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THE JUNYO MARA STORYTranslation of the letter of F.F.E. von Fuchs

to Mr. D. de JongBy Ingrid Frank - Munch

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The 'Junyo Maru' story, which includes the subsequent time of forced labor on

the Pakan Baru railroad, is told by one Ewald von Fuchs, who was a friend of the

two brothers Fanoy (pronounced fahnwáh), Herman and Bart, the father and

uncle respectively of Ru Fanoy, the husband of Loes, Sonja's sister. All three men

miraculously survived the wreck, but Bart died a few weeks later of amoebic

dysentery and Herman within a year of blood poisoning from a tropical sore on

his leg. Their mother had previously lost another son, Jan, to this war. Three

sons she lost--unimaginable! The story was made available to me by Ru Fanoy.

Ru Fanoy's uncles, whoboth died in the War.

Left: Johannes AlbertusHenricus (Jan) Fanoy(1905-1944), who died on

the Burma railroad.

Right: Bart Johan Albert

(Bart) Fanoy (1903-1944), who died aftersurviving the wreck ofthe 'Junyo Maru' .

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Rudolf Paul Bart (Ru)Fanoy. Passport phototaken in 2007 at the ageof 78.

Herman Jan BartFanoy, Ru’s father(1898-1945), whodied after survuvingthe wreck of theJunyo Maru.

Translation:

AN EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT

of the torpedoing of the JunyoMaru and the forced labor ofthe survivors on the Pakanbarurailroad.

Friedrich Fedor Ewald vonFuchs, writer of this account,was born on 22 June 1898 inBatavia as the oldest child of anex-KNIL officer of Germanorigin and an Indonesian girl.He was a little over three yearsold when his father died; hismother was left with threeyoung children. Ewald vonFuchs grew up in the Batavia ofTjalle Robinson's 'Musings of aBum'. He attended elementaryschool with the Brothers St.Aloysius and then went to theK.W. III (King Willem IIIHighschool). To his regret, hewas unable to finish hiseducation because his mother'sfinancial circumstances wouldnot allow it.At the age of 16 he applied for aposition at the Royal FreightCompany and was accepted. Asthe years went by he worked inalmost all departments of theKPM. Through self-study heultimately obtained thefunction of adjunct chief, andretired as such in 1948.Thereafter he was stillemployed on a contractual basisat the (Indonesian) Coprafonds,in the maritime section, first inMakassar (Ujung Pandang) andlater in Jakarta. There he died--alas much too early--on 3 July1956.

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The narrative is in the form of a letter to Dick de Jong, Director of the Royal

Dutch Freight Company (KPM), who was married to Ru's aunt, one of his

father's sisters, and was von Fuchs' boss. Here it is.

Batavia-Centrum, 8 December 1945.

Dear Mr. de Jong,

Following up on your request made during our conversation last week inSingapore, I hereby offer an account of the experiences of the Batavia City Militiaand other military, who were put 'on draft' from the 10th Battalion on 15

September '44.

On 28 July of that year we left Bandung still as civilian internees, were declared

prisoners of war the next day in the 10th Battalion in Batavia-Centrum and thereunderwent the first ceremonies: the shaving of each others' heads. It turned outthat the captains, steersmen and mechanics from the 15th Battalion, who leftBandung two weeks before us, were still there. Fourteen days after us, so middle

August, another draft arrived consisting of the remainder of the City Militia etc.from Bandung and Tjimahi. All three drafts amounted to about 500 men each--the last one, which arrived in middle August, consisted of about 350 men fromBandung and 150 from Tjimahi.

The food in the 10th Battalion turned out to be better and more than what we hadto put up with during the six months in the Bandung camp, but the treatment onthe other hand became more and more mistreatment. One of the marines was sobadly beaten up during our time there that he died the same night of theconsequences. At his funeral the following afternoon, almost the wholeencampment, ca. 1,000 men, stood at attention to render our fallen comrade thelast honor, also as silent protest against the atrocity committed by one of theJapanese guards. Besides the Japanese we had in the 10th Battalion our ownEnglish Commander, who was supposed to act in the interest of the allied troops,but was powerless to do more than carry out what the Japanese wanted. The

vexations and humiliations we had to endure were numerous.

Herman Fanoy and I were 'slapies' (pronounced sláhpees--men assigned to sleep nextto each other) and because of our age were included in the 'reservists' for the

eventual draft; Bart (Fanoy) was assigned to another barracks and was definitely

designated to go.

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'Slapies' (sláhpees) literally 'sleepies' were those assigned to sleep next to eachother. Pakan Baru Camp IV.

Soon after the arrival of the third transport from Bandung and Tjimahi, in thesecond half of August, two drafts were put together for removal off Java, one

consisting of circa 500 of those already on board plus the third transportcomplemented with a few hundred men from diverse barracks. This draft wascirca 1,100 men strong and marched off in the night of the 12th to 13th September,destination unknown. We later learned that the 1,100 men were taken by small

steamer from Tandjung Priok to Pulu near Singapore. After the Japanesesurrender, they came to Singapore.

The second draft included 1600 men from the 10th Battalion made up ofpractically the entire Batavian Militia, Marines and Conscripts, professionalMilitary, Englishmen, Aussies and Americans and finally a number of civilianprisoners of war, such as lower ship's personnel; our marines were representedas well, and I must not forget to mention especially the circa 300 men, Amboneseand Menadonese Military and/or retired military, fellows who showed thegreatest loyalty to our Flag and our House of Orange under the most harrowingcircumstances. Men who did not succumb to the Japanese enticements to letthemselves, for money and good food, be recruited as 'hei-hos' (Indonesiansoldiers in the Japanese Army)--I don't know if I have spelled this contemptible

word correctly, but I don't care--and thereby chose a prisoner-of-war's life ofhard labor and deprivation over the breaking of military oath. In truth a salute

of honor to them--whether they perished or still be living--is by no meansinappropriate.

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You will please excuse these heartfelt expressions of national feelings in anarrative such as this -- I mean, one intended only to address an intimate family

circle, just as you and yours will forgive me when I later may well lapse intoparticulars and details, which can be significant only to myself as one of the fewsurvivors.

Early in the morning of the fifteenth of September last year, our draft was drawnup for departure. Bart already stood in line packed up and loaded whenHerman and I as well as many other 'reservists' were suddenly included.Although the 'reservists' had been given orders for 'stand-by', their subsequentassignment on such short notice caused some confusion: confusion in so far thatafterwards we did not know exactly about each of us who did or did not comealong. Of several members of the KPM (Dutch Freight Company) it is therefore atthis moment unknown to me if they had the good fortune to stay behind in the

10th Battalion and thus escaped the dance of death on board ship and later in thecamps of Pakan Baru; also, the circumstances and the way we were marched off,then transported by train and finally put aboard ship, made it impossible to meet

up with friends and acquaintances during the journey.

