Singapore, Sunday morning, 15th February 1942. - The sun was rising as I stepped
on to the verandah outside my office in Fullerton Building and leant over the stone
parapet to look out to sea. In front of me, almost directly beyond Clifford Pier, was the
blazing beacon of Pulau Samboe, where the large Dutch oil installation, set on fire on
Friday the 13th, was still burning furiously and lighting up the sky. Away to the right,
but not directly visible, the British oil tanks on Pulau Bukom were blazing too - I
could see the glare in the sky past the edge of the tall buildings in Collyer Quay. In
between lay a pall of smoke and the lesser and ruddier glow of the fires burning in the
Telok Ayer and Harbour Board areas. The harbour and the roads were empty of ships.
Away to the east, in the direction of Sea View and Katong, lay rolling, jet-black clouds
from some oil depot which had been set on fire either by us deliberately, or by enemy
action. The sun as it rose shone bravely through the smoke clouds which floated over
the city and the harbour. The shell-fire, which had been going on intermittently and at
times heavily throughout the night, had momentarily ceased and there was an
extraordinary air of calm over the scene.
Nearing the End
Sometime between 10 and 11 that morning I was informed confidentially by my
brother-in-law, who was Secretary for Defence, Malaya, that it had been decided to
treat with the enemy and that Hugh Fraser, the Acting Colonial Secretary, was being
sent out to the enemy lines about noon under a flag of truce. We agreed to meet with
my sister in their room at noon to deal with a bottle of champagne which had been kept
for "a special occasion". "Robbie" (Commander C. A. Robinson, D.S.O., a great
mutual friend) was invited to make a fourth. We collected my sister, who had refused
to leave Singapore and who was nursing in the military hospital down below, and
started to make our way up to the fourth floor, where their bedroom was. Just as we
were in the corridor outside, the air-raid alarm went and we could hear the enemy
planes overhead. A few seconds later down came the bombs and the whole building
shook. It was all over in half a minute or so, and we proceeded with "Operation
Bubbly". Tooth glasses were all we had. We drank in silence because we all knew this
was the end and that we should all four be in enemy hands (unless a miracle happened)
by the same time the following day. Then off back to our jobs - mine was to complete
the destruction of the remaining manpower records, some of which might have been
useful to the enemy. As I crammed the stuff into the incinerator on the stone verandah
outside my office, I looked out and saw the results of the most recent bombs which had
shaken the building. The nearest had fallen in the Clifford Pier ear park, the remainder
on and around a derelict ship moored alongside Telok Ayer reclamation. The whole
ship was blazing furiously and so were many of the cars in the park. This time there
were no attempts to put the fires out - the fire engines could not get near the sea and
there was no water in the hydrants.
Planning Escape
By this time it was after 1 o'clock and I went down to my office to see what the
chances of a meal were. At lunch my brother-in-law told us that the end was near.
Hugh Fraser had come back with a message from the Japanese Military H.Q. that the Japanese C-in-C would receive General Percival at 16.00 hours that afternoon under
flag of truce to discuss the terms of complete and unconditional surrender. The
Governor had also let it be known that any Government officer who could get away
was now at liberty to leave, if he could find any means of doing so. Some decided to go
off and see what the chances of organizing a junk party were. I went to see "Robbie"
about the possibility of getting charts for navigation through the minefields. I found a
large number of people in his office, all wanting charts and inquiring about the
possibility of getting away. Among them was a party of young officers, part of the
recently disbanded "Dalforce", who had been ordered to get away if they could to
Sumatra, but who had failed to escape the previous night with the main party. They
still had found no means of conveyance, but were determined to find something that
would float to get away on. "Robbie" was prepared to do all he could to help them, and
it was agreed that if a vessel of some sort could be found, I would be given the chance of
a passage if it would hold any extra passengers. I agreed to go off to try to find a
navigator.
