Railway of Hell: War, Captivity and Forced Labour at the Arms of the Japanese

By Reginald Burton and Ronald Searle

A first-hand account from a British POW, “not so much about the building of the Burma-Siam railway as it is about the existence of the men who built it” (BiblioBuffet.com).

A young captain in the Royal Norfolk Regiment, Reggie Burton was wounded in the closing stages of the disastrous defense of Malaya and Singapore. He vividly, yet calmly and with great dignity, describes the horror of captivity at the hands of the Japanese. After initial confusion, the true nature of their captors emerged as, increasingly debilitated, the POWs were forced into backbreaking work. This was only a taste of what was to come. Following a horrific journey in overcrowded cattle trucks, Burton and his dwindling band of colleagues were put to work building the notorious Burma Railway. Somehow, he survived to tell this moving and shocking story.

“Burton’s willingness to examine the reason for his treatment make this a particularly valuable piece of work, as well as being a harrowing account of his time in captivity and the appalling cruelty that he and his comrades suffered.” —History of War

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jun 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781783400492

Book preview

Chapter 1

THE OUTBREAK OF WORLD WAR II 1939–1941

At the outbreak of war in September 1939 I was a Junior Officer serving with my Regiment, the 1st Battalion The Royal Norfolk Regiment, in Bangalore, Southern India. Known as the Garden City of India, it was situated in Mysore State where the Maharajah was a beneficent autocrat, very loyal to the British Raj. The general atmosphere of the place was most congenial, as was the attitude of its people.

The war in Europe seemed a very long way off, and we read of the Fall of France and the Dunkirk Evacuation with a feeling of foreboding. At that time we were mostly engaged in Platoon, Company, and Battalion Training and exercises. As the British Battalion in the Mysore State we were primarily responsible for internal security and crowd control when necessary. This was put to the test whenever we were visited by the political dignitaries of the Indian Congress Party. They included such VIPs as Mahatma Gandhi, Nehru and Bose, to name but a few. It was a difficult time, as they were demanding Home Rule (Swah Raj), which we agreed must come eventually, but at the time it would have been impossible since we were in the shadow of a global war. This was brought home to most when Japan entered the conflict and subsequently arrived at the gateways to India.

Eventually the invasion of Britain became a very strong possibility. It was in the summer of 1940 that we, along with eight other Infantry Regiments, left India for England to bolster up the meagre resources. Although the miracle of Dunkirk had extricated most of our men we had lost all our heavy equipment, vehicles, artillery and armour.

Upon our arrival in England the Battalion was posted to the 20th Independent Guards Brigade, consisting of ourselves, the 2nd Irish Guards and the 2nd Welsh Guards. Our job was to defend most of the outer boundary of South London in the area of Croydon, and the operation was code-named ‘Brown Line’.

One evening in September 1940 I was Orderly Officer on duty when I received the code-word CROMWELL from Brigade Headquarters, which meant that invasion was imminent. We immediately rushed to our prepared positions and stood to for seventy-six hours. Apparently, as we were to learn afterwards, the Germans were rehearsing for the invasion in barges in the Calais area and the RAF had rather hindered their exercises.

At the end of 1940 I was told that I had been ordered to leave the 1st Battalion and moved to the 4th Battalion which was part of 54 Brigade in the 18th Infantry Division (Territorial Army). They had been in defence positions on the Norfolk coast, but were now stationed in Scotland where I proceeded with due haste. At this time it was generally thought that the invasion scare had died down for the time being.

Before going overseas the Division was moved to Lancashire, where we were engaged in a large-scale manoeuvre against the 2nd Division, who were stationed in Yorkshire. This was appropriately code-named ‘The War of the Roses’. The 2nd Division had recently returned from Dunkirk, where they had put up a gallant action, fighting in the rearguard of the British Expeditionary Force. This rearguard action had engaged the 2nd Battalion The Royal Norfolk Regiment which gained several decorations, awarded on the beaches of Dunkirk; one in particular was that of Company Sergeant Major Gristock, who was awarded a posthumous VC. The Regiment won five VCs during the war, the most won by a single British Infantry Regiment. Before arriving on the Dunkirk beaches the Battalion had seen many engagements. One of these, at a village called Le Paradis, resulted in one Company having to surrender. It was then massacred by the Germans, instead of being taken prisoner. On arrival in Yorkshire the surviving men were very much depleted, and were re-grouping and re-training. Thus it was not surprising that the 18th Division won the battle, and were consequently earmarked for overseas service instead of the 2nd Division, who were later on destined for Burma where they put up a magnificent defence at Kohima, which was as far as the Japanese reached in their invasion of India.

