THE OUIJA BOARD
By Arthur Lane
Occasionally we hear about unexplained happenings in the past. Ships, Airplanes, and people disappearing without trace or reason, and no one seems to able to supply an answer. As a former prisoner of war incarcerated by the Japanese, I can recall a similar happening and would appreciate help from anyone in finding an answer.
It was in Thailand in the late summer of 1944, when with several other prisoners who had so far managed to survive the brutality of our taskmasters and the ravages of sickness and hunger. We were resting at Chungkai base camp, while waiting for our next labour detail. We had already anticipated that we would probably be moved to one of the deserted camps further up river, where we would be required to repair the bomb damage inflicted by Allied planes. Or we could be transported to one of the other states or even countries to continue whatever task our guards had been ordered that we should be set. Everything depended on the whim of our Gunso (Sergeant) Saito who was a demoted cavalry officer with a grudge even against life itself.
The building of the infamous Bangkok to Rangoon railway having been completed several months ago, it was necessary for our keepers and tormentors to select whatever menial and demeaning task they could find in order to continue their aggressive crusade against all western nationals.
I for my sins, after having worked with the building gangs and rock blasting parties, had been assigned to work under the notorious Tanaka the mad engineer, who was noted for his detestation of anything resembling Christianity and for his method of disposing of those prisoners who had not complied with his bidding.
Finally we were informed that our task would be the repair of the railway line from our present position up to the Thanbazayat death camp which was inside the Burma border.
The Japanese had decided to have the camp at Thambazayat rebuilt to accommodate their sick and wounded coming down from the war in Burma. After traveling for four days through dense jungle, where every known insect, snake or leech would be waiting, to extract its quota of blood and nourishment from any unwary prisoner or even Japanese guard. We arrived at this most notorious and dreaded camp, which had been built along the 370 kilo stretch of railway. Thanbazayat death camp was just inside the Burma border.
The Japanese had decided to rebuild the camp at Thambazayat. Although the name means
little silver rest house, to all those who had been unfortunate to have lived and
slaved there during the building of the railway, it meant degradation, de-
Realizing that we were about to enter a camp taken on a pro rata scale to Belsen, each man held a feeling of desperation and hopelessness. The camp had been built during the Japanese speedo period, when everything had to be done at the double and at the time it was ordered the railway must be completed by the end of the year (1943) despite the cost.
Of the five thousand Allied prisoners of war who had built and lived in the camp, three thousand were now buried there. The remainder went on to die elsewhere. By the end of the war just sixty Allied prisoners of war remained alive to tell the tale; of these just twenty one were to return home.
Two kilometres below the camp there was a further cemetery, which held the remains of more than three thousand Tamils and other Asian workers, with the ashes of a further two thousand Indian workers whose bodies were committed to
fire in accordance with their religion. Mostly all had believed and had faith in
the Japanese so called Asian Co-
Looking round at the jungle vegetation with its multitude of coloured plants and flowers, topped by hundreds of butterflies, each brightly coloured and in various designs, one would have been excused for imagining that they were entering paradise. However behind this cascade of colour there was a black damp area of degradation and squalor. Here men had openly cried out for their mother, a friend or even to God, for some form of relief from the torture which they were expected to endure in the name of the British Empire and freedom. There had been no one to answer their cries for help however, and here some men openly defied the Japanese guards, in the hope that they would be summarily executed on the spot, in order to relieve them of their pain and indignity, and I felt humble as I walked the same paths which they had created.
All that now remained of the camp was a few lengths of bamboo protruding from the
ground, where probably several prisoners had taken shelter after completing their
quota of work. Our party of twenty (mainly men) suffering from beri-
The jungle was damp, stinking and uninviting. The wet soil squelched beneath our feet as thousands of crickets, grasshoppers, bullfrogs and other of natures creatures permeated the atmosphere with their screeching, which all but burst the ear drums with its intensity, showed defiance at our approach. Above them all could be heard the monkies , squirrels and cockchaffer beetle beating a tattoo with its wings, in unison with the rest of the jungle orchestra.
The main camp had long since been demolished, leaving the jungle through nature clawing relentlessly at the ground in an effort to recover that which it had lost. Here and there were shafts of what had once been humanity protruding from the soil, lending an eerie atmosphere to their damp silent protests, as if trying to remind each of us that Gods children once walked where we now stood.
