Escape from Sandakan - Part 1

First hand account written by (Florence)May Young and reprinted from the “North Borneo News” 25/12/52, 1/1/53 and 8/1/53.
ESCAPE FROM SANDAKAN — 1.
The Voyage to Tarakan and a stay there.
DECEMBER 1941

Three women and a little boy left Sandakan on the 27th December 1941, by the very last opportunity, going to Tarakan, where they expected to find means of getting to Australia and safety. But it was a ‘near thing’, for having got so far, we had almost despaired of getting any further, when fortunately, the Dutch Naval Commander, having to send to Java 9 American airmen (whom they had rescued after 11 days afloat at sea) was able to put us on a Dornier bomber bound for Soerabaya, en route for Australia. Arrived there, I was anxious to do what I could to help in their war-effort and found that there was plenty to do and that I could indeed be of some service, so I joined the Australian Red Cross, NSW Division.

Australia’s fate still hung in the balance, fierce fighting was in progress in New Guinea and the islands and the terrible conditions under which the men fought there were common knowledge in Australia. I found that many women, who had learned that their men-folk were prisoners in Borneo, were very much distressed, believing that the climatic conditions were similar to the worst aspects of New Guinea. Strange to say, this belief was enhanced in some cases by the sentiments of a person who had lived in Borneo and knew the facts as well as I did myself. I was glad to be able to reassure these people and to tell them of the actual conditions and to ask them whether I and my child, after 7 years residence there, were not evidence that they had been needlessly distressing themselves. I could not foresee of course, the treatment to which these poor fellows would be subjected to by their Japanese captors and the dreadful fate which awaited them, when, after years of semi-starvation and disease they were taken on that disastrous death march.

* * *

The Voyage to Tarakan and a stay there.

A day I shall never forget — that Friday 27th December 1941! After many days in which everyone moved in an unreal world of uncertainties and rumours and the certain knowledge that the Japanese had landed on our own island of Borneo while another powerful army was advancing due east of us down the Philippines, there came the Governor’s letter addressed to all European women. This letter gave notice that a small ship, the Baynain, had been ordered down the east coast to Tarakan and would take all women and children who wished to leave — in an endeavour to link up with other transport to convey them to safety via Java. The letter stated that those deciding to leave must take bedding (the Baynain had only two small passenger cabins) and food for the journey, luggage must otherwise be limited to wearing apparel for the journey and must be as light and compact as possible. Money would also be necessary and a minimum of £75 per person was suggested — it actually cost considerably more than this to get through — and finally names of all who were going were to be handed to the Commissioner of Customs by six o’clock that evening. The ship was to leave next day at noon.

For some the decision was quickly made — they would stay with their husbands but for many others it was a terrible problem what to do for the best and telephones were busy all day long as mothers rang one another weighing the hazards of the journey and the prospects of getting through, exchanging scraps of news from the radio, including the report from Toldo that Tarakan had already been heavily bombed on Christmas Day.

Many decided that it had been left too late and for others the decision had not been made by six and so they stayed. My husband and I decided that I was to try to get our boy away and so our names were lodged with the Commissioner. We were told that only two others were going — a mother and her adult daughter. That evening many friends came to say good-bye and a few endeavoured to turn us from our decision saying it was too late.

Several men told my husband we were going to certain death and one lady said, “If you get through, I shall be sorry we didn’t go with you!!” Packing was difficult, what to take, what not to take. Treasured belongings suddenly lost their value and tins of food and the more practical articles of clothing were quickly stowed into baskets and bags. I gave Alan’s bed, toys and other belongings to friends as I thought they would be of use and also to get them away so that my husband should not be distressed by the sight of them when we had gone. A few toys and books were added to the luggage and that was all.

