When I was a boy: Part One (My father's memories as a boy living through World War Two)
The boy raced through the jungle as fast as his legs could carry him; Leaves whipped at his face and arms, vines and tree roots did their best to trip him...And the then the ground came up to hit him in the face and he saw a blinding flash. No, it was his face that fell to the ground, he had fallen. Tears ran down his face as he struggled to find his feet and then strong hands pulled him up and a push to his back urged him forward, deeper into the forest. The boy ran, his bare feet slapping the ground, slipping and sliding, as he followed the dark figures ahead of him deeper and deeper into the dense jungle. Five minutes ago he was sleeping in the room he shared with his two brothers but the sirens wailed and he was woken in a shock.
The drone of engines rumbled overhead, hundreds of planes slowly making their way across the sky; He couldn't see them through the jungle canopy, but he knew they were there. His mother told him so. Run. Run. Run.
From the direction of his home he could hear the faint calls of the soldiers and then the loud crack of the guns and muted explosions coming from overhead. He had heard the British call them "AA guns" but he didn't know what that meant. All he knew was that the British were firing upwards towards the planes overhead...And that he was running for his life. He didn't understand a lot, but he knew how to run. He was the fastest runner in school. And so he did.
The small group ahead of him slowed to a stop and he almost ran headlong into his older brother who had stopped, puffing and panting, eyes wide with fear. He was panting heavily too and his legs burned almost as much as his face did from being whipped by the jungle in the headlong rush from the village. The boy started to cry, tears revealing clean brown skin as they washed away the mud from his fall a minute ago. He could hear his mother asking if they were far enough away and his father answering that he was not sure...
The jungle seemed eerily quiet now this far from the village. The sound of the British AA guns were a low but constant boom, still present but muffled by distance and the trees...And then a new sound...A...Whistling sound, high pitched, like the wind whistling in the trees but also different...Coming closer...The boy looked up to his father and was about to ask what the sound was...
The bomb slid easily from it's rack within the belly of the bomber rolling lazily past the open bomb-bay doors into the sky. It wasn't alone as the bomber disgorged it's lethal cargo into the skies above Malaya. It fell downwards towards the dark jungle below, whistling, the fuse spinning, awaiting it's moment to detonate. It struck a tree on the way down breaking off branches and deflecting away from its original path and...
...But before he could utter the words something crashed in the trees somewhere behind and above the boy, branches breaking...And then his fathers' face lit up, white, yellow, red and the boy's head exploded with the loudest noise he had heard in his life. He felt his body pushed forward through the air toward his father, a rag doll thrown by some giant hand. Fire. Everything was on fire. Heat, noise, wind...And then nothing.
...The bomb found the earth and buried itself deep in the forest floor made soft by the recent downpours, the fuse still spinning and then...BOOM!
The boy was running again, he didn't know why. How. He felt someone holding his hand, pulling, almost dragging him. What was that noise in his head, that ringing sound? Why couldn't he hear anything else? And then a tree exploded to his left and another ahead of him...
The year is 1941, World War Two rages and the mighty Japanese Army march almost unopposed down the Malayan Peninsular towards their goal of Singapore. The little boy is my five year old father running for his life with his two older brothers, mother and father and other's from their village. The British defenders fire their AA (Anti-aircraft guns) upwards at the Japanese bombers who are heavily bombing the area prior to their ground forces marching in to mop-up. My father and his family ran into the jungle to escape the bombs that would be dropped onto the British defenders and would at times spend days there eating whatever they could find: Lizards, leaves and roots. Usually nothing.
His village, indeed all of Malaya (now Malaysia) and Singapore would eventually fall to the Japanese and he would live under their iron will and rules seeing terrible things and suffering unimaginable hardship. He would live through the Japanese Occupation until their surrender to the Allies in 1945 when he was 9 years old.
Born in Malaysia in 1936 my dad [and his family] came face-to-face with the brutality of war in 1941 and he would see many horrific things in the 4 years he lived under Japanese rule. My father would not talk about those years very often when I was a kid but over the last several years has opened up some more about it. Unfortunately these days at almost 82 years old he suffers with dementia and at times doesn't remember me however I remember his stories and want to share some with the steemit community. It's odd, he struggles to recall who I am and yet can still speak Japanese learned at school during the Occupation.
