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  BURMA RAILWAY MAN

  SECRET LETTERS FROM A JAPANESE POW

  BURMA RAILWAY MAN

  SECRET LETTERS FROM A JAPANESE POW

  by

  BRIAN BEST

  First published in Great Britain in 2004

  and reprinted in this format in 2013 and 2014 by

  PEN & SWORD MILITARY

  An imprint of

  Pen & Sword Books Ltd

  47 Church Street

  Barnsley

  South Yorkshire

  S70 2AS

  Copyright © Brian Best, 2004, 2013, 2014

  ISBN 978 1 78340 067 6

  The right of Brian Best to be identified as Author

  of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with

  the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Previously published in 2004 under the title ‘Secret Letters from the Railway’

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is

  available from the British Library.

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  ​​​​​

  Prisoner in the Bag

  by Robert Hope

  Captured, taken prisoner and in the bag

  Sounds so strange yet means the same

  To be transported from the fray

  The enemy to guard through night and day

  Incarcerated behind barbed wire fences

  Little to do, except time to while away

  Long endless days and cold, cold nights

  Now imprisoned and unable to fight

  Many a long year through endless humdrum

  But we were lucky with this weary boredom

  Of our comrades out in the East

  Sent to fight and the enemy to beat

  Outmanoeuvred and taken out

  Too far away, they would have to do without

  The enemy to take and be beaten down

  With fist or boot and rifle butt

  Starved, abused and worked to death

  Lose zest for life and to die within

  If not disease, work and beatings, the bayonet will

  Bring to an end so soft a kill

  But such is war fate served an unjust hand

  Who ever said war was grand

  A soldier death in battle to die

  But what of those who died a prisoner

  Who served and suffered right to the end

  Yet all were unable to self defend

  Less we forget, but always remember

  The nightmares and cries of the survivor

  Through the harshness all suffered pain

  And those that died, did not die in vain

  ​​​​​

  Acknowledgments

  When I was asked if I was interested in editing the letters kept by a prisoner of the Japanese, my initial reaction was that the subject matter would be both grim and depressing. I am glad I did not turn down the project, for I found in the letters of Charles Steel one of the most uplifting reading experiences I have ever enjoyed.

  For this, I am grateful to Margaret and David Sargent for putting their trust in me and allowing full access to all of Charles and Louise Steel’s papers.

  I must also thank the staffs at the Imperial War Museum Library and Crowborough and Tunbridge Wells Libraries for their help and suggestions.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  1 The Early Years

  2 The Fall of France

  3 Changes

  4 Another Military Defeat

  5 ‘Phoney’ Captivity

  6 The Impossible Project

  7 Bridge Over the River Kwai

  8 ‘Speedo’

  9 Return to Nong Pladuk

  10 Bombed by the RAF

  11 Ubon

  12 Liberation

  13 Home at Last!

  Postscript

  Bibliography

  Index

  Introduction

  Charles Steel had a most unfortunate war. He was one of the unlucky few who participated in two of the greatest disasters to befall the British Army – Dunkirk and the fall of Singapore. He not only survived both experiences but emerged mentally stronger and surprisingly unembittered. His story is well worth the telling, for he was a survivor of that most appalling experience that could befall a soldier captured during the Pacific War – he was held a prisoner of war by the Japanese.

  For four long years he and his fellow prisoners endured cruelties and hardships that are, today, almost beyond comprehension. Many men did not survive the harrowing experiences of starvation, disease, slave labour and the barbaric acts of their captors. Unable to cope with the nightmare into which they had been pitched, so many suffered mentally and just gave up as if preferring death to any faint hope of eventual salvation.

  Steel was not one of these Muselmanner, the German slang for the ‘walking dead’, whose divine spark had been extinguished within. Instead, he refused to be paralysed by a denial of what was happening to him and set about adopting a goal he could focus upon. Something that would kindle a fighting spirit so he would be able to trudge through the darkness toward a far distant pinprick of light.

  Within days of being captured at Singapore, Charles wrote his first letter to Louise, his wife of just ninety days. From the chaos of that debacle, when he felt sure they would be shortly repatriated, Charles began writing letters that were never sent. Even when he was at his lowest ebb, a sick, starved slave on the Burma-Siam railway, he kept writing to his beloved Louise, relating not only the everyday horrors but also his observations of his captors, his fellow POWs, the surrounding countryside and wildlife. Above all, the letters were declarations of love written by a man who focused on his young wife as his personal reason to rise above the surrounding hopelessness and will himself to survive. Risking punishment – for the Japanese forbade any writing or sketching that would record their inhuman behaviour – Charles managed to document life as a slave labourer on one of the most remarkable engineering feats of the twentieth century. The letters were a form of record, but written for Louise’s eyes – only and with no thought that they would be read by a curious posterity.