It is interesting to note that had the 2nd Division won the exercise they would have finished up in Malaya and the 18th Division would have gone to Burma: so much for the hinge of fate.

It was not until October 1941 that, after embarkation leave, we proceeded to Liverpool and embarked on the SS Andes, to join a large convoy assembling in the Irish Sea.

And so we went to war.

Chapter 2

OUTWARD BOUND 1941–1942

We sailed at lunchtime and in the afternoon we had joined a convoy in the Irish Sea with the remainder of the ships of the Division which had embarked in Glasgow. We were very amused at the escort which happened to be of four old Destroyers, (with their pencil-shaped funnels). They were part of an exchange deal with the Americans for bases in the West Indies.

The first few days out were extremely rough, and nearly all the troops were laid low with seasickness. At noon on the third day, when most people were recovering up on deck, we met the most enormous convoy of merchantmen we had ever seen; the ships literally covered the entire horizon. Our old Destroyers left us at this point, and we found that our new escort (departing from the enormous merchant convoy) was entirely American. A Battleship (New Mexico Class), an Aircraft Carrier (Saratoga Class), four Cruisers and eight Destroyers. This was a part of the lend-lease agreement between Churchill and Roosevelt, for as yet the USA were not in the war.

At this time our fortunes were at their lowest and most dangerous period in the Battle of the Atlantic. The American help then was a much needed godsend.

After about six days steaming from Liverpool we eventually reached Halifax. We were surprised to see waiting in the harbour three of the largest liners in the world, namely the America (renamed USS West Point), Manhattan (renamed the USS Wakefield) and the Washington (renamed the USS Mount Vernon).

It was night-time when our ship the Andes came alongside the jetty. The troops had spent the evening looking at the lights of Halifax, blazing away without a blackout or any restrictions apparent to us. I was particularly fascinated to stare at all the lights and silhouettes of a great port in wartime, with all the ships bustling with activity. As I was detailed for a fatigue party unloading weapons and stores it was after midnight when I eventually arrived on board the Wakefield. I dumped my kit with four other officers in a cabin, which we were told had been used by Paulette Goddard in happier days.

As I was late on board I missed supper, but a friendly American Duty Officer took me down to the Officers' Mess, where an enormous negro steward regaled me with ham and eggs and black coffee, and all sorts of questions about England and the House of Lords. This giant of a man had a great sense of humour and was to become a great favourite with the British Officers.

Our voyage down the American coast began at dawn. The three large transports contained the three Infantry Brigades of the Division, whilst the Ancillary units travelled in smaller vessels. The escort had been reduced to the Aircraft Carrier, two cruisers and four destroyers.

We eventually arrived in Trinidad where we were told there was to be no shore leave. Fortunately I had found out that my Uncle Rupert Burton R.N. was commanding the Naval Air Base at Piarco. My cousin Bill and I were allowed ashore and were met by a Naval Staff car and taken out to the base. There we spent a very pleasant day having lunch and tea and being shown round. Eventually we had to return to the ship and we were back on board in good time to sail that evening.

From now on our escort consisted of the two Cruisers and the four Destroyers. This was to be one of the longest parts of the voyage and it was approximately ten days before we reached Cape Town.

During this part of the voyage we crossed the line and our American hosts went to great pains to entertain us with the arrival on board of King Neptune and his merry court. The fun was fast and furious and when it looked like getting out of hand the Captain sounded the alarm, ‘General Quarters’. As we went to our action stations we were all convinced an attack had been spotted, whether by surface raider or submarine, but it appeared later after the stand down that it had only been a quick and effective way of restoring law and order!

During the last part of this long leg of our voyage we went very far south of Cape Aguilhas to enter Cape Town from the eastern approach. During the night we ran into the worst storm I have ever known at sea – our cabin furniture was literally hurled all over the place. It was funny lying in the top bunk, hanging on like hell, to watch all the drawers sliding in and out of the chest of drawers and to see the unlatched cabin door swinging open and shut. The camp bed in the middle of the cabin slid backwards and forwards nearly all night. Whether the occupant really slept or not I shall never know!

