The Second Mission: Canadian Survival in Hong Kong Prisoner-of-War Camps, 1941-1945

by Matthew Schwarzkopf

Chapter 3

The Struggle for Morale

“Throughout the entire year [1942] in spite of [the] amount of sickness present, in spite of scarcity and the quality of the food received and the deplorable living conditions the morale of the officers and men remained surprisingly high.”1

- Honorary Captain Francis Joseph Deloughery, Chaplain to “C” Force, written in late 1942

High morale is critical to a prisoner of war’s survival. If food was of primary importance for the prisoner’s physical state, then morale was vital to bolster their mental state. The following chapter seeks to uncover the various ways that the prisoners boosted their morale and explores how it was connected to their survival. First, will examines the written communication prisoners had with their friends and family in Canada. Letters from home were tremendously important to the POWs as they provided them with motivation to push on and reminded them of what was waiting for them once the war was over. Of equal importance to the men was that their families received word from Hong Kong. Knowing the relief that it provided their loved ones was also a comfort to the captured soldiers. Beyond letters, there were other physical objects to which the soldiers attached meaning, and these also served as inspiration for survival. Many of “C” Force’s members remained committed to their duty as men in uniform and maintained their discipline for the benefit of their comrades and to keep up group morale. For others, looking on the lighter side of things helped to alleviate the burden of their captivity. Lastly, this chapter analyzes the bombing of Hong Kong by American forces and how, despite the obvious danger to the prisoners, this served as another crucial factor in raising POW morale. American bombing reminded the men that the war continued and that he pendulum had swung in favour of the Allies.

During his extensive research for Long Night’s Journey into Day, Charles Roland interviewed dozens of veterans who survived Hong Kong prison camps. When asked to identify which parts of POW life that they found the most upsetting, they often gave two inter-related answers: they were anxious because their families had no idea whether or not they had survived the battle; and they bemoaned the excessively slow postal communications which meant that word from home was rare, if it arrived at all.2 Indeed, if there was anything that occupied a prisoner’s mind as much as food, it was thoughts of family and home. The sending and receiving of mail during wartime was a cultural peculiarity that the Japanese found difficult to comprehend as most Japanese soldiers received little to no word from home once they were posted overseas. And as has been demonstrated in Chapter Two, the Japanese Army was not overly concerned with the plight of its prisoners. If the Japanese would not provide their captives with enough food and medicine, it is hard to imagine that allowing letters to and from home featured high on their list of priorities. Moreover, every letter or postcard that left the Hong Kong camps, plus those coming in had to be thoroughly examined and censored by the Japanese authorities. Given a shortage of English-language translators, unopened mail tended to pile up. Adding to the complications was the arduous journey that the letters from Canada took to arrive in Hong Kong. While letters from Canada to Germany might take six or seven weeks, the mail sent to prisoners of war held by Japan took considerably longer. On leaving Canada, letters went to England first, then to Iran, and finally to the Soviet Union which was not at war with Japan until August 1945. After making their way to Vladivostok in eastern Russia, the letters went to Tokyo where censors were expected to do their work before mail made the final trip to Hong Kong.3 One thing that simplified life for the censors, and perhaps for the prisoners as well, was using pre-printed cards. Prisoners did not write on the cards themselves but rather crossed out words and sentences so that what text remained would ultimately convey their message. Roland commends the POWs who chose the “I am well” message even though they may have been too ill to wield a pen under their own strength, writing that “this tenacious desire to reassure their loved ones is a tribute to the men’s spirit.”4 Almost every member of “C” Force had friends, family, or a significant other in Canada to make it home to and receiving a letter from them was motivating for the men to push on as it served as a stark reminder of what they were fighting for.

For nearly the first six months of their imprisonment the POWs could not send or receive any mail. Fully aware of the calamitous end to the Battle of Hong Kong, Canadian families had no way of knowing whether their loved ones had been killed, wounded, missing, or had been captured. In May 1942, Major Ernie Hodkinson’s wife, Irene, received a telegram from the Canadian Army that gave the first indication that her husband was still alive. It stated that his name was “included in a short list of Canadian officers reported unofficially to the British Ambassador at Chunking China as being held at North Point internment camp in Hong Kong.”5 After five excruciating months of not knowing anything, and even though the word ‘unofficial’ appeared in the telegram, it must have brought overwhelming relief to her. The families of enlisted soldiers had to wait even longer. Grenadier William Bell recalled that his mother received a letter from the military on August 12, 1942, stating that a list of 300 men who were unaccounted for would be arriving shortly. Bell’s name was not on that list, and she had to wait another two months for official confirmation that her son was alive and a POW in Hong Kong. In fact, it took an astonishing 18 months before the Canadian government obtained all the names of Canadians in Japanese hands.6

