirty plates were everywhere. Our lovely little blue and white kitchen with its attractive 'Esse'-Fairy' cooker was a sorry sight. But actually there was nothing which could not be restored to its former state with time and a lot of elbow grease.

In every room we found bottles of wine and spirits, some empty, many a quarter to half full and a few still unopened. Outside, at the back, were cases of empty soda water bottles which appeared to have been bought from Penang. The Japs had certainly done themselves exceedingly well in the liquid refreshment line during their stay. In fact my first revulsion of feeling at everything Japanese I threw the whole lot out of the house and I am still glad that I did.

The verandah was littered with the remains of what I took to be Japanese emergency rations in the form of some dried and compressed cereals which, with the rain, had swelled into a porridgy unsavoury looking mess. In our bedroom, which seemed to have been occupied by the Jap officer I found that he had experimented with a few extra safety razors I had and had opened up quite a few packets of spare blades. We made a clean sweep of everything that had been used by the Japs.

In spite of their having been at pains to impress us that they had kept our belongings intact, it was quite evident that they had literally been through everything although no great damage had been done. An unused Kodasope 8mm film had been unwound and re-wound and put neatly back into its box, for instance, and traces of their monkey like activities came to light repeatedly during the next few weeks.

Things turned up in the most unexpected places. One of Ena's bras appeared from her sewing basket. In taking down a book from one of the bookshelves I got a toothbrush on my head. Small articles, relegated long ago to the lumber room, were found in cupboards and drawers in the bedroom. There was strong circumstantial evidence that my kilt and at least one of Ena's evening frocks had been tried on.

All our linen was missing and also one of the heavy curtains from the window in the sitting room, but apart from these items nothing seemed to have been taken.

We had found the Dutch Military Police guarding the house for us on our return and they were most helpful in assisting us to put the house to rights as far as moving back heavy furniture to former positions, etc was concerned and we were most grateful for their help.

***** to be continued

Proper decorum

2008-10-28T15:30:00.002Z

It is a regrettable fact that many girls and women seemed to regard the arrival of the Japs in Bandoeng as a signal to display more openly that they had ever seemed to do, their feminine charms, by lavish make up and by going about the streets in attire which left little or nothing to the imagination. All too brief shorts were unfortunately only too common, for instance, and it is bitter to have to record that the Japanese themselves put a stop to this immodest behaviour on the part of the European fair sex. It was made known through the medium of the press that the Japanese authorities did not favour and would not countenance any but the most proper and conventional female attire, nor would the use of lipstick or other 'come hither' cosmetics be tolerated. There are rumours of girls who had ignored this order being publicly humiliated, by punishment but I do not know if this definite occurred.

Many shopkeepers, particularly those stocking watches, cameras and spectacles had a difficult time because they were besieged by Jap soldiers who would pay, and in 'banana' money, only a fraction of the marked price of the articles. Protest in many instances was met by a slap in the face. It is true, however, that if the shopkeeper was fortunate to get hold of an officer the latter saw to it that the soldier paid in full price, but in Jap money, of course. Generally, however, barefaced robbery of this nature was the order of the day.

On Saturday afternoon, Ena, who had more nerve and initiative than I have, suggested that we should cycle up to Dennenlust and see how 'Sunny Corner' as faring under Jap occupation. We set off and as we were pushing our cycles up the steep hill to the house, a truck loaded with Japs roared past us up the road. The Nips all grinned at us and some of them waved. I swore, thinking that they were jeering at the sight of the once proud Europeans reduced to trundling push bikes up a hill.

But I was wrong. When we reached 'Sunny Corner' we found that these were the very Nips occupying the house and that, having recognised us, they were merely giving us greeting. There must have been about forty of them altogether, and there seemed to be as many outside the house as inside. Their Lieutenant was not in evidence.

We were ushered into the house in the centre of this band which immediately surrounded. They were all very friendly, and one of them who knew about three words of English, was at great pains enthusiastically assisted by half a dozen others, to explain to us through the medium of his limited vocabulary and much sign language that they would be leaving the house the following Thursday. While this was going on, one Jap, stark naked walked quite unconcernedly through the room into the bedroom.