So at about 3.15 p.m. I set off in my car to look for an old naval officer, by name
Whittaker, who I thought would be a suitable navigator, and who I knew lived
somewhere in River Valley Road. I took one of the members of the Gammons' staff,
who had been helping with manpower matters, with me. The town was being heavily
shelled. We approached River Valley Road by a somewhat devious route, avoiding as
far as possible the main streets, which were being strafed worst. The streets were
deserted. Telephone wires, glass and rubble were strewn all over the road, which made
driving very tricky. As we commenced to climb the River Valley Road incline beyond
the United Engineers Works, things got very hot and we found ourselves in the middle
of a heavy barrage. We hurriedly got out of the car there is nothing worse than to be
in a car when shells are flying around - and spent a very frightened quarter of an hour
or so in one of the deep, concrete roadside drains. The shelling then began to moderate
a little in the area we were in - and we set off in the car to look for the address we have
been given. We eventually found the house and the man we were after. He agreed to
come, but we decided to wait to see if the shelling would not moderate still further.
Sure enough, about 4 o'clock it did, and we set off back to Fullerton Building.
M.L. Kembong
"Robbie" by this time had got the escape party fixed up. It was limited to 25, in
addition to navigating and engine-room staff. The craft selected was M.L. Kembong,
the Straits Settlements government Fisheries launch, which the Director of Fisheries
put at "Robbie's" disposal. It bad been out of commission since the outbreak of war
with Japan and the native crew had gone. The engine was a German-made diesel of an
old type. She was a fair size of vessel but a very large portion of the space below decks
was taken up with refrigerating chambers - she could, therefore, only take deck
passengers. The difficulty was to find engineers who knew how to start and run the
engine. On receiving information that there were two Europeans employed in the
Singapore Municipality who had actual knowledge of the engine, Wyatt Smith and
some of the other young "Dalforce" officers had actually succeeded that afternoon in
running these two men to earth, and they volunteered to come. By 5 o'clock or so,
skeleton navigating and engine-room staffs had been collected and a list of passengers
to make the attempt was drawn up. In the meantime the first thing to be done was to
try to put the engine-room staff on board to get the engine ready. The difficulty was how to do this, as Kembong lay about 500 or 600 yards out from the Master
Attendant's Jetty and there was literally no craft available of any sort to take us out.
Eventually Wyatt Smith and another officer managed to get hold of a very small
motor boat, manned by R.E.s, which had been towing one of the water boats alongside
for the use of the hospital.
By this time it was about 5.30 p.m. and the road between Fullerton Building and the
sea was a scene of indescribable confusion. The roadway was clogged up with lines of
Motor Transport, mostly stationary. Troops were everywhere, all bewildered. Already word had
gone round that we were about to surrender, and some units actually had had orders to
lay down their arms. There were crowds of troops (mostly Australian) on all the jetties,
looking longingly for anything that would float. The chances of our being able to get
on board our launch did not look too bright, and to make the prospect less bright, the
Japs suddenly, at about 6 p.m., started to shell it. Some enemy gunners must have seen
the motor boat take the engineers out to it and thought they might as well put an end to
our little game, whatever it was. We watched in an agony of suspense about half a
dozen shells falling all round the launch and throwing up clouds of splash, which
glistened in the bright evening sun. There were one or two very near misses. It was time
to get moving.
I had spent the time between 5.30 and 6 in going to see the Governor and saying
goodbye to my sister and brother-in-law. I had sounded "Robbie" about taking her
with us, but he was adamant that no women could be allowed on any "boating party"
at this eleventh hour. In the meantime the faithful "Shepp" had been doing for me
what little packing could be done. We could, of course, take only what we could carry -
I had an Army pack containing a few tins of food, change of clothes, and a sponge bag.
All my confidential papers, including my war diary, had already been burnt that
morning, when it looked as if there was no hope of avoiding falling into enemy hands.
"Shepp", who bravely refused to come with us, although he was a "Dalforce" officer,
because he felt he still was not fit enough for the attempt after his bad go of tropical
typhus, offered me a sum of several hundred dollars he had with him, but I couldn't
possibly take it; and so back to "Robbie's" office, just in time to see the shelling of
Kembong.