The wait for communication was equally agonizing for the POWs. A few weeks after the battle ended, Georges Verreault desperately hoped that the Japanese would allow some form of correspondence. As he wrote in his diary, “my greatest wish is to be allowed to send a telegram home. My father must be terribly worried. He may even think I’m dead.”7 This fear no doubt was shared by his fellow prisoners. POW mail to Canada was approved by the Japanese on May 26, 1942, with the understanding that each man could write home once a month.8 Three days later, Thomas Forsyth recorded that a long list of rules concerning the writing of letters had appeared on the camp bulletin board. The regulations now stated that camp huts would draw lots to see which men would be allowed to write home first. The draw in North Point took place on June 1. Still, even after reducing the number of letters permitted, the Japanese censors had more work than they could handle. Forsyth wrote the next day that “the men who wrote home have had their letters returned to them and told they must rewrite them, shorten to 200 words and not ask for anything.”9

The guidelines were equally strict for mail coming from Canada into Hong Kong. On April 28, 1942, the Royal Rifles of Canada Prisoners of War Association, a prisoner-next-of-kin organization registered under the War Charities Act, sent a letter to the families of those incarcerated in Hong Kong which clearly expressed how letters to prisoners should be written. Mail could only contain personal affairs and must not make any reference to the war. The handwriting had to be legible, written on one side only, and the relationship to the prisoner had to be included following the signature. The letters were not restricted to family members, giving friends and others the opportunity to write to the POWs. On August 21, 1943, a letter from the Royal Rifles Prisoners of War Association was circulated to family members informing them that the S.S. Gripshom, a vessel from neutral Sweden, would sail from Canada carrying supplies for Canadian prisoners in Hong Kong and Japan. Since medical and other relief supplies were given priority on the ship, personal packages were not permitted although letters were. This time families were notified that they could write one letter per person a month. Also, they were asked to type letters whenever possible and they were strongly reminded of the strict Japanese censorship which would limit content to personal matters only.10 Still, even with the rules of writing letters plainly established, the sending and receiving of mail followed no standard and was only permitted if the senior officers felt like allowing it. Rifleman Philip Doddridge, who spent his entire incarceration in Hong Kong, recalled that his mother wrote often but that the letters never made it to him. He also wrote to her as many times as he could, yet he thinks that in nearly four years she may have only received two cards from him.11 Still, any word from home was important for morale and had a positive effect on the prisoners.

Word to home was just as important for concerned family members. On June 18, 1942, Rifleman Douglas Rees wrote to his mother in St. John’s, Newfoundland. His brief one-page letter is an excellent example of the kind of communication that passed the Japanese censors, yet also conveyed necessary information to calm his family’s fears. He wrote that he is a prisoner of the Japanese, but that he was in good health and that they should not worry. Prisoners have been “given the privilege to write once a month,” he continues, and that they have started work which will help pass the time. He also mentioned that they “are permitted to play softball” and that he is getting plenty of sleep because there is “very little else to do.” His careful choice of words such as “privilege” and “permitted” make it appear that life was bearable in a Japanese prison camp, especially as a result of Japanese munificence. This claim, coupled with Rees’s claim to be in good health, gave a positive portrayal of his predicament and there was nothing that the censors were likely to misconstrue as being suspicious or provocative. But there is one sentence near the end of his letter that provides telling proof of the kind of togetherness and camaraderie exhibited by the Canadian soldiers. He asked his mother to “get in touch with Miss Clara Miller at the Library and tell her Maurice is well.”12 The prisoners were given precious little space in which to write their letters and Rees used part of his correspondence to help a friend and his worried family. Perhaps Maurice wrote a letter home himself, perhaps not, but Rees was looking out for a comrade and trying to ensure that his family received word that he had survived the battle and was safe.

