Let's go back a little in order to understand....

The Japanese landed on Java on 1 March, 1942.  Singapore had fallen two weeks before, those British troops which had succeeded in getting away in time landing at various points along the coast of Sumatra and at Batavia (the old name for Java).

Eventually all, I believe, arrived in Java.

I may mention that I had, and still have, no information as to the exact course of the events at that time apart from what one could read in the newspapers and observe personally.  And as it is already four and a half years since these events occurred I must rely on a very faulty memory to describe the happenings of this particular period which, by its very nature, was one of great confusion.  Consequently I will doubtless be guilty of many inaccuracies of detail on various points.

Ena and I were in the Elita Cinema at the second performance on the night proceeding the fatal day.  About half way through the main feature (what the picture was, I cannot recollect) there was some commotion behind us at the door leading to the stalls where we were sitting and, suddenly, a stentorian voice shatters the comparative stillness.  "Mannen van de -------, onmiddelijk inrukken!" (Men of the -------, fall in immediately)

There is a stir and a welling up of excited subdued talk in the hall, but remarkably enough, nobody moves. One gets the impression of a sort of impatient resentment at the interruption.  Quite probably it occurs at a tense moment in the film.

The call is repeated and now various figures are seen moving towards the exit, and there is a lot of loud talk in the foyer outside.  Somehow everybody seems to be intuitively aware that this is no more precautionary or practice measure, but the real thing at last.

Ever since Holland's declaration of war on Japan immediately after the Pearl Harbour disaster, intensive ARP (Air Raid Precaution) exercises had been the rule and everybody had been kept busy building air raid shelters and reacting at all hours to the  day and night to the wail of the very efficient siren systems which had been installed throughout Bandoeng.  It is possible that many of the alarms, particularly after the fall of Singapore, were real ones but actually we did not see any Jap planes or hear bombs fall until after the landings on Java.  And even in the ensuing week, which terminated in the capitulation, we were not to experience very much in the way of aerial warfare.

During this eventful week, Bandoeng became the scene of almost indescribable confusion and feverish activity.  The town was suddenly full of British troops and mechanised equipment.  Dutch Government departments and many Dutch and British business houses and banks had also transferred their seats from Batavia to Bandoeng.  Almost overnight, it seemed that the comparatively small town of Bandoeng had undergone a metamorphosis and become a fully fledged metropolis.

This, for Bandoeng, unusual activity had actually begun on a small scale sometime in January, if I recollect aright, with the arrival of General Wavell and his staff,  who set up their headquarters at Lembang, a small place some 16 kilometres to the north of the town. Wavell's main task was to organise the British forces in the region so that British territory was protected against a Japanese attack.  At this time, we fully expected that Java was to be the centre of resistance to the Japanese advance and were consequently extremely optimistic as to the future.  Wavell's silent and sudden departure shortly before the fall of Singapore struck an ominous note, however, and left us with the uneasy feeling that the outlook was not so rosy as we had been leading ourselves to believe.

In this connection, it is interesting to record that almost three years later I met an old friend in the Baros camp who was still feeling very aggrieved and resentful at Wavell's having 'folded his tent like the Arab, and silently stolen away'.  This chap held at the time a very responsible position in the Dutch Government radio telephone department and had been put in charge of the linking up of the British Headquarters with the world generally, I presume.

Anyhow, he described to me how he had got everything fixed up, all connections made, etc with the only finishing touches to be put to the Lembang end ( a couple of hours drive from Bandoeng).  I can sympathise with his feelings of intense annoyance when he discovered that the whole outfit had disappeared overnight, not a soul being left behind to put into use all the very intricate and complicated apparatus which he had had to put together.

All the same, if it was, as I have long suspected, part of the Allied high strategy to give every semblance of permanence to Wavell's presence in Java and thus draw a red herring across the path of the Japanese line of advance, then this seemingly very rude behaviour was fully justified as it seems quite evident that the plan succeeded brilliantly.  In the light of subsequent events it would indeed appear that the Allied Command had resolved on the undoubtedly tragic but necessary and unavoidable course of sacrificing Java in the interests of the future plan of campaign.

The impression that Java was used a bait to catch a big fish is strengthened by the fact that the Japs landed something like 200,000 men on Java, when, in fact 20,000 would no doubt have sufficed to do all they had to do .

******* to be continued

Do I jump right in?

I have never been one to start at the beginning. However, I guess I really should give a little background which as time goes on will become more transparent, if that is the right way to describe this journey.

Dad, Bill short for William, was a canny Scot was born in Aberdeen, Scotland in 1903. Here he remained until his early twenties after graduating from school and some years working in the accountancy field. Always a man with a vision his eyes scanned towards the horizon for a new adventure, a new journey. One day as he glanced through a local paper he spotted an advertisement for someone to travel to Indonesia to train as a rubber planter! Yes, you guessed it. To cut a long story short he travelled out there which in those days was considered a monumental upheaval. Think of it, he was leaving the comfort of his home, his mother, father and sister to travel around to the other side of the world. The journey would take for ever and communications nigh on impossible. In those days, it really was immigrating unlike today when you can fly to the other end of the world in a matter of hours compared to sailing which would take you weeks.

