Ten Yards to Death

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War | Malaya | Singapore | Service with other Units | Battalion Movements | Order of Battle

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In 1960, The Sunday Telegraph conducted a Literary Competition for Short Stories. The story submitted by Les Hall was adjudged the Winning War Story, and was accorded Third Prize in the overall Competition.

The main subject in the story, "Bill Trebuhs", is most probably NX2567 - Pte. Wiiliam Forbes SCHUBERTH who was executed at Mergui on 30/7/1942, after an alleged escape attempt.

Ten Yards to Death

"All mans must work in the rain", was an order Lieutenant Tokoro, Commandant of the Japanese P.O.W. Camp, Mergui, South Burma, issued when work began to transform a former rice paddy field into a landing strip for the Japanese Air Force.

From early morning until dusk the "white coolies" trudged back and forth, carrying a rice sack filled with mud and slung between two bamboo poles, Oriental fashion, Rain fell in torrents.

Others dug deep into the mud with heavy No. 10 type shovels to keep the long, unending lines of pack carriers on the move.

Japanese and Korean Guards never let up with their blood chilling cry of "Koora Koora" as bamboo and pick handle waddies beat a tattoo on protruding ribs, when tired, gaunt frames stole a moment's rest.

"Summer-Summer", "Whisky Bill" and "Straight Back", Japanese bash artists, vied with each other to get more mud away with their work groups than the other devil drivers.

As the weary lines of the 8th Australian Division and Allied guests of the Imperial Nipponese sloshed knee deep in mud, breasts burned with undying hatred for anything related to the Land of the Rising Sun. A hatred, and contempt that sizzled to white heat as plans were made to thwart the intentions of the Imperial Japanese Army.

One of these plans concerned food, the all important, all hour topic of starving men in all Japanese prisoner of war camps.

By June 15, 1942, the ravages of hunger were beginning to take toll of the boys in the Mergui Camp. Dysentery was rife, Beri Beri, Malaria and associated tropical diseases were laying waste the ranks. Two Aussies, Bill Trebuhs and Les Gordon, sack "porters", were nattering about piles of hot, luscious foods as they battled through the mud, until it became a consuming driving desire to augment their tiny daily rice ration.

They planned to break out of the Camp on alternate nights to beg, barter, or otherwise obtain food from the natives to share with their hut mates. Bill had sized up the compound fence and found a natural hollow under the barbed wire near the camp latrines. He was sure, under the cover of the inky blackness of' the night and the never ending rain, no guards would be near the area, and a breakout was comparatively easy.

When the guards eventually called a "yasmai" (rest period) and the half pannikin of rice was served that was to be dinner, it was the last straw. Their mess table was a mud heap, if they wanted to sit, and sweets comprised the pouring rain that filled their eating drinking utensil to overflowing.

Who could stand this torment of gnawing hunger? Who wanted to?

As the shades of night came down over the landing strip site, the long lines of Nipponese guests trudged back through the continual downpour to another meagre rice meal. Checked in through the camp gate, the various groups made for their huts and the first moments for hours out of the rain. The buckets of hot rice were brought to the mess lines, but again hardly enough was available to each man even to allay the tortures of hunger pains.

Bill Trebuhs had had it. He was determined to go out that night. He and his mates wanted food, they were going to have it. But although Bill was adamant about it, few thought he was really going. When the "tenkho" (muster) parade was over and the lads prepared to bed down on their bamboo slats, Bill Trebuhs was missing. inquiring voices were heard in the darkness of his hut as to his whereabouts. Few believed he had really set out on his dangerous, but well meaning mission.

They were wrong.

Lieutenant Tokoro was a cunning camp controller. He knew he had too few guards available for constant night patrol duty - certainly not enough to watch every inch of the barbed wire compound fence. There were no lights around the fence. He issued reward notices to the Mergui Police Force, promising to pay large sums for the capture of any prisoner who broke out of the compound. The Police wanted that money.

All the P.O.W’s knew of that order, but they also remembered the kindness of the Mergui folk who had offered to supply all the food required for the camp... free of charge. They could not forget the baskets of eggs that had at various times found their way into the camp under the cover of darkness. Why then should the loyalty of the local Police be doubted? They were just ordinary folk, and would help, if they could, as did members of their families and other villagers.

Remembering all this, Bill Trebuhs was on his way out. He found the depression under the bottom strand of barbed wire, rolled under it very carefully, lay for a moment as his eyes tried to pierce the rain filled black of the night. With one ear close to the muddy undergrowth, he tried to pick up the sound of the plodding shoe shod feet of a guard or guards. Moments passed. He heard nothing, he could see little. Was the coast clear?

Gradually, inch by inch, he wormed and wriggled his way across the 10 yards that separated the fence and the fringe of jungle growth. Soon, he thought, he would be amongst the fallen tree trunks he had seen before when he had planned this very move. Like a snake slithering through ooze, he was getting closer and closer to the jungle cover. His outstretched right arm touched a tree trunk. Now he was safe! Slowly he began to get to his feet.

Suddenly he froze and his entrails turned over... What was that noise? Hardly daring to take a breath, he listened as blood pounded in his temples. His nerves were as taught as a piano string. His chest felt as if it would burst. Sweat, mingled with rain poured down his gaunt frame as the night noises of the tree growth stilled like magic. His senses warned him of a presence, man or beast. What was it?

As his eyes bored into the blackness, he felt a weakness of body and an almost overpowering desire to yell and charge. Then, as fear left him, he made a rush for the narrow path that would take him towards the village, and food - plenty of food. As he found the path, he eased to a walk, then he heard it...a click.