Percy Wilmot was another member of the Royal Rifles of Canada who spent his entire captivity in Hong Kong. A veteran of the First World War, Wilmot was affectionately known as ‘Pop’ to his fellow soldiers. He was fortunate to have both sent and received several letters while in Hong Kong. On November 21, 1944 he wrote to his wife, “Dearest Agnes. Hope you and Stan are both well. Had letter from Cissie also from you. I am feeling fine. Received Red Cross gifts. Hope all are well. Regards to all friends and relations. Take care of yourselves. All my love to you both. Your loving husband Percy.” Wilmot gave the impression that things were well with him even though, at this advanced stage of his imprisonment, his health had deteriorated badly. His wife wrote back to him on March 30, 1945, and though it is not clear if this letter made it into his hands before the war ended, it is also a good example of a message that passed the censors without any alteration. She penned the following: “Dearest Percy; I hope you are well this Good Friday; we are. Stanley dug garden, I pruned roses and attended Church. Longing to see you. Loving you. Agnes.” Aware of the censorship rules, she only provided the most banal of information and, quite obviously, does not mention that by then the war had completely turned in the Allies’ favour. Though Wilmot’s communication with home was very limited, it kept his spirits up. He was far from alone in this respect.13

Signalman Arthur Squires frequently mentions letters in his diary and the effect that these had on his mental state. On March 23, 1942, he composed a letter to his wife, telling her that he found that “absence certainly does not make love grow colder rather is glows on and builds up more strongly.” He elaborated: “When I go to bed nights [sic] you seem very close even though 7000 miles separates us. I can honestly say that the main thing I live for is to be back with my wife, that thought makes this life tolerable, and gives me an optimistic viewpoint so sorely needed here.” In March 1943, before he heard from his wife a month later, he received a letter from a Mr. Woods who informed him that she was doing well, causing Squires to exclaim “he will never know how much his letter was appreciated.” A visual reminder could be especially motivating and when he received a letter from his wife in October 1943, it contained a cherished photograph that made him feel that much closer to her.14 Royal Rifle Lieutenant Collison Blaver expressed his joy on receiving letters from home and indicated that he read them dozens of times. He also made suggestions for what letter writers should include for POWs. “Send all sorts of pictures, send mail as often as possible, send news of all other people, repeat things in several letters, give them all kinds of sports news, give current events both local and worldwide, prominent people stage screen etc.”15 And though some of those suggestions would have been scrupulously censored by the Japanese authorities, it indicates what kind of news the men were desperate to hear. But while letters from home were always welcome, they could be bittersweet for some, if they were received at all.

Harry White eagerly anticipated letters but was constantly disappointed for more than a year. In February 1943, he heard that while there were 300 Canadian letters in camp, none were for him. However, several prisoners shared their personal letters with friends who had received none and during that February, White was fortunate to benefit from this generous act of camaraderie. The fraternal bond strengthened through the shared hardship meant that even private messages improved communal morale. While Rifleman Donald Geraghty recorded instances where letters from home made him feel better, a letter received in January 1944 also made him feel “a little homesick.” On March 11, 1944, White finally received letters from home that were dated from 1942 and early 1943. He noted that he “couldn’t keep the tears out of my eyes,” but that after reading through them several times he found that they came with a “let-down feeling.” 16 Leonard Corrigan wrote on October 27, 1943, that a letter from his wife had taken a toll on his “mental process” and that he was an emotional mess the following morning after having spent hours imagining himself at home. But Corrigan also noted on April 7, 1944 that some letters “came along at the most opportune time” as his physical health was weakening. Kenneth Baird wrote in early 1945 that his morale was slipping, but that a letter from his daughter, sealed with a lipstick kiss, brought his mood back up and gave him “a wonderful kick.”17 Despite causing obvious homesickness, letters from Canada were enormously important to improve POW morale. Word from home gave the prisoners a connection to their former lives and provided a measure of hope for their futures.18

Letters were certainly treasured objects, but some men found meaning and significance in other items. Some of “C” Force’s members were relatives or friends and had known each other before enlisting and leaving for Hong Kong. Under the most difficult of circumstances those friendships were sustained, and many new ones were forged. Perhaps no source examined for this work better exemplifies how important friendship was than Rifleman Percy Horace Wilmot’s autograph book. Wounded in the battle, as a prisoner Wilmot suffered from malaria and dysentery often, and incurred also jaundice, pellagra, and beriberi. Finally, in April 1945, just months from liberation, he suffered a heart attack.19 Yet, through it all, he endured, writing home frequently to his wife and son insisting that he was in good health.

