Malays were not numerous in the town, though the police were partly Malays carrying on under the Nips, due either to compulsion or necessity. Sikhs and other sombre, bearded Indians leaning against shop corners, gazed inscrutably at us as we went by – God knows what they were thinking. The only race that knew what they were about were the Chinese, and they were out to sell us all they could, and so our march discipline suffered, particularly as frequent halts occurred opposite shops and stalls. But the whole time as we marched along small Chinese children ran parallel along the sidewalks, clasping tins of pineapples and other things to their breasts, and shouting out their prices in piercing high-pitched voices. Occasionally some stall-keeper, always a Chinese, would slice up a papaya and hand it over to the troops as they went by, but as a general rule business was business, and the Englishman always had had money!

In the middle of Singapore we met one or two civilians, engineers, who, indispensable to the public services of the town, were carrying on their previous jobs at an all-in wage of 60 dollars a month, and bamboo sheds to live in.

By this time, after about fourteen kilometres march, the sun was very hot and so were we. As we passed through the residential areas on the way to Bukit Timah, our Transport Officer, now perhaps walking for the first time since he’d been in the Army, made conversation with a Nip walking beside him saying: ‘Bloody hot!’ and wiping his brow. The Nip grinned in reply and offered his sweat-rag, or more euphemistically his ‘hand-towel’. Refusal was diplomatically contrived! And then we were soon out on the great, broad Bukit Timah Road walking towards the racecourse. The last time we had seen that road it was under heavy Nip ‘75’ and mortar fire: now, except for a few blasted trees and telegraph poles, and many overturned cars, all was peaceful; and after another couple of miles we found ourselves overlooking the golf course, and finally ending up by entering Sime Road, the former H.Q. of the R.A.F. in the Far East.

And here the scene was pretty desolate. Formerly, a huge, hutted camp connected by little roofed concrete paths and runs of steps, it was now three-quarters in ruins. Burnt out rubble was the fate of most of the huts, and fire seemed to have been responsible for most of the damage. As we entered the camp we could see about ten still habitable huts according to Nip standards. The road twisted round a natural, steep little valley or inverted cone, at the bottom of which, amid thick banana trees, lay a Malay kampong. At the far side of the kampong was visible the battered golf Club House. Ultimately we were allocated our quarters in the various huts, and then started the immediate examination of the camp, and scrounging before the Nips could wire us in.