Getting on Board
It was now beginning to get dark and so time to start moving off. We could see the
motor boat coming along according to plan to take the first party on board. She came
alongside the water boat, which was tied up to the jetty. The jetty was crowded with
troops. Our advance party, with tommy guns slung over their shoulders, moved
determinedly on to the jetty and started to clamber down on to the water boat - there
were no steps but there was a piece of rope hanging handily. Some of the men above on
the jetty moved up and at one time it looked as if they might rush the boat, but we
shouted to them that we were on a special mission and they resumed the role of
spectators. When the little motor boat came alongside it was found that she was
leaking badly and would take only three or four of us at a time, and all the way across
to Kembong one of us had to be baling all the time to keep her afloat. Eventually, after
four or five trips, the boat becoming more water-logged all the time, the rear party
arrived - by now it was after 7.30 and quite dark. The small motor boat sank shortly
after.
A few minutes later the engine started. This was the critical event of the whole show.
When the two engineers got on board, they found that the engine had not been used for
some weeks, and there was only one air-bottle charge for starting it and no means on
board of re-charging the air-bottle except off the main engine. They therefore decided
to leave nothing to chance and spent the next two hours examining and going over the
whole engine thoroughly, to adjust it for starting. So well did they do their job that it
did start at the first go and showed no signs of faltering. Upon deck in the dark we did
not realise that we had got over the first and most important hurdle of all. The next job
was to get up the anchor. We dared not show a light and had some trouble getting the
windlass adjusted, but after a struggle and some hard pulling, "the hook" came away
and at about 8 we started to nose our way slowly through the inner harbour, past the
breakwater, and along the edge of the minefield towards St. John's Island.
Singapore in Flames
It was a terrible and unforgettable sight to see the town as we slowly passed down the
waterfront past Collyer Quay and Telok Ayer - there was a blazing inferno of
warehouses and buildings from Finlayson Green down to the region of the Yacht Club,
and especially all round Fort Canning, there were jets of flame and smoke stabbing the
sky where houses and stores had caught fire. Over the whole city lay a pall of smoke lit
up by the glare and glow of the fires. Astern of us, in the direction of Katong and Sea
View, there was another mass of fires. In addition, as we stood out to sea, we got an
awe-inspiring view of the blazing volcanoes of Pulau Bukom and Pulau Samboe. A
tragic, weird, and unforgettable scene - proud and rich Singapore on the eve of surrender
to the Japanese. Crowded on the little piece of open deck, not knowing who we all were,
or how many of us there were on board, we took our last look at the stricken town as we
headed out to sea.
"Robbie" had given us charts with the mine-fields plotted on them, and also a few
general sailing directions. The main minefield came close up to St. John's Island, but
there was a narrow, open channel close inshore - too dangerous for a large vessel to
attempt to use but quite all right for us, so long as we kept within 100 yards of the island
and at the same time took care not to get too close in and run on the coral reefs. As we
neared St. John's, I went up on to the little bridge, where the skipper was poring over the
chart with the aid of an electric torch. I was able to be of some assistance to him
(drawing on my memory of various yachting and launch trips in the harbour during the
last twenty years). We rounded St. John's safely and set course for Raffles Light.
Aground
As we turned west, we could see ahead of us a thick cloud of black smoke lying over
the water, caused by the blazing oil tanks of Pulau Bukom. We were soon in the middle
of this cloud and visibility became very bad. The skipper posted two of us in the bows,
one on the port and the other on the starboard side, as look-outs - our job was to pick up
Raffles Light, where we had to make our next change of course to clear the reefs that lay
to the north of it. Owing to the smoke clouds we failed to pick up this mark when we
were due to do so, and the skipper decided to risk it and alter course. As it turned out, he
was quite right to do so, but unfortunately his decision was just a few minutes too late.
