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Bill  McClure's Story
Bill died in March 1987. His story was recounted on tape by Hank Nelson, Historian at National University Canberra, in May 1984.
Bill and I had common interests in our jobs in civvy street, and he sometimes talked about his unusual experiences when we met.
As one of the youngest officers of the 4th Anti-Tank Regiment, Bill orchestrated the destruction of eight enemy tanks in the most significant gun battle carried out by the regiment. Bill's uniqueness lies in the fact that he was not taken a prisoner by the Japs, but instead had to endure the extraordinary situation of living it out alone, without mates, with the Chinese communists and guerrilla forces in Malaya, for three and a half years.
If Bill's movements in and out of Chinese camps seem a bit confusing at times, that's exactly the way the Chinese intended it to be.
Bill's wife Lee kindly lent me copies of his tapes and diaries, and has helped ensure that his story has been authentically recorded here.
Having obtained my commission as a lieutenant at the Officers' Training School at Seymour and undertaken a course in artillery training at Holdsworth at the age of 19, I was accepted by the C.O. of the 4th Anti-Tank Regiment as a troop commander of 13th Battery.
I enlisted for overseas service because, for our generation, it was considered the right thing to do. One felt an obligation to join up. But I never thought for one moment that one day I would be fighting the Japanese.
When we embarked on the Queen Mary in February 1941, we all thought we were off to the Middle East, until in mid-ocean we were called together and told we were headed for Malaya.
No sooner had we been told than all the troops lined the decks and the Queen Mary took off at full speed, circled the huge convoy of troop ships and naval craft and headed for Singapore.
The roar of the cheers from the troops, sailors, and nurses lining the decks of the troop ships and destroyers was tremendous and the blast of the ships' sirens provided me with the most spine tingling send-off one could ever imagine.
On arriving in Singapore we went straight to our camp in the small village of Tampin. We were in tropical surroundings; we had atap huts for our quarters, a ready-made padang for our parade ground, and we went straight into our training.
The Anti-Tank Regiment was a new concept to most infantry commanders, so we spent quite some time on exercises with infantry battalions to help develop an understanding how we could most effectively work together.
An anti-tank troop consists of 30 men; you live together and become self-contained. Our troop lived together as one happy family; we were on Christian name terms, with the odd `sir' being reserved for parades and official occasions.
Within the Anti-Tank Regiment, a strong spirit of inter-battery rivalry was fostered. This resulted in everyone striving to perform well through a free and competitive spirit, rather than imposing a rigid service discipline to compel behaviour.
It was during this period of our training that I was to encounter my first profound challenge as a 20-year old troop commander.
We had been ordered to change from our normal practice of towing our guns to carrying them on the back of our trucks in a manner developed in the Middle East known as `Porte.'
Our C.O. issued instructions for the three troops in 13th Battery; Ack, Beer, and Charlie, to attend a live shoot, carrying our guns, Porte style.
Our trucks were only 30 cwt vehicles, our guns weighed about 16 cwt, and it was going to be a very tricky and dangerous operation to get them, the supplies of ammunition plus the four members of the gun crew and all their gear, on board.
Getting the guns off the trucks and ready for firing was also going to be difficult, and would take us a lot longer.
It just didn't make sense to us.
Personally, I believed that it would be downright dangerous driving along the rough winding roads of Malaya, with the boys in the back with the gun.
Nevertheless, we tried it out and loaded the guns and everything else on to the trucks and tested them out. We found that by leaning on the back of them, their front wheels lifted off the ground. The boys felt very uneasy about it all and were convinced that it would be dangerous.
I said to them, "Look, I agree with you, it is risky, but this is an order and we should obey. "
The boys however, remained adamant. They flatly refused to ride in the back of their trucks with the guns on board, and did not go to the shoot.
Fully aware of my responsibilities as troop commander, I could not bring myself to enforce an order which I believed would endanger the lives of the boys. I reported the situation to RHQ and was promptly relieved of my command by the C.O. The following day I was to be transferred to Divisional Headquarters as a reserve officer.
