"Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan, 'press on' has solved, and always will solve, the problems of the human race." - Calvin Coolidge
All the fun and games were over; our time with Mr. E had
come to an end and we were back on the road towards Kanchanaburi. Getting there was the easy part, except our aching joints were reminding us why roadtripping on a motorbike was a bad
idea. Once we arrived to the city our
next task was to find a place to stay.
We had heard the Jolly Frog was a good, inexpensive place to stay; we
just had to find it. Justin pulled over
the bike and we walked over to one of the only retail stores nearby to ask for
directions. Two younger Thai women came
out to help us; between Justin's limited, but well practiced Thai, and the two
women’s broken English we were soon able to locate the guesthouse.
Kanchanaburi is saturated with history. The bridge over River Kwai was within walking
distance of our guesthouse, famous for the role it played in World War Two. And Hellfire Pass was only a short drive away,
and the name alone drew our interest.
Hellfire Pass is a memorial dedicated to the Allied prisoners of war and
Asian laborers who suffered and died at Hellfire Pass and elsewhere in the Asia
Pacific region during the Second World War.
Upon arrival at the Hellfire Pass Memorial Museum you are
given a pair of headphones to listen to an account of the atrocities endured by
the POWs while building the Burma – Thailand Railway. As you walk the 4km (2.5 miles) of
the trial you are completely engrossed in the story being told. The narrator’s voice is deep, and consoling
with a perfect British tone. While most
people only walk the first 300m, we decided to try and walk the first 2km. We arrived late, and had limited time or we would have liked to walk the entire trail. Justin and I set our headphones to tell the
story in unison, and we walked in silence out from the museum and towards the
old railway.
You walk down from the museum into the pass below. The air becomes eerily still, but tranquil - almost as though the valley has made peace over the last 50 years with the
tragedies that had unfolded here. A
peculiar feeling stole over us as we walked across old beams where the railway
once lain, as though the rocks still remembered the suffering that had taken
place here, and refused to forget. The
narrator’s sophisticated voice began . . .
. . .
This brief synopsis is told as Justin remembers it. You can view the entire story here.
During the Second World War the Japanese set about to build
the Thai-Burma railroad, in order to avoid the dangerous sea passage to India
controlled by the ships of the Allied Navies.
They put together a work force of 250,000 Asian laborers and 60,000
Australian, American, British, and Dutch prisoners of war (POWs).
With little modern equipment available, the laborers used
hand tools like shovels, picks and hoes to carve a path through the rugged
mountainous terrain that consumes the border between Thailand and Burma. They used sledgehammers and taps to drill holes
for explosives, and cleared the blown rock by hand in baskets or sacks. The conditions were inhumane with no
sanitation, limited medical facilities and only enough food to prevent mass
starvation.
The work started in October of 1942, and six months later
the work pace was greatly increased as the Japanese were pressured to meet an
August deadline. The ‘speedo’ phase of
construction coincided most unfortunately with the monsoon season, and disease,
such as cholera, was rampant. The
workers were forced to work around the clock, cutting through solid stone at
night by torchlight, suffering excruciating beatings by the savage guards; only
the dead and the dying were spared. It
was then that they began calling the place ‘hell-fire pass,’ because the burning
fires and the beatings delivered by the guards were so like the lake of fire
and the demons of Hades.
The railroad was completed in October 1943, only one year
later. The 145 kilometer railway was an
amazing feat of construction for that time, but its cost in human lives was vast. Of the 60,000 POWs, over 12,399 died. The Asian laborer fared even worse, losing
nearly 90,000 to disease and exhaustion.
The POWs relied on their brotherhood, medical training, and warrior
mentalities to make it through each day.
Today, this place is preserved so it can act as a reminder of those
whose lives were lost in this brutal war, and who died to secure the freedom of
tomorrow.
. . .
Justin and I sat halfway down the trail to contemplate the
devastation, the unfathomable loss, and comradery. It seemed nearly impossible that such a
travesty had taken place less than 70 years before. It's difficult to comprehend a life reduced
to malaria, desentry, cholera and physical abuse - only to have the end result be a
cruel death. How does man survive under
such affliction; and even find a means by which to smile and laugh? And if you didn’t die from the conditions or
savage beating, how do live on afterwards without permanent damage? There is
testament to how many of the Australian POWs survived in comparison to the
Asian POWs. It is told that the
Australians each had a mate, or an inseparable friend, that they stuck
by every moment of the day. The
comradery, making each other laugh, pulling each other up when it was too
difficult to stand on your own; you kept one another alive. True friendship is more important to this
life than we give it credit.
How amazing the spirit of man is. Within us lies the ability to endure immense hardships, and although
ever altered by the experience, we learn to adapt. We create life around our battle wounds, and are capable of fashioning a life even more pulchritudinous because of our pains. I truly believe there is nothing more
powerful, or more stunning, on this earth than the perseverance of the human soul.
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