We were out of the smoke by now and suddenly ahead, a few points to port, the other
man and I on look-out saw something looming ahead that looked like land. We shouted
back to the bridge and as we did so there was crunching and a shivering and we were
well aground before the engine could be got going full-speed astern. The skipper tried
the usual methods (which I remember so well, having run on the bars of the East Coast
Malayan rivers) - bursts of "full speed astern" and a touch of "go ahead," but all to no
purpose. Kembong wouldn't budge. We knew that the tide was falling to dead low water
about dawn and it was about 1 a.m. that we went aground. Then we tried lightening the
ship and, incidentally, someone in his zeal to lighten her threw overboard our one and
only decent cooking brazier - we missed that badly later on. The skipper also tried the
effect of getting us all on the port side and then moving us over to the starboard side, but
that proved dangerous and very nearly our undoing, as Kembong, in spite of all we could
do, began to heel over to port and eventually, just as we thought she was going to
capsize on us, settled down at an angle of 40 degrees, with the whole of the ship's
company sitting precariously in the dark on starboard rail. Very unpleasant it was for a
few moments until we realized with relief that she was going to remain stable at that
angle.
By now it was after 2 a.m., and we could see with our own eyes that the tide was
running out fast. There was nothing for it but to sit on that rail and wait for the dawn. We
hadn't dared smoke since we got on board, but we now decided in our predicament that
smoking could do no harm, as we were bound to be spotted in the morning if there were
any Japs about among the islands. Sometime between 3 and 4 we noticed lights ahead of
us on what looked like an island, which then began to loom quite near. We found out
later, when we got ashore there, that a few Malay fishermen who were camped on the
island had suddenly spotted us and thought we were Japs. It cheered us a lot to know we
had an island so near and that it apparently was inhabited. By 5 o'clock, or soon after,
we realized that the tide had run right out and that we were now practically high and dry.
As the dawn came we could see the coral and rocks jutting up through two or three feet
of water, and we realized that we were very lucky that old Kembong's hull had been so
built that she had settled down like this, practically on her side. As soon as it was light
we started to try to get our one and only boat away, but the davits were jammed and we
couldn't move her. Wyatt Smith and one or two others then set off to wade through the
coral to the island, which we could now see clearly and found was only a few hundred
yards away. They got very wet in some of the deeper parts, but arrived there quite easily.
The Malays, of whom there were about a dozen, viewed them very circumspectly as they
waded ashore, but as soon as they realized that we were not the enemy but "orange
puteh" who could talk Malay, they offered to help at once and came off in their koleks to
take the rest of us ashore dry-shod. We took some boxes of miscellaneous provisions
along with us.
Almost a Desert Island
Once all ashore on our minute island, Palau Pelampong by name, we found the small
party of Malay fishermen very friendly and helpful. "We discovered we had some tins of
cocoa and they helped us to brew several pots of the steaming beverage and generously
let us use up practically all the small supply of drinking water they had with them - it had
all had to be brought from Pulau Sudong, several miles away in the direction of Blakan
Mati. There was, of course, no well on Pulau Pelampong, which was a small circular
patch of sand at the end of the coral reef on which we had gone aground, with a few
coconut trees and one very fine example of a typical Malayan shade tree growing right in
the middle. The island could not have been more than four feet above the highest
tidemark. There were a few temporary huts which visiting fishermen used when they
spent the night there - almost a typical desert island in fact.
The first and most important thing for us to find out was the prospect of our being
able to get Kembong off the rocks on the midday high tide. An inspection of the
tidemarks on the beach was very reassuring, and the Malays confirmed that the high tide
of the night before had been a "low" one, and that there would be another 1.5 to 2 feet of
water on the midday tide. This cheered us a lot and we detailed a party to go on board
about 10 to get ready to take her off at high tide. We settled down to our morning toilets
and to more cocoa and biscuits, but about 8 o'clock we had our first of several "air-raid
alarms" - two Jap planes over, flying very high from the south. We all took cover in the
kajang huts and under the large shade tree, and decided to post sentries to watch for any
more planes there might be. Several more came over in the course of the morning, and
some of them came down low over the island, but knowing our lives probably depended
on the enemy not catching sight of anything to make him suspicious, we were very
careful to take cover in plenty of time. One of the planes swooped down very low over
Kembong to have a "look see," but the sight of her heeled over to an angle of 45 degrees
and still apparently well and truly grounded, appeared to satisfy them that she was "out
of the war," and no attempts were made to bomb or machine-gun what must have looked
like a total wreck. At about 10.30 we sent our salvage party on board, and about midday
they got her off quite easily.