My father immigrated to Australia in 1965, met my Australian mum and the rest is history as they say however the memories of this period of his life never faded from his memory. Some are good memories, most are not, being brutal in their reality, and it seems surreal that my father lived through them. This is my first attempt at writing down some of his memories and I'm not sure if I did a good job however hopefully whoever reads this can use their imagination and fill in the blanks that my limited writing ability has left. I don't have the skill to take you there with my words and I only hope I do my father's stories some justice.
[- Design and create your ideal life, don’t live it by default - @galenkp DM on Discord @galenkp#9209 -]
Jungle photo by Ethan Weil on Unsplash
Soldiers image source
Bomber image source
Don't sell yourself short, you are quite the story writer. You've brought this to life in a way plain facts wouldn't have making it more engaging and hopefully more likely to be remembered.
This is entirely new for me to hear yet another angle from WW2. As you can imagine I've heard the American's stories, the Brit's, the Australian's and even some of the European's, but never anything of what Japan was up to this end other than some attacks in Darwin.
I wish I could have found out more of my grandmother's stories. She was German and in the Red Cross. I only know general things about her time through the war, but not her individual experiences. I think they were hard for her to talk about.
Thanks for your nice remarks on my writing. There are many stories that come from war, not all bad. I am privileged to know some from my father’s experiences as a child caught up in an adults war. The Japanese were a brutal foe and were not far from gaining a foothold in Australia. I have trekked the Kokoda Trail to walk the ground over which Australia’s men fought and died to defend Australia and am fortunate that my father managed to make it through the Occupation of Malaya with his life. I can imagine your grandmother would have had a few stories of her own.
Darwin was bombed many many times and there’s many stories there too. I am doing a series on those bombings also.
Thanks for reading. :)
Looking forward to reading more.
This is going to be an interesting series and I am glad that you are writing it.
Thanks brother. I have got a few in mind and hope to do them justice. Dad has always been just dad to us however there was a whole other side to his life that he spoke of only rarely and I hope my memory serves me well in the retelling of it.
That is excellent writing. My imagination did not let me down, I did feel as though I was there - a scared child.
My great grandfather fought in WW1 and received the British equivalent of the Victoria Cross. He never spoke of the war to my grandfather or any family and when we tried to search for his war records they are some what vague. As awful and upsetting as they are, you are fortunate to be able to hear first hand the experiences of your dad.
I feel lucky to never have first hand knowledge of the devastation of war or have it impact myself or my family. We should forever be grateful to those that fought for our freedom so many years ago.
May we and our children never have to experience such horror.
Thank you for sharing.
Upvoting and following to hear more of your stories/
Thanks for your comments. I agree that we should give thanks to those who fought for the freedoms we have today. Your great grandfather must have been extraordinary man to have won the VC equivalent in WWI. Thanks for reading and following. I hope to entertain and enlighten you some more and for me I get to retell some of the stories my father told me.
This is one epic post. Thank you for sharing this piece of history with us. This deserves way more upvotes.
Thanks a lot. I’m afraid good content isn’t always rewarded however I’m grateful for the votes and comments I have received. I appreciate your comment and you actually reading the post.
Great work put to paper. Thanks for bringing it to us. I personally look forward to reading more quality work like this.
Thank you, I am glad you enjoyed my post.
I don't know what you mean when you say you don't have writing skill. I was there. You did a great job of setting the scene, creating intrigue and keeping the reader engaged. I think you have read talent.
That's a fascinating story. I'm sorry your father is dealing with dementia. That can't be easy. I think it's great you're getting some of his stories down. It's important not to lose our history, especially family history.
I appreciate it mate. I have had issues in the past where my posts go un-read despite a lot of effort, and am pleased to have touched a few people recently. Much appreciated.
Yes, not having my dad know who I am sometimes...Not the easiest thing to deal with.
It's so frustrating when you put in all that effort...and then no one sees it. That's why I am intentional about trying to connect with specific authors who are underrated (in my opinion) and show them a little appreciation. I don't like seeing people get discouraged because if they give up, they can miss out on bigger things.
I know what you mean. It's not easy. Enjoy the time you have with him while you still do, especially those days of clarity. Maybe even get videos. Those will be worth more than gold some day.
Nicely said.
That’s a great story. Well written and a perspective of this period of history I’ve never experienced before. My wife and I spent some of our honeymoon (almost 20 years ago) in Malaysia. We visited Kota Baru where the Japanese first landed but the was little commentary on how the people survived the invasion and occupation. I can’t wait to read what happens next.
Thanks @stephen-somers. I’m just trying to make some stories my dad told me interesting to others. Glad you liked it though. I actually only just posted part two. :)