Into the hold Crafts went daily, unarmed, through the battened hatch into the darkness with the usual suffocating heat of any hold of a ship, with the thump of engines, and the smell of human sweat and garlicky urine; and, though queasy with compassion, told himself there was nothing he could do, for Security came first, and he could not allow them on deck. There were, after all, quite a few normal, law-abiding citizens on the ship, and a mutiny would be some picnic.

Up the ladder through the hatch and on to the third-class deck he went back towards the sun, the light, the free air. On the third-class deck passengers ate and slept, there were no cabins. On a mat lay an opium smoker in a coma; his ribs, covered with yellow parchment skin, scarcely moved. His grown and handsome son cooked the pellets and handed him the pipe in both hands, with love and devotion. Stalls, raucous as hawkers’ stalls in any street of Singapore, sold all the delicacies that Cantonese delight in to while away the week of sailing in eating and munching. A heavy smell of Tiger Balm pervaded the air, and the deck runnels were dirty with spit-sour olive kernels, potent against seasickness.

On the second sailing day, there was much agitation among the banishees in the hold, for some were communist leaders of cells, and they started a clamour and a turbulence. The interpreter reported to Crafts how they urged the others to strike against the food and the conditions. ‘Well, it’s not for long,’ thought Crufts, and refused to put them in irons, contenting himself with going down into the hold at meal times and supervising the food they ate.

Crufts had seen the Hinchcliffes before departure, to collect the detainees from their camp, as he had from other camps in Malaya.

He found Hinchcliffe philosophically sipping beer on his bungalow veranda, and Mrs Hinchcliffe in tears.

‘Our dear, dear, detainees,’ she exclaimed, looking round her a trifle wildly, ‘our poor darlings … oh we did get so fond of them … especially my own poor dear boy … look how he hand painted this whole set of bowls for me. Isn’t it pretty? Did it all as a surprise for my birthday. So handy about the house, he was, fixing up anything I wanted … so quiet, used to sit on his knees in a corner, waiting for orders … I’m sure he never did anything wrong. I’m willing to bet anything he never was a Red. Told me he didn’t know why he’d been put in camp. Every New Year he said to me: ‘A very happy New Year to you, mem.’ And I used to say to him: ‘And to you, dear boy, and I hope you’ll soon be free, though goodness knows I’ll miss you a lot.’ Then he’d just smile and say nothing at all … and now you’re taking him to China.’