We breathed more freely, but at the same time realized we were not out of the wood
yet, as enemy planes might be expected to take much more interest in a sea-going launch
riding at anchor in deep water off the shore. Luckily, no planes came over in the early
afternoon, and the shore party lay on the sand looking across the three or four miles of
water to Singapore Island, wondering what was going on there. It was a clear, bright,
sunny day. Pasir Panjang and Bukit Timah behind it were clearly visible, with the sun
shining on them. The quietness and peace of it all impressed us, and we could hardly
realize that Japanese tanks were, as we sat there, probably rumbling down Orchard Road.
The enemy's preoccupation and excitement at the capture of the great fortress probably
saved us - he had lost interest now in escape ships. All the same, we could not take the
risk of putting to sea till the evening, but about 5 o'clock we decided to start going
aboard, to get everything ready for a start just before dark. From then on till darkness fell
was our real danger period and we took cover anxiously when a plane came over quite
low about 6. We expected a hail of machine-gun bullets, but none came and we breathed
again.
A Narrow Escape
About 6.30 we weighed anchor, as we wanted to clear the reefs before dark. We had,
in the meantime, organized ourselves into watches. As my turn did not come on till 2 a.m., I found a bunk in the small cabin under the bridge and turned in dead tired, just
as we moved slowly off. I was asleep as soon as my head touched my pack, which was
my pillow, and it was only when I came on duty at 2 a.m. that I learnt that just before
dark, when we were well under way, a Jap plane had flown very low over our heads in a
very menacing way, but again there had been no offensive action. There was, however, a
more exciting moment later on about midnight. Kembong was then just off the north end
of the Karimon Islands, and was making her way gingerly round the rocky north coast
with engine running dead slow, when suddenly, just to the seaward of us, loomed up the
dim shape of a destroyer, which could only have been an enemy one, approaching from
the west and very close. Wyatt Smith was on the bridge - he dashed down the little
companion-way to the engine-room and got the engine stopped. He watched the
destroyer slip past with his heart in his mouth, expecting that we should be blown out of
the water at any minute. But we must have been saved by the fact that we were so close
Inshore that the enemy could not pick us out in the darkness against the background of
the rocks. The destroyer slipped past to the east, and when she was well out of sight and
hearing we started off again, laying course for the mouth of the Bengkalis River in
Sumatra. We were well on the way there when I took up duty as one of the look-outs in
front of the bridge. The rest of the night passed without incident and, when dawn came,
we found ourselves in the wide estuary waters of the Bengkalis and Siak Rivers. The
skipper had done his job very well.
Into Sumatra
We anchored to wait for the light to improve sufficiently to let us pick up landmarks
and make sure we got into the right channel. About 7 we moved off and by 8 were
passing the small Dutch Customs station at the mouth of the river. They waved us on up
river and we went steadily upstream all morning to reach the small port of Bengkalis
about noon. As we were coming alongside the wharf, I noticed one of the Singapore
Yacht Club's boats moored empty just below the town. When we got ashore I found out
that it had brought Captain Bell, R.N., of Exeter fame, and two others from Singapore
the previous day and that Bell and his party had gone on up river to Pekan Baharu that
morning. Along with the skipper and Mackenzie, the senior officer of the Army party, I
went to call on and report to the Dutch Controlleur, the local District Officer. Like all
the Dutch officials we were to come into contact with in the course of our journeyings
through Sumatra and Java, he was very helpful, although he was, not unnaturally, very
bitter about the fall of the "impregnable Singapore". He was, however, the only official
who expressed his bitterness - many of them must have felt it and have had the feeling
that we had let them down, but none of the others showed it by word or action. He
advised us to take Kembong on at once to Pekan Baharu, 12 to 15 hours up the Siak
River, where there was an R.A.F. station and where we could get transport to take us to
Padang, the large port on the west coast of Sumatra. He asked us to take with us the balance
of a small party of Australians, who had crossed the Straits of Malacca from behind the
Jap lines two nights before in a small sailing boat from near Batu Pahat. Some of them
had already gone on that morning with Captain Bell's party, and we readily agreed to
take the rest. He also provided us with a pilot for the night trip up the Siak, and we cast
off about 5 o'clock.