Already on the march from the encampment to Station Senèn, many fell out as aconsequence of baggage overload and therefore much baggage had to be

abandoned on the way. Herman, who walked beside me, finished the trekwithout trouble, but he had enough foresight to leave part of his possessionsbehind. Bart marched in another company, with which we were unable toconnect. We were transported to Tandjung Priok in 'blinded' railroad cars,

where we arrived at sun-up and had to walk immediately in formation from thestation to the third port (JCJL--Java China Japan Line--warehouses). Then, too,

many fell out with consequent loss of precious possessions, which in this way fellinto the hands of Japanese and other oriental, let us say, 'beachcombers'. Shortlyafter our train a second one arrived at Tandjung Priok with 700 prisoners of warfrom camp 'Kampung Makassar' on Buitenzorg Way. Just like the transport outof the 10th Battalion, it was made up of 'birds of diverse plumage'. So in total ourdraft consisted of 1,600 plus 700 equals 2,300 prisoners of war.

Drawn up behind the China Line warehouses we remained waiting from early inthe morning until 1:30 in the afternoon, scorched by the blistering heat of the sun.

The companies were disbanded after roll call, which gave Herman and Bart theopportunity to find each other, albeit with great difficulty. Since that momentuntil boarding we three stayed together, but the boarding itself took place insuch a haphazard way, that we again lost sight of Bart. Our draft of 2,300 men

were housed astern while afore 4,200 Javanese coolies (among whom manyBantammers from Uni-kampong) came to lie down, or rather to sit or to stand,for no more than we military men in the stern did the emaciated, slight coolies

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have sufficient room to lie properly full-length or even with bent knees.Although our final destination was kept in deepest secrecy by the Japs, I foundout from some mandurs (overseers) I knew from my Priok time that the coolieswere bound for the Sawahlunto mines, so that meant that we were in any casebound for Padang and from there perhaps farther on to Burma. The thought ofPakan-Baru had not yet occurred to any of us.

The rations that had been given to the coolies to take along consisted of aminiature basket of rice with salted fish; ours was a sandwich. The cooliesappeared to be so starved that practically all the little baskets were emptiedbefore boarding and they begged us for our bread. Our sense of a common fateclearly induced generosity, especially because among the coolies there weremany emaciated youths, children at most twelve or thirteen years old. As a

typically bizarre item I will not leave unmentioned here that one of the coolieshad gone mad and in his madness, foaming at the mouth and screaming, foretoldthat "she would be torpedoed by America", for which reason he refused to climb

the ship rope. No beatings with sticks or bayonets could get him on boardand…he was left behind to the great astonishment of everyone who was notJapanese or was unable to think the Japanese way.On board we got 'accommodations' in the hold (tweendecks) as well as on deck,also our barang (baggage): part went into the hold, the rest was stowed starboard

and port up against the rails. Bamboo shelves were built tweendecks to enlarge

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capacity; but for all that we sat like herring in a tin both above and below. Fromthe circumstance that hundreds had to content themselves with standing room,

optimists thought to be able to deduce that it would be a short voyage of at most

a few hours: it was thought Oosthaven or Cheribon might be the place ofdisembarkation. Such people clearly had very little experience with thementality of an Asiatic enemy!

So not counting the ship's crew and the Japanese armed escort, there were 2,300plus 4,200 equals 6,500 souls aboard a steamship sized seven to eight tons,which, in spite of the camouflage, was obviously an old Blue Funnel Liner,probably one of those ships ready for scuttling but kept afloat by the Japanese.

At any rate, the heavily rusted hull, hatches, handrails, etc. steered our thoughtsand conclusions in that direction. The original name of the ship was nowhere tobe seen, just a copper plate against the back bridge, the campagne, whichindicated the ship had been built in 1908 in Liverpool. From the coal dust ondeck and in the holds it was obvious that the ship had hauled coal shortly before,

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while rice and sugar sweepings around the hatches indicated that she had beenloading at Tandjung Priok.

The sugar could indicate Burma as destination, but not, of course, the rice;Padang as port of unloading for both these products made therefore more sense,but of course it could also be Oosthaven. In any case not Singapore or ports

lying north, this taking into account the presence of the Sawahlunto coolies.Suppose, then, that the mandurs had informed us of the truth in so far they hadnot themselves been misled by the Japs.

At three o' clock in the afternoon, we steamed toward the harbor and chose aberth in front of the piers and dropped anchor headed north. Tents or sail clothswere not set up. As means of rescue one old lifeboat hung from starboard andone from port at the bridge. In addition, there lay in heaps here and there on

deck the usual square wooden lattice rafts. But that was all that could bementioned as rescue material for the 'passengers'. No life belts or life buoys andno emergency rations. The Japanese, on the contrary, had already been walking

around in lifejackets since cast-off in the inner harbor--the heroes.

Whether it had to do with Japanese discipline or even Japanese superstition, theship carried by the chimney a gigantic white-washed board with the number 652:

sum of the numbers 13 (6+5+2)! I will leave it a moot point, but for the prisonersof war without sufficient means of rescue it was certainly not an encouragingsight. It could possibly also have been one of the calculated means ofpsychological torture: we needed to be frightened.

I will try, in spite of what we suffered from the enemy, to remain objective injudging what he has done and allowed to be done during our captivity. To hiscredit, let it be said that our food aboard the '652' left nothing to be desired;already the first midday meal in the bay of Tandjung Priok was tasty and indeedabundant and also later under steam we had no complaint on that score. Thesame cannot be said about the hygiene on board ship, aside from the'accommodations' described above. Drinking water was rationed to the lastdrop, tasted salty and was of a brownish color. It was doled out on deck and inthe holds twice a day out of pails and old petrol containers, which were misusedat night for other purposes by the passengers below deck, who even in the

greatest need in the pitch-dark hold (the ship naturally sailed with lightsextinguished) could not find the way to the facilities on deck, which hung off theside. During the day the same 'buckets' were used for our food and when Imention in addition that there were several dysentery sufferers among the

troops, then there is no need for much imagination to form an adequate pictureof the danger of contagion.

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Going on in the same vein I could, considering the material at hand, paint acolorful though hardly sweet-smelling water color painting of the hygienicsituation on board, but I have to forego this for obvious reasons in this specialnarrative. It will therefore suffice for me to note that there was in all that time no

possibility of bathing or freshening up, with the result that we visibly fell into astate of filthiness.

On the 15th of September, having steamed to the harbor at three o'clock p.m., westayed at anchor there for 24 hours and did not depart until the 16th in theafternoon, course due west. Neither during the night we lay over in Priok, northe following morning, nor during the day was there any question of sleep dueto the circumstances; in fact the second sleepless night, for also during the night

of departure from the 10th Battalion sleep had been impossible because of thepreparations. Herman and I had 'won' a standing place in the queue on deck;Bart turned out to have spent the night crouched below decks. The second night

on board, steaming through the Sunda Straights, more of the same. The morningof the 17th we passed Vlakke-hoek, course northwest, moving slowly and in zig-zag motion, escorted by airplanes and two small Japanese Men-of-War, acorvette off to the side forward and a gunboat off to the side aft, at about a half

mile distant from us. Towards the afternoon, in clear sunny weather, there was

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The 'Junyo Maru' or '652'.

no sight of the Sumatra coast and the Bukit-Barisian (a mountain range onSumatra). In the course of the day some dysentery sufferers who had died and

some prisoners of war who had succumbed to the unbearable heat tweendeckswere already set overboard, without any ceremony, without the ship evenstopping. The latter--let us suppose--in view of the danger from submarines.