In camp, Wilmot had a small, dark brown, leather-bound notebook that simply says “Autographs” on the cover. It is unclear if he brought it into camp with him or acquired it once inside. On the inside page he marked the date January 15, 1943, and wrote, “This is my book so please write your pieces so as I may look at it in time to come with memories of joy not grief.” Instead of recording his own thoughts, he sought the words of others. The pages are filled by his fellow captives who inscribed their addresses in Canada, wrote poems, quoted Bible verses, drew pictures, scribbled jokes, and offered words of comfort and thanks. On January 29, 1943, Rifleman Kenneth Muir eloquently penned the following sentence, “‘Pop’ In your golden chain of friendship please consider me a link.” Wilmot kept the autograph book throughout his ordeal in Hong Kong. An undated entry from Grenadier Alex Skibinski, written after liberation from the Japanese, reads: “At last it’s over Pop. You’ve been through a rough time – A mark of courage to us younger fellows.” The Canadians who appear in this thesis are well represented in his book with Kenneth Cambon (RRC), Leonard Corrigan (WG), and Arthur Squires (RCCS) all making entries. Still, what is most remarkable is the international aspect of the autograph book, reminding one of the broad range of nationalities incarcerated in Hong Kong. Americans, Australians, British, Dutch, and members of the Hong Kong Volunteer Defence Corps all signed for Wilmot. Pop wanted this book to help him remember something positive from his experience as a prisoner of war: the friends that he made. The POWs in Hong Kong had formed a family and collective survival was to become as important as individual survival.20

POWs hold onto possessions that provide various kinds of motivation. James Andrew Flanagan found his inspiration in a different type of object. The Battle of Hong Kong had just ended and the surrendering Canadians had begun stacking their weapons in the centre of Stanley Fort when Flanagan noticed the victorious Japanese soldiers trampling a Union Jack flag. Finding this disrespectful, he retrieved the flag from the ground when the guards were occupied. Believing that a flag that touched the ground meant surrender, he cleaned it up and put it away with his belongings. Flanagan kept the flag throughout his time as a prisoner, and proudly displayed it upon returning home as a sign that he had never capitulated.21 This reflected the popular sentiment within “C” Force that the men had been ordered to put down their weapons and had never yielded of their own accord. Pride and duty were important to these soldiers and many resolved to complete the second mission, surviving their imprisonment, seeing as the decision to accomplish the first mission had been taken out of their hands. Flanagan kept that flag as a reminder that he was fighting for something. His discipline increased his morale, which in turn encouraged his survival.

Once released, prisoners had to decide which objects could be taken home. Size and weight influenced those decisions which helps to explain why creative items were favoured over functional ones. Once home, POWs had no use for makeshift bowls or mugs. But if they were personalized or had belonged to a friend there was a greater sentimental attachment, and this dominated the selection process.22 William MacWhirter had one such object. As the soldiers were being marched from Stanley Fort to their prison camp, stragglers were being forcefully encouraged by the Japanese to keep up with the rest of the prisoners. Goldie Ramier, a good friend of MacWhirter’s brother, too slow for his captors, was bayoneted in the back. Believing him to be dead, MacWhirter collected Ramier’s mess tin and later used a nail to scratch the fallen man’s name and “died” onto the object’s cover. MacWhirter used this mess tin throughout his time as a prisoner of war in both Hong Kong and Japan. Unbeknownst to MacWhirter, Ramier, in fact, had survived his wounds and made it home after the war. The two men met in Canada, but Ramier was uninterested in reclaiming his property. Many years later, after Ramier’s passing, MacWhirter met the man’s son and presented him with his father’s mess tin.23 William MacWhirter was unlikely to forget the relevance of this object and how he had carried it for nearly four years as a prisoner of war. But he had carried it long enough, and now it rested with someone who would attach an equally important significance to it: remembering a loved one.

Lucien Brunet of the Canadian Postal Corps attached great significance to part of his uniform. On display in the Canadian War Museum’s section on the Battle of Hong Kong are Brunet’s field service cap, his cap badge, and his uniform’s shoulder flashes. From North Point and Sham Shui Po in Hong Kong to shipyards and coal mines in Japan, Brunet held onto these pieces of his uniform to remind himself of who he was and to what he belonged.24 These four objects: an autograph book, a flag, a mess tin, and a uniform, reflect four ways that POWs in Hong Kong kept up their morale: through friendship, honour, memory, and identity. The emotional bond with these objects carried enormous meaning and that is why they were brought home. Through these items the soldiers would find inspiration to survive in their friends, their mission, their fallen comrades, and themselves. They were, after all, still soldiers.

