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I. The First
Massacre: February 14, 1942
The first Japanese troops could be seen from the hospital's
upstairs verandah around 1:00 p.m. They advanced in single file,
led by a soldier carrying the red and white Japanese flag. All
were dressed in green uniforms, steel helmets, camouflaged with
tree branches and twigs, and armed with rifles with bayonets and
sub machine guns. They were moving up from the Ayer Rajah Road,
with another group advancing towards the Sisters' Quarters.
Although the hospital was clearly marked with red crosses, the
international symbol for medical sanctuary, Captain J. E. Bartlett
of the RAMC decided to take no chances. When a Japanese soldier
entered the gap of the overlapping blast wall, Captain Bartlett
went out to meet him. The Captain raised his arms to signal his
peaceful intent and pointed at the red crosses on his brassard. As
he spoke the word "Hospital," the soldier raised his rifle and
fired at the Captain at point-blank range. The Captain dived into
the adjacent ward duty room as a hand grenade exploded near him.
Around one hundred camouflaged soldiers advanced in short rushes,
taking cover wherever possible. In his office, the Commanding
Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Craven, began discussing surrender
with the Registrar, Major H. Henderson, the Hospital Chaplain, and
Major J. W. D. Bull, who had just entered the room to report on
the Japanese attack. Looking out the window, Major Bull saw two
Japanese soldiers about two-hundred yards away, one with field
glasses and the other with a rifle. The Major took up a red cross
flag and held it up at the window, thinking that there might be
some doubt in their minds that they was still a hospital. The
Japanese responded with a shot which missed Major Bull and struck
the wall behind him.
Then the hospital was wrapped in such cacophony that it was
impossible to know whether the battle was outside or inside.
Shouts and screams followed a battery of explosions and gunfire.
Men ran in every direction for cover. Thirty minutes after the
assault, Lt Col Craven, Major Bull and the other officers were
finally able to make their way to the ground floor below the
C.O.'s office. The scene was a bloodbath. Some fifty dead and many
more wounded were strewn throughout the hospital.
II. Terror in the Operating Theatre
For Captain Smiley and his colleagues in the operating theatre, it
had been an exhausting day. The surgical team had continued
operating throughout the barrage of shells and bullets. One of the
Japanese platoons climbed into the verandah between the operating
theater block and the surgical wards, firing into the corridor.
The surgical team tried to carry a patient from the corridor into
the operating theater, but were prevented by a hail of bullets
that thudded against the walls. Captain Smiley approached the
doorway and pointed to the Red Cross on his arm, but took cover
when a shot whizzed past him and struck Private Lewis in the
shoulder.
A Japanese soldier entered the room and found the men standing
together in the middle of the floor with their hands above their
heads. He motioned the men into the corridor. There a dozen
Japanese soldiers set upon them with bayonets. Dr Rogers was
stabbed in the right side of the chest and two more times as he
lay on the ground. Dr Parkinson, who tried to run around the
corner into the main corridor, was gunned down. McEwan and Lewis
were killed by bayonet. The patient in the theatre, who was under
anesthetic, was bayoneted to death on the operating table.
Captain Smiley received a thrust in the breast, which was
deflected away from his heart by a cigarette case in his pocket.
He blocked the next thrust with his arm and took the dagger in his
groin. The next two thrusts severely injured his right arm and
hand. Captain Smiley fell onto Private Sutton, who had thus far
escaped attack. The Captain told Sutton to fall down with him and
pretend to be dead. After the soldiers left, Private Sutton
dressed Captain Smiley's wounds. Both lived to tell of this event.
III. The Second Massacre: February 15, 1942
In another part of the hospital, the Japanese were busy assembling
a group of more than 200 surrendered men. They were hospital staff
and walking wounded, some of them in splints and bandages and
hobbling on casts. Their hands were tied behind their backs and
they were then tied into groups of eight. These groups were led
out of the hospital by the north wing. A group of about sixty
officers and men gathered from the upstairs area joined this
larger group.
The prisoners were herded along the railway tracks, past the
burning Normanton oil tanks, through a drain tunnel under the
railway embankment to the Ayer Rajah Road, then to a row of
buildings a quarter of a mile from the hospital and set about
fifty yards back from the road. Men who were too weak to walk were
allowed to lay their arms on the shoulders of more able-bodied
men. But those who fell were bayoneted and left for dead. As
fighting around the hospital was still intense, the prisoners were
also subjected to the shelling of their own army.
The prisoners were packed into three small rooms, the biggest of
which measured approximately 10 feet by 12 feet. Each room was
crammed with 50 to 70 men. The doors were barricaded with lengths
of wood and the windows shuttered and nailed up. There was no
ventilation. The men remained tied together, but managed to take
turns sitting on the floor to rest. A number of men found it
possible to untie themselves and others, but there seemed no way
out of the building short of a miracle. The men were forced to
relieve themselves where they stood. All were thirsty, and many
severely dehydrated. Some became delirious and slipped into
unconsciousness. A number did not survive to see morning.
The following morning, a Japanese officer opened the door of one
room and said in broken English, "We are taking you behind the
lines. You will get water on the way." When the Japanese began
taking the men out two-by-two along the courtyard and around the
latrine, the prisoners' hope for air and water brightened. More
than 100 men were led on the water march. Soon the prisoners left
behind began to hear screams of anguish, and cries of "Oh my God,"
"Mother," "Don't, don't." The sight of a Japanese soldier wiping
the blood off his bayonet confirmed their worst fears: the
prisoners were being systematically massacred.
Suddenly, the sound of shelling could be heard. One shell struck
the end of a building and tore the doors and window shutters,
filling the air with dust. A number of men dashed from the
building. Most of these men were shot down, but a few of them
managed to get clear of the buildings and into the brush
surrounding the storm drain. These included Corporal C.N.C. Bryer,
Privates S.W.J Hoskins and F.A.H. Gurd, Captain R. de Warrenne
Waller and Medical Corporal G.W. Johnson. These were the only men
out of two hundred taken prisoner in the servants' quarters who
lived to tell their stories.
While the massacre was underway across the railway tracks on
February 15th, the hospital had become a battle station. No
medical activity was allowed by the Japanese. Later in the day,
the remaining prisoners cleaned up the wards. Medical Ward 6 was
turned into a mortuary.
At 8:00 p.m on February 15 the allies surrendered to the Japanese.
Jeff Partridge, PhD Candidate, National
University of Singapore, in Association with Alexandra Hospital
and Singapore Polytechnic
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