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Chapter 2

IN INDO-CHINA

On the anniversary of the Emperor Meiji’s birthday, 3 November, we reached the waters off the southern coast islands and the following day entered the port of Haiphong, at that time a French possession in Indo-China (now North Vietnam). It was known as ‘Indo’ for short. Near the ship were cargo-handling lighters (sampans) and a crowd of peddlers’ little boats. Their Annamese dress was new to me and when I heard them talking I realized I had indeed come to a foreign country and for the first time I set foot on foreign soil.

Even at night the heat did not abate. On the lovely lakeside of Granlac the chalkstone buildings were reflected in the quiet waters of the lake. One walked down tree-lined streets and in the French manner cafés lined the sidewalks. There were petits fours cakes which were sweet-tasting, and we enjoyed a helping.

In mid-November we were transferred from Haiphong to towns along the line of the transverse railway called The Phut & Embai Line. The train crossed a high steel bridge over the River Songkoi called Bon de mer. The bridge served two purposes, first as a bridge route: second, when there were no trains it isolated the railtrack which provided unusual facilities. At Embai there was military training every day.

My unit was the first to go to Saigon. On 25 November we entrained at Haiphong station. From the carriage window you could see the South China Sea. Somehow the atmosphere was tense, but one still sensed no indication that one was at war. The train arrived at Saigon on 28 November. Saigon was called the Paris of the Orient, a beautiful town which Frenchmen took to their hearts. On the main street under the rows of trees in Maronie there were cafés and at teatime a band performed a musical programme. The leaves in the line of trees shone through and through in the hot southern sun, trembling and whispering in the breeze. I remember my first taste of snails as the French cooked them. I bought clothes to combat the heat, short-sleeves, divided hakama (trousers), lightweight gear suitable for the southern region. Even so, the sword at one’s hip was somewhat of a nuisance.

At the end of November, together with Matsudaira, the railway chief official at HQ, I went to Cambodia to survey their railways. When we essayed to go into Phnom Penh station, a section of track on the line over the frontier had been damaged and the Tsūjima Battalion of 5 Railway Regiment was standing by charged with the duty of re-connecting it. The section of damaged track between the Cambodian line and the southern part of the Thai line was said to be on the Thai side of the frontier. Unit commander Major Tsūjima was worried because our survey showed the frontier area was dangerous. Even up to this moment we could not forecast when war would start for Japan; we were hoping that there would be an agreed settlement in the negotiations with the Americans. Still, hour by hour, we lived in the shadow of war.

On 1 December our survey unit travelled from Phnom Penh on the Cambodian line, our object being to utilize an efficient transport capability for which we had to verify the viability of the railtrack. To safeguard our secret undercover movements, we were disguised as ships’ passengers and tourists. By chance a Frenchman who was travelling on our train saw us and my chief, Matsudaira, told me to keep him under observation. I invited him to the dining-car, having recourse to my sole stock of French, bonjour and merci, gave him several cups of coffee, trying to make him feel at ease and not get wind of our survey. This was an unexpected tough job added to a difficult survey job.

The following day we arrived at the station on the frontier. From the station the frontier was two to three hundred metres to the North, and a bridge was being built over a small river.

The station-master treated us in a friendly manner but we didn’t understand a word. We talked to yesterday’s Frenchman and he ended up by being interpreter in buying some lovely silks. We asked the station-master to be our guide as we thought we would like to go and see the bridge at the frontier. He led us to the river-bank and we all got into a boat pointing downstream, but when we got close to the bridge we saw on both banks machine-gun emplacements sited menacingly. At the moment when he led us to the boat on the river-bank a couple of Japanese soldiers had come and asked to go with us. They were without badges of rank and weren’t carrying swords. The boat was handled by the stationmaster, going downstream in mid-river, because that was thought to be the frontier-line. He was worried he might be shot at if he went over it. Apart from being in the narrow confines of a boat it was a small boat and he was crossing the bridge-route. It’s odd, but our bridge survey was accompanied by bursts of laughter!

That evening at the shelter we were stopping at, these two infantry officers greeted us and courteously offered their help at the frontier station. It was surprising that they were travelling at the frontier as ordinary soldiers without side-arms. They were people from an advance party and it looked as if the moment to occupy Thailand had come as they were reconnoitring the frontier. From such circumstances one supposed it was inevitable that hostilities would break out, and I was not sure whether I felt belligerent or not – on arrival at Saigon my own bridge unit was also an advance party.

On 4 December a warning order came from 2 Railway HQ that, ‘4 Special Railway Unit must wait for their advance into Malaya until X and Y hours.’ Chief Official Nishijima, who happened to be present, was looking for a pretext for advancing into Malaya, a British possession, but an essential pre-condition was lacking – he had been told that X, Y and Z days had to seem likely to happen. To me it was a quite intractable problem but indicators were appearing moment by moment that we were being dragged bodily into war.