The Sandakan Death March

With three days to go before we reach Paginatan, we have hit the trail early, trying to hammer out a decent chunk of ground before the heat takes hold. As a result of staying true to the original route, we often find ourselves completely exposed to the sun, as we follow the rarely used dirt tracks that meander through the countryside. The Australian soldiers are suffering through it without a word of complaint—at least not until Paddy collapses later that afternoon. Lance Bombardier Patrick Shanahan is my Wikipedia definition of what a soldier should be. Of medium height and build, with good looks and a commitment to the task that’s nothing short of admirable; he’s capable of measuring the company line while discussing the larger picture. Today, he’s lugging the extra weight that one of us always must: the emergency gear—satellite phone and the like —a load far exceeding everyone else’s, but he’s game. That he skipped lunch should have been an indication, but considering our noontime fare, we weren’t that surprised. It’s only later in the day, as begins to careen along the road do we realize something is up. Shortly afterwards he collapses.

Paddy reminds me of PoW Richard Murray in a lot of ways. Both are the product of tough, working class upbringings where justice is often decided by the fist; each with a wild side that, on occasion, has gotten them into trouble. Their genuine concern for the people around them makes steadfast friendships easy, creating unfaltering respect among the soldiers they serve with.

This is evident when Paddy goes down. The group breaks into action, with Bombardier Kenny Tunney quickly assessing that Paddy is suffering from serious heatstroke and must be cooled immediately. He is taken to a nearby river, stripped to his shorts and doused with water. Keeping close to his fallen friend, Tunney discusses an evacuation strategy with lieutenant Mike Squire while barking orders to the three younger men in his command. These three are part of a larger group of seven under Paddy’s command; Paddy in turn answers to Kenny. The boys affectionately call Paddy “Mom” since his role is to care for the welfare of the men while Kenny is “Dad” because his role is to ensure the squad’s work is done.

Paddy isn’t coming around and medical assistance is called for. Fortunately, we’re near the end of day and a vehicle makes it to our location, whisking him away to hospital where he will require five bags of glucose I.V. Even with the best of modern equipment this is no picnic.

Imagine what it was like for the PoWs. When they realized they had somehow to continue on to Paginatan without food, it broke them. Richard Murray recognized the seriousness of the situation and positioned himself at the back of the group so he could assist the stragglers. Despite his efforts the men began to die. Ambulance man Arthur Noakes died at 8 a.m. on the second morning out of Boto, while David Humphries and Donald Palmer, unable to continue, were shot dead one hour later. Lawrence McLeenan and Norman McLeod made it a few kilometres beyond camp that morning before they too succumbed. The reason anyone made it to Paginatan at all was thanks to locals who would occasionally come out of the jungle to give them tapioca and sweet potato. Before Murray’s group reached the village one more soldier would be shot while another would disappear into the jungle, never again to be seen.

A more sombre tone pervades the second night’s camp as we realize that this march is something to be reckoned with. Sleep doesn’t come easy. I lie awake in my tent longing for a whisper of wind, as I count the heartbeats from the throbbing in my feet. Years of expedition racing has left me with many physical souvenirs, of which sensitive feet is but one.

Sunrise seems to flash in an instant out here, bringing with it a cacophony of breakfast chatter from every bird and insect in the area. The air is cool and pleasant as we break camp and head into what’s expected to be our toughest day.

It’s only a few kilometres before we hit the Tavio River and start following it upstream. The river isn’t flowing very fast, making it easy to wade through it. The further we push up river the more lush and impenetrable the jungle grows. The original marchers followed a route just up the side of the steep river bank, but for us it’s simpler, and indeed more fun, to wade our way through the current. Post-war recovery teams wouldn’t find a single body along this section because the Japanese soldiers had kicked the corpses of the dead down the slope and into the river where they were swept away.

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