The previous two nights (the first lying to in the harbor at Tandung Priok, the

second sailing through the Sunda Straights) we had been lucky with the weather;the third night, of the 17th to the 18th, we were overtaken by a storm. All on deckwere soaked through and through. Hardly dried out by the ice-cold wind, wewere deluged by a second heavy and dense rainstorm and so this game of naturerepeated itself time and again. That not too many people developed pneumoniamay well be called a miracle. The next day enormous heat on deck and in theholds. Ominous signs on that day were:

1. The collapse of the bamboo construction tweendecks resulting in some deadand wounded;

2. The start of a fire in the baggage on portside deck caused by a carelesslyflicked burning cigarette; the fire was extinguished only by resolutely throwingoverboard part of this baggage; a fire hose was not available!

Toward 5 o' clock that afternoon (our time) the sky became heavily overcast.Fearing a repetition of an unwanted rain bath during the coming night, Herman

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The HMS 'Tradewind', the submarine that torpedoed the 'Junyo Maru' or '652'.

and I decided to take a look tweendecks to see if we could find a couple oftolerable spots with protection from the rain. There were indeed some vacant

sitting places, because many had relinquished their hot seats in the hold for astanding place on the upper deck. We could not discover Bart in the hold,which was already dark in broad daylight, and supposing that his brother hadgone up for a breath of fresh air, Herman went immediately up to the deck to

look for him, a task equal to looking for a needle in a haystack due to theovercrowding on deck.

I, too, because of a momentary feeling inexplicable to myself to this day in thatgloomy hold, finally decided to risk a new rainstorm on deck rather thansheltering below deck. I climbed up the stairs again and I had only just reachedthe top step and 'BLAM', a huge explosion in the forward part of the ship.Across the bridge we could see human bodies, wood chips, hatch boards andother ship's parts flying high into the air to watch them come back downimmediately thereafter. Dead silence in the stern. The Japanese captain shoutedback from the bridge that "it was only an explosion in the engine room," But not

one second after his shout, a second explosion. This time in hold V that Hermanand I had just left! The wood chips flew about my ears and Herman at thatmoment was nowhere to be seen.

It was then evident that we had suffered a torpedo attack with two splendidbull's eyes. The following observation may seem strange to the readers in view

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The route of the doomed ship '652' or 'Junyo Maru'.

of the above events, but I can declare that the observation gives expression to theoverwhelming impression which had taken hold of many of us. Not yet

realizing what hung over our heads, or rather that in a few moments the bottomwould sink from under our feet, we speculated regarding the question whetherit had been an American, English, Dutch or Japanese submarine. The Brits onboard presumed immediately that they could and would pronounce with great

certainty, "It must have been Dutch." Something peculiarly Dutch, they declared,not to be satisfied with one torpedo, but to be thorough and launch two at thesame time, or one immediately after the other, on a very ordinary freighter. Thispronouncement I will have to let our allied brothers be responsible for. A well-known member of the N.S.B (Dutch Nazi Party) said it was shameful that we, as

prisoners of war, were being sent to the bottom by our own comrades,forgetting--or perhaps not forgetting--that these comrades, even if they hadknown that we were on board, could do nothing else than to torpedo our ship

without mercy. If indeed they would allow enemy ships--of which they werecertain that they were transporting friendly prisoners of war--to passunhindered, then they would furnish to the enemy the opportunity to transport

any war materiel and contraband 'covered' by prisoners of war. The member ofthe N.S.B. drowned. In conclusion, an Aussie pled in favor, or disfavor, of aJapanese submarine "to get rid of the P.O.W.'s." Curious that no one thought ofthe possibility of a U-boat.

I highlight these animated discussions under such tragic circumstances in orderto give an impression of the initial calm among the torpedo victims so long as theship did not show any sign of sinking, that is, it came to lie deeper evenly. But as

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soon as the ship began to get elevation, panic broke loose: first in the hold wheremen beat each other down with pieces of wood and iron to be the first to come

upstairs, later also on deck, which, however, was empty and abandoned in notime, since all had jumped helter-skelter over the starboard railing. Many ofthese were afterwards killed or gravely wounded by descending rafts whichwere set overboard shortly after. Risking this danger, Herman jumped into the

water as well, in spite of my warning. I did not see Bart, but I was relieved to seeHerman clinging to a floating raft at a safe distance from the sinking ship when Imyself--after also having jumped into the sea from the back bridge--wasswimming to another raft more within my reach. Having left the ship portside,both our rafts and many others were being driven on landwards by the current--or actually the swell--alongside back and away from the '652'. Within a veryshort time we lay already several hundred meters starboard behind the doomedship, when we were able to watch the final process. Beneath the loud and

sinister lowing of the sirens, the bow lifted itself high rapidly, while the backbridge vanished as quickly into the water. The bow reached so high above thewater surface, that we could clearly see the hole from the first torpedo hit at the

height of the foremast: a triangular hole with a diameter of an estimated sevenmeters. The second hit in the stern remained hidden to the eye for the obviousreason. Suddenly a third, violent explosion. The bursting of the boilers causedby penetrating sea water. The somber lowing of the steam whistle ceased

abruptly. On the foredeck we saw, standing motionless and bunched uptogether like large ants, the thousands of coolies, as if awaiting with orientalfatalism the things to come. They evidently did not have the courage to beginwith to jump into the sea in time; once the foreship had lifted itself tower-high

above the sea's surface, the chance of rescue was definitely lost to them. In myopinion, this explains why, in terms of percentage, so few of them turned out tobe survivors. In mute astonishment they had stood watching the lowering of thetwo lifeboats during the precious minutes when a leap into the sea could havesaved them, or at least a good number of them. They evidently found itespecially interesting that the lifeboat at starboard, because of a hitch in theropes, reached the sea in an almost upright position, with the Japs inside.Hardly necessary to call attention to the fact that both lifeboats were occupied bythe Japs exclusively; every drowning person who desperately tried to cling to thelifeboats was fended off with swords and hatchets, stubborn hands and fingerscut off or skulls split.

Whereas on the foreship perfect resignation had prevented panic, hoarse cries forhelp came up mostly from the aft hold, but all of a sudden it was dead quiet andshortly after came the strains of our National Anthem (the 'Wilhelmus'--see: ch.4)

followed immediately by that of Ambon. Borne by the wind, the singing couldstill be heard at a great distance. Forgetting our own peril unto death, we layhanging from our raft listening and cold shivers ran along my spine, when I saw

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the ship--framed as it were by a miraculously large, broad rainbow from horizonto horizon--suddenly rise bolt upright only to sink quick as a lead pipe and

vanish into the deep taking with her the living and the dead. As if drawn bymagnetic force, all rafts, wreckage, living beings, in short everything that was notlocated far enough from the sinking ship to remain free of the suction, driftedwith great speed concentrically to the spot where the ocean liner had sunk, this

time for good, alas! at the cost of many human lives.