Meantime, about 4, two naval launches arrived, full of miscellaneous Army and
Navy. It was agreed that they would follow us up river in convoy. There was a small
moon for a time, but it was not sufficient to prevent us going aground when our pilot was
trying to find the channel some miles downstream, where the Siak River entered the
main stream. The Navy rallied round and, to the accompaniment of many good humoured
pleasantries, towed us off. All was fairly plain sailing after that, but we had to
go very slowly up the winding Siak. We all took our turn at watch, helping our pilot, and
dawn found us well up, but still some 5 or 6 hours below Pekan Baharu. The Siak, which
was tidal all the way to Pekan Baharu (and the tide was against us), reminded me very
much of the Limbong River in Sarawak - a dark, winding river, with mangrove in the
lower reaches, succeeded later by jungle and belukar-covered banks, with occasional
patches of native rubber and native huts. As the tide was running very strongly, it was
nearly noon before we reached our destination, a typical river trading station, with a
good wooden wharf. We moored alongside just as our cooks had got our morning meal
ready - a savoury mess of rice, sardines, tinned salmon, Heinz baked beans, and bully
beef. I hurried through mine in order to get ashore with the skipper to see the Dutch
Military Commandant. His headquarters were a mile or so out of the town, but the kindly
Dutch Customs officials at the wharf sent us along in a truck. We found him most helpful
and he said he would arrange with the R.A.F. - a small party of whom under an officer
were still there, but only just, as they were about to evacuate the aerodrome - to see
about transport to take us to a railhead, some hundred miles away. We then arranged to
hand over the old Kembong to the Dutch authorities, and the officer in charge of the two
R.N. launches did the same for his two craft. We then returned to the wharf and got our parties ashore. About 4 o'clock a convoy of three large buses turned up, and the combined
party were soon stowed away and off we set.
Bus and Train
The road took us past the aerodrome, where the final "pack-up" was going on. About
dusk we reached a large river and were ferried across. We had tea and coffee and some
lovely ducks' eggs (commoner in Sumatra than hens' eggs), and set off just as it got really
dark. We stopped about 10 o'clock at a small village for more excellent coffee and then
started our climb into the Padang Highlands - a hair-raising road in places, but it didn't
seem to worry our driver. About 2 a.m. we reached the railhead and entrained in the empty
Padang train we found waiting in the station. It was not due to start till 6, so we all turned
in and slept. Just as it was getting light we started, and breakfasted from the tins we carried
in our packs. It was a lovely morning and the train run through the beautiful and fertile
Padang Highlands was an unforgettable experience. We stopped at every little wayside
station and, as the sun got warmer, more and more of the very healthy and happy looking
peasants joined the train. By the time it arrived at Fort de Koek it was crammed
full. These Padang uplands are one of the most beautiful and fertile regions I have ever
seen - they consist of a series of great flat terraces, surrounded by an amphitheatre of
volcanic mountains. Running water everywhere - all beautifully controlled by what must
be a most efficient irrigation system. The soil too, must be very rich - tomatoes, cabbages,
etc., could be seen growing in little plots all along the line, and there were also, of
course, thousands upon thousands of acres of padi in all stages of growth.
We reached Padang about 11 o'clock. As similar parties to ours had been arriving by
every train for the past few days, there was a certain amount of confusion, but the Dutch
had the whole show very well organized and we soon found ourselves billeted in a
school near the centre of town. After a meal I put on clean clothes and went off to find
the British Vice-Consul. I found several Senior Service officers there whom I knew,
including Captain Bell, Colonel Palmer, and Robin Goodfellow. Batavia had been asked
to send a ship to take us off - it was estimated that there were about 600 or 700 R.A.F.
and refugees like ourselves ready to go, and it was known there were more on the way. It
was thought that the chances of a ship the next day were good, but we should not know
for certain till the morning. I arranged that our party should be taken on the strength of
the Kembong military party for rations and evacuation purposes. I dined with Colonel
Palmer (the senior military officer then in Padang) at the local hotel - the first civilized
meal for a very long time. Slept well on the bare boards of the school hall - quite used to
bare boards by this time.