That night I joined the boys in their discussions about what they were going to do from here on. Another shoot was to be held the next day and they had been ordered to attend it, but they still wanted to hold out. Fearing the disintegration of the troop, which was now working closely and effectively together, I implored them to go to the next shoot as ordered.
Fortunately they went, and the battery remained intact. Later on, it became clear that the Porte method had initially been misunderstood by the senior officers of our regiment.
The boys knew I had been sacked and they knew why. They expressed their appreciation for my support and their regrets at my departure and presented me with a handsome wristwatch.
I was deeply moved by their concern and loyalty, and treasured the memory of the occasion as I did the watch, until it was taken from me by the Chinese communists.
The war started suddenly, and the Japs moved quickly down the Peninsula. A patrol had been sighted at Muar. Divisional HQ decided to send a battalion of infantry to suppress them. A troop of anti-tank guns was to go with them.
Our RHQ decided to send a composite troop, comprising two guns from 13th Battery and two from 16th Battery. An experienced officer was needed to lead them. There were only the two of us deposed officers, Jack Ross and myself, to choose from.
When put to us, we jumped at the chance of rejoining the regiment, and decided to toss to determine who should go. A ruler was near at hand so we tossed that. As it happened, I won the toss and enthusiastically reported to the Battalion Commander, Colonel Robertson, with my new found gun troop.
The colonel, however was not so enthusiastic. He didn't want a troop of anti-tank guns attached to his command and very bluntly, told me so.
"I have orders from the General that I should be accompanied by a troop of anti-tank guns, but as far as I am concerned, you're not wanted. I don't want you to interfere with us in any way. I don't expect the Japanese to use tanks, so for my part, you can go home."
On the way up to Muar, I had another fall-out with the colonel. It was on a matter of regimental procedure. We had stopped at an airfield and he called his officers together for a briefing. I attended the meeting with my senior sergeant, Sergeant Peake. On seeing Sergeant Peake, the colonel immediately asked what he was doing attending a meeting of officers.
I explained to him that in the Anti-Tank Regiment, it was standard practice for a troop commander to always be accompanied by his senior sergeant at such meetings, so that in the event of anything happening to the officer, the sergeant could then take over command, well-informed of the situation.
It didn't go down with the colonel, so he told me to order Sergeant Peake to leave the meeting.
I told him that I couldn't do that as it would be against my commitment to my regiment.
His answer to that was simple, "Then I dismiss you both."
As we approached Muar, the battalion stopped at Bakri and the colonel called a meeting to confer on the deployment of troops for the night, before taking off to suppress the party of Japs in the morning. As I was unable to attend the meeting, I had to find out for myself what the battalion's plans were.
The colonel had made it quite clear to me, that he didn't want our guns anywhere near his troops. I defied that order.
Having found out from the other officers what the battalion intended to do for the night, I made a quick reconnaissance of the area and decided that I would take two of my guns to defend the road passing between the infantry troops, and keep the other two in reserve with me at our base camp.
I selected Sergeant Clarrie Thornton and his gun crew from 13th Battery, and Sergeant Charley Parsons and his crew from 16th Battery.
I took Clarrie over to a position forward of the infantry troops, to cover a slight turn in the road and told him to set up his gun there.
I then told Charley to take his gun and set it up in a cutting, some 400 yards down the road from Clarrie, to back Clarrie up.
I didn't expect any tanks and I knew the colonel, who would have been better informed than I, didn't expect any either. Nevertheless, I was sure I had selected the most strategic positions for our guns, just in case.
I then set up my base camp not far from Clarrie's gun, in a position where I could see everything, and know what was going on, just on the off-chance something might happen.
From the heavy firing going on around us it became evident that we were engaging a far larger force than was expected. This was not just a small patrol, there was too much firing and sniping going on from the Japs in the trees in front of us.