Only when the surface of the sea had closed itself again over the ship, when therafts--occupied or not by drowning men--could again float freely landwards,

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when thousands upon thousands of soulless bodies had resurfaced and movedon past us in endless rows, all almost without exception standing upright in the

water with head leaning forward and arms hanging down low, only thenpenetrated the realization to what danger we ourselves, my raft companions andI, were still exposed. Having sailed due NW the day before, so that Sumatra haddisappeared from sight, we sighted land again the morning after the disaster.

We had therefore undoubtedly followed a course due East or NE and on the 18th

during the day NNW.

The location of the disaster I estimated to be 15 to 20 miles from land, so therewas no possibility of swimming ashore, not even for the best swimmers, afterfour sleepless nights and the fatigue aboard during the day. However refreshingthe leap into the cold water had been, once hanging from the raft, the feeling oflassitude and fatigue won out again and it was only the instinct for self-preservation and the realization of being caught in a struggle with death, whichgave us the almost superhuman strength for the energetic water treading andgiving direction to the unsteerable square raft. Nevertheless even the non-swimmers among us needed to have no fear for the time being of drowning, aslong as they were able to hold on to the raft, but without other assistance we

were doomed to death anyway. Our hope lay, therefore, with the two smallJapanese craft which served as convoy to our ship up to the last. The last day,

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the day of 18 September, we had not seen any more airplanes, but within an hourafter the torpedo hits there appeared two Japanese two-engine fighter planes

above the location of the disaster, probably attracted by the SOS signals of thesunken '652'. After circling a few times, the fighter planes disappeared again in aSoutheasterly direction.

The gunboat had moved full-speed from the ship's port side across the front tostarboard side immediately after the torpedo attack, to the location between theship and the shore, therefore, where one would expect the submarine to be. Atthat location, some depth charges were thrown, but the rescued Japanese did nottell us this time that the enemy craft had been destroyed, that 'oil' had comefloating to the surface.

As indicated before, our hope lay with these two little ships; perhaps also a small

chance--according to some raft companions--that the submarine would pick usup. Wishful thinking! As if the submarine commander would risk destructionby depth charges for the sake of rescuing a few, at most a score, human lives,

even if they were of the same race and of allied nationality! Thus it was that onedrowning man grasped at an imaginary straw, while another knew to stick toreality under all circumstances. But to come back to the two real straws: thegunboat, after the depth charges had been thrown, had been hovering back and

forth 'in place'; relative to our raft she was therefore downwind. The corvette onthe other hand, which had steamed toward the concentration of rafts, was up-wind. We had to rely, therefore, on the gunboat. It was already dusk when wesaw the corvette leave, course due north, overloaded with rescued men, after

exchanging signals with the gunboat. As darkness fell our chances of comingalongside the gunboat were vastly diminished; the raft from which Herman washanging floated a fairly short distance from mine, but was not distinguishablefrom the others any more.

After I watched eighteen of the original 22 men clinging to our raft fall off likewithered leaves and drown one after the other, through fatigue or swallowingtoo much water, I succeeded toward 11 o'clock at night in reaching the gunboatby swimming, where I was hoisted aboard with the help of a hawser throwntoward me. I was thus not only saved from certain death, but also freed from avirtually unbearable itch probably caused by the phosphor bugs in the water. A

hard blow with a fist on my back as I came over the railing startled me. I laterlearned from one of the Hei-Ho trainees on the gunboat that it was a Japaneseseaman's custom, possibly to help the rescued drowning man to get throughlingering terrors, but possibly to force out intake of sea water as well. I had not

swallowed any sea water, so I assumed it was for the terrors. With only my sealring on my finger I spent the night on the gunboat deck with some fifty other

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rescued men, who happened to come aboard both before and after me. Hermanand Bart were not (yet) among them.

As already mentioned, the corvette had already left early in the evening in anortherly direction; the gunboat with us on board remained cruising throughoutthe night around the location of the ship's destruction in order to continue the

rescue effort the following morning by daylight. Rescue effort is here actuallynot the right word: the ship held in place back and forth away from the windand the survivors on the nearby floating rafts had to make the effort to comesufficiently close alongside to be thrown a hawser.Those rafts which hadunfortunately been driven along either across the front or the back were ignored;no effort at all was made to catch up with them. The boat did steam up to therafts and the two Japanese lifeboats from which little Japanese flags were beingwaved; so those victims were fortunate who happened to wind up on a raft with

Japs. The two lifeboats, of which one was totally ruined, contained only Japaneseofficers still armed with their swords, and their subordinates.

I was overjoyed to see Herman with two others and one Japanese sitting on a raftthat came floating up within throwing distance and after a few minutes we hadhim on board with us--totally exhausted, but he recovered quickly. Our joyfaded gradually with the uncertainty regarding Bart's fate. There was some hope

that he had gotten away on the corvette the evening before, but that was only alittle spark of hope. The picking up of drowning victims was halted when therewere about 300 head on board, which totally overloaded the slender little ship,and after some rescued Europeans and Indonesians already lying on deck but

more dead than alive were set overboard again, without any sort of process, onthe order of the captain. At 11 o'clock (19 September) we left the many rafts, stillmanned, but much spread out by the wind and the swell. To those who lay closeby and alongside the captain said in good Malay that "he would come back in anhour to pick them up." It appears that no Japanese can pass up the opportunityto lie; albeit that here it was a (little) white lie, although the lie itself was anenormity: back within an hour, twenty miles out from land--even with a straightshot to the coast--a total impossibility.

After one hour's sailing course NNE it was already evident to us how great thelie of Japanese gunboat captain had been: two hours and still we were nowhere

near the coast. Not until the afternoon at about 4:30 did we change course andclose to 5:30 we lay at anchor at the mouth of the Indrapura River, Muara Sakaé,which I recognized from my service stint in February/March of 1934. Since wehad moved at a speed of about 18 to 20 knots, the estimated location of the

torpedo attack must have been off Bengkulen/Moko-Moko. More than six hoursfor just the voyage one-way and then back within the hour! In hindsight andnow that the suffering of the Occupation has mostly been endured, now that we

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have acquired another enemy, you might argue in a conciliatory manner that theJapanese were actually pretty good psychologists. There might perhaps have

been something to say for that in this special case if the drowning victims leftbehind on the rafts had been able to see the ship show up, instead of in one hour,rather after three or at most five or six hours. Now as far as the gunboat wasconcerned, which indeed, we found out later, had steamed back from the

Indrapura river to the location of the disaster the following morning in order topick up the remaining victims, that 'little white lie', as many of us had beencalling it, was, in my opinion, nothing more but certainly nothing less than moralmurder. No wonder that, when the little ship arrived back the followingmorning where the rafts lay spread out, there were only 250 survivors that couldbe found, if indeed the report of the gunboat captain could be accepted asreliable. It could be true that most of those left behind had succumbed toexhaustion, thirst and privation even before the gunboat had returned. The

hopelessness which must have overcome them when they went into the secondnight of keeping afloat on an unsteady raft in the open sea with high swells,without detecting a trace, must have given them the death blow. The Japanese

are indeed 'clever psychologists' but extremely cruel and untrustworthy as well:Asiatic sadists gloating more even over Western mental suffering than physicaltorture, but if the two can be combined, in other words can be accomplished inone action, then so much the better!