The British Navy on the Job
Early next morning (Thursday the 19th) I went to the Consulate. While I was there,
the expected telephone call from Batavia came through - that "we could expect the butler
with the gin that day." Captain Bell had no difficulty in explaining to us that this meant
that H.M.S. Danae (Captain Butler) was on the way to Padang! We all went back to our
billets and got our drafts ready for sudden embarkation orders. Soon after 1 o'clock the
order came and we set off to march to the station, where there was a train to take us the
few miles to the port. As we drew into the dock station we could see Danae coming
alongside to make fast. The Navy was here again, and beautifully timed - just one of the
Navy's typical routine jobs. Embarkation was quickly and efficiently done and we were
heading out to sea at top speed as the sun was setting. The officers, some 80 of us, were
accommodated in the Ward Room and in the Captain's cabin, and we slept in the open
on the quarter-deck. There were some 400 to 500 other ranks accommodated on the main
decks. The ship fed us simply, but effectively, on bread, butter, cheese, tea, and lime juice.
It was all a glorified picnic. We could buy cigarettes and things like tinned prunes
at the ship's canteen. We all expected to be in Batavia by Saturday evening, but Sunday morning came with us still at sea and no sign of the Sunda Straits. We then learnt that
the Straits were now considered too dangerous and that we were bound instead for
Tjilatjap, the small port on the south coast of Java. We were off the river mouth there by
noon (Sunday the 22nd) and up alongside the wharf by 4 o'clock. The harbour was
crowded with ships - far too many and too easy a target, we thought.
In Java
As Robin Goodfellow and I were anxious to get to Batavia as soon as possible, we
went ashore together immediately the gangway was down, to see what we could do about
it. We got into Batavia Centrum, just before 11. I had great fun getting through to
Larkins at the British Consulate on the station's public telephone, but I managed the
Dutch "Button A" all right and got him. He could hardly believe his ears and said that he
would be down with a car at once. He made it quite clear straight away that the situation
in Java was now very serious - there was one thing to do - to get out of Java at once. He
said there was a ship leaving Tanjong Priok at 2 p.m. - she was probably the last ship
and she was full, but he would do his best to get me a passage. He was as good as his
word, and by one o'clock the Polish Consul in Batavia (whom L. kindly sent to see me
off) and I were on our way to the docks, and by 1.30 I was on board the old SS Perak,
veteran of the Singapore-Penang run. She had arrived in Batavia early in February with
civilian evacuees from Malaya, but her native crew had deserted and the Navy originally
decided that she would have to be abandoned. At the last moment, however, when things
began to look very critical in Java, the naval authorities at Batavia called for volunteers,
to officer and man her for another evacuation voyage. There were just sufficient
R.N.V.R. officers available to provide the bare minimum complement of officers, but the
crew was woefully below strength.
En Route for Colombo
We passengers found that we mustered about 50 men and a dozen or so women and
children. We had to turn to at once to help to get her ready for sea. The skipper called us
all into the saloon at 4 o'clock and told us the position and how he would want all the
assistance we could give him to get the old ship to Colombo. The male passengers were
split up into watches and working parties, and the ladies undertook to help with meals in
the saloon. We set to at once to get the stores on board and stowed away, and, most
important of all, to get the lifeboats ready for immediate use. We were still hard at it as
we stole out of the harbour at dusk. A few hours later we set sail with a small naval
escort, the last ships to sail from Batavia. We knew we had left too late at night to get
through the dangerous Sunda Straits before dawn - the Japs had been in control of the
western side of the Straits for several days, and it was definitely dangerous for navigation.
However, our luck was in, and about 10 o'clock in the morning, the 24th February we
were well clear of the narrow waters of the Straits and heading south into the Indian
Ocean. Shortly after that we left the convoy, which was making for Australia, and set off
on our own for Colombo. The voyage was uneventful and we reached our destination
safely on 4th March - our only real hardship was a certain shortage of drinking water.
However, by dint of strict rationing, no baths or shaving, and washing clothes in sea
water, we made the supply last us out.
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