She regarded Jim thoughtfully as he finished noting down the tent numbers. ‘Be careful with O’Keefe,’ she said softly. ‘He’s still struggling to come to terms with what happened to him and his men on that awful railway, and is finding it very hard to communicate with anyone. He’s taken to writing long letters to his wife and standing for hours outside the gates looking up at the Union Jack.’

‘Why’s he doing that?’

‘I think he needs to be reassured that he’s a free man, and walking through those gates and seeing that flag up there gives him that assurance.’

Jim nodded and went outside. He would leave O’Keefe to last, he decided, for officers were far more difficult to persuade to talk – especially the ones who’d been slave labour on that evil railway.

He headed towards the corporals’ tents, and on his way saw a young airman standing by an American Jeep, his gaze fixed on it in wonder as if he’d never seen such a thing before.

This strange behaviour was fairly commonplace amongst the prisoners – much like the need to just walk back and forth through the gates – and Jim understood that not all of the cruelties meted out to the prisoners were physical, and the unseen mental scars would take a very long time to heal.

He found the corporals playing a desultory game of cards outside their tents, and as he approached, they leapt to their feet to salute.

‘Stand easy,’ he said, noting how young and thin they all were. ‘I’ve just come for a wee chat, nothing too official.’ He pulled up a spare chair and with a nod they all sat down.

‘Are you here to tell us we’re on our way home at last?’ asked Frost, the youngest of the three.

‘I’m sorry, but no, that’s not up to me.’

‘But we’ve been here for weeks,’ snapped Gresham, throwing the cards onto the table. ‘I need to get home to my girlfriend before she gets fed up with waiting.’

‘We all need to go home, Gresham,’ said Jim patiently. ‘And you will, once there’s a ship free to take you there. But with so many of you coming in, the admin is a nightmare.’

‘Admin, my arse,’ muttered Mayhew. ‘What do those pen-pushers know about anything? Can’t they see we just need to get out of this bloody place and back to our families?’

‘Of course they do, and I understand your frustration.’ He paused. ‘One of the things the admin bods are asking for is statements from all the POWs before they leave Singapore.’

Gresham folded his arms. ‘With all due respect, sir,’ he said with a distinct lack of such respect, ‘I’ve been answering questions ever since I was picked up by the Nips, and I’ve had enough of it.’

There was a general murmur of agreement, and Jim realised they were fed up, bored and frustrated to be kept in yet another camp. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he replied mildly. ‘But there are still men missing out there in hundreds of isolated, hidden camps we’ve yet to hear about. All I’m asking for is help in finding what happened to them and where they might be.’