We knew of the Japs' ability to get through lines at night and their strategy of then attacking from the rear, so we all stayed on the alert and did not get any sleep that night.
In the early morning light, all hell suddenly broke loose. Clarrie had opened fire on a convoy of Jap tanks moving along the road and his crew were pumping armour-piercing shells into the tanks as fast as he could fire them. The shells disabled the tanks, but their crews were still able to use their guns.
Captain Bowring of the 2/29th Infantry Battalion, then came running over to me, calling out that Clarrie wanted high-explosive ammunition, and to hurry up with it.
My batman, Titch Morley, and I raced over to Clarrie's gun, with the containers of high-explosive shells. Each time I dumped a container at their gun, I gave Clarrie a slap on the shoulder and urged him on. He was doing a great job and his crew seemed to be crazily enjoying the action, completely ignoring of the dangers of the battle raging on around them.
It was our first encounter in action. Everything was happening so fast, gunfire and explosions were going off all around us, mortars were falling everywhere, we didn't have time for things to sink in. There was no time to be afraid.
Clarrie kept pumping the high-explosive shells into the tanks as fast as he could. Titch and I just kept on running to his gun with containers of ammunition until he had knocked out all the eight tanks.
The first two tanks which Clarrie had hit with armour-piercing shells had rolled on toward Charley Parson's gun in the cutting, where Charley finished them off with high-explosive shells.
We knew that there could still be Japs alive in the tanks, and I turned to an officer in charge of the Madras Sappers standing near me and asked, "What do we do now?"
"Just come with me," he said and with all the courage in the world, he calmly climbed on to three of the tanks, opened their covers and dropped explosive charges in them. We then checked the tanks to make sure that all their crews had been killed.
Clarrie and his crew had done a marvellous job; all the destruction had been initiated by his one gun. He and his crew had held their ground and had successfully put the whole of the Jap convoy of eight tanks out of action. It was a truly courageous action.
I had witnessed the whole of Clarrie's action and strongly believed his courage and skilful performance should be recognised and awarded.
When I returned to Australia, I demanded an interview with the army authorities and gave them the details of the action, highlighting Clarrie's courageous performance in his contest with the Jap tanks.
The action had already been considered, and awards had been decided in the light of the information and recommendations made when the regiment regrouped in Changi, shortly after the cessation of hostilities.
The army top brass told me there were just so many issues involved, that it would not be possible to sort them all out and do anything about them at this late stage. It was, they told me, just too difficult to undo things that had already been done "It's past, let it lie," they said, and I was talked out of it.
The events of the next few days were pure bedlam. The Japs had surrounded us and we were ordered to move east. One of our patrols had located a large force of Indian infantry troops and guided them back to join our battalion. We felt a little safer with their additional forces.
We had an enormous number of wounded men with us. We tried to evacuate them under cover of the Red Cross, but the Japs had established road blocks right along the road, making the roads impassable. They opened fire on any vehicle carring our wounded that tried to get through and blew them up.
Colonel Robertson, riding pillion with his despatch rider to reconnoitre a forward position, was knocked off the bike and fell, seriously wounded, onto the road. One of our Bren-gun carriers raced up and brought him back to our lines.
I happened to be standing right near him as they laid him on a stretcher. He looked up at me, his eyes sad, and said, "I'm so sorry that I acted as I did. Only for your persistence in defying my orders and positioning your guns where you did, there would have been wholesale slaughter. I'm so sorry." He died shortly after.
We were surrounded and with the roads so heavily blocked, there was no way we could get our guns out. I told the boys to make their guns inoperative by taking out their firing pins and abandon them. I then told them to get all the rifles and machine guns they could lay their hands on, and we would move on foot with the rest of the battalion, and to try to keep together.
Our Signals were no longer operative. We were completely cut off from communication with our headquarters. Everything became an utter shambles. The Japs were everywhere. We came under incredibly heavy fire. Shells were exploding all around us and shrapnel was flying everywhere. It was like the fireworks at Henley on the Yarra.
