‘Did you ever receive letters from home, or Red Cross parcels?’ asked Jim softly.

O’Keefe shook his head. ‘We heard nothing from anyone and thought we’d been forgotten by the world until the moment we were liberated.’

He looked up at Jim with a frown. ‘It’s a strange feeling to find yourself free after so long, and when the American soldiers found us, most of us just sat and waited to be told what to do and where to go. We were numbed by it all, you see, and couldn’t believe it was really over and we were free.’

He began to rub his scar again, noticed what he was doing and clasped his hands tightly together between his bony knees. ‘Since coming here my moods have swung from sheer elation to deep despondency, but receiving letters from my wife is a tremendous help, and I write long letters back. They seem to calm me.’

‘Were you moved from camp to camp during the building of the railway?’ asked Jim.

‘Several times, and I’ve since met men here that I remember from different camps.’ He took a deep breath, realised he was rubbing his scar again and gave Jim a rueful smile. ‘I’ve found I do that when I’m feeling particularly on edge,’ he explained. ‘It’s a habit I’ll have to stop, or my wife will think I’ve gone potty.’

Jim realised the man had had more than enough, and as he’d given him so much worthwhile information, it was only kind to leave him in peace. He’d closed his notebook and was about to take his leave when O’Keefe touched his arm.

‘Don’t you want to know what happened to your friends?’

Jim’s heart missed a beat. ‘I’d be very grateful and so would their families,’ he said carefully.

‘Fuller and Tarrant were with me at camp thirty-two and survived the cholera, although they were never quite the same again. Tarrant was skin and bone when he was sent to camp sixteen which was further down the line, nearer to Bangkok. And Fuller was the same, but he remained in our work party as we were sent to camp thirty-three.’ He looked at Jim, his eyes fathomless in his deeply lined face. ‘He’s still there. I’m sorry.’

Jim closed his eyes momentarily and digested the news he’d been dreading. ‘How did he die?’ he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

‘He was sick and very weak, half the man he’d been when I first met him in Changi – and one day he was struggling to help two others carry a heavy sleeper. I saw his legs buckle and hurried to help him – but he was already dead by the time he hit the ground. He was buried beside the track in the jungle, as were so many others. I left a marker – it was all I could do for him.’

‘Thank you for sharing your experiences with me. I do understand how very painful it must have been for you, but your testimony will help enormously in the trials to come.’