The Japs had some queer quirks about sex. They seemed to delight in making prisoners strip believing this to be humiliating which perhaps at the beginning it was. Later we paid little attention as many were reduced in the summer months to wearing little more than a ‘G’ string. The Jap often delighted to relate sex experiences with others and would ask the most intimate questions about a man’s sex life before capture. They reminded me of smutty minded adolescents. The prisoners were not interested in this conversation. This, I think, is the answer to the Japanese behavior. They are in most cases mentally immature. They seldom reach the stage where they are responsible individuals. Always they look to be instructed and ordered around.
To abuse and discredit white women in conversation with the prisoners was common. I remember having a conversation with Condo, a paint shop acquaintance. He spoke as an authority, comparing white women to Japanese women. His knowledge of our women came from American films that were shown in Japan in pre-war days. Incidentally, in spite of what Condo had to say these films were very popular.
Condo said, “Your women domie (no good)! They throw themselves into improper attitudes, show their legs and breast in public. They have no posture. They slump and fall around exposing themselves. They talk too loud, have no respect for anyone. They mush and kiss long time. This not sanitary. They dress like men and smoke. Japanese women dainty like butterfly or little bird. They respect everybody. They talk sweet like little bird. They walk pretty like this.”
Condo, putting his hands level with his chest, fluttered them and minced around the paint shop. I agreed that it looked very nice but thought, ‘Every man to his own taste, as the Irishman said as he kissed his cow,’ and the Japanese taste is not ours.
Another time, this in Hong Kong, we were marching through the streets and passed a compound where women internees were housed. Most of these were either Portuguese or Parisians. They crowded to the edge of their enclosure and waved at us as we went by. In charge of us was a Japanese interpreter nicknamed Kamloops. He was born in Canada and educated in that town. He spoke Canadian English well. He told us he hated us.
“When I was in Canada I took all kinds abuse.” He said. “ They called me a little yellow bastard and I smiled. Now where is your so called superiority you dirty scum, etc., etc.”
Being wise to our language and habits, Kamloops was able to check and report a man absent from Parade when he’d been marked present. Then he would have Capt. Morris of the Grenadiers brought before the Jap Commandant for an explanation and before the whole Parade he would fly into a violent temper, knock the Captain down and kick him unconscious. He took a delight in torturing us by his snooping and reporting. All hated him.
To return to the women, they waved and smiled at the boys. Kamloops went wild. Shrieking, he told us, “These women are for us Japanese. Keep your filthy eyes off them!”
And then followed a whole spew of filth. The women fled and we marched on. Kamloops heard us muttering and caught a repetition of what he had been called in Canada. He tried to find out who had spoken but failed to do so and punished us all.
To be likened to a woman was considered a great disgrace. Some of the boys had gotten into trouble by some minor infringement of the camp rules at Yokohama. They therefore had to be humiliated. Feminine garments were produced and they were compelled to strip and put them on, and were then paraded around the camp. They were finally made to stand in the compound to be inspected by the men returning from work. Instead of the culprits being humiliated however, they entered into the spirit of the thing, and as the boys filed past they simpered and ogled lifting up their skirts to show their emancipated limbs and all had a good laugh. All except the Jap that is. He was furious. He could not understand.