In our vanguard, the Indian infantrymen were dropping like flies. The second-in-charge of the battalion had now taken over Colonel Robertson's command and was walking in front of me, when suddenly I saw a red hole appear in his back, and he dropped dead. I picked up his carry-bag and his maps and continued on.
It was nearing nightfall when we came to a swamp, and we decided to wade through it. The exploding shells, the flares, and the gunfire going on all around was horrendous, and then, to make matters even worse, we came under a barrage of our own artillery.
Men were falling all around us. The agonising cries of the badly wounded men, begging us to put them out of their misery, were soul destroying.
It became a matter of self-preservation, every man for himself, so we just kept moving forward. In total darkness, we waded on through the swamp and ultimately reached the other side. There didn't appear to be any Japs in the vicinity, so we collapsed on the dry ground, completely exhausted.
We tried to bring what troops we could, together. There were about 200 of us, including eight or nine anti-tankers. We decided that it was better to stay together as a force, and we planned to move inland to join the main stream of our battalion, hoping to bypass the Japs or get through their lines. We weren't sure of anything at this moment.
We continued on for about five days, when we came across a Chinese village where the villagers told us that the Japs had now passed Yong Peng, and that our forces had withdrawn to Singapore Island.
We sat down to work out what we should do in the light of this information. We decided that we would now have a better chance of surviving if we broke up into smaller parties and each tried to make its own way out. Our options seemed to be to try to reach either Singapore, Sumatra, or Burma. I, with my troops, decided to try to make it to either Burma or Sumatra.
We all knew that we would have to move very carefully, for apart from avoiding the Japs, we would have to avoid being seen by the Tamils or Malays. We had found out during the fighting that they were both strongly anti-British and would certainly inform the Japs if they sighted us.
On the other hand we found our real allies were the Chinese. Whenever we came across one of their villages, they were marvellous. They would always give us food and water, inform us on how the war was going, and advise us of the safest route to our intended destination.
We were still well equipped and well armed. We had our maps and enough food, so we continued on our way to the coast, hoping to pick up a boat of some description for our escape to Sumatra.
As we came to a river and were about to cross it, a Chinese villager came over to us and warned that it would be dangerous to cross because of the presence of Jap troops on the other side. He told us there was no chance of getting out by way of the east coast. He then said that he could take us to a Chinese communist camp that would have guides who could take us on to Burma.
Having no better alternatives and trusting him, he led us to a camp at Chaah. It was like a typical Malay kampong, but was heavily guarded by Chinese soldiers. The camp was set up in thick jungle country, and seemed reasonably safe.
The communist soldiers assured us that they would get us guides, so we stayed with them for days waiting for something to happen. After a while, they told us a British soldier would be coming to see us. The soldier turned out to be Jock Smiley, a Scottish volunteer, acting as a commando officer.
Jock told us that he could see no way for us to get out of Malaya. He said that he was hiding out in one of the huge British oil palm plantations, the Sock Fin Estate, which extended along the side of the jungle for miles. He told us that he had located good reserves of food, arms and ammunition and asked us to move in with him.
It seemed a good idea, so we accepted. There were about 15 Aussie soldiers in our party at the time. Jock was in charge of the camp and I took over the role of second-in-command.
He was certainly right about the reserves of food. The owners of the plantation had shown great foresight, and had concealed around the estate, a good supply of food, ammunition, and explosives in sealed kerosene tins. We would regularly go out and search around for some of the supplies. Whenever we found a tin, we would be kept guessing what was inside it until we got back to camp. Quite often we would get a pleasant surprise to find, as well as ammunition or whatever, the tins would contain chocolate, sultanas or porridge. Sometimes we would hit the jackpot and find a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label whisky, a happy surprise.
About this time, Jock and I decided that we should try to wreak as much havoc on the Jap supply lines as we could, so we started to sabotage their main railway by laying explosive charges under the lines.