The next morning I went to the Church to a last Communion service and Father Henthorne added a few prayers for the safety of those leaving on the ship. After breakfast we made our wills, had our passports put in order and drew money for the journey — in my case about £250. After this we gathered with our friends at the hotel to say goodbye and then home for the last time for Tiffin as the ship’s sailing had been postponed until 4.00pm. Our black chow dog seemed to sense we were going and fussed around us, the servants were hanging around and finally we bid hurried, heartbreaking farewells; a hasty last look around the house and we were off in our car to the wharf. There was, outside the Customs office, a group of women to see us off — including that dear, good-natured soul Mrs Cohen. She and several others wept as we took our sorrowful leave of them — I am sure that they thought we were going to our doom!
On the ship we found The Captain (Dooley) and the Chief Engineer (Baldwin, who died later in prison) all ready to take the ship out — here again was a small group of friends of ours who had special permits to board the ship — a wartime precaution — the Engineer’s wife was there but she had decided to stay. On the other side of the wharf a Japanese passed along to get into a small boat to go across to the Internment Camp on Berhala Island. That same year I had partnered him in a golf tournament — which we won — and I remember wondering what his thoughts were as he looked across and saw us preparing to leave.

* * *

It was a lovely day and never had Sandakan Bay and town looked more serene and peaceful. It was difficult to imagine war and grim fighting around us in these calm and beautiful surroundings. But the time had come to say goodbye — and very dreadful it was for all. Our husbands left the ship and it moved away from the wharf and the forlorn little group left standing there grew smaller as we moved along the pretty frontage of Sandakan. Presently, we came abreast of the old fish market and here the women-folk had gathered again to wave a final goodbye. With what mixed feelings we responded! Who were the best off? Those who were staying or those leaving?

It was reckoned we would reach Tarakan (a small island off the Dutch Borneo coast) by dawn on the Monday. Our little ship was slow and she rode lazily along — Sunday saw us among various palm-covered islands in an azure sea. That night we woke to find that one of our typical squalls was raging. The night was black and the wind howled about us. In the morning we found the sun shining again and the sea smooth, we went on deck to find the skipper gloomily surveying his surroundings. He told us that the storm had carried us well off our course and now over the coast there hung a great bank of storm clouds and no landmarks were visible by which he could take his bearing. “We shall have to anchor,” he said “the last thing I wanted to do in this place. But look at the broken water, there are reefs all round and we shall have to wait until the clouds clear off the land.” So we anchored and watched the shore. But the clouds remained. We had breakfast and then at about midday they suddenly lifted and I called to the Captain that I could see an island. He consulted the chart and found that we had come 20 miles past our destination, the Pilot ship that lay 20 miles out at sea from the entrance to Tarakan harbour. All ships at the time, had to ‘make it’ and pick up a pilot to negotiate the heavily mined waters. All aircraft had to come into Tarakan on a straight course from the Pilot ship or they would be fired upon and not allowed to land.

We were slowly wending our way back when suddenly a large plane approached. We held our breath and gazed at it and presently drew a sigh of relief as we noticed the Dutch tricolour markings. She was one of the three Dornier bombers, which they had at Tarakan for patrol duties; it dipped gracefully over us in greeting and went on its way. After what seemed an interminable time, our ship came within hailing distance of the Pilot ship and a small boat brought over a pilot and we commenced a winding, six-hour journey into the port of Tarakan through a very extensive minefield. As we neared the wharf, the smell of oil rose to our nostrils and we saw burly Dutchmen in jungle-green uniforms standing with rifles slung over their shoulders. The Harbour Master, similarly clad, came aboard looking curiously at us and said, “You are very lucky people are you not?” We looked askance at him; we had not really considered ourselves in that light but we had yet to learn what we had escaped owing to the storm delay.

We discovered that had we been at the Pilot ship at 6.00am as we should have been, we would have been waiting to enter the harbour just when the Jap planes made their morning raid and would have been sunk as so many other ships had on previous days. Further, no doubt on account of the weather, the Japs had omitted their usual afternoon raid and we had steamed slowly through the minefield unmolested! We were told we were the first ship to escape out of many that had tried.

