‘Thank you,’ said Laura, disappointed.
A woman behind a table gave her a ticket and waved Laura forward. She moved through the hut slowly. There was a narrow walkway between two platforms made of split bamboo slats. This was where the men would have slept, she realised, without mattresses or bedding.
All along the platforms were displays showing the building of the railway and the conditions that the prisoners had to suffer. She read the startling statistic that 12,000 prisoners of those originally captured at the fall of Singapore had perished. Among the native labourers the death toll was much higher, reaching around 100,000 people. There were pictures depicting the rudimentary medical treatments. To cure the ulcerated legs of the prisoners, the limbs were soaked in the river so that the fish would come and nibble away the rotting flesh; if this didn’t help, maggots were placed on the ulcers. Often the legs had to be amputated, and no anaesthetic was given to the prisoners when this was done. There were many photographs of stick-thin men wearing only loin cloths, called ‘Jap Happys’, sitting on the cramped beds in their huts or toiling on the railway, under the supervision of stony faced guards wielding sticks or guns. There were also many handwritten accounts pinned up on a notice board, all the more shocking for their simplicity and frank honesty. She scanned each one, searching for her father’s name, or for Arthur Stone’s, but found neither.
Most shocking of all were the graphic descriptions of the tortures that the Japanese guards or military police had meted out on prisoners who disobeyed the rules. One was to make a man hold a beam or railway sleeper above his head and stand for hours in the baking sun. Another was to force him to drink gallons of water, lay a board across his belly and jump on it until his stomach burst. Yet another was to tie his wrists and ankles to bamboo plants in the growing season so that as the bamboo grew upwards and outwards, the prisoner was slowly torn apart, limb from limb.
There was a gift shop beside the exit, but Laura walked straight through it and left the museum. She felt stunned and sickened. She knew from what she had read in London that the men, including her father, had suffered. But being here, in the sweltering heat, and seeing the displays, reading the accounts made it all the more shockingly real to her.
She walked to the edge of the river and sat down on the grass watching the water flow past, trying to come to terms with what she’d just seen. Luke should have been here with her. She would have had someone to talk to about all this.
When she got back to the guesthouse, as she had expected, Luke was still lying asleep in the darkened hut. She must have woken him when she opened the door because he sat up in bed, his hair tousled and falling over his face.
‘Could you shut the door, Loz? I’m trying to sleep.’
‘Don’t you want to get up? It’s almost lunch time.’
‘Give it a rest, won’t you? I’m on holiday.’
Laura took a deep breath. ‘I’ve just been down to the museum,’ she said in a low voice.
Luke lay down again, and turned over to face the other way.
‘Was it interesting?’ he asked, yawning.
‘Interesting? Yes. That’s one way to describe it. It was really shocking. You should have come. It explained so much about what the prisoners suffered. Illness, starvation, torture …’
‘Could you tell me about that later? I’m feeling a bit fragile at the moment.’
‘You’re feeling a bit fragile? You’re lying in bed, sleeping off a hangover!’ she burst out. ‘What about my dad? How do you think he felt? If he was sick and starving, if he had a fever, he would have been beaten in the stifling heat into doing a day’s hard labour.’
Luke sat up, his face clouding over.
‘Why don’t you leave your preaching for another time? I’m not in the mood. You might be here on a personal crusade, to prove something to yourself, but leave me out of it, will you? I said I’d come to Thailand with you for a holiday. I’m not interested in wearing one of your hair shirts.’
Laura went out to the balcony. She leaned on the wooden rail and took deep breaths to calm herself. On the opposite bank a family of Thai children were diving off their veranda into the river, as lithe and agile as seals. How could Luke be so insensitive? He’d known that was why she had wanted to come. Surely he could show a bit more understanding?
On the other hand, she reasoned to herself, as she began to calm down, perhaps it was understandable that he wouldn’t feel the same way as she did about what had happened here. Perhaps she should stop expecting him to share her interest and try to relax a bit more. That might be easier for her to do when they got to the beach. She’d promised to spend some time in Phuket before they went on to Penang, to see if there was any trace of Joy de Souza. Yes, perhaps she should give him a chance, try and see things from his point of view.
She heard a sound behind her and felt his hand caressing her shoulder. She turned to him.
‘I’m sorry I was grouchy, Loz,’ he said, crouching beside her. ‘I think I overdid the old wacky baccy last night. I’ll just have a quick shower. Then shall we go and see the famous bridge?’
She smiled at him, relieved. Perhaps it was going to be OK after all.
‘Sure. I’ll go and find out how to get there.’
Laura’s heart turned over with emotion as the songtheaw rounded a bend in the road. There it was in front of them, the bridge on the River Kwai. It was a great and