The days that followed were hectic, fruitful days, mingled with lots of success, lots of fun and lots of panic. Between Jock and I, we had a good knowledge of handling explosives, so we set off to blow up the lines, derail the Jap supply trains, and do as much damage to them as we could.
The Japs had foot patrols on the line throughout the day. The Tamils and other itinerant natives used the line as a footpath, and there was a never-ending stream of them walking up and down the line. This meant that we had to operate at night, so we would wait until eight or nine o'clock before taking off on our mission.
When we first started, we would place two or three charges under the rail sleepers. This worked well for the first few days, blowing up the line, derailing the train, and damaging the engine. The Japs then decided to attach a small trolley to the front of the engine to take the initial blast. In this way when our charges went off, though the trolley was blown up, the train was undamaged, so they would set to work and repair the line and then proceed on their way.
To counter this, we then laid three charges spaced at goodly intervals along the line, so that when the trolley hit the charge and was blown up, there were still another two charges further down the track for the unprotected train when it continued on its way, so we still got casualties. Sometimes the Japs would send another train or a ganger's trolley up the line to the derailed train from the opposite direction and these, too, would be blown up.
By now we had a good knowledge of the Jap train movements and knew the lay of the land. Having laid our charges, we would lie low and wait in the jungle and watch the first explosion. Then we would take off as fast as our legs would carry us along a path we had prepared in the jungle beforehand.
We would go deep into the jungle, well away from the scene of our crime and there we would stay for two or three days, always taking enough provisions to last us throughout the operation.
The Japs were all around us; there was a camp further down the line with hundreds of them in it. So we had to keep very much under cover and would always leave at least a week pass, before undertaking our next mission. By this time, the Japs would have finished their patrols and searches and, were we hoped, a little less vigilant. When we thought the line was clear, we would make another reconnaissance and start the exercise all over again.
On several occasions, Jap patrols went through the Malay villages near the line, killing all the inhabitants in retribution for the sabotage that we had carried out.
Jock managed to get his radio to work and we heard the devastating news that Singapore had fallen, however we were so confident that the British would soon be back, that we felt committed to continue with our sabotage. We did a damn good job of it too.
With the Japs all around, we couldn't take any risks of being seen, so that any Tamils or other natives who came too close to our camp were either shot or silently killed by our guards. Unfortunately, quite a few natives ventured into the surrounds of our camp and were killed. We believed this had to be done for the sake our own security.
With the constant threat of the Japs discovering our camp, some of the boys began to feel that their time was running out. Furthermore it began to look as though we would never get our Chinese guide. So they concluded that the time had come to make a move.
Getting our heads together, we felt there was less chance now, of being detected if we broke up into small groups and each party proceeded with its plans independently.
So we set up groups of four, with an N.C.O. in charge of each. We then helped them to prepare for their move. I made up maps for each group and prepared their route plans with them. They were provided with good supplies of food and ammunition and they set off, fully aware of the dangers ahead.
My group elected to stay at the camp with Jock for a few days longer so we raided the Jap convoys to supplement our supplies and continued to sabotage the line for a good three months after Singapore had fallen.
More and more Jap troops were concentrating in our area. Things were beginning to hot up for us and, as we already had several very close shaves, we decided it was time to move out. Our intentions were still to try to get to Sumatra, but as it didn't look as though we would ever get our Chinese guide, we were going to have to make it on our own.
We laid one last charge on the line for luck, and set off with ample arms and provisions and headed for the coast. On our way, we came across a party of Dutch officers with some Borneo troops. They had been carrying out guerrilla operations behind the Jap lines, and we decided to stay with them for a while.
The Dutch told us, that if we had the money, they could get us a boat. We had stacks of money, so we handed over what they asked, and headed off with them for the coast. After several days of heavy going through swamps and jungle, we finally reached the beach.