Thus they revealed again some refined deviltry on the day of our debarkation atthe mouth of the Indrapura River! The gunboat had cast anchor about a half milefrom shore and we were wondering whether and how we were going to be set

ashore there. The rowboat was lowered, a few Japs rowed away in it and afterabout an hour had passed there appeared out of the river three large motorproas, evidently Japanese landing craft. I expected then that we would be takenin the landing craft directly over to Indrapura, as you know, seven kilometersupstream and indeed we were 'let loose' on the craft that had come alongside,driven by yells of 'kura-kura' (hurry-hurry) with the bamboo sticks and lengths of

wood indispensible to the Japanese. Many got struck several times on the face orback or wherever the strokes might have landed, because they, according toJapanese requirement, jumped not quickly enough on to the proas as theyheaved violently up and down in the swell. Each craft could without too muchdanger in this kind of swell hold 40 or 45 persons and since there were 280

victims, it would be possible with a little goodwill to transport the whole human'load' in two trips per proa (3x2x45=270). This seemed to be the Japaneseestimation and intent as well, but to go twice to and fro through the channel inthe river-mouth in order to be able to set the passengers safely on the river banks

would require more time and delay than our masters liked. And so, after thefirst departure from the gunboat, the course was not for the channel, but for thestrip of beach where the surf was high, some little distance south of the river's

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mouth. Considering the draught of the craft, they could only approach the beachat a distance of no less than 70 to 80 meters. There we were driven into the sea,

with no regard as to who could or could not swim. Some who shrank back andwould not risk the leap, were 'wiped out' according to Japanese recipe, butcontrary to their own and our expectations, were brought back to the gunboat tobe transported during the second trip through the channel after all. With clearly

delighted faces the Japanese stood watching the spectacle that the exhaustedvictims of diverse nationalities provided in their struggle with the surf: they,who had not closed an eye in five 24-hour periods, had been on minimum rationsof silt water aboard the torpedoed ship and--with few exceptions--had almostnothing to drink aboard the gunboat, not to make any mention of food at all.That in the struggle with and against the surf not one of us perished is totallyincomprehensible.

By helping and supporting each other Herman, another friend of mine and Imyself reached the beach after the most extreme exertion. Luctor et emergo (Istruggle and escape--the motto of the Dutch Province of Zeeland)…

There, on the beach, we waited for the second transport and when that wassafely brought in through the channel, we were all moved together in three craftupstream as darkness fell, in heavy rain and raw wind, to a kampong (native

village) on the kali (river), about one kilometer from the river's mouth. The 280

men were packed together in two small houses on stilts--the sameaccommodations we had enjoyed aboard the '652', so that many of us dozedthrough the night standing up. The sixth sleepless night. Our first meal ashore

since the last one on board (a half hour before the torpedo attack) consisted of atennis ball of sticky rice boiled in cod-liver oil; our thirst, thank God, we wereable to quench at a well of clear water. A blessing, I assure you, and many drankthemselves sick. Conclusion by many: the Japs had thrown something in thewater, perhaps dysentery bacilli, and they had already forgotten the muchgreater danger which had grinned at us on board from the contaminated'buckets'.

During that night of terror in the kampong huts there were some more deaths tomourn, among others that of an Ambonese soldier, whose skull had been laidopen. The brave, tough fellow had managed to stay alive for at least 24 hours:

he did not want to die, but finally lost consciousness never to wake again. Anornament of our army had passed away.

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Entries in the War Victim Registry for a third cousin of John de Monch and a second (?)cousin of Ernestine van Kuyk-Lammers van Toorenburg, both prisoners of war drownedin the wreck of the 'Junyo Maru' and they therefore got a 'seaman's grave'.

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Early the next morning, the morning of 20 September, we walked along a forestpath to the village of Indrapura, seven kilometers upstream, where our firm once

owned its own warehouses and its own proa business.

The song of the tjutjarawas (a songbird) in the peaceful, unspoilt primeval forestand the shrill but clarion clear natural sound of the beos (a talking bird) in the

wild not yet corrupted by human curses or profanity, the hoarse, grindingshrieks of the famous Sumatra hornbills, all these things made us almost forgeton our way that we were not on a hunting trip, but that we were still out-of-uniform prisoners of war being driven along by barbaric (temporary)conquerors. Temporary--we were more than ever sure of that. However muchwe mourned the loss of human life, however much we feared for the fate ofacquaintances, comrades and relatives, this one thought was uppermost in ourminds: the torpedo attack had demonstrated that no enemy ship could pass

unpunished. We had heard much in the 10th Battalion from our militarycolleagues who had returned from Flores, Ambon and Haruku about shipbombardments and torpedo attacks. Now we found out ourselves that the

blockade indeed had to be closed hermetically, so that ultimate victory was onlya question of time. How short or how long a time was a question about whichopinions and suppositions diverged widely, all according to the degree ofoptimism or pessimism with which these Adams wandering and arguing

through the forest were imbued. Everywhere and in all circumstances it's thesame thing.

In Indrapura we were met by a large crowd of Indonesian jeering spectators; our

arrival had evidently been announced by the Japs who had gone ahead. We weredrawn up and squatted in the meadow behind the warehouses of the KPM (RoyalFreight Company), which were in a state of utter neglect, and waited for the issue

of breeches and loincloths of Japanese manufacture. Costumed in this way we

started on a true death trip, in Japanese military trucks, of almost 300 kilometersto Padang.

Already during our short stay in Indrapura we got an example of Japanesepropaganda from the mouths of the people. The Japs had deluded them intobelieving that we had belonged to a hostile (allied) troop transport consisting often (!) ships, escorted by many war ships. All were supposed to have been sunkby Jap planes and submarines and of course (what else) the Japs had stillhumanely saved those blandas (white folks)…

Then we understood why in the kampong the night before we were so fanaticallyexcluded from any contact with the kampong inhabitants, or else from this onekampong to Indrapura and everywhere else on the Sumatra coast a tropical

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kabar-angin (rumor-carrying breeze) would have blown with the correct version of

events, which would have been somewhat embarrassing for the Japanese

fighting force.

After a journey of almost a whole day, squatting in jolting and bouncingoverloaded open trucks, now riding through heavy dust clouds thrown up by

the preceding trucks, then caught again in heavy rains and thunderstorms, wereached the prison at Emmahaven in the evening, totally exhausted and withsun-scorched torsos. There we discovered that the evening before 300 victimshad been brought in from the corvette, but Herman's disappointment wasunderstandably very great when he could not find his younger brother and didnot discover Bart's name on the roster that had in the meantime been made up ofthe first transport. Immediately, however, we heard that the gunboat, afterdropping us off at the mouth of the Indrapura, had indeed steamed back to the

location of the ship's disaster. Or more precisely, the gunboat was not asteamship, but a motor boat. On this, therefore, we all set our hopes, not only forBart, but also for the many still missing.