At a point which had at one time been the furthermost extremity of the camp was an
area which was covered in weeds and fungi, from these protruded the soggy remains
of a cross, probably placed there at the risk of losing his own life by a devoted
comrade, the marker depicting the grave of yet another unfortunate who fate had selected
to protect the cause of the British Empire and freedom or one of its allies, who
had been drafted un-
It was possible in one or two cases to make out the names of the poor unfortunate
who now lay beneath the cross, other markers which had been made of less adequate
material were suffering the onslaught of time, lice, woodworm, slugs and other vermin,
had eaten away the name thereon inscribed. Just outside this particular area, my
eye was attracted to a rectangular piece of wood, which had at one time been secured
to the stave from which it now dangled at a forty five degree angle. Part of the
wire which had once secured them together had been eaten away by rust. As I walked
near I could just make out the name of one of the men buried beneath. Then moving
closer I noted that there was more than one name on the board, also that the board
was of a hardwood which someone had gone to a great deal of trouble in carving the
names of each man. It read. “Here lie the remains of 3529270 Pte T Jackson Manch
Reg. CQMS C Anderson FMSVF, A S H Justice USS Houston. 33271-
On the reverse immaculately carved was the remains of what had once been an Ouija board, one which I had seen so often in Chungkai base camp. At which time it had been highly polished and highly prized by the man who carved it. I pulled the board away from the stave and looked long and hard at their names and tried to make out those which had been eaten away. My eyes misted over as I tried to clean up the board and my mind went back to when I had last seen it in all its glory, only then it had just been a highly polished Ouija board.
It had been in Chungkai base camp more than two years ago. Con Anderson a CQMS with the Federated Malay States Volunteer Forces had procured a bed head board from some where, and using primitive tools he had designed and produced a highly polished board complete with all the markings of the zodiac, letters, dates, and other artistic figures.
There had never been any intention on his part to delve into spiritualism or any
other occult. To him it had been something to do in his leisure time -
I looked again at the names, and their faces came flooding back into my memory There had been six names but now only three discernable, in the back of my mind I knew the names of the other, and as I read the names, their faces appeared, each one seemed to be asking the same question “Why?”.
I continued to stare down at the board hoping that my eyes would develop some form of laser quality that I might satisfy my curiosity. But the more I looked, the more my eyes misted over, until I stood unashamedly weeping. I don't know if it was for their pitiful end, my present existence or maybe both. I felt that someone was watching my every move from the jungle, but it did nothing to stop my tears. I had known all six as friends and at least two as comrades.
The last time I had known about the board had been two years earlier. It was some
time in March1943, when the Japanese were screaming out for more speed. It was also
the time when they demonstrated their civility and justice, by executing three of
my friends for trying to escape, and it was also the time when ten thousand more
prisoners were delivered to Chungkai to begin building the bridges and cuttings,
using basic tools and their bare hands. Chungkai camp was named after the village
which the Japanese had taken over as a prisoner of war camp in August 1942. The tiny
village then had a population of around two hundred, most of whom were co-
My duties at that time were that of night cook, daytime bugler at the cemetery and assistant at the crematorium, which left me with just six hours for sleeping. Through my work in the cookhouse and the cemetery, I came into contact with a number of the Japanese and Korean guards which enabled me to learn a little of their language and customs. One or two of them actually boasted of being Christians.
