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NX51660 - CAREY, John Peter (Jack), Pte.
Tribute to
NX47759 - Pte. George Evan (Joe) JOHNSTON - D Company, 18
Platoon
"It is a well known fact, that the harsh part of participation
in War gradually recedes over the years. The heartbreak, pain,
hatred (in our case, the hatred of our captors), frustration,
hunger, worry over loved ones, these finally give way over a
period of years. Never really forgotten, but replaced by
memories of lighter moments, of every day life, and by the love
and support of our family.
However some memories linger on. The particular one about which
I would like to talk, has nothing to do with the lighter moments
of our captivity.
After a few months of Captivity on Singapore Island after the
15th February 1942, the dread complaint of malnutrition
commenced to raise its ugly head in many manifestations.
In my opinion, by far the worst trouble was, what was called,
for want of a better name, "Happy Feet".
The medical staff never had a clue, what it was all about, hence
no treatment for the first trickle of sufferers. However it soon
became a flood. Their feet were on fire. They could not sleep.
They walked all night. The only rest, which they achieved, was
through utter exhaustion. Some committed suicide. Some were
permanently brain damaged. Some had rather novel ways to ease
the pain. Young men in their early twenties looked fifty, with
deep lines in their faces, deep sunken eyes, and a greyish
colour to their skin.
I was in the Dysentery Wing in the Hospital at Changi for six
months all told, when I heard that "Joe" Johnston was a patient
in the "Happy Feet" Ward. Joe was a Platoon mate, so I got down
to his Ward as soon as I could.
I found him and my bloody heart ached.
Men were packed in like sardines. Some were singing aimlessly
with their faces a mask of pain and agony. Others were talking
quite happily, (seemingly to themselves, as no-one seemed to be
listening). Others were praying. One and all with that terrible
expression on their faces.
But, right now comes the reason, why I am telling this story. It
concerns a very courageous and outstanding man. Right in the
middle of this Dante's Inferno was "Joe" Johnston. This happened
in 1942, that is 47 years ago. I have not forgotten it. I never
will.
I sat alongside him and we talked. It never occurred to me until
after a while, that "Joe" was talking to me, as though we were
walking down the main street of Ballina, or as we used to talk
in camp before action commenced. There was no sign of the
terrible pain, which he was suffering. He was not in any deep
depression. He had so much guts, that he was able to suppress
his agony. We were talking about our mates in the Platoon and
laughing over episodes that came to mind. He was as sharp as a
tack. As much as he is today.
I went back to my bed in the Dysentery Ward and thought it over.
Looking back in retrospect, I knew that I had met a man, who, in
the extremes of what a person could endure, could come up
smiling.
The conclusion, to which I came, and to which I still adhere, is
that it was a memorable and life-long experience for me, never
to be forgotten.
It did something else for me. I was in a very low state, bodily
and mentally. I ask you, can you possibly visualize what Joe's
example meant for me?
I was discharged a month later. In no small measure this was due
to the unforgettable, intestinal fortitude displayed to me on
that day in 1942 by "Joe" Johnston.
By the way, Joe, Thanks!
(Source:
Jack Carey, written in 1989 - 2/30 Bn.
Archives.)
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Last updated
24/08/2022 |
