Papers written by Hodgkin, Ernest P. (Doctor, b.1908 - d.1998) - Part 5

hall we enter a small yard that is cluttered up with lorries and bits of

them, timber and quantities and miscellaneous junk. The yard and the

garages offf it are the home of the carpenters' shop, motor mechanics,

coconut graters, the Camp 'Shop', and various other activities. At

10 a.m. each day the yards is a mass of humanity waiting to go out on

fatigues' but more of that anon.

From the front yard passages diverge throughout the prison. On

the left a gate gives access to the women's camp(A Block), but there is

a sentry to keep out mere males and keep the females in. From straight

ahead, passages lead to all parts of the men's camp; straight ahead to

the kitchen, to the left to B Block, and on the right to C and D. The

kitchen is a steamy place that the ordinary internee is only permitted

to enter when strictly on business. From the main corridors others lead

off to the laundry, hospital, and other ramifications of the fortress.

There are innumerable doors, but as they are never  ---d they do not

obtrude themselves. I live in D so let us explore that block all four

are much the same. Downstairs there is a large workshop into which

150 persons are crammed, each man having barely enough room to sleep in;

with makeshift beds, sardine-box furniture, and clothes lines, it looks

like an old junk shop, but so does the whole camp. There is also the

mess room, a long low room with two concrete slabs running the length

of it: the slabs serving for tables or beds as occasion demands. An

exercise yard, that has long since ceased to have any grass on it, com-

pletes the amenities of the ground-floor. The building bounds two sides

of the yard, and under deep eaves, there are showers and a concrete

bench too high to sit on and too narrow to serve for a table. A valiant

effort has been made to brighten up the yard by planting flowers and

shrubs, and this has been quite succesful.   8

There are four floors to this delectable residence, and, as the

top three are all much alike, we may as well climb the narrow steel stair-

way to the top floor where I live: D IV 6 is my address, and here I live

with Jack Field and Dr. Mekie (for the first year Dr. McSwan was here 

instead of Dr. Mekie). On either side of the grille that covers the

central wall there is a narrow landing 200 feet long, and off this the

cells open; 22 of them on either side. At the far end there is a grand

view, through bars, over much of the eastern part of Singapore Island

and over into Johore. Needless to say the cells are all alike: a concrete

box seven foot six by thirteen feet, with a door that would have done

justice to a mediaeval fortress, and two small barred apertures for ven-

tilation, one above the door and one hight up at the opposite end. The

only furnishings provided by His Majesty are a 'sarcophagus' in the

centre (a concrete slab provided with a pillow of the same material), a

small hole hight up in one wall with an electric like shared with the

next cell, and a squat latrine. That is all; even the lavatory tank is

outside and operated by a rod and chain, to pull which was the only enter-

tainment vouchsafed to H.M's. guests. Needless to say the cell is no

longer so bare. The flimsy improvisations of our early days have been

replaced by quite solid, if not very elegant, shelves, cupboards, stools

and even a small table. Jack and Mekie have fixed up hammocks in the

'slit trenches' between the sarcophagus andthe wall; I sleep out- of- doors.

The furnishings of cells varies endlessly with the tastes, belongings and 

scrounging abilities of the occupants. Soem are so full that the inmates

have to sleep on top of their belongings, while there are a few - - very

few - - with the walls still unblemished with a single nail.

The kitchen, as I said is in the centre of the camp; above it

there are more cells and beyond it

is the laundry. The latter is a large

hall with concrete tanks round the walls and long wooden tables dotted

about the centre. From the tanks one ladles water Malayan-fashion over

one's body, and on the tables we scrub our clothes. Perhaps you had not

realised that we have to do everything for ourselves: cooking, cleaning,

firewood collecting, refuse disposal, as well as being our own dhobies.

At all times from 7:30 a.m. to 8:14 p.m. the lanudry is full of naked

bodies bathing or washing their clothes. Not a very elegant sight you

will think, but no one worries about that; and the varieties of shapes, 

forms and colouring is very diverting. Do you remember the little white

pants the children used to develop at P. D.? well everyone has them here;

a white skinned torso is the exception. At one end of the laundry are 

the cobbler's shop and the library; but more of that later.