He stood stock still as he felt the chill of icy-cold steel on the nape of his neck. The very marrow in his bones froze as a voice, in pidgin English, said: "We Pleece. No move. Yes?" Wild thoughts raced through his mind as he frenziedly wrested with the intent to risk a bullet and grapple with his captor. Instinctively he braced himself for the attempt, just as another armed figure stepped out from the bushes in front of him, and his arms were grabbed from either side. Four Burmese Police had him. Escape was impossible. Bill Trebuhs was a captive.

Jubilantly, the four brave bounty hunters frogmarched their victim to the Japanese Guardhouse, where sounds of body bashing soon filled the air. Yelling and shouting like demented beings, they flayed the quivering body until Bill Trebuhs lay panting in pain on the jail house floor.

He was dragged by the arms and then thrown into the tiny penance or torture cell to await the sadistic pleasures that were certain to continue the whole night through. Men in the compound huts near the Guard Post thronged to the doors to see what the commotion was that roused them from sleep. But other than the excited chatter, there was nothing to indicate what was wrong. They were soon to know, however.

As Bill Trebuhs came to consciousness, he saw light filtering through the cell, where the attap roof separated the wall. Mustering his strength, he attempted to climb up in a desperate effort to get out. After a few abortive attempts, he managed to grasp the bamboo pole on top of the wall, and he was out and on the ground.

For a hazardous moment he braced himself, then set out for the nearest hut. Not a guard saw him, and within moments he was back with his mates, who feared that the noise from the guardhouse meant that he had been caught. Excitedly they gathered around him and listened spellbound as he unfolded the story. Quickly, someone sponged him down in case blood on his bony body would give him away when the Japs checked each hut. They all knew and feared they would. Minutes later their fears were borne out.

Maddened guards were racing in and out of the huts calling "Tenko, Tenko. All mans out. We want prisoner with hairy chest." Only two men in the whole Camp had a full growth of hair on their chests, and Bill Trebuhs was one of them. They were both Aussies.

Lieutenant Tokoro quickly summoned Lieut. Col. G.E. Ramsay, the Australian Officer Commanding all troops in "Ramsay" Force in Mergui P.O.W. Camp. "Gentleman George" - as the troops all knew him - knew that meant one of two men. But.... it was his bounden duty to protect his men, and he point blank refused to hand over the men demanded by Lieut. Tokoro.

The irate Japanese Officer then issued an ultimatum .... hand over the alleged escape or the whole complement of the Camp would be paraded for identification. Again and again "Gentleman George" refused, and a general muster order was given. Not one man in the Camp was prepared to name the one captured by the Burmese Police, and all made ready to assemble on the parade ground. Nature at this moment played a hand. The rain had ceased to fall. The cards were falling the Nipponese way.

It was at this juncture that a very gallant soldier made a decision. Bill Trebuhs, fearing another man would or might be punished for his act, voluntarily surrendered himself to his hut commander. Cries of .."don't do it, Bill. Let the Jap bitches have a go. We are all with you" rang through the hut. His mates implored him to sit tight and risk the line-up parade, but he steadfastly refused and said: "What's the use. They might take the wrong bloke. I did it. I'll take what's coming."

Through the long sleepless night, the guardhouse resounded to the beatings inflicted on the bound figure at the gate. Bill Trebuhs was suffering the tortures of hell unleashed.

As daylight dawned on that June, 1942 morning, a very subdued but dangerously minded band of P.O.W’s planned ways and means of saving a mate from the fury of the bestial Orientals. Lieut. Col. G.E. Ramsay made early representations to Lieut Tokoro for the immediate release of the unfortunate soldier, whose only crime was in the seeking of food. Not food just for himself, but for his mates as well. Had not he been punished enough?

Tokoro blandly informed the Australian Officer that he would refer the case to Captain Itsui, the merciless monster in charge of the Tenassurum P.O.W. District. Lieut. Col. Ramsay invoked the Hague Convention in favour of Bill Trebuhs. He told Tokoro all prisoners-of-war were entitled to the protection of the Hague Convention. In the strongest possible terms he argued the case for the imprisoned man of his command, and Tokoro forwarded his plea on to Itsui.

Some days later Itsui replied. The text of his message was: "EXECUTE WITHOUT DELAY". The monster had spoken!

Again and again Lieut. Col. Ramsay fought Tokoro to save the life of the condemned soldier. In the annals of all military history no Officer ever pleaded the case harder or with greater tenacity than did the Australian Commander of the Allied P.O.W’s in Mergui, South Burma. "Gentleman George", honoured by all those who served under him, was a true soldier in War, and just as brilliant in the stress and strain of P.O.W. life.

Tokoro finally relented, and gave his word as an Officer he would stay the execution and transmit the further pleadings of Lieut. Col. Ramsay to Captain Itsui at Tenassurum. The fears of all in Mergui P.O.W. Camp were allayed when this was announced, and all thought the rules of War and humanity had at last prevailed over the power-drunk ferocity of Tokoro the tyrant. Until.....two days later, in the mid-afternoon, a truck passed out of the compound gate. A. gaunt, but very erect figure, bound hand and foot, stood between two armed Japanese guards. It was Bill Trebuhs.

As the vehicle passed a road work party, the last known words of the condemned man were heard. He said: "Tell the Colonel they are going to shoot me. Farewell. God bless you." The emaciated body straightened even more .... as if in a salute, and a smile flashed a message, symbolic in its framing.

On a wind-swept and rain-drenched hillock on the outskirts of Mergui, South Burma, an unmarked grave is the resting place of a courageous son of Australia.

The soldier who walked ten yards to death, Bill Trebuhs.

(Written by Les Hall. The winning War Story in a Literary Competition conducted by the Sunday Telegraph in 1960. Reprinted in Makan No.200, March/April, 1972 and Makan No.201, May/June, 1972 -  by kind permission of the Author and the Sunday Telegraph)

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Last updated  31/08/2021