We fell like logs down to the cold stone floors in the prison in our scanty clothesand woke the following morning (21 September) to the aroma of warm rice,sambal (hot sauce) and ikan-teri (baked anchovies) out of the kitchen. That we

thoroughly enjoyed this meal worthy of Lucullus needs no mention. Thepreparations for our further transport to Pakan-Baru had already been made,when, toward the afternoon of 21 September a few hundred groaning and totallyexhausted victims (this time mostly coolies) were led and carried in. In anxious

but also hopeful anticipation we stood waiting for them. Many faces wereunrecognizable.

Suddenly Bart! There walked Bart!

I will never forget the touching moment when the brothers found each otheragain and I am not at all ashamed to confess that I wept along with them. Thereare such moments in a man's life that he cannot hold back tears of joy, even incaptivity, and he forgets for a while the suffering and misery around him.

Bart, in contrast with most of his companions in the third and last transport,

looked fairly cheerful. Burnt, peeling, but not crippled or defeated. On thecontrary, his spirit was unbroken. Almost 40 hours he had lain in the water; atnight in the cutting wind, by day in the blistering sun. Nothing, however,according to him, had been as unbearable as the thirst and the despair of rescue.

Many had consequently gone insane; bit each others throats or pulled andpushed each other from the rafts while uttering the strangest accusations backand forth. Bart and the last survivors on the rafts were not transported by the

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gunboat to Indrapura, but directly to Emmahaven, just as the corvette had donewith those who had been rescued first. Further arrivals were not expected, so

that all those who were missing at roll-call had to be considered missing. Arumor did go around that some multiple of ten victims had reached the coast byswimming, but considering the circumstances and especially the great distance,all who had any sense had to reject the rumor as fantasy.

At the final roll-call in Padang prison the count came to, if I remember correctly,680 prisoners of war out of the draft of 2,300 men and to 270 coolies out of 4,200.In total therefore 680+270=950 out of 6,500 souls, leaving out of consideration thedrowned and surviving Japs, because the numbers applicable to them have neverbeen made known to us. They are of no interest to us anyway.

Among the prisoners of war there were no less than 180 Ambonese and

Menadonese; out of a total of plus or minus 300 leaving Tandjung Priok, theyhad the best percentage of men rescued. Conclusions made by some regardingmore or less fitness or anything of the sort as applicable to a certain group are not

borne out by the numbers. Known expert swimmers were missing at our roll-call. A throw of the dice and nothing more.

Pitifully few indeed was the total number of survivors and there is some

question whether more could not have been saved if corvette and gunboat,instead of going all the way to respectively Padang-Indrapura-Padang, both hadgone back and forth a few times from the location of the disaster directly to theSumatra coast. Only to KPM employees familiar with the problem of means of

transport in a bay for the debarkation of passengers did the answer seemobvious; whether the Japs had at their disposal landing craft in Moko-Moko (orenvirons) as well as at the mouth of the Indrapura, that was a question only theJapanese themselves could answer. It is perhaps worth the trouble to investigatethrough the proper channels even now, whether and to what extent the Japaneseequipment available locally could have (with serious purpose) made possible ahigher percentage of men rescued. In other words, whether the Japs had reallydone everything possible and had left nothing undone to rescue the greatestnumber of victims possible. If not, then the number of war criminals who shouldbe put on trial and court-martialed increases greatly; those devils responsiblewill then undoubtedly be exposed. Worth mentioning in this connection is a

written declaration in essay form demanded of us in which we, the rescued, wererequired to express our feelings and impressions of the torpedo attack andsubsequent events. The Japanese thinly veiled intent was crystal clear to us.They were fishing for compliments for the rescue effort, following the example of

a written testimonial by one of our field-officers, published the previous June inone of the issues of the 'Voice of Nippon', who had also experienced a torpedoattack: the torpedo attack near Asahan on our old 'Van Waerwijck', salvaged by

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the Japs, with 700 prisoners of war on board, on the way from Belawan Deli toSingapore. In his declaration, this officer of the KNIL (Koninklijke Nederlandsch-

Indische Leger--Royal Dutch-East Indies Army) had sung the praises of Japanesehumaneness which had come to light during the rescue effort.

Our declarations were mostly responses to 'printa-halus' (veiled threats).

Unfortunately there were those among us who felt they could and should followin the footsteps of that field officer, but fortunately there were also those whoresponded in a way which would not at all have been pleasing to the Japaneseauthorities. Humorists made fun of it; true patriots with backbone and moreserious character bluntly let it be known that in their opinion undoubtedly manymore human lives could have been saved with more effective organization.Herman thanked the Almighty, not the Japanese, for his rescue. It is not knownto me if Bart gave a declaration, because at that time he still lay ill in Padang,

while Herman and I were already in one of the Pakan-Baru Camps.

As mentioned above in passing, the preparations for our further transport to

Pakan-Baru had already been made in the afternoon of 21 September, when Bartwalked into the prison at Emmahaven. Herman and I were already designatedto leave that same evening at about 10 o'clock. But because Bart had beenincluded with the sick who were to follow later, Herman had managed to

arrange with our doctors to remain with his brother for the time being. As aconsequence he accepted a longer stay in an environment of which the lack ofhygiene defies description. Truly, I have tried to give an idea of the conditionsthat obtained aboard the '652', but I feel that my pen would not be adequate to

any effort to describe the hygiene in Padang prison under Japanese rule. But itwas totally characteristic of Herman to be willing to endure this for the sake ofone near and dear who needed help, even if it had not been his brother. I hadalready greatly admired him in Struiswijk and later in the 10th Battalion, andtherefore his decision did not surprise me.

So I took my leave of the two Fanoy's. We wished each other the best and havingdeparted by 'blinded train' at 2200 hours from Emmahaven station, I arrived thenext morning ( 22 September), while it was still dark, at Pajacombo. For rationswe each got to take with us a bungkusan (packet) of rice with teri (fish) andsambal, but that had been consumed by most even before the march from the

prison! While waiting for the military trucks which were to take us to Pakan-Baru, we were drawn up on the station's railway yard at Pajacombo, againsquatting, but this time in full public view of the population of Menankabouwthat was already up with the chickens. There was no trace of hostility against us

from these highland early birds, contrary to our experience with the jeers andcatcalls from the mob of youths at the coast during the death ride from Indrapurato Padang.

- 26 -

The truck ride in train fashion from Pajacombo to camp Pakan-Baru IV, withJapanese drivers at the wheel went at the same breakneck pace--we had escaped

death by drowning, but we could now be smashed to pieces at any moment. Itwas very obvious: these gentlemen were supposed to terrify us and we stood(squatted) powerless against it. For our still bruised and black and blue butts,souvenirs from the trek from Indrapura, every jolt as we raced over the badly

neglected road full of holes and bumps was a torture in itself.

