Three years a slave for Imperial Japan

 A poem about my late fathers experience as a Japanese POW

Captured on fifteenth, February forty two,

The fall of Singapore, the empire cries.

To surrender means, no longer human,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Jim Rea three times corporal, and twice busted,

Building the railway of death for those guys.

Without regard for human life or limb,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Horrific maltreatment, railway of death,

If missing two days, then your hut chief dies.

Disobey the Nippon, can lead to death,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Go beyond the fence, without permission,

Then harsh punishment, or death for those guys.

Malaria, sickness and starvation,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Dysentery, cholera, beriberi,

‘I and most have no boots, just a loin cloth.’

Excrement and maggots, surround latrines,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Many men walk in camp, like walking dead,

Some men attempt to, end their woeful demise.

I can not keep the rice down, four men died,

For every seven sleepers one man dies.

 

‘I fold Nippon uniforms drying on grass’,

Carefully make a, neat pile and arise.

Heart in hand stealthily, carry out of camp,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Trade in village for, what food I can get,

Back to camp with cart, piled high with supplies.

Harsh questions by camp guard, is this my end?

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

‘I have provisions, for two hundred men,’

Guard lets me through, I escape execution.

Share food round the hut, A rare day of plenty,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Ulcer on leg, due for amputation,

Maggots infect wound, no need to incise.

Long open leg wound, is carried to grave,

For every seven sleepers, one man dies.

 

Rescued second September forty five,

Skin and bones survive, found by our allies.

‘Pies chase me in dreams, I wake up screaming,’

Each four meters of track, one more man dies.

 

Never speak of those, harsh brutal war crimes,

Wounds never heal, memories still reside.

Decimated by disease, or untreated wounds,

One hundred and two, thousand slaves there died.

 

Copyright Andrew Rea 30^th July 2023