few years of large scale loafing and small scale journalistic adventure, covering the entire Southeast Asia and the Far East, getting hired and fired by the editors of half a dozen newspapers, I had settled down in Thailand, then one of the few independent countries in Asia. I liked Thailand and the Thais. They were different from the lands and peoples I had seen before.
What fascinated me most about Thailand those days, after bitter experiences in various colonial capitals, was that it was not part of the white man's world. The people were nice and the air was free. I landed a job the day after my arrival, with an English newspaper owned by the King of Thailand and edited by a very competent American journalist. I saw the 1932 coup d'etat which overthrew the absolute monarchy, made friends with the military leaders who replaced the Princes, worked for a time with the government's Publicity Department, then became editor of the "Bangkok Chronicle," started by the new leadership of Thailand as a competitor to the British-owned and British-edited English daily, the "Bangkok Times."
I had grown with the new regime in Thailand and enjoyed the confidence of its leaders. In the reflected glory of that friendly association, my views on Thailand and Thai affairs were treated with respect in all quarters. And I was a sort of friend, philosopher, and guide to the numerous foreign correspondents who flocked to Thailand after the outbreak of the European war.
Those were hectic days on the Far Eastern newsfront. In Europe, the sitzkrieg on the Western front had been on for many months. The Germans were doing fine in the war against the Soviet Union. The Japanese were getting restless. Rumors and speculations about the outbreak of war in the Pacific filled the world press. And neutral Thailand, caught between British Malaya in the south, British Burma in the north and west, and Japanese-occupied French Indochina in the east, was the center of intrigue and espionage.
The possibility of an invasion of Thailand was in the air for many months. Only that evening, I had splashed across the front page of my paper an exclusive interview with the Prime Minister, Field Marshal Songkhram. He had said that an attack on Thailand was imminent, that the Thais would fight to the last man. The statement, however, was interpreted variously. The Axis correspondents said that the invasion was expected from Malaya or Burma, while newsmen from the other camp had no doubt that Songkhram meant a Japanese invasion.
I thought I knew everything worth knowing about the war crisis. My hunch was that the war of nerves would go on for some time, that the shooting war might start about January-February (1942). Like the smart, all-knowing chap I imagined myself to be, I got a fortnight's leave in November (1941), took my wife and children to India and returned to my post in Bangkok. The idea was that I should be a free agent when the trouble started, ready to make the exit from Thailand. In my earlier days of job-hunting journeys, moving from city to city, I had somewhat specialized in the art of unscheduled departures and unannounced arrivals. That gave me extra confidence in the plans to get out and get back home without getting mixed up in other people's wars.
We drank and dined on the spacious deck of the large motor launch as it glided down the river. Beer and whisky flowed freely, followed by a lot of sake served in tiny cups, as a special luxury. Two geishas, hired by our hosts from a local Japanese restaurant, attended us with the politeness, grace, and charm as only Japanese hostesses are capable of.
The party became increasingly merry as the night wore on. From serious discussions on the war crisis and mild sallys at each other, the newsmen turned to singing popular tunes and performing dancing specialities. It was nice to see United Press' Berrigan dancing with Domei's Takakura and Sydney Herald's Standish exchanging confidences with Transocean's Melchers. In a world where such international goodwill was possible, they were bent on waging war and destroying mankind. It seemed so incredible.
It was nearly midnight when we decided to return home. The party was voted a grand success. Most of us just felt fine, others were a bit too tired, and one or two, including the chief host, had to be helped to their cars.
Back at my office, I had a look at the local radio listening-in report, left by an assistant. The war scare was there again. The government had urged the people to be ready for any eventuality. It was said they might expect an invasion of the country any moment. Fight the enemy, appealed the government. And, then, there were instructions to the people on scorched-earth tactics and guerilla warfare.
Such broadcasts were nothing unusual those days. This time it followed the special interview given by the Prime Minister. And I filed a message to the Associated Press, quoting excerpts from the broadcast and interpreting them as indicative of the increasing tension in Thailand.
On my way home, I dropped in at a friend's and we were discussing the radio broadcast and what it implied, when a mutual friend, a high official living next door, came along with the information that "something" was happening. Probably, the police were rounding up suspected Japanese fifth-columnists, he thought. We went out promptly and found that something was really afoot. Japanese residents around the place were moving about in a hurry, some on foot, others by car. But there were no policemen anywhere.
What were the Japanese doing? Where were they going at that hour? Why all the hurry and excitement? I had no means of finding out the particulars. I rang up a few colleagues but they were all asleep in bed. I tried to contact Thai officials or military officers. They said they had no knowledge of anything untoward. I tried a couple of Japanese bars and restaurants but they were all closed.
Back home, I considered the situation again. We had all become so used to the war scare that none of these minor happenings bothered us very much. Anyway, I filed a brief message about the "mysterious midnight movements" of Japanese residents in the city. And, then, I went to bed, without in the least suspecting that I had missed the biggest newsbeat of the century.
I was up and about early in the morning. Over a cup of coffee, I tuned in to Singapore radio and I jumped from the chair as the headlines came through—Japan had declared war on Britain and the United States. Pearl Harbor was in shambles. Singapore and Rangoon were bombed. There were reports of Japanese landings on the Malayan coast.
I listened to the grim story—the story that shocked the world on the morning of December 8th (1941). The entire Pacific had become a theater of war. But there was nothing about Thailand. Apparently, the belligerent powers had left Thailand alone. So far so good. Thailand remained neutral and, at least for the time being, Bangkok would be the Lisbon of Asia, which meant that I was perfectly all right where I was. I must remember to send a cablegram, asking the family not to worry. The immediate problem, however, was to get Thailand's "official reaction" to the outbreak of war.
I tried to telephone the Prime Minister's residence but there was no response. Trying to dial another number, my thoughts went back to the events of the previous night. Why had our Japanese friends arranged such a grand joy ride that particular evening? What was the meaning of the "mysterious midnight movements" of Japanese residents?
In the excitement of the moment, it took me some time to realize that my telephone line had gone dead. Just then, a motor cycle messenger drove up. He brought me an invitation to attend an urgent press conference at the Throne Hall (Parliament House) at 7:30 a.m. That was in less than half an hour, and the place was four miles away. Something was up, obviously. There was no time to lose, and I got ready to go out immediately. The press conference should yield the "official reaction" I was anxious to get.
Just as I stepped out, the old watchman from the press rushed in. He was very much agitated and seemed short of breath. He took me aside, looked this side and that, and managed to whisper to me that the Japanese army had occupied the "Chronicle Building." Would I please go over there immediately?
For a moment, I stood dazed. I could not figure out the sequence of events. Of course, war had broken out somewhere but nothing had happened in Thailand. It was incredible that the Japanese army had occupied our press.
My
