The Long Walk

My dad came to Burma in 1923 from America with fellow countrymen to work for The Burma Oil Company, to help to open the oil fields in Yenanyung alongside a British workforce. Travel in those days was on horseback.

My mother was Burmese and I was born in Yenanyung. When we were of school age we had to go to Rangoon for our education. My brother, Clyde, was first to go. Five years later I went followed by my sister Ethel. We had to stay with my mother's relatives. My brother and sister stayed with my mum's sister,Lucy, who already had five children of her own. They lived in Rangoon.
I stayed with my mother's aunty and family. I don't know why but I called them Nana and Grandpa. I suppose it was because they had a grandson.I was educated at St.John's Convent in Rangoon. I used to travel by train. It was a pleasant journey. My school days were happy days but I did not enjoy holidays, living out of town, not seeing my school mates, but I enjoyed both cultures.

There was always some kind of celebration among our Burmese neighbours and we all joined in. There were street parties, water festivals and as we were Christians, Easter and Christmas were very special. We went to church most Sundays and after the service we used to go and have a meal in the market square. Very enjoyable.

Grandad worked at the High Court, he was the Clerk. He went off to work in the morning and in the evening, after work, he would go shopping and bring food in for the evening meal. I used to love nana's cooking and loved watching her prepare the evening meal.We were all more then ready to eat.

I did not see a lot of my brother,sister or mother but I do remember the three of us going to visit our mother. We had to take the river boat on the Irrawaddy River to get to Yenanyung and it was very exciting for the three of us to be together to visit our mum, even though it was only for a short time. As mum and dad were separared we did not see dad.

One time we returned nana and family were not very happy, I did not understand why. They were discussing war and were very worried. It wasn't very long before I realised why they were so worried.On Christmas Day 1942 Rangoon was bombed and we all had to find shelter. Nana told us to soak whatever we could find and to cover our mouths in case it was a chemical attack.Fortunately it was not.When the bombing stopped, we ran out to see the damage but all we could see were palls of smoke on all sides. We felt trapped with nowhere to run, no escape, only to be burnt alive.Everyone was in a panic- a very frightening experience.

Nana and family realised it was the beginning of of the Japanese invasion and by evening, where we lived was like a ghost town. Where everyone had disappeared to we did not know.

Out of 90 houses in our street there were only 4 houses left occupied, it was very scary. Everything was so quiet, eerie, where everyone went to this day we did not find out. After a couple of days things did not look too good so nana and family decided we had better move on like the rest as the place was like a ghost town. Like everyone, we just took only the very necessary things we could carry and left everything behind us. We went to stay with friends 20 miles away but did not realise what hardship was to follow and that this was just the beginning. It was just as well we left because a few days later our house and the area we lived in was bombed and everything raised to the ground. We were lucky to have left in time.

Things did not look too good. We could not get in touch with any of our family. It was utter confusion with no one to guide us or tell us what to do or where to go. It seemed every family had to make their own decision. My sister, Ethel, had just started boarding school and we were unable to contact them.

the Japanese army was fast approaching. The elders decided we had better go north and put as much distance between us and them as possible, so off to Mandalay we went. When we arrived it was so hot and dusty we had to move on. Nana remembered one of Aunty Lucy's daughters had got married recently and had gone to live in Maymyo.It was a beautiful hill station and garrison town where expats went for their vacation to escape the heat. Although it was beautiful we were still a long way from our destination. The journey was slow and we stopped at various villages or towns, staying wherever we could find shelter. At one point it was so dark we had no choice but to we find shelter in a Chinese cemetery.Once darkness fell we were among thieves but they never bothered us. However we felt very uneasy and after a couple of days Grandad went into town and found an empty house and moved us there for a while.

We had not realised, once we left Rangoon, how many lovely places there were along the way. At the time, being a teenager and only concentrating on moving on with the family, it did not mean much but now I remember there was a place, where farms were deserted, like a miniature Yorkshire Dales. So many beautiful places, I'd love to see it again but it won't happen. I'm too old now.