To either side of the laundry are the main yard and the vegetable

garden. The garden is green with ceylon spinach, bayam, kankong, and

sweet potato, and small as it is we get surprising good crops thanks

to some --rtili-er of Arthur's and the lavish use of urine. The main

yard is largely bare earth; part is used for football, thought its uneven-

ness makes it a very sporting pitch; part is a swill dump; which has been

the centre of many enjoyable evenings; it is very effective imporvisatiu

with a roof, curtains, lighting, and matting on which scenery is painted.

Before finishing this lengthy tour I must mention two other

features. Firstly there is the Hospital, which is a two-storey dormitory,

and the building that houses the dispensary, theatre, and laboratory, with

a small yard on either side of it. I spend most of my time in the lab or

in one or the other of the yards. One yard we use for carpentering and in a

corner of the other I have my tent and sleep out. . Secondly there is

'Hudson's Bay', originally the punishment cells but now one of the best   

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parts of the camp in which to live, because it is the only one storey high

and is surrounded by it's own small but pleasant yard (Sands lives in the

flogging room).

I have said too much about the buildings so let's turn to the in

inhabitants. There are about three thousand of us ( in a prison built

for six hundred); mostly British but with a sprinkling of Dutch, American, 

Norwegian, and about a dozen other races including a Maori, not to men-

tion a considerable number of Eurasians. About six hundred are women and

children, and grandchildren of Europeans who have settled in Malaya. The

whole male European population of the country is here or in the prisoner

of war camp, except for a few neutrals, the few who got away or are

interned in the N.E.I., and a very few who are still working in Singapore.

The youngest internee is a few months old and the oldest over eighty.

There are many old men who had settled down in Singapore or up country

and the internment comes hardest on them. In addition there are more

than a hundred stewards from the 'Empress of Asia' -- they provide the

comic relief of the camp -- and a few sailors and others who have been

captured since the capitulation. With such a variety of living in such

cramped conditions it is amazing how smoothly everything goes. Tolerance

is the keynote of the camp, tolerance of the peculiarities of others, 

of their manners, appearance, and dress. Dress is seldom more than a pair

of shorts, and appearance -- well, man is not a beautiful animal at the

best of times but hairy bodies and flowing beards do not make him look

any better. 

You can well imagine that, with such different temperaments,

Jack and I do not always see eye to eye, but we live together quite peace-

fully and there are far more ill-assorted cell-mates. (two M.C.S and

a Eurasian for example). One of the most pleasant parts of life here is

the lack of social barriers, there can be none where neither position nor

wealth have an significance and when the only garment worn is a pair of 

shorts; but it is wonderful to find how willing everyone is to be friendly

with anyone else. The comradship is one of the outstanding features of is

the camp, one that almost makes one glad to have been interned. For

myself I have made many new and valued friends, and seem to be on nodding

acquaintance with half the camp. Of course there is the comic side to 

this too; the camp has developed its own heirarchy of Block Commandants, 

Committee members, and a host of officials. There is also the nouveau

riche; those who, having no scruples, have not hesitated to trade on those

of others ; the organisers of the 'black market' , the folks who (until

stopped) raffled a $5 bed for $70, and the few quite unashamed thieves. 

You will have wondered how we occupy ourselves and perhaps fan-

cied that the time hangs heavy on our hands. I suppose it must do for

many, but I have never been at a loss for something to do since I came

here. Much of every day is taken in looking after ourselves, and in this

respect life here does resemble a camp. The daily routine is simple:

lights on at 7:30 (this is Tokyo time, two hours ahead of sun time),

bath, shave, grate and squeeze the coconut to make coconut milk for break-

fast, breakfast at 9.0, jobs of various sorts until lunch at 1.0, supper

at 6.0. lights out at 10.0, and (in my case) be at about 11. Such is

the day, but into it have to be fitted all sorts of odd jobs: washing up,

sweeping or washing out the cell, washing and on occasion repairing

clothes etc. 