One of the Nips took me by the arm and indicated that I was to go with in the direction of the kitchen. I said quickly to Ena "Stick close to me, I don't want to leave you alone with these guys".

He led us straight to the bathroom, threw open the door and there was disclosed to our startled gaze another Japanese in the bath arrayed in his birthday suit.

Our guide kept jabbering a long story to us but of which we naturally could not understand one word. Despairing at last of this method of conveying his meaning to us, he grasped my hand and slipped it into the water in the bath. Then he took Ena's hand and repeated the action. The Jap in the bath calmly proceeded with his ablutions during this procedure, taking not the slightest notice of us.

At length it dawned on us what it was all about. Some months previously we had installed an 'Esse' cooker (similar to an Aga) with complete hot water installation. The 'Esse' is a heat storage range which burns continuously day and night only requiring servicing twice a day, morning and evening, with a hopper full of charcoal. When we left the house I had been at pains to explain hastily as best as I could to the Lieutenant what he had to do to keep the stove going but he had quite obviously not got the idea. When the Japs arrived they had found hot water in the bathroom but they had let the fire go out and now the tap was running cold. This was what the Jap was now asking us to explain, but it just couldn't be done and eventually he and we had to give it up as a bad job.

Several Japs now took us on an inspection tour of the house and showed us how cupboards etc had been sealed by them with strips of paper and they were obviously anxious to impress the fact that, apart from shifting around the furniture to suit their convenience our belongings were intact and untouched. To this day we do not understand their solicitude in this connection as it is so at variance with all that we experience later.

When we left 'Sunny Corner' the whole crowd saw us off and, as far as we could make out, seemed to be inviting us to call again soon. Once down the hill and out of sight, Ena and I nearly fell off our bikes laughing at the memory the naked Japs in the bath!

**** to be continued

The Japanese propaganda machine at work

2008-10-27T15:55:00.001Z

The Japs lost no time in setting their very efficient propaganda machine to work. Above the Aloon-aloon, the enlarged counterpart of our village green, rose a huge captive balloon on which was inscribed in Malay the equivalent of 'Long live great Asia'. Posters appeared all over the town stating that the Dutch currency was not to be considered valid and bearing illustration of Jap bank notes which were coming into circulation, the so called 'banana' money with which the Japanese flooded all occupied territory.

The local newspaper quickly showed signs of Japanese supervision but surprisingly the local radio station was permitted to broadcast messages to and from 'displaced' persons seeking contact with relatives. Rashly, the announcer persisted in closing down with the playing of the 'Wilhelmus', the Dutch national anthem. He did it once too often and the Japs shot him.

Although business had come practically to a standstill we still went to the office each morning, just like a hen which keeps running on until it realised its head had been chopped off. The banks had been closed immediately by the Japs and that in itself was sufficient to bring trade to a standstill. Our office premises were more more like a boarding house as this time as the whole of the British male staff of the P&T (Anglo Dutch Plantations) had gratefully accepted our offer to take up temporary residence there until such time as they should succeed in finding more suitable accommodation.

The British women and children from the P&T Soebang had been evacuated from Tjilatjap at the end of February and it was actually more than three years later before anxious husbands and fathers learned that their ship had reached Australia safely.

During this week, all officers and men of the forces had been interned temporarily in schools and other buildings but daily contact was possible and as these camps were not by any means strongly guarded at first many adventurous souls made a habit of undertaking expeditions into the town under the cover of darkness returning before dawn laden with very welcome good things in the way of food and drinks.

One of the first things the Japs did was to put the clock back, literally, an hour and a half, thus affecting synchronisation with the Tokyo time. Metaphorically, in due course they put it back 500 years. This action caused quite a lot of confusion at first as for making appointments and so on, each of us had to find out from the other whether 'Java' time or 'Nippon' time was meant. Many people refused to recognise Nippon time, not openly of course, but among themselves.

One of the first things I did this week was to replace the watches which the Jap shock troops had taken from us and I was fortunate in being still able to procure from a local Swiss watchmaker an even more up to date 'Mido' for myself and an 'Eterna' similar to the one Ena had lost. We took good care not to wear them openly, however, as we went about town because it was already evident that the Jap soldiers were enthusiastic collectors of watches and cameras and we did not want to lose our watches a second time. I myself did, not long afterwards, but more of this anon.