Losing the battle was demoralizing and the accommodation and food that the Japanese provided were anything but encouraging, but some of the men were determined from the beginning to remain committed to their cause. They were prisoners now, but still soldiers, and they had to carry on no matter the circumstances. As a result, the first few weeks saw some progress in improving camp facilities: the latrines were fixed, the plumbing was repaired, and scrounged materials made it possible to build rudimentary kitchen facilities. Kenneth Cambon claimed that early on in captivity “there was a spirit of cooperation and discipline that was not evident in later camps, particularly in Japan where there was more of a “dog eat dog” attitude.” Captain Charles Price of the Royal Rifles also recalled the benefits of this early cooperation as the men retained their discipline as they transitioned from soldiers to prisoners. “Our men behaved extremely well. Our Regimental organizations were maintained during the first few months of captivity and our affairs were conducted in an orderly matter so that food, quarters, etc. were equally and fairly shared; which I am convinced minimized the terrific sufferings we were to undergo later…”25 This sense of togetherness and mutual effort was critical for the men going forward.

But with so many men surviving under such strenuous conditions, trouble was bound to occur. Theft between prisoners was not unheard of, neither were fights and arguments. Some had trouble coping mentally with their captivity and there were at least a few suicides.26 Nevertheless, these types of incidents were rare according to Company Sergeant Major George MacDonell of the Royal Rifles. Most men adhered to the strict discipline expected from a soldier. Officers continued to issue daily orders and to administer punishments for those who did not follow them. “We were an organized military unit, with its formal structure and ranks intact and fully operational. No unit was left outside this formal, regimented organization, and each individual was reminded that he was a Canadian soldier who was only temporarily under the control of the Japanese,” wrote MacDonell, who was certain that this conduct and attitude was responsible for saving lives and providing encouragement to those who needed it most. “The will to live is strong,” he wrote, and “the desire to not to disgrace your uniform or to let your officers and comrades down through personal weakness is just as strong.”27 This persistent discipline was instrumental in their new key objective, survival. The men of “C” Force were fortunate to have superiors who cared about them and would not let them forget who they were, where they were from, and what their duties and responsibilities were.

Arthur Squires was reminded of his responsibilities by Padre Uriah Laite at a church parade on March 29, 1942. He “prayed that we may stay for as long as duty required then be returned to our friends,” which Squires felt was an appropriate way to put it.28 Indeed, those are two of the best reasons for a prisoner to carry on: to do one’s duty as a soldier and then to return to those you love. The senior officers also played a part in encouraging the younger men to remain committed to their duty as soldiers. In early January 1942, Thomas Forsyth recorded that Major Kenneth Baird had given them a pep talk and told them not to get “downhearted.” Two weeks later, he noted that his company engaged in ten minutes of squad drills, presumably so the men did not forget their basic training. The Japanese guards, perplexed by this type of behaviour, simply stared at them. On January 24, Forsyth again recorded how the officers were determined to keep control over their men. A stern lecture cautioned the soldiers that beards were unacceptable and had to be removed within 24 hours. Additionally, they were told that “any breach of discipline would be severely dealt with by loss of pay, detention or field punishment.”29 The senior officers reasoned that a soldier’s dignity, self-control, and uniformity could be maintained by keeping up their appearance. Additionally, discipline ensured that order would be upheld and that turmoil or the ‘every man for himself” attitude would be obviated.30

Lieutenant Harry White of the Grenadiers was one of those officers. He borrowed a razor and toothbrush after finding it impossible to acquire his own, and washed his clothes in cold water. The finishing touch was provided by one of his men who came into camp with a tin of Brasso polish. White applied a small amount to the button on his tunic so that it “shined for the first time in a month.” William Allister wrote that one of the men somehow acquired clippers and a pair of scissors, which he used to set up a makeshift barber shop. He cut hair for the soldiers but would only accept IOUs as payment. In his typical lyrical fashion, Allister declared that this “very act was a defiant declaration of faith in the future, played out with a brash confidence that was a tonic in itself.”31 These types of selfless acts encouraged collective spirit. Beyond the men’s appearance, officers such as Lieutenant White also felt it was a soldier’s duty to carry an air of respect for others, even if it was the enemy. After the battle, some of the men were able to keep their band instruments and brought them into camp. Music was a welcome presence during captivity and the instruments were put to good use with small concerts being a regular occurrence. Occasionally, the Japanese band would play for the Allied soldiers as well. White mentions that once when this occurred an unnamed British brigadier and several others walked away when the Japanese were playing their national anthem. White found this disrespectful and counterproductive, “Damn bad show I think. That’s no way to carry on. We’re in here now and have got to make the best of it – no use in antagonizing the enemy.”32 This was a reasonable assessment, but not easy to instill in the men as some did not even respect each other. But in spite of the prevailing companionship, tensions between the men, and between the men and their officers, were not unheard of.

