Parcels searched up the hill
Diary pages from this date
((Lt Kerr is being carried around / across Sharp’s Peak…))
The two fellows carrying my chair were having a hard time. The path was steep and rough, and with many a sharp turn and awkward place that called for backing and filling and twisting and tugging and occasional help from the guard…
At the top of the mountain, very near where we had stopped the night before, we again took off for a puffing spell. … I was asking ((Francis)) about the guerrillas …
“How do you know the guerrilla? We have very little, we are not like regular army with many guns, all alike; we have no clothes all alike – even some have no shoes, some have shoes of straw, we can get no amount of anything. But still the Japanese fear us and we have lived in the middle of them two years. We have one strong friend – we do not fear the dark and it helps us always….”
These guys made the best of what they had and kept on the job when some other peoples might have said the fight was hopeless and waited for rescue. And even with their material lacks they all seemed to be determined and confident that they’d eventually win.
Descending the mountainside seemed as hard on the carriers as going up for we were on the side away from the moon and the front fellow had trouble finding his footing on the loose rocks and gravel. Several times, when he slipped and the chair lurched I was ready to bail out but they finally got to the lower slopes without mishap. We were headed for a sort of cove or harbor and after we had traversed a maze of rice fields precariously terraced on the hillside we came out upon a stony beach.
A few yards offshore was a cheering sight – two large fishing junks… Francis explained that I was to be transferred into the keeping of another guerrilla group – the Navy, I guess, and that he would come with me but the others would all remain. I made another little speech which Francis translated effusively, there were handshakes with the leaders and as I turned to hobble to the water’s edge good faithful Little Chen stepped up and handed me the things he had taken charge of weeks before when we had first met – my G.I. shoes.
Two sturdy Chinese, naked to the waist, picked me up and carried me through the cold waves to the pitching side of the nearest boat. Getting aboard was a ticklish job as those helping insisted on tugging on my injured arm and the carrying boys were having a hard time with the waves and cobbled beach. Finally made it, though, and tumbled into the sheltered cockpit or cabin or what have you near the back of the ship. Francis came on much more nimbly and began afresh on the introductions and explanations.
I was much interested in the craft. It was something like thirty feet long and seven or eight wide with mast and sails and an arched covering of woven matting over the rear deck. Several men pushed us into deeper water by the use of poles and some more replaced the big rudder in its hinges. The sails were raised on both boats and soon we were moving. Looking back at the shore, I waved at the silent watchers and though I had looked forward to this event every day since I parachuted to Kowloon, I was sorry to leave. The unselfish help and friendship of those people toward a stranger of another race is something that I would never find again.
“Well, Francis … Are we going to land on some part of Free China?”
“Free China? There is none. No, we cannot even reach the territory of the Kuomintang army, the Japanese watch too closely. We cross to the mainland but we will still be within the Japanese.”
“I see . . . and I’m sure you fellows know the best way to do it. Say, how come we have two boats?”
“On the sea, we have many disadvantage. Japanese boats very speedy with engines and have more strong guns. On this boat and other we have many small guns and see (lifting one from hooks on the cabin wall) even your American Thompson gun, but if the Japanese boat meet our boats, it is the end. We have lost many brave men. Our tactic, we have large bomb of gunpowder, if Japanese try to capture our boat we wait until both together, explode bomb. Everyone die. Tonight, other boat carry bomb and if one Japanese boat come . . .”
“Oh.”
((…and, with that, Lt. Kerr had left Hong Kong. Over the next 10 days the guerrillas moved him to several locations on the mainland then transferred him to the British Army Aide Group (BAAG) in Waichow. After borrowing a British (!) uniform and accompanied by a BAAG sergeant, he took a river steamer, another sedan chair, a truck with an old Buick engine fueled by charcoal, a train, and a plane towards his base in Kweilin.
On March 29th, 47 days after being shot down, Lt Kerr rode into his base on a bicycle.
This journal was copyrighted in 2009. The extracts are being made available to David Bellis for publication on Gwulo: Old Hong Kong (http://gwulo.com) only. Please do not republish without permission. A Chinese/English publication of the full journal is being prepared and a film is being considered. Contact David Kerr (davykerr@gmail.com) for further information.))
Damp, misty & cold.
Ground bread rice.
Choir practice 5-6pm. Saw Steve after.
Hungry.
Wrote music for “Elijah”
Canteen buyer.
No blackout.
Peanut oil. 4oz issued free.