25 August 1942

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.

How we all react differently....

On Thursday one of our employees, a young Dutchman who had been called up, with thousands of others, some months before, came into my office, showing signs of great exhaustion. His uniform and rifle were caked with mud. He had just arrived back from Tjiater, how I don't know.

"Mr Smith," he said, " I have been lying for four days in the mud of the rice fields, bombed and machine gunned from the air practically all the time. I haven't fired a shot and I haven't seen a single Jap".

I understand that this was more or less the general experience of Tjiater. Jap planes bombed and machine gunned their positions until the troops had to retire. Japanese infantry thinly spread out in long lines advanced slowly until they received a message from the planes that a position had been abandoned. The infantry then all converged on the position, as along the ribs of a fan and thus, within a very short time, had occupied the point in force. These tactics repeated, I believe, until the Dutch were driven back from their outposts to the Tjiater fortifications where a bitter struggle was reported to be now taking place.

Bandoeng was becoming every day more crowded, people seeming to flock into the town from all directions. All hotels, boarding houses, etc were by now full up and restaurants and cafes were unable to cope with the rush. Over the radio, contrary to the anti hoarding policy strictly enforced hitherto, came the advice to all citizens of Bandoeng, to stock up with as much food stuffs as they could procure. Ena and I went on the scrounge and in one way or another collected about £100 worth of tinned and bottled foods which were to stand us in good stead in the days to come, even after our liberation from internment three and half years later, but of this more anon.

Friday morning while I was still in my dressing gown, drinking my coffee and listening to the early news, the sirens started their wailing. Almost simultaneously, the roar of low flying aircraft directly overhead, immediately followed by the rattle of bursts of machine gun fire. "Action stations" was the word with a vengeance. I yelled for the house boy, Engkong, to get a move on but got no reply. Running to the rear premises to find out what he and Amah, his wife, were doing; I discovered they were nowhere to be found and we never saw them again.

This desertion was a great disappointment to us, as Engkong and Amah had been with us for seven years; ever since we were married and had been always very well paid and treated. Up to the time of our removing to 'Sunny Corner' some 15 months before, they had always lived in the servants' quarters with which most European houses are provided and we had come to regard them as permanent fixtures as the house furniture itself. They had proved themselves honest as the day, had shared to a great extent in our joys and sorrows, so to speak, and we had been convinced of their loyalty. But this desertion by house servants proved to be almost the general rule during this period and by the time the Japs arrived in Bandoeng, very few Europeans could boast of still possessing domestic help. However, we must not judge these people too harshly and I, for one, would immediately re-engage Engkong and Amah again if they should turn up again one of these days.

Later in the day, when the excitement of the raid had subsided, we walked to the kampong further afield where we had rented a house for them and where they had lived very comfortably ever since we occupied 'Sunny Corner', only to find the house shut up. On enquiring we learned that they had merely been there long enough to pack some belongings and had then set out, presumably on foot, for another village where Engkong, thanks to our financial assistance in previous years, had acquired some acres of sawahs (rice or paddy fields) sufficient to meet their simple needs should he eventually choose to retire.

Poor people! At the moment of writing Dajeuhkelet, the kampong (village) where they lived, is in the front line of the battle going on between Dutch troops and Indonesian extremists and the village itself exists only in name, mainly as the result of the exploding of a large ammunition dump there about six weeks ago, which flattened everything within a large radius. The chances of their having survived in the turmoil in that district during the past few months are just fifty fifty.

One shining exception to the general desertion of house servants is to be found in our 'toekang kabon' or gardener, Amat, a Javanese, who stuck to his Tuan and Njonja (master and mistress) through thick and thin until Ena herself was interned in October 1942 and even after that, stayed on in the service of Ena's mother until November, 1944. When one realises the intense anti European propaganda of the Japanese and the actual threats of punishment which were made to all natives who were guilty of lending any form of assistance to Europeans, one can regards Amat's action with only admiration and gratitude. It is such as he who restores one's sadly shaken faith in any good whatever to be found in Indonesians generally and I can only pray that he is still alive and that I one day shall have the privilege of shaking him by the hand. And, so far as lies in my power, he shall be suitably rewarded for all that he did for us.

***** to be continued