We did not use the Hillman as there was also great risk of losing that too, but went about on bicycles which I had bought about a month preciously when it seemed likely that in due course cars would be requisitioned by the Dutch authorities. These bikes stood us in good stead now, and later.

**** to be continued

Sunny Corner.... goodbye for the first time

2008-10-26T16:31:00.002Z

Bill Leslie in the meantime had run down to Sparkes and borrowed his car and the whole Leslie family, with their meager belongings, were packed into that. Ena and myself with the parrot, two canaries in cages, three dogs and two cats, some boxes of provisions and a couple of suitcases squeezed into the Hillman. Our faithful Amat followed on his bicycle. And so we said "Goodbye" to 'Sunny Corner' for the first time.

The Leslie's went to friends in the vicinity of the Lembangweg while Ena and I descended with our menagerie on Ena's mother who was living in a small annexe on Dagoweg. She had already given refuge to a planter and his wife and two children who had had to flee from their Estate owing to the activities of the native 'rampokkers' or robbers. These robber bands which had sprung into existence like mushrooms all over the island coincidental with the landing of the Japs, and probably the result of carefully prepared fifth column work. In such a small house it was consequently a pretty tight squeeze but we got settled in somehow.

There would be no point in recording the events of this week in detail but I shall endeavour to give a brief description of this first period of Japanese occupation.

In the course of our first evening at Dagoweg 31e, the Japanese C in C spoke on the radio. He spoke, of course, in Japanese and this was afterwards translated into Dutch. He started off by reminding us that the Dutch East Indian Army no longer existed and, of course, had a lot to say regarding the blessings which the coming of the Sons of Heaven would bring to Java and the usual tosh about "a sphere of co-prosperity in South East Asia." Then he started a tirade against the Dutch for their having sent all Japanese who had elected to stay on in Java after the outbreak of hostilities to Australia.

There had indeed been about a thousand of such Japs who had submitted to internment in Java but it had been immediately realised that these had remained with a definite purpose and that Nippon was depending upon them for their knowledge of the country's affairs in many spheres if and when invasion and occupation should take place. No matter how much we had kidded ourselves as to the outcome of a Japanese attack on the island, the Japs themselves had had no doubts as to the outcome and had made their Trojan horse arrangement accordingly.

The Dutch authorities had, however, acutely and very secretly, sent all these Jap male internees off to Australia in good time before hand to an internment camp there, so that the Nips when they arrived in Java found themselves in a fearful muddle owing to their key personnel not being present to advise them. The C in C was terribly peeved about it and declared that the Japanese would be fully in their right if they were to transport all the Dutch in Java to the icy waters of Siberia. But as the Japanese were upright and humane people, they could not stoop to avenging the Dutch action in such a way.

He did not, of course, add that the upright and humane Japanese had even better ideas than this in regard to making the Dutch in Java pay for upsetting his applecart but then probably murder, torture and mass slow starvation were not looked upon by him in this light.

I saw the first Jap mechanised column enter Bandoeng from the West. Tank after rumbling tank lumbered past our office each bearing the Japanese flag and with one or more of the tank drivers grinning toothily like jacks in the box from the turrets. Apart from small groups of Indonesians, here and there at street corners, who waved and cheered, little enthusiasm was shown by the native population at the sight of their 'liberators'. But there is no doubt that the display of force which the Japs were able to present in the air and on the land must have made a great impression on the simple native mind.

**** to be continued.

A resumption of the story!

2008-10-25T16:06:00.002+01:00

To resume my story. At a very early hour next morning, Tuesday, we were all up and about, none of us having slept particularly well, I imagine. As soon as I was dressed I walked down to the Sparkes' house to see how they had fared the night before.

