Cross Post From My Cartoon Blog - My Other Grandfather's War Experience

 I never met my paternal grandfather. My father, when still a boy, lost him to WW2. I don't know if I would have liked him as I don't think he was an entirely nice man. But he was kind of heroic, in his own way. My father hero worshipped him. When Dad learned of his death he refused to eat rice for the rest of his life as a bowl of rice was all the POWs had to subsist on. Only a handful of thousands of Allied POWs survived Sandakan, in Borneo. The family opinion of Japanese people was also not the best! (My view of the Japanese is much more favourable as I also am aware of the price they paid for the war and also that their culture and politics are considerably different from what they were then).

  Once Jim was chopping wood and cut his foot but went right on chopping more. Maybe it was crucial to get that wood to keep his family warm. Anyway, he sat down in the house and when my nanna removed his gumboot it was full of blood. That says something of his toughness.

  My dad told me one thing which truly diminished my estimation of Jim. Dad, admitted that he probably should not have told me the following: He came home from work to find his wife fretting over the cat wetting under the bed - again. I suppose he was exhausted from work or whatever. Anyway he took the cat outside and chopped its head off! I probably would have hated that man. Did karma catch up to him when he died in that POW camp?

  I think he also, beat his children, particularly Dorothy, who suffered from nervousness, as a result.

  The story makes me think of how many levels there are to a man. He worked hard to provide for his family and defended it as he thought fit. He liked to drink (probably copiously) and was impatient, even brutal. He was forced into enlisting in the army (in the Engineers). He lost his life in the process, one of many who defended Australia from a major threat. 

  My father read many books about the POW camps and tried to find out what happened to his dad. In the end, all he knew was he lost an eye whilst in the camp and did not live to go on the forced march when the Japanese captors moved the inmates to escape the advancing Allied forces. 

  The following is an excerpt from a zine, I recently made, not exclusively about my grandfather. The picture I made of him is based on an old photo.