On July 14, 1942, White noted that it had rained every day so far that month and that there were concerns that a typhoon was headed for Hong Kong. The awful weather, in conjunction with the increasingly poor quality of food, caused a near mutiny within the Grenadiers’ “D” Company. Many protested the horrible rations by refusing to eat. White recorded that he “had about a dozen on orders and that they were stripped of rank and told they’d be turned over to the Japs if there was any more of it.” He found it hard to blame the men under the circumstances, but there was little else that he could do.33 Donald Geraghty recalled that the officers ran the camp as if it was a Canadian army base. Although such measures caused resentment among some men, looking back, Geraghty admitted that “it kept up morale a little bit inasmuch as the discipline was maintained.”34 Indeed, asserting discipline and the presence of authority was important for morale as well as unit cohesion. Strong leadership is key for morale. Soldiers need to believe in their officers, otherwise they might feel demoralized. With examples set, such incidents became rarer although there was still the odd infraction. Forsyth recorded on July 25, 1942, that one man was charged with using inappropriate language towards a staff sergeant of the postal corps and received seven days of extra fatigue duty for his slip of the tongue. A week later, a lance corporal “was stripped and reduced to the ranks” for missing a physical training parade, while another man was punished for talking back to an NCO.35 The introduction of these rules seemed to have some effect, as breaches of conduct went virtually unrecorded in prisoner diaries and memoirs. Despite the earlier outbursts, some men used their words to remind themselves that, even in their present conditions, life did not always have to be taken seriously.

Some people can find humour in anything and, almost unbelievably, this was true for many Hong Kong POWs. As part of getting on with life and making the best of a bad situation, some members of “C” Force did their best to retain their sense of humour. Lieutenant Collison Blaver went into camp with a notebook planner of which one of the pages had a heading that read “January Engagements 1942.” Blaver wrote under this “mostly cancelled by the Japanese.” In 1943 he returned to write that his engagements were “still cancelled by the Japanese,” although his humour turned to cynicism in 1944 when he added “your guess is as good as mine.” For 1945 he simply wrote “I’m afraid to guess this time.”36 James MacMillan’s diary also contains comical injections. On December 10, 1942 noting that there were not many shopping days left until Christmas, he wondered if the Japanese might let the men go downtown to purchase gifts. On December 12, he began concluding his diary entries with “Only ___ more shopping days till Christmas.”37 His countdown continued until the 25th arrived.

On April 24, 1942, Arthur Squires proudly declared that he possessed a “nice handle bar mustache with waxed ends,” but that his companions, thinking it was awful, encouraged him to shave it off. On May 4, he wrote that he had taken their advice, but the satisfaction of his friends immediately inspired him to grow another one. This kind of banter between mates would have been good for keeping the mood light and the fact that it existed at all was remarkable. Life went on. Even Lance Ross, whose diary is notable for being full of short and depressing statements, managed a wisecrack, writing that April 20, 1942 was “Hitler’s birthday also Aunt Bessie’s. Many more to her.” 38 Major Baird was another whose letters and diary entries contained the odd joke, sometimes at his own expense. An early meal of scorched rice caused Baird to write that it was the kind of food that would never get mentioned in a Good Housekeeping cookbook. He even found something funny in his weight loss, writing to his daughter that she would not have a chance to tease him about his tummy as it did not show anymore. He emphasized that he was “quite proud of my girlish figure though it seems to be covered with knobs and bumps in places.” Unsurprisingly, there was more humour inserted into his letters written shortly after liberation. On August 20, 1945, he remarked that two days before any food stuffs arrived they had received a large shipment of toilet paper. He and his men were able to see the humour in the timing, but the Japanese did not understand why they found it so funny. In one of his last letters home he mentioned to his wife his hope that he would make it home in time for their anniversary. Should such a reunion take place, “well, the atomic bomb would be a mild explosion to what we would cause,” Baird warned.39 Despite living an existence of malnutrition, disease, and physical abuse, some of the POWs were able to keep a smile on their faces. Coping mechanisms are used to manage stress in demanding situations, and these attempts at humour were one method the men used to cope with the demands of their imprisonment.