To my amazement, and theirs, they had simply not been aware of anything untoward going on, had heard nothing and had not even seen a Jap. With the effects of last night's happenings still working on me, it seemed fantastic and incredible that the whole district should not have known about our ordeal. We had found our experiences bad enough, indeed, but we learned later that that of our neighbours Van den Bos and Van Beveren had been much more trying, their visitors being the worse for drink and inclined to violence. Van Beveren had been forced out of the room at the point of a bayonet.

The Japs had come up the main road to Dennenlust, completely ignoring the houses on either side and had commenced operations at the point where the road splits, towards the left, on Buitenweg West where our house was and the right, Buitenweg Oost in which the houses of Van der Bos and Van Beveren were situated. Many of the houses up the hill had been visited in the same unpleasant fashion, but even when leaving Dennenlust the Japs had again ignored the houses further down the main road so that the people living there were blissfully unconscious of what had been going on a few hundred yards away up the hill.

Compared with a lot of many other families in other parts of the town that night, and particularly in the Dagaweg, we were fortunate. Many people were simply thrown out of their houses without ceremony to provide billeting accommodation for the Jap troops. I have heard it said that this was primarily the fault of the municipal authorities who had been warned well in advance of the arrival of the shock troops and should have seen to it that suitable buildings were placed at the disposal of the Japs for billeting purposes. And, indeed, as far as I was aware, nothing at all was done in this connection.

As I walked down the hill towards Sparkes house, I saw our car standing abandoned in the middle of the road. It was not locked but the ignition key was missing. Coming back from Sparkes, to my dismay (to my horror, I might almost say) I found Ena sitting in the car trying to get it started by means of an assortment of Yale keys, even the key of her sewing machine! She though it the most natural thing in the world, the car standing there, to steal it back from the Japs and put it in our garage.

I persuaded her that this was not a wise thing to do and we walked back to 'Sunny Corner' together. We had not yet entered the house when a bunch of Nips drove up in a truck and took the Chrysler in tow. I shudder to think what might have happened had they found her in the car, caught in 'flagrante delicto'.

We were just sitting down to breakfast when we became aware of a commotion outside. Looking out, I saw a company of Japanese soldiers come to a halt on the road before the house, and as I watched, a smart looking officer entered the garden. I went to meet him.

He saluted. "This is British house?" he asked in English.

"Yes," I replied.

"Japanese soldiers take this house, very sorry," and turning, gave apparently the order for the troops to come in and make themselves at home.

"When do we have to leave the house?" I asked.

"Oh, you go now," he said in a quite matter of fact tone. Then, as if wishing to atone for the shock his words occasioned us, he added, "I stay perhaps one month. Japanese soldiers go - you come back your house."

I asked him if we could take anything with us, food, clothing and so on.

"You take," he replied magnanimously.

While soldiers swarmed all over the house putting things to wrongs, we hastily gathered clothing and provisions together. I still had my Hillman Minx which was standing at the side of the house under a tarpaulin. I had taken over the Chrysler some weeks before from our Soekabremi office in exchange for the Hillman, the intention being to convert the latter into a small delivery wagon for the firm. But owing to the local coach builders being at the time choked up with Army orders, the plan could not be carried out and the Minx had been just set aside for the time being.

I asked the officer if I could take the car.

"You take," he said again.

He was a good looking, pleasant and polite chap and it is difficult to realise, in the light of later experience, that he was really a Jap.

**** to be continued

A little more about the Dutch capitulation in Java

2008-10-24T18:04:00.002+01:00

I pause for a moment in my narrative to interpolate a word or two about the Dutch capitulation in Java.

For some reason or other it seemed to be generally expected that when the Jap chose to tackle Java, he would find himself up against a tough opposition. I cannot recall that there was the slightest concrete foundation for this idea, but can merely record that their view was the accepted one.

As I have already mentioned the abrupt and mysterious departure of Wavell and his staff caused many to wonder uneasily if Java was really such a touch nut to crack as had been imagined.

The Dutch Navy and Air Force did brilliant work out of all proportion to their actual strength and literally gave their all. There was not a ship and hardly a plane left when the Jap invasion occurred. Practically all planes had been at the behest of the Allied Command used in Malaya to bolster up the sadly deficient air strength there in a vain effort to patch up the swiftly crumbling defences of the Peninsula and very few, if any, returned from these operations.