Eventually we reached Cape Town and it was at this point that the attack on Pearl Harbor was given out on the ship's radio. I remember thinking at the time that, no matter what happened now, we could not possibly lose the war. We were granted shore leave and the people of Cape Town turned out in their hundreds to meet us and to offer us the hospitality of their homes. I feel sure their kindness and generosity will always be remembered and at that time in particular they gave us a series of happy memories to brighten the dark and perilous days that lay ahead.

We sailed on through the Indian Ocean and spent Christmas Day at sea. We had a very good Christmas dinner consisting chiefly of Maryland chicken and other American delicacies. We eventually reached Bombay after 53 Brigade had been dispatched to Mombasa in the USS Mount Vernon and so routed on directly to Singapore. We, the remainder of the Division, arrived in Bombay and entrained for Ahmednagar, where we stayed about a fortnight, spent mostly in training. One day we were paraded and told we were returning to Bombay. We embarked on the very same transports and in exactly the same cabins we had so recently vacated, little thinking that we would ever see them again or at the most so soon afterwards. We sailed on, thinking by this time that our voyage might never come to an end.

As usual there was speculation about our final destination. After 53 Brigade had left us off the East Coast of Africa rumour had been rife: we had thought they had gone on to the Middle East while we went to India. In point of fact, we learned later that they had been thrown piece-meal into the battle on the Malayan mainland.

Eventually we rounded Ceylon and proceeded in an easterly direction. At this point we could guess our destination with certainty.

I shall always remember the last few days of our long sea journey, which had taken us nearly half round the world and touched on four of the five continents. We passed through the Sunda Straits and saw Krakotoa on the horizon. It resembled an enormous shark's fin, blue and hazy in the tropical shimmer. As we turned north and wended our way through the Banka Straits the ships took up a position of single file or line astern. I was on the top deck at the time, looking back at the graceful lines of the USS West Point (the America) when suddenly I saw what I thought was a tropical waterspout on one side of her and then another nearer and then another on the far side. It was such a beautiful day my mind was not connected with the horror of war. Then suddenly every ack-ack gun in the convoy opened with a crashing crescendo. I looked up and saw our Japanese enemies, almost invisible so high were they in the sky, indulging in what we eventually learned to call ‘pattern bombing’. Fortunately no ships were hit, and that night we raced through the darkness with every bolt in the ship quivering with the extra speed.

The two big ships, our own Wakefield and the West Point, by keeping up a high speed, had pulled ahead of the convoy and early the next morning they moved smoothly into Keppel Harbour, Singapore. We'd expected to see a blitzed city, with ruined buildings and the black smoke of unquenched fires, but the first impression was one of absolute peace. The rich green of the many islets with their palms and dense vegetation were a reminder that we were in the tropics, but the waterfront buildings of Singapore were Western.

It was only as we docked that we saw things were not as usual. The jetties and quays were deserted. Everywhere there were bomb craters. The harbour installations had suffered badly and many a crane slanted drunkenly towards the water. I had expected, in spite of war, all the bustle and excitement of another Bombay, the dockside to be swarming with shouting and gesticulating coolies and so forth. None appeared.

There was a brooding tenseness which was depressing, killing the normal excitement of a journey's end. The troops were rather subdued.

There were other ships in the harbour and all seemed to be embarking civilian men, women and children. There were sailors – survivors from the HMS Repulse or HMS Prince of Wales, which had been sunk a week before by Japanese aircraft. And there were airmen, too. It was puzzling, a little disturbing. If we were hoping to hold Singapore, why were so many Service personnel leaving?

This sight certainly didn't do anything to boost the spirits of our men. One or two looked at me, as though inquiringly. I was glad there were no questions. I'd plenty of my own. Why weren't the Japs stopping us? The scenes around showed they had plenty of experience of bombing the harbour. What better target, then, than a division of troops landing?

We had snatched breakfast at first light, and as soon as we came alongside we were hurried ashore. There wasn't much in the way of a reception, but John remarked that somebody must have realized we'd arrived because there were open trucks waiting, with irrepressibly cheerful Australian drivers. I herded some twenty of my men into the back of one and then climbed into the cab beside the driver, who at once informed me that he'd driven all down the peninsula, chased by the Nip bastards. But he was full of optimism. We'll come good on the island, he said, giving the last word the full treatment of Australian accent and almost making it unrecognizable.

As we moved off an air raid started. I wondered if it was the big one I'd been anticipating all night. We'd left a baggage party to help with unloading. I hoped they'd be all right. Then my hopes were transferred to my own survival and that of the men in the open back of the truck. They'd only kit bags for seats and several had been forced to stand.