There are always 'fatigues' to be done; for most there are such

as are allocated to them and only take up about four hours a week, they

include; hauling firewood, sweeping passages, flattening burnt tins and a

10

host of others. For the first five months my job was Secretary to D Block

Committee: a thankless task consisting mostly of running errands and

 chasing other people. For the last few months my official job has been

making a mosquito survey of the area round the camp. It is a pleasant

occupation which gives me more freedom than most enjoy. Up to five of

us go out about three mornings a week and are free to wander anywhere

within a mile of the camp. We have a Sikh guard for company. It is fun 

being my own mosquito collector for a change, and, although there is a

disappointing lack of variety in the Anopheline population, I have been

able to build up a small collection of the commoner species. When not

mosquito hunting I spend most of my time carpentering. I make furniture

for the lab. and the hospital, and innumerable stools, and before Christ-

mas I made a set of Abbat toys for the infant school. I have learnt a

lot about wood working and have ambitions to become a cabinet maker!

In these ways then there is plenty to do, and when not working

I am seldom idle; there are lectures to attned or to prepare, classes

and 'homework', entertainments, and reading. The hour after lights out

is very pleasantly spent in talking, usually with the same circle of 

friends, of the affairs of the camp or the world, sometimes in frivolous

vein and sometimes of serious topics. Conversation ranges from food or

the lack of it, the latest rumour or the prospects of exchange, to the 

physiological effects of starvation, or astronomy (the last is a popular

subject when the sky is clear).

The opportunity for reading is a great joy: I must have read

more while in Changi then ever before. Naturally there is not a very

great choice of literature, but the library has five or six thousand

volumes. Knowing your liking for Buchan I have read and enjoyed many of

his novels, and it has been fun reread many old favourites. The lib-

rary has also a few reference books; they include an Encyclopedia Britan-

ica, which you might call the Changi Bible it is so constantly in demand

by lecturers and others in search of knowledge. The books are naturally

heavily overworked and have often to be repaired in a somewhat amateurish

manner. The sight of the shelves would give a librarian a heart attack.

As with everything in Changi there is a snag even in this. The lights in

the cells are bad (not that I spend much time in there) and my eyes are giving

me trouble. Some people have gone partially blind' it is a lack of vit-

amin x, y or z, combined with smoking.

One of the most amazing features of the camp is the thirst for

knowledge that is displayed. Many no doubt started attending classes in

order to occupy themselves usefully, but most are glad of the change to 

study something they have never had time for before. Changi University

has classes in more than ninety subjects; languages from Gaelic to Siamese,

Mechanics and Navigation, Astronomy, and a host of others. The classes

last an hour and are held two or three times a week. In the early days I

was too busy to want to attend any classes, besides I had my own lectures

to prepare. Now I am studying English writing with Mr. Richard Sidney,

in the hope that/my papers will be less of a labour to prepare and more

intelligible to the reader. With two or three thousand others I have gone

back to school and am thoroughly enjoying it.

In addition to the regular classes there are almost nightly lec-

tures on subjects of general and special interest: most countries in the

news have been dealt with by someone with firsthand knowledge, Malaya is

being discussed in all its aspects in a long series of lectures, and there

have been innumerable lectures in light  or serious vein on every conceiv-

able subject. Jack and I gave a series of lectures on malaria, or rather

two series for they had to be repeated; and I made a rather unhappy

11

attempt to lecture on Medical Entomology. A very difficult undertaking

with only Manson Bahr and the Encyclopaedia Britanica for reference. The

most interesting lectures I have attended have been those organised by

the Malayan Nature Society dealing with Anthropology, Malayan jungle trips,

and a host of other subjects. A recent innovation has been a fortnightly

'question hour', at which written questions of general interest are ans-

wered shortly by experts. Naturally most are scientific, but others are

economic, historical, etc. I had to answer one on ants, not that I know

much about them. This is a very popular diversion.