After a long journey we finally reached Maymyo- a long way from the Japanese we hoped. It was a lovely hill station, mostly bungalows with climbing roses- a little England. I can't remember how we found my cousin but we were also reunited with Aunty Lucy and family who had a house we could move into. Unfortunately still no news of my sister, mother,dad or other pupils and form teachers.

We were just getting settled when without any warning, once again the bombs returned. We had no time to get to the shelters and just had to hide under tables or wherever it would be safe. It was indeed a very frightening experience and now I know what it must have been like for the people of Rangoon when they were bombed.

When the bombing stopped, we went out to see who had survived. It was devastating to see people dead and the damage to houses. Fortunately, we all survived. When we arrived at Maymyo it was the only place we'd been where there were air raid shelters but unfortunately Maymyo was taken by surprise.

Not long after the bombing the authorities came around and advised the families to move on as Chinese troops were coming and as they would not be able to communicate they would help themselves if they to what they needed. The family all got together and had to make a decision about leaving. My Aunty Lucy decided it was time for the family to trek to India as the Japanese were fast approaching. Nana, Grandpa and family decided to stay on. I guess they felt they could not make the journey because of their age. I decided to leave Nana and family and join Aunty Lucy and her family on the trek to India.I did not realise at the time how much pain this must have caused Nana and family when I left. I feel the pain now and feel so sad when I reminisce.We began our journey at the station where I remember seeing a troop train full of wounded British soldiers.I hope they managed to get away with the help of the Chinese army.I am sure Aunty Lucy knew where we had to go a there was no supervision.At the end of our train journey we had to cross the Chindwin River where we began to see other refugees escaping like us. Before long we reached Sampans where fortunately for us a boat filled with marines, I believe the last boat to leave with British servicemen onboard, picked us up, no doubt saving our lives. Lives that were about to change for ever.

Along the way at one of our frequent refuelling stops we could hear a lot of noise on the opposite bank. We were told it was the villagers celebrating the arrival of the Japanese army. We all had a very uneasy feeling.We finally arrived at our destination, the start of our journey over the 5,000-foot range of mountains to India, alongside many other refugees. There were no camps, everyone had to fend for themselves and do the best they could. Sometimes we travelled by bullock carts but it was a very slow journey. We were lucky if we found a village with food and shelter for the night.We moved on to reach the mountains, not knowing how far behind the Japanese army were.They did drop bombs but luckily it was always after we had left a place or just before we arrived at the next stop.

Finally we reached the hardest part of the journey- over the mountains.All along the way we would see people stopping to rest but just dying as they rested.So many of them, we thought will we aver make it? By now going through the hardest part, we only had what we stood up in and were starving and tired and right at the highest point of the mountain, when what I can only describe as a miracle happened. Right in the middle of the road was a big basket full of tins of peaches and evaporated milk. I can't remember how many cans we opened but by then we were in the company of some British soldiers who had the same goal to reach the railway junction, Manipir to Calcutta.

Things were beginning to look hopeful. I remember a beautiful choir singing in the distant Naga Hills, probably a mission station, it was very uplifting.We started to hear trucks in the distance. It was the British and Indian Army trucks picking up refugees.You can imagine how happy we were to see them- our troubles were nearly over, we were being taken care of.But the journey was still very harrowing, narrow, winding roads and especially at night. Some of the trucks didn't make it but at last we made it to the junction where the train took us to the Calcutta Refugee Centre to find out if we could be reunited with our loved ones but unfortunately not. There was no newa about anyone, except for my sister and her school mates-32 children and 4 teachers who made it to the aerodrome at Myitchine but missed the last flight and had to trek through the jungle.They got caught in the monsoon rains and all died.