In years to come he was to have spent about 5 years as a rubber planter but then decided to go back to accounting which the discipline he had followed in Scotland. By doing so he graduated to actually owning and running his own export/import business. Moving to Indonesia was to be instrumental to his meeting with my mother (Ena which was short for Gezina) who was Dutch and lived there with her widowed mother, sister and two brothers.

Here we have the engaged couple in 1933 surrounded with the many, many flowers sent by their numerous friends.

In 1934 my father and mother were to be married in Bandung, Indonesia on 23 January. It was a marriage made in heaven! Two soul mates who led a very full life together enjoying work and a wonderful social life. Still, that will be another story!

Meanwhile, we move forward to 1942 when Dad was aged 39 and living happily with my mother in a place called Bandung, Indonesia. On the map you will see it south east of Jakarta which is the capital. I would like to start with his own words as he described the start of an adventure he never ever thought he would have to endure and was to shape and influence the rest of his life. Please note that the language Dad used is not meant to offend but underlines a very strong sense of indignation whilst encountering the many difficult situations.

**********

Their Arrival

***********

"What is it?"

I am just slipping over the edge from waking to sleeping, but Ena's whisper recalls me sharply and I raise my head from the pillow, straining my ears to intercept the sounds which penetrate to the darkened room from the outside night.

Crunch! Crunch! The sound of heavy boots on the gravel path at some distance and a mumble of indistinguishable voices.

I look at my watch. It is only 11.05 pm. The date is 14 April 1942.

With mouth open so that nose breathing will not interfere with hearing, I lie tense, listening.

There is a sudden silence and then for the second time the same sounds are heard again. Then again silence which continues. I relax, grunt "Oh, it's nothing", lay my head in on the pillow and in a matter of seconds, am fast asleep.

Trrring! Trrring! Ena and I are immediately awake, startled into complete wakefulness by the ringing of the door bell in another part of the house. What we say to each other in these first moments, I cannot recall.

Trring! As I get out of the bed, the luminous dial of my wristwatch shows it to be 12.15 am.

I open the door of our bedroom and step out onto the verandah. At my appearance a group of dimly seen figures detaches itself from the shadows at the front of the house and moves towards me. As they come within range of the light which burns on the verandah, I realise with a sort of dull, apathetic shock "So, it has come at last!"

Behind me, Ena switches on the light in the bedroom. The light is reflected momentarily on the long, wicked looking bayonets carried by two apelike Japanese soldiers. A burly Jap officer, carrying his Samurai sword, pushes me and goes into the bedroom. A native Indonesian policeman steps under the verandah lamp and importantly consults a number of papers which he carries in his hand.

He speaks in Malay. " Your name - Grey-ig Smit?" (the name is Greig Smith but with an accent would sound different)

"Yes"

"Partner in the firm of De Koek, Spark-in and Co. Office situated at 59 Groote Postweg, Bandoeng?" (The spelling of Bandoeng was the old way of spelling today's Bandung but is still pronounced the same)

"Yes"

Sundry other questions as to nationality, date of birth, name of wife, etc which can all be answered in the affirmative and then the laconic order "Toeroet (come along)".

I go back into the bedroom to dress. Ena has hastily donned a dressing gown. The Jap officer sprawls, as only a Jap can sprawl, in a chair; his sword held in one hand between his wide spread knees. The two soldiers follow me inside and immediately begin rummaging about the room, opening drawers and cupboards, grinning and drawing each other's attention to the various articles they pick up and drop on the floor with complete indifference as their attention is drawn to some other object, for all the world like a pair of monkeys. The native policeman stays outside.

The Jap officer barks hoarsely,"Lekas, lekas!" (quickly, quickly). I dress hastily. I put on a jacket and take my topi (a light-weight hat worn in tropical countries for protection from the sun), but for some reason or other which even now I do not understand, do not put on my tie. Fortunately, my suitcase is fully packed as it has been since we were for the second and final time evicted from our house at Dennenlust on Good Friday, ten days ago, so I am soon ready.

At the last moment, I slip into my pocket the Penguin novel of which I had read the first few pages that night before going to sleep. The title is encouraging. It is 'Fate cannot harm me'.

Ena and I face each other. She looks at the Sumarai bearing lord of our destiny and says hesitantly, "Bolih tjioem?" (May we kiss?) We already are aware of the disapproval with which the Japanese regard western demonstrations of affection. The Jap grunts and nods an affirmative. We embrace. We whisper to each other quite silly inconsequential things. I say to her "Ring of Pierre", meaning our good friend Pierre Ursone who had said to me just a day or two before, "If you are interned, tell Ena to call me immediately and I will do all I can for her." Ena says to me "I'll let Dr Bijdeveld know," meaning she will inform my dentist with whom I have an appointment next morning that I won't be able to keep it. Only she has got her names mixed. She means Dr Beierwaltes.

I pick up my suitcase. The Jap lumbers to his feet. The two soldiers are behind me. Ena follows us out on to the verandah. I turn around, put my free hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. "Chin up, Wifie." We smile at each other. "Lekas, lekas!" I turn away and walk into the night surrounded by my escort. I do not look back, but I know that Ena is still standing there.

We won't see each other again for almost three and a half years.

**** to be continued.