There has been no lack of entertainment. They early efforts were

a bit primitive; variety shows performed on laundry tables, with the

effects left to the imagination and the only musical instruments a piano

accordian and a violin; but concerts have never been better attended than

they were in those days. Now there is a stage, not quite up to West End

standard perhaps, but with scenery, curtains and footlights. On it have

been performed: a pantomine ('Dick Whittington' changified), Dickens' 'A

Christmas Carol', 'Outward Bound', innumerable variety shows, orchestral

and choral concerts far superior to anything we ever had in K.L., and

many other entertainment. A few of the best have been repeated for the

benefit of the ladies. We have also had delight readings of Shaw's

'The Apple Cart', and 'The Whiteheaded Boy' (on St. Patrick's Day). There

is a lot to be said for leaving the scenery to the imagination. To anyone

but an internee the audience would be the more interesting part of the

performance. We must look a motely crew, half naked, and perched on the

oddest assortment of substitutes for chairs from well made camp chairs to

sardine boxes.

You will want to know what we have to eat. This is a dismal

subject about which the less said the better. It is not pleasant to suffer

systematic starvation. Rice, riec and yet more rice, there is plenty of

it so far; but man cannot live be rice alone. The Nip-issue of meat would

not keep a mouse alive, and event that ceased last November; since then all

we have had has been a little dried fish (odours of Pulau Ketam). By

Changi standards, the fish can be rendered edible by frying until it is

the consistency of leather. In addition we have been given a little

sugar, less salt, and some ghee, vegetables of the least nutritious kind,

[ ? ] for a time a little flour. Had it not been that we brought with us

[   ?    ] of tinned food and have been allowed to buy more with our quite 

[     ?     ] funds, many of us would have died before now of beri beri or

other deficiency diseases. Even as it is things are pretty grim. We

produce a fair quantity of leaf vegetable in the inside garden and more

recently have been allowed to plant more of these and root vegetables

outside the wallss. The kitchen has done wonders in making the food

palatable, but oh for a good square meal! The menu varies little  [ ? ]

day to day. For breakfast there is kunji and tea' for lunch steamed [  ?  ]

and vegetable soup, with a little sardine, chicken curry, or corned [  ?  ]

added to it, once a week there is stinking fish and savoury rice [ ? ]

poor relation of kedgeree); and for supper there is more kunji, tea a[ ? ]

a rice-coconut cake. Kunji is we rice a sort of rice pudding without

all the ingredients that make that dish palatable; there is [  ?  ] to be a

suspicion of sugar and milk in it, but most of us suspect that that does

not go outside the kitchen. Rice polishings are added to the morning

kunji to keep the beri beri away, and the evening kunji is flavoured with

cocoa, fruit juice (mostly pumpkin), gula malacca, or something that

smells like Outex. Not very appetising but it goes down. Mot of us have

acquired a few tins by fair means or foul and we have an occasional fee

the remotely resembles a meal. I am the cook for our trio/so you can draw

12

your own conclusions. We celebrate all birthdays in this way, yours as 

well as ours, and between us we have seventeen.

The eating utensils are primitive as/the food; spoon, knife,

fork (rarely needed), a plate of sorts (mine is a pie dish), and a mug

(mine/is a sliver beer-mug); they are a motley selection, whatever people

could pick up at the last moment or have been xxx able to obtain since.

The food has to be carried to the floors in tongs and kerosene tins, x

and there is distributed to the waiting queues. Few posses tables of 

any sort so they have to put their plates on the sarcophagus or on their

knees.

Health on the whole been good. Many people appear to be

better than they were when they came in. The fat ones have/slimmed down

to a decent size, and many of the young and thin have fattened up (inclu-

ding myself). The alcoholics are better for their deprivation, we have

all a healthy tint to our skins, and there has been surprisingly little

sickness. The only epidemic disease has been an mild form of dysentery.

But we are living very near the starvation level and onlxy just escape

frank deficiency diseases by taking red palm oil and rice polishings.

There xxx are skin affections, partial blindness, and other troubles

attributable to mild degrees of vitamin deficiency. How long we could

go on like this I do not know, fortunately the outlook at the moment is

brighter as you shall hear. I myself have kept fit and I have never had

less indigestion ( there is little enough to cause it), I had some kidney

trouble that/was very painful while it lasted, but that is all.

Fortunately we see very little of our hosts, who seldom interfere

with the internal organisation of the camp. In the early months we/had

Nip. sentries, but since about August the/camp has been run by civilians

and we had had Sikh guards. They for....