My brother and Aunty Lucy's husband joined the Medical Corp. My brother survived but not my uncle.We were sent to Fort William because my uncle was in the army. As refugees were coming we had to move on again and this time to the Hill Station. While Aunty Lucy and family were preparing to go to Kashmire, I decided,unwisely, to be a companion to a lady who was housebound. Things did not work out so I got in touch with my Aunty Sophie, another of my mum's sisters, who was working for a family in the Digboi oil fields before the war started and we had always been in touch. I told her I was very unhappy and she was surprised to receive my letter.To my surprise she wrote back saying she had bumped into my dad at the Oil Company's store.She had told him where I was and that I was very unhappy. He arranged for Aunty Sophie to come down to Calcutta and fetch me home.

I was reunited with my dad whom I hadn't seen since I left to start school and it was a happy reunion. I told him about my sister and fellow pupils and teachers. Dad told me how they had had to blow up all the oil wells and how he and fellow drillers were the last to leave the fields. They escaped while the place was on fire using the smoke as camouflage. He was awarded a medal, the British Service Medal,one of only two Americans to receive the award alongside fellow British workers.

Although we had journeyed out of Burma the same way,perhaps at different times, I don't think we were ahead of them. I wished I had asked him at the time. I was happy to be with Aunty Sophie who was not so far away and felt settled and safe but not for long. I couldn't believe it when dad said the Oil Company told all employees to evacuate women and children as the Japanese were heading for the oil fields at Digboi.I was shattered. Here we go again.

Dad told me to make a choice, go to school or take a Nursery nurse training at Kalimpong, a hill station, at the foothills of Darjeling in the Himalayas. I made a big mistake and chose Nursery School. At the time I was too young to train as a hospital nurse.So off I went but what a shock when I arrived. It was a two-year hard course. Matron was very strict and I could not go back home so I had no choice but to stay. I kept asking dad to leave but it fell on deaf ears so I decided to run away.Where to I did not know but then one of the girls told me I wouldn't get very far as there was only one way out. I'd be sent straight back so i just had to get on with my training.There were good times.Towards the end of our training,once we had done all the hard work and worked our way up we were put in charge of two-month-old babies.Matron, who trained us, got married just before I finished my training and when we finished she invited us to stay at their tea garden in Darjeeling. It was a lovely house. We were spoilt and had a lovely time and then it was time to go back home fully qualified.

Now my life, at last was taking a turn for the better.One year later my husband to be came out as an apprentice driller. I was standing on the verandah, looking out. As it was his first day in Digboi he had decided to take a look at his new neighbourhood.We both saw each other. It turned out he only lived two doors away but I didn't see him again until a month later when I went to a dance at the club.We started courting and then got married. My dad was not happy I was going to England. He said it would be a hard life and the weather was very cold, but it all fell on deaf ears.After two years training at Kalimpong at the foothills of the Himalayas, I was sure it would be no problem.

When I arrived at Heathrow, England, it was indeed very cold and frosty. I realised what dad had meant.The next step was meeting my in-laws. They were a lovely family; my mother-in-law helped me and while I was living with them I did not have anything to do. When we got our own house Ken's mum did all the hard work to get us settled in. I could not have survived without the family's help as Ken worked away for a few years and only came home once a month.

I did not want to go out shopping as I stuck out like a sore thumb but Ken's sister and family gradually managed to take me out and about. It wasn't long before army wives began to arrive and now no one gives me a second glance. I have a good husband, three lovely children and three lovely grandchildren who have asked me to write my story of how I survived the Japanese War.

I will be eternally grateful to my Aunty Lucy, a very unique lady. If it was not for her I would not be here to tell my tale. She took great care of us and brought us out safely.However I was still worried about my sister so I decided to put my mind to rest.I contacted the Red Cross to see if by some miracle my sister and the rest of the school party had survived. They only confirmed what I had been told at the Refugee Centre; they had been trapped in the jungle during the monsoon and all had died.

I have come to terms with the fact that I will never see her again and now I must lay her to rest. I am so lucky and grateful to have had so many happy years and God willing a few more left.

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