Navy and Air Forces went out in a blaze of glory, one may say. The so far inexplicable and unexplained collapse of the Army is still shrouded in mystery. The Dutch Parliamentary Commission Van Poll, which visited Java in March this year (1946) states that an investigation in this connection is urgently desirable and as it is evident from this that even official circles are still in the dark as to the reasons for the ignominiously defeat of the Military Forces it would be ridiculous for me to even try to give an explanation.

One thing must be considered, in my opinion, to have vitally weakened the Army as a fighting force and that was the tragic death of General Berenschot, the Commander in Chief who lost his life in a plane crash in Batavia. Berenschot was recognised as a brilliant soldier and as C in C very popular with the troops. At the time of the crash it was broadly hinted in many quarters that there had been foul play, that the plane had been tampered with by enemy agents, but this can have been more rumour on the part of sensation loving news mongers.

Berenschot's successor was the former Chief of Staff, General Poorten. I know nothing of his military qualification, but the man in the street, like myself, can only naturally assume that the failure of the Army, when put to the test, was his responsibility in the first instance and that the collapse was due to his lack of vision and judgement.

The strength of the Army, numerically was I believe, somewhere in the region of 80,000 including native troops, but of this number only about half were professional soldiers. The number of Europeans was about 20,000, I understand. This means that 50% of the Army was made up of untrained men, those who had hastily mobilised from all peaceful walks of life at the outbreak of hostilities.

The Dutch had always had the conscript system which meant that at a certain age, those males who were deemed fit for military duty were called up and put through a course of training lasting, I understand, about 9 months and were then relegated to the Reserves and liable, like our Territorial Force, to be called up at once in the event of war. On reaching the age of 40, such men became automatically transferred to the Landstorm, which may be translated as Home Guard.

But when the Dutchmen in Java were called up, the great majority of them had this period of military training anything from 10 to 20 years behind them, and were probably not even capable of forming fours smartly let alone be expected to take any efficient part in modern methods of warfare. True, they were called up in rotation for shooting practice at the range for one day, and on that day expended 5 rounds of ammunition each at the butts, receiving their soldier's pay of about 20 cents for their trouble.

But even these facts, which could very reasonably be put forward as an explanation of the Army not having fought well, does not explain the complete and utter breakdown of every form of organised resistance.

There are tales of officers who just disappeared and of the failure of the Air Support Command to deliver supplies to the troops abandoned to their fate in Tjiater and elsewhere, but as this is all hearsay it is better not to enlarge on these matters. One instance I can mention from personal observation. It was on, I believe, the fourth day of the invasion that Ena and I were driving down the Lembangweg to town in pouring rain when we overtook four young lads, weary, bedraggled and mud stained. Their uniforms were sodden and they were actually walking barefoot. They had walked all the way from Tjiater some thirty kilometres distant and had been on the road for two days.

Their story was the same as that of one of the employees which I have already mentioned. No food, and nobody in authority to tell them what they were to do.

We crowded them all into the car and brought them in turn to their respective homes.

Granted, as the events would seem to indicate, that the Allied High Command had decreed that the defence of Java was impossible, it is still clear that a token resistance was imperative in the interests of future Dutch prestige and it is unthinkable that it could have been suggested that the Army should have laid down its arms with hardly a blow being struck in self defence, even if it should necessarily have resulted in severe losses. The Navy and Air Force did not hesitate to make their sacrifices and there seems no reason, looking at the matter quite dispassionately why the Army should have done less. An investigation in due course is definitely necessary and no one will welcome light on this obscure subject more than the Dutch in Java themselves.

**** to be continued

Our second house invasion!

2008-10-23T17:28:00.002+01:00

About half an hour later we had a second invasion. Another bunch of eight burst into the house without warning. They went all through the house but apparently found nothing which took their fancy. I had some weeks previously brought a small safe from our firm's stock to the house and had placed it in a room which the Leslie's were now occupying. This was spotted during their search and I had to open it. To their disgust it contained nothing but business papers and documents and sundry articles of silverware of no great value and certainly of too bulky a nature to slip easily into the pocket. We got the impression that these shock troops, for such they were, had had orders not to loot hence their interest only in small articles which they would find easy to conceal.

