The economy of the camps and their discipline are regulated by the Quartermasters, a body of men who are closely aligned with the Army yet not of it. They have no rank yet fill positions of responsibility. Master Cooks, Chief Clerks, camp Mine Guards and others. They wear makeshift uniforms and at times carry arms and yet a private in the regular Army could knock them about. The only thing lower then them were the prisoners. These were the men with whom we would have most to do with and we recognized their bread as soon as we stepped off the train. They were itching to show their importance by abusing the prisoners. We had seen it all before.
On the pretext of helping to get us loaded into a number of waiting motor trucks they shouted contradictory orders and began pushing and slapping the prisoners. I finally found myself in a truck, squatting, tightly packed on the floor. I was looking over the side watching with interest the antics of a particularly repulsive individual who was cuffing every prisoner within reach. Suddenly the same man jumped up on the wheel of the truck and slapped me in the face. This man was the camp Quartermaster. He had a big close cropped head, bright beady eyes, wide mouth and a hanging lip that gave him a constant leer. Because of his squat yellow form we called him the ‘Frog.’ All through our stay at Sendai he was constantly devising ways of adding to our misery and torture.
Once loaded the trucks started off and proceeded through a hilly country along a dirt road for about eight miles to camp. Along the way there were a number of thatched farmhouses surrounded by small well-cultivated fields. Although it was April most seemed to be growing crops. The road wound into a valley and along the banks of a river and we saw our new home. The buildings were the usual low tiled sheds surrounded by a nine-foot fence. It lay close to the base of a steep hill into which ran the mineshaft.
Our trucks unloaded outside the main gate where a sentry stood in his box. Still under the charge of our railway guards we filed through the gate to the curious inspection of the rest of the guards. We soon found out how out of place the word “home” was when applied to Camp Sendai, it was just another form of hell. Our first inkling of the conditions at Sendai was when we saw a group of human scarecrows standing near the gate. They were half naked, emaciated to the point that it was difficult to imagine how life could possibly remain in such a pathetic form. Their faces were pale, gaunt and haggard with hollow unseeing eyes, which stared at nothing. Their almost lifeless bodies were crippled and covered with scabs and sores. They were supposed to be brushing grass mats, but each movement was one of utter exhaustion as if in slow motion.
“Who were these poor souls?” we asked each other.
We learned later they were British Prisoners unable to work in the mines.
Once inside the gate our railway guards left and we were at the mercy of the Frog and his companions. We were formed into a line around the compound and some tables were placed in the center. Our two Officers, Captain Reid and Lieut. Finn, stood by these tables with a party of the Japanese officials. The Sergeant of the camp appeared strutting in polished jackboots and pulling on white gloves. He addressed us through his interpreter, an old Japanese with the behind out of his pants, and gave the usual line of, “You work or else.” Then he told us to empty our pockets, each man making a little pile of his personal belongings in front of himself. At first we wondered what was coming off but we soon found out. It was all our good clothing we had received on departing from our last camp.
We were all ordered to strip and pile our clothes beside us. At the time we were allowed to keep our wedge service caps and boots but these were later taken as well. Most of us were wearing union suit underwear; these were taken from us, and a G-string provided. We were all called to attention and made to turn about and march twenty paces and halt. We then turned and faced our clothes. Now Frog Face, the quartermaster, and his minions had their innings. They began carting off our clothes and piling them on the sidelines. They took practically everything. They also rummaged through our personal possessions taking what they fancied and treading over and kicking the rest in every direction.