Joking about their experiences, during and after captivity, must have been therapeutic for members of “C” Force. Nothing is more illustrative of this than the menu items served at a dinner for the Royal Rifles of Canada 1st Hong Kong Battalion on April 13, 1946 at the Château Frontenac in Quebec City. Eight months after they had been liberated and sufficiently recovered from their ordeal, members of the Royal Rifles got together to eat, celebrate, and reminisce. The appetizers included Kowloon Celery and Stanley Olives followed by Lyemun Tomato Soup. The main course was North Point Turkey with Tai Tam Dressing, Potatoes à la Kai Tak, and Sham Shui Po Peas. For dessert there was Strawberry Coupe, likely a play on ‘strawberry balls,’ a nickname the prisoners gave to their swollen red testicles, another effect of malnutrition and lack of vitamins, and Kriegsgefangenen (prisoner of war in German) Coffee.40 It is unclear who assigned these appropriate names. It is also uncertain if every member present would have appreciated the light heartedness as the trauma of the experience still would have been fresh. But still, it is telling that these men could get together and joke about what was surely the most traumatizing experience of their lives. Perhaps this sort of thing was a reminder not only of what they had survived, but also served as a form of closure as they moved on with their lives. Trying to maintain a sense of humour during captivity would have been uplifting and helped with morale, as did receiving word from home, keeping a special object, and reminding oneself of one’s duty. However, not all prisoners would have been able to keep their spirits high. Fortunately for them, some events took place beyond the confines of the camp that proved motivating for all prisoners.

By October 1942, life for prisoners of war in Hong Kong had become a series of mundane routines. Men who worked at the Kai Tak airfield or on other projects tried to pass the time and avoid illness. Rumours of American victories in the Pacific and impending bombings of Japanese targets circulated, but by this point the soldiers were reluctant to believe the gossip as none of the previous whispers had proved accurate. Indeed, as early as March 1942, Captain E. L. Hurd, the Quartermaster of the Royal Rifles, recorded in his diary that he heard that there had been a truce in the Philippines and that US soldiers had landed in Japan, forcing Tokyo to sue for peace. Arthur Squires wrote on May 4, 1942, that the guards were anxious as American bombers were expected. He predicted that the prisoners’ location beside the naval dock and close to Kai Tak would afford them a good view of the proceedings. Georges Verreault noted on the May 10 that U.S. bombers were due to strike the area and that the Japanese were preparing the prisoners for what to do in case of such an event.41 None of these rumours proved correct. Rumours that seemed too good to be true were often just that and, after a series of disappointments, the POWs learned not to get their hopes up. But that changed in the early afternoon of October 25, 1942.

At approximately 1:30 pm, American B-25 Mitchell medium bombers escorted by P-40 Warhawk fighters from the Fourteenth Air Force, flying more than 1,000 km from the China Air Task Force Base in Kunming, China, attacked Japanese targets in Hong Kong. The effect on the Canadian prisoners’ morale was immediate and nearly every diary consulted for this thesis mentions this air raid. It had been ten months since Hong Kong’s surrender to the Japanese. Notwithstanding the danger that stray bombs posed, the Canadians rejoiced. Lance Ross reported that “the bombs didn’t miss here by much, but they sounded good.” “What delight,” added Verreault. “Dear Yanks, if they’re your bombs, don’t let up. Let them have all you can give even if you kill us with the Japs. These explosions are music to our ears. I’m happy! More! More! Again! Again!,” he wrote. Major Baird shared that enthusiasm, “Oh! Molly, they sounded just great; it means we haven’t been forgotten after all these long months. A cheer went up from all our camp.” Raymond Elliott commented on how nice it was to see friendly planes overhead for a change. James MacMillan said that they had been rewarded for their patience as “we had prayed and waited for this so long that it all seems quite unbelievable. Perhaps, we might be free by Xmas.”42 That last sentiment proved to be wildly optimistic, but the POWs had obtained concrete proof that the fight was being taken to the enemy.

