We now had to endure what we all knew would to be our last winter of the War. Fuel was now in extremely short supply and only occasionally did any coal arrive to maintain some limited heating for only the odd day during the really cold months of January and February. We knew the bitter news of the Red Cross ship being sunk en route to Vladivostock by an American submarine, and we all realised that the chances of any further food from that source were going to be negligible. The winter also was the harshest of all we had so far, with snow lying really deep for days on end, with little warm sun to thaw it out. Our daily rations consisted of two small buns per day but at least they did contain some added soya beans for protein. There was also a thin watery soup made from thin slices of frozen long radish which had virtually no nutrient value at all. But all Japan was starving with the American Naval Blockade and food everywhere was scarce. The cheer of regular parcels had now given way to a glum acceptance of just trying to survive on the most meagre rations until the war was over. It was during February that I was struck down with the most appalling flu and fever that I have ever had. It was compounded of course by weakness from a lack of food especially when I had been growing fast. I was now 5ft 8inches tall, long thin and gangly, and with my room-mate young Graham we kids were both badly affected by the intense cold. When the flu reached its peak I would just lie huddled up on my tatami mat in my GI sweater, covered in my quilt and US blanket and the lovely thick US army greatcoat trying to conserve as much body warmth and energy as possible. My friends amongst the Geordie seamen such as Alfie Round and Tim Melia were marvellous and all had a whip round for odd spare tins of Red Cross food such as K rations, bully beef, spam, dried milk etc. But my Guardian Angel who really assumed control over me was a rough man in his fifties, who had been an Chief Engineer on the Wellpark, and who lovingly nursed me back to health and saved my life. He was a scrawny grey haired Canadian who had worked for Ford’s in Detroit before being laid off during the Great Depression and had then become a bootlegger in Chicago during the Prohibition period, working for the various hoods that were doing a booming business in the “speak-easys” at that time. His name was Carl Drennan and he was like a Father figure in the way he looked after me, and rallied all the seamen for the odd tin of food saved from their meagre supplies. He had a job in the camp as a sweeper and cleaner to the Japanese guards in their quarters. Each morning when he went to work, he would “acquire” bread and other bits and pieces of food left over from their meals, and when no one was looking, would bring them back to feed me and help build up my strength. This was done at a tremendous risk to himself, because if caught, he would have received a merciless beating and undoubtedly other severe tortures as well. Mother too would send me some of the food that she had hoarded for just such an emergency, so that she herself when the winter ended, was just skin and bone at 6 ½ stone, and a shadow of her former self, with gaunt dark sunken eyes, hanging skin, and an all pervading greying weakness. To her, with her natural unstinting Maternal generosity, to Malcom Scott with his cheerfulness and David Millar and to all the ordinary humble Geordie seamen, and most especially to Carl Drennan for the terrible risks that he took, I offer my deepest thanks, as it is to them that I owe my life , for the help and support they all gave me during the whole of that terrible February in 1945. I would mention that we had in our camp about a dozen missionaries of both sexes, who would spend the day constantly praying and pontificating about Christian Charity and love. Not one of these people with their aching liberal consciences, constant prayer,

Page 1/6 Next Page