No planes had been able to contact Tarakan owing to these raids and they were short of food. They confirmed what we had been told before we left Sandakan — that they had been heavily bombed on Christmas Day and all their fighters shot out of the sky. The airport had been severely damaged and since that day they had been systematically bombed and machine-gunned morning and afternoon. Fortunately, the enemy planes so far had not come at night and this was thought to be due to the fact that the Japs wished to conserve the oilfields intact and would not bomb indiscriminately for fear of firing the oil.

We were soon passed through Customs and were whisked away by one of the harbour officials to the Rest House near the Club and the centre of the town, which lay away from the harbour and the airport (which was to add greatly to our safety and well-being later). Here we found little accommodation left but the kindly Dutch frau in charge shepherded all of us into one huge bedroom in the annexe, in which was one of the typical enormous Dutch beds with three sets of pillows and three ‘Dutch wives’. She then had a small bed sent in for my little boy and we — Clara, Norma, Alan and I started on a spell of communal living.
The next morning we rose early and crossed the road to the main part of the Rest House for breakfast. We found the dining room full of people, Dutchmen and a few Dutch women (although most of them had been evacuated months earlier) and about twenty young Dutch and Eurasian nurses — very smart in their fresh white uniforms adorned with a large Red Cross on sleeves and caps. We were told that they had been sent up from Java a few days previously and that it was due to an error on some official’s part that they had been sent to so forward an area.

We had just been served our breakfast when sirens suddenly sounded a warning and everybody in the room immediately made for the road, calling us to follow quickly. As we ran, occupants of the neighbouring houses joined us and we dashed about 300 yards to the shelter in a field. We saw the planes coming in formation and the Dutch guns and ambulances etc were speeding down the road to their battle positions. We entered the shelter and were given cotton wool for our ears. Candles lighted the shelter and we could see the long zigzagging dugout was full of people, Europeans and Asians.

Now we could hear the approaching aircraft and the deep boom of the guns. The planes did not bomb near the Rest House for that was too near the oil wells that the Japs hoped to capture intact. This, the first raid that we experienced, lasted three and a half hours and as the planes returned over our heads there was much machine gunning which was vigorously returned by the Dutch at a nearby post. We were told that the Japs knew that the radio station was somewhere near, though hidden by trees and on the return journey always came down to machine gun that area. As we left the dugout at the ‘All Clear’, the Dutch frau shrugged her shoulders and said, “Now we had better go back for Tiffin, it is too late for breakfast.” We had Tiffin and were then advised to be on the alert for the next raid — due at 2.00pm. Sure enough, punctually at that hour the sirens sounded and we were once more hurried up to the shelter. This was to be our daily programme.

We could not really venture even to walk to the shops, for one never knew when the next raid would come. When their frequency increased, we spent most of the days in the shelter and we had up to five raids a day. One day we got rather bored with this routine for ‘familiarity breeds contempt’ even of the danger and we decided we would like to see the Social Club, which, after all, was only 500 yards down the road. Norma decided she would have a dip in the swimming pool so the four of us set off and found it to be a very nice Club with a spacious theatre, outside café and a fine swimming pool. Norma had just got into the pool and we were sitting having our drinks when once more the sirens started — we hurried to a nearby shelter where we remained for about two and a half hours.

In the evenings some of the young Dutch pilots came into the Rest House for a drink and we heard scraps of news — not at all reassuring. There was also a young American, who pre-war had been piloting a small four-seater seaplane for an American mission. It had been commandeered by the Dutch for use as a scout plane and to carry food and equipment to their outposts. He came in most nights, telling of having had to dodge Jap raiders. He had saved himself one time by diving down to the river and hiding among the nipah palms. (He later lost his life when Tarakan fell.)

After we had been there a week we began to think that our chances of getting away were hopeless and very seriously considered either to try to creep round the coast in a motor boat towards Balik Papan or failing that, to get back to Sandakan, where at least we would be with our husbands and among our own folk. That is no reflection on the Dutch, whom we found very kind and hospitable but they could not help themselves, let alone us! We sent a wire to Sandakan to our husbands to let them know that we were still at Tarakan and which we thought would also be an indication to any other women who had been thinking of following us, that it was not an easy matter to get away from Tarakan.

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