I have visited Hellfire Pass. And although not a man of pilgrimage, I respect and acknowledge sacrifice.
But I do not glorify war.
War should never be an aspiration; it is tragedy and heartache and sadness and death and waste.
Volunteering is brave and courageous, and you may pay the ultimate sacrifice. In modern times, conscription is too difficult to fathom, and I hope never for my children.
Yet I know why we enjoy freedom and understand that Australia is the best country in the world as a result.
The Thai-Burma Railway, where 60,000 allied prisoners of war were enslaved, was a 415-kilometre section of railway line that supplied Japanese soldiers based in Burma (Myanmar). Of the 13,000 Australians, who daily chiselled and carted rock, railway iron and sleepers, more than 2,700 perished. More than 12,000 prisoners of war died on the aptly memorialised, ‘Death Railway’.
There were also 200,000 Asian workers, or Romusha, who supported construction. 90,000 never returned home.
Acclaimed Tasmanian Author, Richard Flanagan, wrote of the Thai-Burma Railway in his 2014 Man Booker Award Winning Novel, The Narrow Road to the Deep North:
“It was fabled railway that was the issue of desperation and fanaticism, maybe as much of myth and unreality as it was to be of wood and iron and the thousands upon thousands of lives that were to be laid down over the next year to build it.”
The novel’s main character Dorrigo Evans, a POW and surgeon, is a gent not dissimilar to Australian hero, Lieutenant-Colonel, Sir Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop. Flanagan insists Evans a work of fiction. His father, Arch, was there with ‘Weary’, and the narrative makes historical sense.
Hellfire Pass is an infamous section of the Thai/Burma Railway which has found a place in World War 2 folklore. It was built from 1942-43, left to forget after the war, and then reclaimed during the 1980’s with a museum, funded in 1994, opened in 1998.
400 Australians joined the allied working party on 25 April 1943 at the cutting know as Hellfire Pass (Konyu Cutting). A further 600 British and Australian soldiers were added in June 1943 when construction fell behind schedule.
Hellfire Pass is 75 metres long and 25 metres deep. The cutting was created through hand drilling holes (drill bits and heavy hammers), then placing and detonating explosives. Much of the rubble was removed by hand in sacks and baskets.
To know these facts adds perspective, yet it is not a requirement to be moved.
Just remaining still and slowly craning stirs emotion; mostly silence and sadness due to reflection on hardship, hunger, sickness and the utter depravity that prisoners endured.
Placing a single red poppy in the rocks at the cutting or strolling the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery where many of those who died on the railway are buried feels right.
My visit was with a group of Tasmanian and Thai students. They didn’t speak, even though it wasn’t an instruction. The enormity of silence was poignant. It confirmed my belief that most kids understand respect.
Each year, Anzac Day marches and services swell in numbers with young people driving increased participation. It does not surprise me.
Recently whilst in Singapore, I visited another prisoner of war camp where Australians were interned, Changi.
The Chapel and Museum were closed for a major renovation, but it didn’t matter.
Changi, a series of seven prisoner of war camps utilised by Japanese forces from 1942-1945 was far more civilised compared to life on the Thai-Burma Railway.
By 1944, Changi housed up to 11,700 prisoners including 5000 Australians, some who had returned from the ‘Death Railway’. It was overcrowded, and as the war approached its conclusion, the Japanese cut rations and the command of POWs by senior allied soldiers was rescinded.
Changi was freed by allied soldiers in September 1945.
Peering through the gates, an old man sat on a chair at a rickety table. A lit cigarette smouldered in an ashtray, a hot drink in one hand, he thumbed the newspaper with the other.
The old man didn’t bother me a glance. I was invisible, he was busy. Requiring just a few minutes, the taxi driver was content to wait. That was enough. My dues were paid.
Lest We Forget.
But I do not glorify war.
War should never be an aspiration; it is tragedy and heartache and sadness and death and waste.
Volunteering is brave and courageous, and you may pay the ultimate sacrifice. In modern times, conscription is too difficult to fathom, and I hope never for my children.
Yet I know why we enjoy freedom and understand that Australia is the best country in the world as a result.
The Thai-Burma Railway, where 60,000 allied prisoners of war were enslaved, was a 415-kilometre section of railway line that supplied Japanese soldiers based in Burma (Myanmar). Of the 13,000 Australians, who daily chiselled and carted rock, railway iron and sleepers, more than 2,700 perished. More than 12,000 prisoners of war died on the aptly memorialised, ‘Death Railway’.
There were also 200,000 Asian workers, or Romusha, who supported construction. 90,000 never returned home.
Acclaimed Tasmanian Author, Richard Flanagan, wrote of the Thai-Burma Railway in his 2014 Man Booker Award Winning Novel, The Narrow Road to the Deep North:
“It was fabled railway that was the issue of desperation and fanaticism, maybe as much of myth and unreality as it was to be of wood and iron and the thousands upon thousands of lives that were to be laid down over the next year to build it.”
The novel’s main character Dorrigo Evans, a POW and surgeon, is a gent not dissimilar to Australian hero, Lieutenant-Colonel, Sir Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop. Flanagan insists Evans a work of fiction. His father, Arch, was there with ‘Weary’, and the narrative makes historical sense.
Hellfire Pass is an infamous section of the Thai/Burma Railway which has found a place in World War 2 folklore. It was built from 1942-43, left to forget after the war, and then reclaimed during the 1980’s with a museum, funded in 1994, opened in 1998.
400 Australians joined the allied working party on 25 April 1943 at the cutting know as Hellfire Pass (Konyu Cutting). A further 600 British and Australian soldiers were added in June 1943 when construction fell behind schedule.
Hellfire Pass is 75 metres long and 25 metres deep. The cutting was created through hand drilling holes (drill bits and heavy hammers), then placing and detonating explosives. Much of the rubble was removed by hand in sacks and baskets.
To know these facts adds perspective, yet it is not a requirement to be moved.
Just remaining still and slowly craning stirs emotion; mostly silence and sadness due to reflection on hardship, hunger, sickness and the utter depravity that prisoners endured.
Placing a single red poppy in the rocks at the cutting or strolling the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery where many of those who died on the railway are buried feels right.
My visit was with a group of Tasmanian and Thai students. They didn’t speak, even though it wasn’t an instruction. The enormity of silence was poignant. It confirmed my belief that most kids understand respect.
Each year, Anzac Day marches and services swell in numbers with young people driving increased participation. It does not surprise me.
Recently whilst in Singapore, I visited another prisoner of war camp where Australians were interned, Changi.
The Chapel and Museum were closed for a major renovation, but it didn’t matter.
Changi, a series of seven prisoner of war camps utilised by Japanese forces from 1942-1945 was far more civilised compared to life on the Thai-Burma Railway.
By 1944, Changi housed up to 11,700 prisoners including 5000 Australians, some who had returned from the ‘Death Railway’. It was overcrowded, and as the war approached its conclusion, the Japanese cut rations and the command of POWs by senior allied soldiers was rescinded.
Changi was freed by allied soldiers in September 1945.
Peering through the gates, an old man sat on a chair at a rickety table. A lit cigarette smouldered in an ashtray, a hot drink in one hand, he thumbed the newspaper with the other.
The old man didn’t bother me a glance. I was invisible, he was busy. Requiring just a few minutes, the taxi driver was content to wait. That was enough. My dues were paid.
Lest We Forget.
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