  Steel wrote and hid 183 letters during captivity and another thirty-two after the Japanese surrender. They show a man who retained his sanity, humanity and even a sense of humour under the most testing of circumstances. Far from being a broken man, he put his experiences behind him and made his dream
s during captivity come true.

  Chapter 1

  The Early Years

  My Dear Wife

  I am a Prisoner of War.

  These stark opening words written from Changi, just after the fall of Singapore, were the first of nearly 200 letters written, but never sent, by Battery Sergeant Major Charles Steel. They were written when there seemed hope that he and his fellow captives might be exchanged and repatriated. This was the time of phoney captivity, when the Japanese left the British and Australians to their own devices and the only suffering was poor food, overcrowding and boredom. When Steel wrote that he was a prisoner of the Japanese, it did not have the fearful connotation it was soon to gain. Indeed, those British officers who were familiar with the Japanese Army during the 1920s and 1930s did not predict the dramatic change of behaviour towards their prisoners. It was pointed out that, during the war of 1904–05, the Japanese treated their Russian prisoners in an exemplary fashion.

  In the meantime, Charles had plenty of time to recollect on the unkind fates that had directed him to his present predicament.

  Charles Wilfred Steel was born on 7 December 1916 in a middle-class area of Bow in London’s East End. His father was a manager, who later rose to become a partner with the brokerage firm Mardorf, Peach in the Corn Exchange. The railway ran through a cutting below the bottom of his parent’s garden and one of Charles’s earliest recollections was of the steam trains that journeyed to and from Liverpool Street Station. This early fascination for steam engines remained with him for all his life.

  Tragedy struck when his mother was one of the many thousands who succumbed to the flu pandemic of 1918 and it was left to her two spinster sisters to care for him. His father married his secretary and Charles’s new stepmother proved to be a loving substitute and soon provided Charles with a younger brother named Ken.

  Charles was an academically bright child and in 1928 gained a scholarship to the Sir George Moneaux Grammar School in Walthamstow. Both the school and his father encouraged outdoor pursuits and physical fitness, something for which Charles would later be thankful. When he was just seventeen, he left school having matriculated with seven subjects. He had a good head for figures and, with his father’s help, joined a firm of stockbrokers. It was a career in which he remained all his working life.

  Once he had left school, the family moved from the East End to the comparatively rural area of Shirley, on the Kent/Surrey border, not far from Bromley. Charles immediately took to the whole ambience of working in the City and relished the opportunity of trading on the dealing floor at the Stock Exchange. One of the social activities available to City workers and, indeed was encouraged, was the joining of a Territorial Army regiment.

  The most prestigious City regiment was the Honorable Artillery Company at Finsbury Square but, in 1937, Charles chose to join the 97 (Kent Yeomanry) Field Regiment Royal Artillery, 387th Battery, Queen’s Own West Kent Yeomanry, for it was based at Bromley Common, close to his home. Within a short time Gunner Steel had made a whole new circle of friends and took on new pursuits. One of the activities he enjoyed was to cycle around the lovely Kent countryside. In those pre-war days there was very little traffic and cycling clubs filled the roads most weekends. It was during one of these club outings that Charles noticed and was instantly attracted to a slim young lady who was happy to encourage his advances. Her name was Louise Crane and she lived at the nearby village of North Cray. They soon found they had many interests in common, including the part-time army. To Charles’s mild irritation, he found that his new girlfriend was a sergeant in the ATS and, throughout their respective service careers, she continued to outrank him.

  The years between the wars were difficult for the Territorial Army. Lack of training grants and equipment, few experienced instructors and a general public apathy made the Territorials little more than a social club. The gathering war clouds and the passing of the Conscription Act of 1938 changed this with a large influx of volunteers. Unfortunately, the shortage of officers and experienced NCO’s seriously hampered training and organization. This was uncomfortably brought home during the annual TA camp and manoeuvres at Okehampton in the spring of 1939.

  The previous summer, Charles had enjoyed a rather jolly time at his first camp on the South Downs near Seaford. In glorious summer weather, the young volunteers were put through gun drill, but there had been no firing of their vintage 18-pounder guns. Instead, there had been plenty of polishing until the old artillery pieces gleamed in the bright sunshine. At the end of the fortnight, everyone agreed that it had been very healthy and pleasant. The camp at Okehampton on Dartmoor was to prove very different.