The huts in which we slept were identified by letters and were called battalions. “A” hut became “A” battalion, ”B” hut “B” battalion and so on. Erected close to the hospital cookhouse was the hut housing “G” battalion and because of its close proximity I often walked over for a talk with anyone who happened to be around, while waiting for the rice to cook. Once the workday was completed, there was very little that anyone could do by way of amusement, and day to day conversations invariably turned to either politics or religion. It was because of this that Con Anderson of the FMSVF and one or two others decided to break the monotony, by introducing a spot of spiritualism and Ouija dabbling. Con had in his possession part of an Oak bed head, which he had scrounged while in Singapore. A portion of it he had already used to provide a marker for the grave of a close friend, killed during the fighting. The portion still remaining measured about thirty by twenty four inches, and it was on this portion that he had carved the letters of the alphabet, the Zodiac signs and numerals plus other bits and pieces for decorative purposes. The carving had all been done with just a piece of wire and a pen knife. Once completed he had used what was left of a tin of Cherry Blossom boot polish and the sap from the Tualang trees, which brought out a very highly polished Ouija board. In the centre of the board and turned upside down he placed an empty Bovril bottle on which were painted Biblical signs. It was not very long before nearly everyone in the camp had been made aware of this masterpiece and its probable use. On every occasion possible, the men would congregate around “G” hut, where they would watch and listen to the questions and answers passing between the operators of the board and the so called spirit guides, in the hope of learning the answers to such questions as “Who will win the war” “When will the war end” and similar questions which to anyone today would seem ridiculous, but to doomed men it was a form of relief. These were men who just a short time later would be dead and the only straws to which they could cling to were hope. These men had seen the Devil at his worst and anything which give them that hope was worth the try.
Obviously the large gatherings in and outside the hut soon came to the attention of the guards, who sent two of their number to find out what the gatherings were about. They observed for themselves the magic bottle which moved so mysteriously to various figures, causing gasps of astonishment from the crowd gathered round, then they hurried away to inform the Gunso(sergeant)
Two of the Korean guards who I knew quite well were Konimitzu who was a senior guard and known to the prisoners as YM, the initials for the YMCA where he had apparently been found abandoned by his mother in San Frisco, the other was Ushigawa, a big muscular man with prominent Mongolian features. Both guards had professed to be of the Christian faith. Ushigawa went a stage further in fact by stating that he was a devout Roman Catholic, I can remember however several instances where his deeds belied his assertions. I was accosted by both guards outside the cookhouse one evening and asked questions concerning the goings on inside “G” hut, and I suggested that if they were so interested, why not go into the hut during their rest period and watch for themselves, the following evening both guards entered the hut .
The silence which ensued was so heavy it could be cut with a knife. YM, who had a better grasp of the English language asked “where the magic bottle?”. Con Anderson was afraid of no one, man or beast, he took the Ouija board from its hiding place in the attap roofing, and placed it on a rough bamboo table, then, from beneath his bed he produced the Bovril bottle and set it in the middle of the board. All the time his eyes never left those of Konimitzu, a big beaming smile came to YM’s face “Make it walk “he asked. Con pointed to three of the prisoners indicating to them to join him at the table.
By now the news had flashed round the camp like a firefly. Within minutes “G” hut was overflowing, with men jostling for position to be able to watch and hear what was being said. Con in his most benevolent manner asked for silence, after which he closed his eyes and called out for the spirit guide to make himself known. The sprits must obviously have been waiting and watching because by the time Con had finished his request the bottle began to swing around the board, spelling out the name “Boris” .
Once the spirit guide had made himself known there were cries and shouts from all around, requesting answers to a multitude of questions. Con shouted out one of the questions which he heard from the crowd, and the bottle began to swing back and forth across the highly polished board, spelling out an answer which would be satisfactory to those listening, as a moral booster it was fantastic.
On the morning following a séance or reading as the men called it. They would appear more cheerful, many seeming to lose their pessimistic attitude about life. All the time the proceedings were in progress the two Koreans had sat amazed, not believing what they were seeing they sat in open mouthed astonishment. Finally, YM intimated to Con that he would like to take a turn at putting his finger on the upturned bottle, implying at the same time that he was more then a little skeptic about the whole show.
Con readily agreed and asked one of the men to move and allow YM to take his place, where once seated YM asked the question to which everyone would like to know the answer “When will the war finish?”. The bottle shot from side to side and up and down the board spelling out the answer November 1943. Ushigawa was asked if he would like to participate and with his ape like grin he nodded and took his place opposite YM.
Now there were two prisoners and two guards, and most prisoners expected the whole charade to collapse ,but no such thing happened, as question after question was answered just as quickly as they had been with four prisoners operating the bottle, then as a final gesture, Ushigawa asked Con to ask the spirit guide if there was any news from his family in Tokyo. The spirit guide was indeed working overtime, when back came the answer “There is good news on the way which will make you very happy”, and the evening ended with both guards discussing the question of whether the whole episode was a hoax put on by the devious Brits or was it for real, and only time would tell.
