To the left of the road we soon saw the remains of Tamuang Camp. Only scrub covered it, no jungle to speak of, and it was discernible clearly only because the fallen in bund was still there. Of bamboo and atap, sign of our passing civilisation, not a twig could be seen. Then came Tamuang village, if the truth were told dark and dirty as it was before, and exactly the same. After that, for me, impatience only for the 14 kilometres to be ended that still separated us from Kamburi. I was very afraid we’d be in the town before I could spot a landmark.

But the hills saved me from such ignominy. You cannot live among hills like those that surround the Kamburi-Chungkai country for two years and forget them in a hurry, especially when you’ve so often got nothing much better to do than sit and look at them. There they were, those massive, deep green, irregular mounds, covered in shaggy, deep green trees and scrub, hard and craggy-looking, and quite unforgettable. Individual spurs and one lion like hill coming into view persuaded me that we were almost there, and with great satisfaction I managed to forestall Pong and point out the site of the Nip camp on the right of the road, and then of the I.J.A. training camp to the left, both of them within a couple of kilometres of the town itself.

Three minutes later we stopped on the corner of the padang [Malay for field], just opposite the gate to the Paper Factory, and we’d arrived. Achit got down to run up to the factory itself and we saw Sowana, and tell him we’d all arrived, and the rest of us drove straight on along the road bordering the padang, and towards our first port of call, the big Base Cemetery. To our left we could see the white factory chimney, and the houses that had bordered our horizon for the last six months; and to the right of us, over the rather overgrown looking padang, should have been, must have been, our so wellhated camp. From the road, one, new, solitary hut could be seen; of the camp, nothing.