  A combination of misplaced enthusiasm, the expectation of war against Germany and a breakdown in communication found over 2,000 volunteers pitching tents in an area designed for about 1,000. Torrential driving rain soon turned the camp into a morass and many tents were washed away. The hospital, which had only three beds, could not cope with the steady stream of sick, and the cooking facilities were similarly limited. Men were reduced to sleeping in nearby barns and stables, while those who drove down in their own cars spent several uncomfortable sleepless nights in their vehicles. This shambles caused such an uproar that Lionel Hore-Belisha, the Secretary of State for War, was given a torrid time in the House of Commons. He laid the blame on the commanding officers for sending duplicate units of reservists and volunteers to attend with their original units.

  Once the rains relented, Charles and his colleagues were able to be trained in the use of more modern ordnance like the 25-pounder and the 4.5-inch howitzer and to experience the firing of live rounds. This was just as well, for the Kent Yeomanry was about be thrown in at the deep end.

  Chapter 2

  The Fall of France

  On 1 September, the day the Germans began their invasion of Poland, Charles Steel and his comrades responded to the Reserve and Volunteers Calling Out Notice and reported the following day to the Bromley Common HQ. Unlike the regular army, the TA had no mobilization stores at their depots, so all equipment had to be collected or commandeered from around the southeast. In the ensuing confusion and clamour, it was no surprise that mistakes were made. The day before the 97th entrained at Maidstone, it was discovered that the Ordnance had issued over 700 sets of webbing equipment without belts. Some of the lorries that had been commandeered had to be hastily painted to prevent advertising ‘Kent’s Best Beer’ and the merits of a couple of rival laundries to the natives of northern France.

  There was barely enough time for Charles to say his goodbyes to Louise before he left for Southampton and, on 23 September, set sail on the SS Bruges for Cherbourg. The 97th was on its way to join the British Expeditionary Force in France and was the first TA regiment to arrive. By stages, over the following weeks, the regiment travelled through Normandy until they finally dug in at Moncheaux, on the Somme. The new commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Franklin Lushington, recognized that his command was not trained to the same pitch as their regular army counterparts, so he organized for the regiment to visit and train at the ranges at Sissons and Marieux. Despite their comparative lack of expertise, Lushington felt that the Territorials had two great advantages over the Regulars. The standard of education amongst all ranks was generally higher and they all came from the same area, giving them a greater bonding.

  This was the time of the ‘Phoney War’ when the enemy were invisible and almost wholly non-belligerent. Much time was spent digging defences which, in the event, were never occupied. On 5 December, they were paid a visit by King George and later by the Duke of Gloucester. During this lull before the storm, apart from the bitter cold, life was reasonably pleasant and the new colonel tried to keep spirits from flagging. A Christmas party was thrown in the local village hall and everyone down to the most junior gunner drank champagne. This was followed by a memorable New Year’s lunch at Bapaume, which was rounded off by a pitched snowball fight. This all helped to foster a real esprit de corps and morale was
high. There was plenty of time for short leaves and the nearest source of recreation was the town of Albert, still showing scars from the Battle of the Somme. The immediate threat of war appeared to recede and Charles was able to take a ten-day leave in February. Predictably, he spent most of his leave visiting Louise, whose unit was stationed at Brighton. With a mixture of pride and irritation, he learned that she had just been promoted and referred to her as ‘my own particular sergeant major’. Like many couples at that time of high uncertainty, they decided to get married.

  Soon after Charles rejoined his regiment, they were sent to Perenchies near Lille. Here the regiment suffered their first casualties when a First World War shell exploded under the cook’s fire and injured three men. In April, the Germans began their long-anticipated advance into Belgium and France; the ‘Phoney War’ was over. The 97th was incorporated into the 5th Division and ordered into Belgium to help counter the German invasion. They reached Ghoy, south of Brussels and so began weeks of confusion, with orders that were countermanded almost as soon as they were issued. Before they had time to dig in, the 97th was ordered to retreat to Escourt, where the 5th Division was told to hold the Brussels-Charleroi Canal. With the French on their right falling back and the Belgians collapsing on their left, the 5th Division was again ordered to immediately retire to Seclin in order to ‘straighten the line’.

  During this manoeuvre, Charles saw the effects of war for the first time. The roads were packed with refugees, carrying all that they could manage in trucks, cars, horse-drawn carts, bikes, prams or on their bent backs. When night fell, the 97th was not allowed to use its headlights and sleep was impossible. They crawled through Tournai, which was in flames and they felt very vulnerable from an attack by the Luftwaffe.