We finally reached camp IV alive, about 30 kilometers south of the village ofPakan-Baru.

About my personal experiences without the Fanoy's I will be silent. I must takeinto account that reading this extensive narrative would otherwise become tooboring. But for a good understanding of what I will later relate about Herman, I

would like to orient you somewhat with regard to the conditions andarrangements of the Pakan-Baru camps. You can perhaps visualize these mosteasily if you know that it was a matter of laying a railroad from Pakan-Baru

south to the village of Muarueh, where a connection could be obtained with theSawah Lunto line.

Camp I was actually located

in Pakan-Baru itself; campII, six kilometers moresoutherly; camp III, 18 kmsouth from there and camp

IV at a distance of 30 kmfrom Pakan-Baru. Camp IIwas the main camp or'convalescent home', theothers work camps forbuilding the railroad. Theprocedure was thatwhenever a section wasdone, a work camp wouldbe erected for the laying ofthe next stage. Originally

the stages were fairly small,but later on a new campcame to stand every 30 kmand the preceding one

would then be demolishedor set on fire.

- 27 -

Between the barracks and along the "roads" of camp I theprisoners started vegetable gardens. The produce was availableto those who could afford it.

In September '44 the

work had progressedonly to the completion ofthe section to camp IV.This was the most

southerly work campand at our arrival turnedout to be inhabited byprisoners of waroriginating from Java,Sumatra's East Coastand Malacca. Wereceived a warm

welcome, for the news ofour torpedo attack had

preceded us. We were clothed as well as possible by our hosts, who had made a

more prosperous voyage than we and consequently were still in possession oftheir stuff. We were taken in as if by a large family.

The camp, located inside an abandoned rubber plantation on the Kampar Kiri,

consisted of ten or so palm leaf barracks, each accommodating 120 to 140prisoners of war with a sleeping place of a maximum width of 62 centimetersarranged on two long rows of fixed balehbalehs (platforms). During that time the

food was still pretty good--better and more plentiful than in the 10th Battalion.

Great was my astonishment when the next afternoon Herman arrived with thesecond transport out of Padang. He told me that he was unable to stay anylonger, because Bart had been admitted to the hospital in Padang with dysenteryand could probably not be transported for the first few weeks.

Herman and I became 'slapies' again in camp IV and a few days later we went,with all the other rescued torpedo victims who had meanwhile arrived, to acamp for these victims about 600 meters farther on, hastily put together withtrunks and branches of rubber trees and palm leaves: camp IVB. There weren't680 any more: some multiple of ten had died in Padang or had stayed behind

because of serious illness.

In camp IVB, too, some fellow victims died in rapid succession: of pneumonia,tropical malaria and of exhaustion. It was noteworthy that it was actually the

younger, robust youngsters of a little over twenty who had contractedpneumonia, but fortunately it remained limited to a few cases. Through our ownmedical service a sorting was done of 'fit' and 'unfit'. The 'fit' were spread out

- 28 -

over the existing work camps; the 'unfit', to which Herman and I were assigned,went via camp IV and camp III to camp II, the 'convalescent home'. We arrived

there 30 October '44 and were finally supposed to undergo the medicaltreatment, which our doctors found desirable to get us back afloat, that is, enableus to work on the railroad on 'buiten-corvee' (outside duty). Herman had gotten a

little wound on his left shin and almost immediately it began to look ugly,

according to the doctor because of too little resistance as a result of malnutrition(in Bandung).

That same evening of our arrival in camp II, Herman told me calmly andresignedly that he had heard from one of his acquaintances who had arrivedafter us that Bart had died in the hospital in Padang. A trembling hand claspbetrayed how affected Herman was, but he submitted to the will of theAlmighty. He would so have liked to see his brother spared for his family, but it

was not to be. These were his own words and he found consolation for himselfand for other kin in the satisfaction that he had succeeded in leading Bart back tothe church in the last months of his life. The date of his death is not known.

Map of PakanBaru Camp II(The hospitalcamp)

1. Cemetery(360 crosses)

2. River3. Bath4. Latrines5. Vegetablegardens6. Wire7. Japanesecamp8.Maintenancedetailbarracks9. Hospitalbarracks A-D10. Kitchen

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The infection on Herman's leg got worse daily until admission to the little

hospital was deemed necessary. Walking was not possible for him any more, sowe took him over on a stretcher. To further a quick improvement we laterimprovised a wooden footstool for him, which gave him much relief, and when,toward Christmas, I was directed to go to work in camp VII as being fully

recovered, Herman had come so far as to be able to walk short distances with thehelp of a stick. For the second time we wished each other a happy meetingtogether again under more favorable circumstances, and when I returned tocamp II, in the middle of May of this year, to recuperate and saw Herman againmuch improved, I could only be glad for him that he did not have to experiencewhat we had suffered in camp VII and VIII. Out the door at the crack of dawn,clad in rags left over from old shorts or scantily dressed in loincloths made ofjute sacks, we were transported in open lorries, often in rain and wind, a distance

of 10, 20, 30 km--depending on how far the rail section in question hadprogressed--to the location of slave labor, to arrive back home late at night. Ouractivities consisted of hauling lengths of rail and carrying railroad ties, pounding

rail spikes with sledge hammers and pushing heavily laden lorries, while withthe building of the railroad moving earth was involved as well. Everything hadto happen at enormous speed, whereby there was no dearth of mistreatmentwith sticks and lengths of wood. Rest was out of the question.

The food, at firstgood and sufficient,gradually became

worse and less.Toward the time that Ileft camp VIII, rationsconsisted only of twotapioca patties onecm. in thickness witha diameter of no morethan seven or eightcm. for breakfast; onerubber cup of dry ricewith boiled, finely cut,

old tapioca leaves as'lunch on the job' and some more rice plus sajoer laboe (pumpkin soup) as evening

meal back 'home'; occasionally dessert. Fruits and vegetables were not issued tous any more--those we had to scrounge to buy ourselves from our wages varying

between 30 and 45 Japanese cents per day, with prevailing prices of eight to nineJapanese guilders for one duck egg, one to one and a half guilder for one pisang(banana), two guilders for a piece of leek, etc. Since on top of this a certain

- 30 -

percentage of our wages was subtracted for the camp fund, each laborer, if hehad not missed a day due to illness, got a maximum of six to seven guilders per

month in hand! The sick in the sick rooms and in quarters were paid nothingand they especially needed most the extra food to regain their strength. Itsurprised nobody, therefore, when halfway through April our campcommandant stated in a speech that no one in camp was free of beri-beri. About

malaria not a word was said; there were those who were on their hundredth andsomething attack. Also dysentery and enteritis were every day occurrences.Many beri-beri cases (among which mine) had so much fluid in their bodies thatthe patients looked like the all too well-known little Michelin advertisement man.Medicines were not available any more. For malaria we swallowed and chewedground kina bark. Thus were the conditions in the work camps and thus theybecame just when I returned in May to Herman in camp II, the 'convalescenthome'. In the hospital I came to lie next to him again.

