The one ray of light in all this misery was the fact that the railway in our sector was nearly finished. Another couple of weeks or so, and we’d be clear. Also, after weeks and weeks of delay, they were at least beginning to evacuate the heavy sick by barge to Chungkai. Scores of men unable to stand, naked and dirty, were dragged in the drizzle down to the river and put on barges. The very fact that they were going DOWN put life into those weakly beating hearts. The journey took about three days. In the course of the next few weeks, thousands of them went down; my Platoon Sergeant just made it, and I thought he would probably live. But one of our old cooks and Henry Baird’s batman were too weak; one of them had already got over cerebral malaria, but the arrival of cholera in his tent had shaken him terribly, and the other lad was pathetically emaciated with Pellagra; they both died at the other end. One other man I was very relieved to see go down: he was a young Norfolk farmer, full of courage, who deserved to live after fighting beri-beri for the last three months. Many officers went down, too, and we who stayed up gazed jealously after them, but wished them well.

And still it rained . . .

About 10 days before our sector was through, when the cutting was about the necessary 16 feet deep, I managed to go sick. Had it not been for the recent evacuation, this would have been impossible, for only five sick working officers were allowed. I used to walk out to work daily in bare feet because I had no boots, and one afternoon I changkuled my big toe-nail clean off. That same day I had been in the bushes during the work 14 times, and had a fever with a temperature of 103°. That night I went to bed a sick man and thanked my stars for it; though my mouth was foul with 30 grains of quinine and I was deaf and heady, and though my stomach was full of Mag. Sulph., tomorrow and for a few days at least, I shouldn’t have to work. Whoopee!

The last fortnight our half empty Camp 203 was alive with rumours. Was this really our last camp? Or were we going up again? Two months before, the Nips had definitely said that this was our final camp, but what now? Another optimistic story said that our administrative Nips were some of them learning Malay and had told us we were going down to Singapore; but for most of us Chungkai would have been good enough, as we’d heard stories of wonderful canteens and conditions down there. Bets were hotly made and taken; I was optimistic, but Woolley was not. Woolley was right.