Our initial excitement at seeing the sea and the escape route it offered was quickly dashed. There was no boat to be found. We searched for miles along the coast without any luck. The Japs had obviously taken all the boats they needed and smashed up the others.
"You're on your own from here on," one of the Dutch officers said. We had no choice, the Dutch had sold us out. It had all been a bluff.
With our escape to Sumatra now definitely cut out, we decided that the next best thing would be to return to our old camp in the Sock Fin Estate. We could then try to get to Burma from there.
When we arrived at the Chinese village on our way back, the villagers had been stricken with a bout of sickness. As we had a good supply of medicine, we decided to stay a while and give them what help we could. They said we could stay with them as long as we liked.
Not being too keen on that idea, we decided to build our own camp in the denser jungle, about a hundred yards up river. We left most of our equipment and supplies with them, and went off to set up our own camp.
Returning to the village one night, we found that it had been discovered by the Japs. All the Chinese villagers had been killed, and all our clothing and equipment had been taken. We were left with only the shorts we had on.
We were back to base one, so off we went again, back to the Sock Fin Estate, foraging what we could on the way. There were ample supplies of wild bananas, coconuts, berries and sweet potatoes around the abandoned villages, and in the jungle, and we managed to survive without too much difficulty.
On our way back, we passed through one of the villages we had been to before. Their headman was now confident that he could now take us to one of the important Chinese communist camps further north, but first he would have to check us out. After a few days, having obviously passed the test, he then led us to a substantial camp occupied by a large group of Chinese communist soldiers.
The communists called themselves `The Anti-Japanese People's Army.' Most of them spoke Malay and a few could understand English, so I was able to converse with them reasonably well.
They took away our arms, and the precious watch the boys had given me. I got the strong feeling that the communists had no intention of letting us move out from here. They obviously thought we would serve some purpose or other to them, and so we were here to stay, not so much as their prisoners, but as fellow guerrillas, with considerable restrictions on our freedom.
As it looked as though this camp was going to be our destination for the duration, we prepared to work with them and give what help we could, particularly in the training of their so called Anti-Jap People's Army.
The camp provided a refuge for a lot of Chinese civilians and their families fleeing from the Japs. There was a constant floating population of doctors and lawyers and distressed families through the camp. They all had their own problems and concerns, so we never got a chance to become friendly or to talk with them.
There was a steady flow of Chinese communist propaganda officials forever moving in and out of our camp holding their indoctrination meetings, and then moving on to the many other camps they had around and about the area.
The Japs constantly patrolled the jungle, seeking out their camps and trying to wipe them out whenever they came across one. Consequently the Chinese camps were always well guarded and had their patrols out too, probing for Japs. Whenever they thought that things were getting too hot, they would simply pack up, move out and set up a fresh camp in another spot in the jungle, a good distance away.
We were forever on the move. They would move whenever they sensed danger. Sometimes we would camp for five or six weeks, sometimes we would move on after only two weeks. Each time we moved, the population of the camp would change too, but I gained a sense of security from the frequency of the moves and the ways in which they varied each one.
The population of each camp ranged from as many as 200 down to 12, so we were never with the same group of Chinese for very long. While we four `prisoners' went with them on every move, we were never allowed to be in camps with other of our fellow servicemen.
I knew there were other Aussies in these communist camps, but I never knew where or how many there were. As time went by, I was separated from the fellows I had been with, and was to go months without seeing another white person. I heard many rumours, that many of the boys who had been with us in the Sock Fin Estate had either died of illness or been killed by the Japs.
We were free to wander around the camp and take part in their daily activities. We were allowed to stroll around the fringes of the camp, but never to venture out further, without having a guard with us. As they bluntly put it: if anyone of us attempted to escape, he would be shot.
They gave us our basic requirements of food and clothing and set out to use us as best they could. For our part, with our limited options and resources, we set out to make the best we could of life and fitted in with their day-to-day goings on. Our daily routine started with a wash in the creek, using sand for soap. Then we would go out and bring in the firewood for the day and collect the day's food supplies. At camps where they felt secure enough to stay and grow a few vegetables, we would help clear a stretch of jungle for a garden patch and plant a few sweet potatoes.