After a few weeks' rest I was on my legs again and was allowed to leave the sickbarracks in order to go back to 'service' shortly. Herman, too, was muchimproved. He did remain a patient in the hospital, but walked again through the

Pakan Baru Camp 2.

Left: Hospital.

Bottom left: Bodies beingprepared for burial.

Bottom right: Burial party.

- 31 -

camp and was actually somewhat active. He was doing so well that he stood, soto speak, on the eve of release from the sick barracks, when suddenly his leg

began to act up again. Probably as the result of the food as it got worse andworse, the wound had grown into a tropical sore: in the Pakan-Baru camps acommon occurrence, a disease to which many succumbed. The general healthsituation in camp II had definitely become fearful. Out of a number of plus or

minus 1,350 men (in total there were more than 7,000 prisoners of war spreadover all Pakan-Baru camps), we had during that time days with seven, eight,once even with eleven deaths. It was most heartbreaking to watch the longprocession preceded by minister or Catholic priest leave at sundown for theburial grounds lying peacefully on a hill on the other side of the little stream thatseparated the cemetery from our camp. Endless rows of wooden crosses onwhich are carved the names and personal information of the dead mark theequal number of graves of them who went before us.

Herman's condition caused his doctors and his many friends much worry.Universally loved as he was, everyone tried to provide him as much as possible

with eggs, vegetables, fruit clandestinely brought in, in short everything thataccording to the physicians would further the recovery of patients such as he.But alas, it did no good; his condition worsened day by day, that is, according tothe treating physician. To us it seemed as if he was making progress, but the

doctor said that it was going wrong with the sore. The medicines which in suchcases would be able to come to the rescue were not available, or at least were notissued by the overlords. This is what made our extensive staff of competentdoctors, specialists in every area, stand so powerless against diseases they were

familiar with and knew how to cure, if only they were given the means.

Two days before his passing Herman told me with utter resignation what thedoctor had said to him. I tried in vain to change his mind, but he was realisticand courageous enough to be willing to accept the truth. He was ready andprepared to appear before the Lord and saw himself reunited with his brotherBart and perhaps, so he said, also with Jan. As message for those whom he lovedso much and must leave so soon, his only request was to let them know that hewould abide with them in his last thoughts and he asked also to relay to themthis last message, that they should not mourn for him too long or too deeply.God's will was holy to him and he desired that it be so to his family as well. His

will be done.

These words as they were spoken to me were sealed with a feeble but warmhand clasp.

Even sooner than I expected one of the orderlies came to tell me early in themorning two days later that Mr. Fanoy had passed away. I had been with him

- 32 -

the evening before; it had truly seemed to me that there had been a turn for thebetter, but the physician knew better, notwithstanding external signs to the

layman of revival. Because of too little resistance of the body the blood wasinfected, but Herman did not actually suffer. However serious the wound itselflooked, he nevertheless never complained about pain, although occasionally hehad been short of breath.

I will not search for words of solace, because I know that they cannot be foundfor his loved ones. Nor will I endeavor to give a more favorable representationof the situation than it was in reality, in other words, to gloss over or deliberatelyomit anything, because I would not act according to Herman's spirit should I doso. But I do need to give expression here to the extraordinary sympathy which Iowe my dead friend for all he has done for me. In our conversations he alwaysallowed me to profit from his knowledge of the French language. He also

proved himself to be an experienced and dedicated interpreter of God's word,while his sound and calm character always served as an exemplar to all aroundhim. With Herman a comrade has gone whom I have always admired and

envied for his extraordinary qualities, a comrade whose remembrance I shallalways keep in the most pleasant and grateful memory.

Thus I cannot forgive myself that I have forgotten the exact date of his passing,

but I ask forgiveness of his family for this by reason of all I have had topersonally endure as prisoner of war, after Herman entered life eternal end Juneor beginning July. I can only console myself with the thought that the inevitablecame for Herman just before the very worst tortures of body soul were meted out

to us a few weeks before capitulation of the enemy; also in Pakan-Baru theJapanese were probablybehind in the 'plan' handeddown to them from on highand the shortfall needed tobe made up by increasing thenumber of deaths or deathby torture of the prisoners ofwar. Thank Heavens thatHerman was spared that atleast, as surely that it may be

called a fortunate circum-stance that neither Bart norHerman had to be subjectedto what was happening in

the labor camps long before

- 33 -

the end of the war. Herman fortunately remained excused from outside dutyand he did not have to endure the final process of starvation implemented from

the end of July.

Exact numbers of total deaths are not available to me. As far as the victims inour transport are concerned, I learned only recently that of the about 680 who

were rescued, at present only 97 are supposed to be still alive; ninety-seven of the2,300 who embarked at Tandjung Priok on 15 September '44. I cannot ultimatelyvouch for the correctness of this number mentioned to me either, and the futurewill tell if and how lucky I should deem myself to be counted among the 97. Itmay well turn out that the others were the luckier ones, but it is not up to me toponder this question too deeply.

That most of those who died at Pakan-Baru were actually to be found among the

torpedo victims was generally considered to be a consequence of the emotionalshock they suffered from the disaster. In my opinion, however, that is not so.Certainly, we had received a severe blow, but most had gotten over it after a few

weeks. In my opinion there was another plausible reason as follows: thetorpedo victims had lost all their possessions; not only had they lost theirmonetary assets but also their clothes and other goods which, in contrast to thosewho were still in possession of all they had brought from Java, they were

therefore unable to turn into cash in order to acquire the absolutely necessarysupplemental food such as fish, trassi (shrimp paste), fruits, etc. We torpedovictims were generally deprived of these but for a few exceptions, who wereslipped a little something by friends, sometimes alas! too late. Among the

prisoners of war in the camps there were victims of the 'van Waerwijck' as well.They, too, had undoubtedly suffered an emotional trauma, but they were fullyoutfitted again in Singapore. Fantastic amounts had to be shelled out forfoodstuffs, but clothes, shoes, etc. also brought fantastic prices when sold secretlyto the populace.

Giving weight to my point of view regarding the cause of the phenomenon thatmost of the dead came from those of us that had been rescued is the fact thatmost of those from the 'van Waerwijck' in Medan survived.

Mr. de Jong, this then is the tragedy from which I was already permitted to tell

you some fragments, and I considered it a privilege to comply with your requestto put in writing what all we endured. I flatter myself with the hope that I haveherewith given, according to your wishes, a lasting memory of the last days ofBart and Herman, but I will not finish this account before having declared that I

was once again overcome with grief when I had to learn from your lips of thedeath of Jan as well. On my own behalf and that of my wife, I have beenpermitted to offer Mrs. De Jong and yourself our condolences with your very

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great loss in this war, while our thoughts of compassion and sympathyultimately go to the widows and children as well, although they are not known

to us. However tragic the fate of your loved ones who died has been, may youall, out of the regard and affection felt toward them while alive, draw thestrength to abide by the way of the Almighty.

Yours respectfully

Von Fuchs.