If the prisoners needed more assurance, they received it the following day when American planes returned to bomb targets in Kowloon and on Hong Kong Island. This raised Verreault’s morale to the point where he chose to fight harder for his health and discarded his cane, reasoning that he did not need it anymore. “Hope is alive again” he enthused. Two days later, on October 28, a third strike successfully bombed Japanese ships in Hong Kong harbour, a feat that Captain Hurd had confirmed by his men who were working at the airport. Lieutenant Harry White wrote on that day that despite causing a complete blackout and provoking anxious sentries to shoot into the night, the bombings were thrilling to watch.43 But the danger to prisoners was real as bombing was far from an exact science during the Second World War. John Harris, a member of the British Royal Engineers, recalled that in Sham Shui Po the POWs were not permitted to prepare air-raid shelters. Heightening the risk was the fact that the Japanese had stored oil drums filled with highly flammable aviation fuel within the camp perimeter. The Japanese decided not to remove the drums on the premise that the Americans would not bomb Allied men.44 This was a strange assumption considering how difficult it would have been to avoid hitting the camp, but luckily the oil drums were never hit. It would be ten long months until the bombing raids recommenced. By then the diphtheria epidemic had passed and many Canadians had left to labour in Japan. But for those who remained in Hong Kong the reminder of American air power was a tremendous motivation for them to hold on, to survive; salvation might be at hand at long last.

After numerous reconnaissance missions, American P-40s and B-25s returned over Hong Kong. On July 13, 1943, Captain Hurd recorded that Stonecutters Island, a mere half mile from the camp, had been bombed. On the 29th a larger strike hit the Japanese naval dock yards and oil tanks in Victoria Harbour. This attack was especially motivating for the men because, as soldiers, they understood the significance of the targets. Additionally, the brief appearance of the aircraft once again reminded the men that they had allies in their fight against a common enemy.45 Not only were the bombings morale boosting, they were also a form of entertainment and, since they occurred on a near monthly basis after July 1943, they gave the men something to look forward to. Another raid at the end of August caused Lieutenant White to proclaim, “It’s sure exciting, gives one a tremendous lift.” The men were ordered by the guards to stay in their huts, but they ignored that command and crowded around the windows and doorways to get better views. On September 2, White recorded the bombing and destruction of more oil tanks which resulted in a massive explosion. “Sure bucks you up a thing like that. We’ll beat these little bastards yet.”46 In 1944 the raids continued and, even though freedom remained elusive for the POWs, the positive effects of the attacks remained. On December 8, the third year anniversary of the Battle of Hong Kong, Donald Geraghty was delighted to note that the Americans celebrated by dropping bombs “all over the place.” He recorded numerous other raids in his diary over the following month, with one on January 16, 1945 getting specific mention as “the place was literally carpet bombed.” But this incident also caused him to write, “bad on the nerves good to the mind”47 thereby showing that the raids could have contrasting effects on a soldier’s psyche. The bombings also had the potential to encourage Japanese reprisals against the POWs.48 Crucially, the American bombings of Japanese targets were immensely important to the POWs’ morale. Hong Kong had not been forgotten in the larger picture of the Pacific War. Canadians became steadfast in their determination to endure as their American friends reminded them that others were continuing the fight for which so many of their comrades had perished. The POWs were also reminded that they were not merely prisoners, they were soldiers, they were at war, and they had a duty to survive.

Morale for the Hong Kong POWs came in a variety of ways and each of them contributed to the overall goal: survival. Word from home was one of the biggest boosters, but not every member of “C” Force was lucky enough to receive letters. Luckily, many of those men had friends who would willingly share their own letters to help a comrade feel connected to his homeland. Others held on to different physical objects to remind themselves of what they considered important, while some found it imperative to remain dutiful and keep their discipline so as not to forget why they were in Hong Kong in the first place. Maintaining a sense of humour showed that some of the men were able to see the lighter side of things despite their precarious situation. Lastly, morale came from seeing first hand that friends were taking the fight to the Japanese and this gave the soldiers hope that the war was turning in their favour. Morale was vital for the prisoners’ mental state, just as food and nutrition were important for their physical well-being. But three years and eight months is a long time to be a prisoner or war, and even the healthiest and most spirited of men would have great difficulty completing the second mission if they did not have things to do in camp that would keep them occupied. The following chapter will investigate how the POWs kept themselves busy by using their ingenuity and resourcefulness to pass the time and how they worked together to fight boredom.