This second party stayed in the house for over an hour making themselves generally objectionable, demanding drink and lounging about, sprawling in chairs round the dining room table. I remember one of them pointing to the light suspended above the dining room table and ejaculating "Denki!" We thought then that he was referring to the lampshade but learned later that this was the Japanese word for electricity.

After what seemed to us like ages, they left.

Fortunately, neither of the parties had thought about exploring the store rooms at the rear of the house and for this I was very thankful because in one of them I had my "wine cellar", about 50 or 60 bottles of assorted wines and spirits. If they had discovered these that night and started drinking then I should probably have had another tale to tell, and not such a comparatively harmless one either.

As soon as they had gone, Bill and I decided that we had better do something, and that quickly, about the liquor in case it should be discovered by eventual further visitors. First of all, we put out all the lights in the house. Lydia took up her position behind the curtains of the window in the front room so as to be able to give timely warning of approach. Ena stood at the rear in such a position as to have contact between Lydia, Bill and myself who hastily removed the bottles into the back garden where in the course of the next hour we succeeded in burying them along the hedge at the foot of the slope.

It had started to drizzle and burying all these bottles in the dark, groping and grubbing in the soft earth, was a messy and tiring job. The proceedings were rendered more difficult by the fact that just across the ravine, about 150 yards away, a crowd of Nips had taken possession of and encamped in a house on the Lembangweg and were plainly visible to us from where we crouched behind the hedge. From the noise they made shouting and singing it was evident that there at any rate their search for strong drink had been more successful.

But at last the job was done and after Bill and I had taken a very necessary bath, we all retired uneasily for the night wondering what the morrow would bring forth. Admittedly our experiences of this, the first, evening of Japanese occupation did not augur too well for the future.

**** to be continued

Our first invasion of our house and home

2008-10-22T14:08:00.002+01:00

During the afternoon, from 'Sunny Corner', we watched the melancholy of Dutch troops and equipment passing down the Lembangweg, part of which was invisible across the ravine. Each vehicle carried a white flag while the troops themselves wore a white handkerchief or other piece of white material around the neck. Incidentally, we had noticed that all public buildings in the town flew white flags from the masts on which the red, white and blue of Holland had waved so long and so proudly.

In the afternoon a second, to us, melancholy procession came down the Lembangweg from the North, that of the victorious Japanese singing and shouting their triumphant into our beautiful Bandoeng. These also carried white flags, but the white smeared the bloody sun of Japan.

It was just at sunset that, happening to look out at the front window, I saw a bunch of Jap soldiers enter the houses of two neighbours, some 100 yards across the way from 'Sunny Corner'. I called to Ena and Bill Leslie to come and watch what was going on. Lydia was with the kiddies in the spare room preparing them for bed and we did not disturb her.

As we watched, we saw the cars of my neighbours being driven out on to the road by the Japs and driven down the hill. Guessing that private cars were already being commandeered, I saw to it that I had the keys of our Chrysler Plymouth in my pocket so as to be ready when our turn came.

*****

It was about dark when I noticed a solitary Jap making his way towards our house. Somehow or other the idea of waiting until I was summoned by his knock went against the grain with me, so that while he was still some yards from the house, I opened the door and went to meet him. He, however, pushed past me into the front room, where Ena and Bill were standing.

He was probably an NCO of some sort and he was just as dirty as his superiors whom I had seen earlier in the day. Not only that, but at this close range, he actually stand, an oily, sweaty odour which we were to learn to associate with all of his tribe.

He strutted into the room and stood, feet widespread and arm akimbo, looking about him with studied superciliousness for some moments. We also stood, silent, waiting to see what would happen.

With insolent leisure, he then removed the dirty woollen white gloves which covered his even dirtier hands, tossed the gloves on to a nearby occasional table, took a packet of cigarettes from his breast pocket, lit one, threw the match on the carpet and stood puffing in a lordly fashion.

All at once he shot out a finger at me.

"Inggris?" (English) he asked.

I didn't see the sense of trying to drum into his thick skull that I was no Sassenach, so I replied "Ja".