We took on our share of guard duties with them. I was given a rifle and often stayed on duty for as long as 12 hours at a stretch. My sense of duty was heightened by the occasion, when one of our guards let a Jap patrol through. The patrol attacked the camp but was suppressed. The sentry was bought back to camp, no questions were asked, and he was shot on the spot. His offsider was despatched to another camp in disgrace.
Then, on some days, we would attend the daily propaganda hour. The Chinese would sit in a circle around the communist official and listen to him preach his gospel.
In the afternoons we would take on our role of training the Chinese People's Anti-Jap Army. The Chinese were as keen as mustard to learn everything they could about weaponry and threw themselves enthusiastically into our bull-ring sessions on the use of machine guns, rifles and hand grenades.
In these gatherings, they would get quite worked up about what they were going to do to the Japs, and I'm sure that they enjoyed these sessions every bit as much as their propaganda sessions.
In spite of all their enthusiastic chatter about their guerrilla warfare, demolishing Jap supply trains and attacking Jap camps; in all the camps that I was in, I never saw any of them engaging in any of these activities. They were always too busy defending the secrecy of their whereabouts and the security of their camps.
They wanted maps of the areas they were situated in and I was forever drawing up maps and then making copies for all those who needed them, and that was just about everybody. It was very detailed work and occupied a lot of my time.
We always had enough food to go around. We would squat around the steaming pots in a circle and help ourselves to our portions. The staple diet was sweet potatoes, often with rice, and occasionally with pork or meat of some description. The meat would range from yak and dog to any living creature in the jungle, be it monkey, python or elephant. I learnt very early in the piece never to inquire about what it was that I was eating.
The Chinese had a very straight-forward approach to justice. If they caught anyone doing the wrong thing, he had to be guilty. Occasionally a Chinese traitor would be brought into the camp for punishment. They were always resigned to their fate.
A traitor would never be simply shot. The Chinese had first to have their sport. Traitors would either be bound and pegged over a nest of savage jungle ants, or have a cane noose tied around their necks and on to a sapling that had been bent forward, so that when they let the tree straighten up, the traitor would slowly strangle.
Traitors were something special in other ways too. They would be cut open, sometimes while they were still alive, and their heart taken out. This would then be cut into small pieces which they would hand around to all the men in the camp, who simply ate it as it was. They believed that for a man to be a traitor, he had to have great courage and that, by eating his heart, this added his courage to yours and so made you a bigger man. I politely declined the grisly portions they offered me.
Jock Smiley and I had managed to keep together since our first meeting but there came a time when, robust as he was, he went down with a jungle sickness. A man of great strength, Jock just folded. Overnight he quickly faded away to a shadow and died.
Throughout my years with the Chinese, I had never had a book to read. The occasional communist propaganda magazines that arrived in our camp didn't help much, as the only thing I could understand in them were the pictures of Chinese soldiers fighting somewhere or other.
I openly kept a diary in notebooks they used to keep records of their supplies, and recorded the day-to-day events that happened in the camp. Because the books were regarded as a special privilege and were hard to come by, I wrote in the smallest print I could; nevertheless the daily exercise enabled me to keep track of time, and helped keep me sane.
With Jock dead, the other army members of our group were dispersed around other camps, so that for the ensuing months I never saw a white person. There was not a soul I could talk to.
I felt so alone. I would often wander to the outskirts of the camp, and sit down under a tree thinking of mum and dad and of my boyhood days at home, and just cry.
By now I was having frequent attacks of malaria. I had kept count of the attacks and had over 400 of them, but now they were intensifying. They were occurring more frequently, and knocking me out for a longer time. It all took so much out of me. I quickly lost weight and became very weak.