Our driver seemed out to break records. I could well understand why the Nip bastards had never caught up with him during the flight down the long peninsula. He chattered away, quite unconcerned, while he took bends in the manner of a movie stunt man!

I managed to get a few glimpses of the city, which was just awakening to the toil and cares of the day. Some of the streets were very European in appearance, others were definitely oriental. There was, to me, the fascinating clatter of Chinese clogs on the pavements as the crowds filled the streets. The street vendors were active, crying their wares. The sellers of ice-cream clacked bits of wood together musically. There was little to suggest war. At one point a party of attractive European women in summery dresses crossed the road, dodging our recklessly driven truck. I waved to them and they waved back and smiled. I was given a false reassurance, thinking that as they were still here the situation couldn't be as grave as I'd feared.

But soon enough there was a grim reminder of war. We sped on past a large airport which the Australian told me was Kallang. I could see the runways were cratered. Buildings and hangars were damaged, but most depressing of all were the large burnt-out craters. These must have contained desperately-needed fighters and my apprehension returned since I knew that without air support we'd be at a crushing disadvantage.

The drive became less hazardous because we were virtually clear of traffic and speeding along the east coast road.

After a time I saw a large white building on our right, What's that? I asked.

Changi Jile, was the immediate reply. It took me a moment or so to grasp his pronunciation of ‘jail’. Fortunately for my peace of mind at the time I was blissfully ignorant of how familiar this place was to become.

We turned away from the coast and at last reached our destination. It was a rubber plantation. Camouflaged tents had already been erected among the trees, which were planted so uniformly that they formed straight avenues in all directions. The effect was rather monotonous, though the sun-dappled shade was pleasant and the cover gave a feeling of security. We pulled up and the troops clambered out stiffly. They looked a bit dazed. Among them was my batman Alan Woodbridge. He was a burly figure and there was a twinkle in his eye as he asked me, Did we break the world's speed record, Sir?

This camp was for C and D Companies. The rest of the battalion was farther down the road. I was soon joined by John, then Percy and Lazenby Jones (Jonah). They, as platoon commanders, had their respective platoons with them. As second-in-command of D Company I'd arrived first to attend to administrative details. They gathered around and it was clear from their comments that their ride out had been every bit as hair-raising as my own.

Finally Tom Phillips, D Company commander, pulled up. He'd stayed to see all the men off the ship.

I feel like putting my driver on a charge, he grumbled. You can't do that to a fellow cobber, I said. I wondered if these Australians always drove in a reckless manner, or whether they'd had special instructions to get us away from the docks and to our positions as quickly as possible. If so, they'd carried out their orders to the letter.

We lost no time in unpacking and settling in. Just as we were doing this we had our first visitor. He was a Tamil with copies of the local Singapore papers, which he quickly sold out. He was on to us so promptly I felt he must have been waiting for us to arrive.

The news columns of the papers did nothing to cheer us. The Japanese were advancing. Unfamiliar with most of the place names, we could only guess at what progress the enemy had made. John said, You can bet the actual situation's worse than anything written here. There's sure to be some sort of security delay in releasing the bad news.

I felt that uncertainty was worse than full knowledge could ever have been. We'd simply no idea how far we were from the advance units of the Japanese army. Later in the day our Commanding Officer, Lt.-Col. Knights, arrived. He was a small, wiry man and, whatever his real feelings, he always managed to persuade us that things could be much worse. He hadn't a great deal of information to offer, but he advised us not to unpack more than was necessary. We might be moved to the coastline in the morning. He said that the men we'd left behind unloading the Wakefield had been caught in the air raid, but he didn't know if there had been any casualties. We rested, looking through the newspapers again, concentrating on the adverts for Tiger Beer and other more attractive commodities. They provided an escape.

Darkness came. I didn't turn in immediately. There were the strange night sounds of the insects and other nocturnal creatures.

And now the long voyage was over and I was outside a tent in a rubber plantation on Singapore Island, wondering what was to happen to me next.

Looking back, I see this night as a turning point in my life. I couldn't foresee the future. I knew, of course, that it was filled with danger and that the prospects were grim. I didn't believe, though, that there could be an absolute disaster. A long and bitter siege, yes. This was probably going to be something like England during that perilous and testing summer of 1940. But England had survived ruthless assault. Surely we could do the same thing in Singapore?

I knew that almost overnight I should reach a maturity and become hardened and experienced, and that my entire life would be changed beyond recognition. But the warning