He tapped himself impressively on the chest and said "Nippon!", and gravely shook hands with me.

Then his finger shot out in Bill's direction.

"Inggris?"

Bill also said "Yes" to avoid argument.

Again the Nip tapped himself importantly on the chest and said "Nippon!" Then he shook hands with Bill.

He stood for a few minutes more puffing his cigarette. Then suddenly he turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

We three sat down and looked at each other, wondering what this meant. Did it mean that the fact of our being British gave us a certain standing in Japanese eyes? It certainly did, but not in the way we then thought, as we were soon to learn. And how did the Jap know that we were British? That was fairly easy to answer. Spies, no doubt, had had us all taped long before. I myself had patronised the Japanese hairdressing salonm, Kawata, opposite our office for year and Kawata himself, who had been in business in Bandoeng for something like 20 years, had evacuated, together with all Bandoeng Japanese residents, to Japan on the outbreak of hostilities in the Pacific. Doubtless these sons of Nippon had been able to supply the Japanese Intelligence with highly detailed information regarding Bandoeng's citizenry. It had been generally accepted for a long time that all Japs in Java, as indeed elsewhere in the Pacific, were there as spies and that their various avocations were merely a cloak for their espionage activities.

It was about 10 minutes later when we heard the sound of many feet on the road outside. Divining what this portended, I again opened the door in order to meet our visitors before they should have the opportunity of summoning us to open up, or, what was more likely, of forcing their way in without ceremony.

The door opened outwards and my hand was still on the knob when I was seized by the wrist and a Jap soldier started tugging at the wristwatch I was wearing. At the same time seven others jostled past me into the front room. All were armed with rifle and bayonet.

Growling throatily what I presume were sundry Japanese bloodthirsty threats, the Jap kept twisting my wrist and plucking at the watch until I had no option but to undo the clasp and let him have it. Thus released I turned back into the room to discover that Ena and Bill had already been forced to surrender their watches.

No more watches being available, they then turned their attention to the rings on our fingers. One Jap took Ena's engagement ring, attracted no doubt, just like a monkey, by the gleam of the solitaire diamond, but ignored her wedding ring. Another Jap helped himself to my wedding ring. While these two were thus for the time being engaged, the others dispersed themselves throughout the house. Two of them barged into the room where Lydia was with the children and it must have given her a great shock, particularly in her condition, as up to that moment she had had no idea of what was going on.

Suddenly, one of the gang seized me by the arm and hustled me outside into the night. I wondered if I was going to be bumped off. But I was relieved to discover that he wanted the car out of the garage. His desire was conveyed to me in unmistakable sign language.

I backed the car out of the garage on to the road. The gear lever on the steering wheel had him puzzled and I had to explain and demonstrate to him as best I could how it worked. He grunted what I understood to be his comprehension, in due course, and left the engine running while he took over and glided off down the hill. I found myself then free to return to the house.

Incidentally, I may mention that the next morning we found the car abandoned just about 60 yards down the road and of this more anon.

While I had been out of the hose, the Japs had poked about all over the house, opening drawers and cupboards in the search presumably of portable loot in the way of jewellery perhaps, but I don't think they took anything of importance. They pinched about half a dozen bottles of beer of the frigidaire, though. Fortunately the whisky bottle on the sideboard was empty.

They were just preparing to leave when I got back. One of them as he passed me patted me over as if searching for a weapon. His hand encountered the outline of my automatic cigarette lighter which I was carrying in my trouser pocket. He made me produce it and when I did so I had to show him what it was and how it worked. When it lit up, his face lit up even more. I had to let him see the wheels go round again. He made a grab at it and snatched it from me with one hand while with the other he pushed something into my hand. My wedding ring! I slipped it quickly into my pocket reflecting that this was much more than a fair exchange for a pocket lighter which had cost me only f2.50

With their departure, the house was suddenly quiet although we could hear them shouting hoarsely to each other, in the distance. We were all naturally somewhat upset by this experience and were glad to sit down quietly, congratulating ourselves that it had not been worse.

But our troubles for the evening were not over yet!

****** to be continued