The stress of it all began to take its toll on me. I began to wonder how much longer I could survive these conditions. "What in hell is going to happen to me?" It all seemed so hopeless; there was always the unknown, the uncertainty of tomorrow.
Then it happened, one day I was certain my end had come. I was at the latrine when I saw what I thought were my intestines coming out. I passed an enormous tape worm, over four feet long!
The next bout of malaria knocked me out completely. The Chinese managed to get me to a hospital in a nearby district. After some treatment, I was taken to the home of an Indian doctor. He was under instructions to hold me there until I was well enough to be returned to the Chinese camp.
Unbeknown to me at the time, the war was over but the Chinese had told the doctor that I was to be held as a hostage until the British had conceded to some special conditions they were negotiating.
Suddenly there was a bang on the door, and an officer with a group of soldiers barged into the house. They were a group of Canadian commandos who had parachuted into Malaya, and had been sabotaging the Jap installations for the last three months.
They told me the war was over.
They had found out that I was in hospital and had come to rescue me. They bundled me up and took me to their camp. The commando officer then took me to the British HQ at Johore, and handed me over to them. I tried to explain to the authorities what had happened to me, but they only stared at me in disbelief.
They did not believe a word I said.
There was now open warfare between the Malays and the Chinese communists. The Canadian commandos were given the job of trying to control it. I went along with them to their headquarters which had been set up in the Palace of the Sultan of Johore.
The commandos decided to use me on some of their patrols and gave me a couple of platoons of Punjabi infantrymen. So off I went, back to war again.
The Malays had total control of the whole area, and had set up road blocks at intervals along our route. They were armed to the hilt. Their check points bristled with armed men. There were dead Chinese lying scattered along the roadside.
At each roadblock, they challenged us with machine guns cocked, fingers on triggers. I feared they were trigger happy, war crazed, and wouldn't hesitate to shoot anyone they didn't like.
I was bloody scared. I had never been so scared in all my life.
That was my last action in Malaya and I was extremely happy when they called it off and I was headed for home.
Not long after I set foot on Australia, I was called to Victoria Barracks.
At this point of time, the army authorities were only interested in my experience with the Chinese communists. They made me a very lucrative offer to return to Malaya to help the British in the war against the communists.
It should have been an offer too good to refuse, but it was not for me. I'd had enough. I had hardly spoken a word of English for years, and I had seen only a handful of fellow Australians in the past three years. So I said no.
I had become very introverted, and lacked confidence. I found it very difficult to converse with people in a normal way and I had problems in convincing others of the truth of my experiences.
When I felt people were being sceptical, my only response was to break down and sob uncontrollably.
I had been too lonely, too long.
I had been completely blacked out on world affairs, and was completely unaware that my fellow anti-tankers had been taken POW and had been imprisoned in Changi, or that many of them had worked and died on the Burma Rail.
For three and a half years, I knew nothing of what was happening in the world. For three and a half years, I was a no one.
For three and a half years, I had been `Missing Presumed Dead'.
I badly wanted and needed to lead a normal life again.
Bill was just 20 years of age when he was faced with making the critical and tricky decisions concerning the dangers incumbent in the Porte method of carrying our guns.
He was only a few weeks older, when he was called upon to make the autonomous decision to place his guns in a defensive position, contrary to the wishes of his superior officer.
When he returned home to Australia, Bill submitted a full report to the army's top brass at Victoria Barracks, covering his own involvement in the tank action and the years he spent with the Chinese communist guerrillas. He also submitted a strongly worded report recommending the recognition of Clarrie's intrepid and heroic performance.
The reports were never even acknowledged.
This oversight cast a shadow of doubt over Bill's image of his own integrity and credibility. It damaged his self-esteem. He could never be confident that, whenever he talked about his experiences to others, they too, were not quietly sceptical.
Had the report been accepted and his performance recognised, Bill would have been able to bask in the enjoyment of knowing that he had more than adequately fulfilled his duties as a soldier and as an officer.
He was deprived of that privilege throughout his life.
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