In Imperial Custody
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F. Randall Whetzel
Randall and Dorothy Whetzel were commissioned as missionaries by the Congregation of Immanuel Temple, Portland, Oregon, in mid-1939. This photo was taken after their safe return from the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia). The founder and pastor of Immanuel Temple, Rev. William E. Booth-Clibborn, is seated with Dorothy and Randall in the photo above. The Congregation of Immanuel Temple was truly favored by God to have Rev. Booth-Clibborn as its pastor. He was a grandson of General Booth, founder of the Salvation Army. He was Randall and Dorothy’s spiritual mentor for many years. His enthusiastic and unwavering support never flagged. Randall and Dorothy set sail for the Dutch East Indies in 1940, with no inkling of course of what lay ahead of them. How could the congregation, family, and friends even remotely suspect that just two years later, they would vanish from sight, location unknown, and be enveloped in a silence that lasted three and one-half years?
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In Imperial Custody - F. Randall Whetzel
Copyright © 2012 by F. Randall Whetzel.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902256
ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4691-6325-3
Softcover 978-1-4691-6324-6
Ebook 978-1-4691-6326-0
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
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CONTENTS
Chapter 1 Internment by the Japanese
Chapter 2 Moving On
Chapter 3 STOVIL to Tan Toei
Chapter 4 By Warship to Makassar
Chapter 5 The Daily Routine
Chapter 6 Tuition-Free College Education
Chapter 7 Fine-Tuning the Art of Smuggling
Chapter 8 Allied Liberators Bomb Pare-Pare
Chapter 9 To the Mountains, but Not for a Vacation!
Chapter 10 End of the War! Can It Be True?
Chapter 11 Finally Free
Chapter 12 Kampili Women’s Camp
Internment 101
When the Japanese armed forces invaded the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) and our Spice Islands paradise in early 1942, it looked as though the end of our world had come. And indeed, there was reason enough to think so during the forty-one months of imprisonment that followed. Looking back now, with objectivity impossible then, the incidents that stand out are those that were humorous and those that reflected the good side of human nature rather than the ugly scenes of inhuman punishment and brutality.
What was it like to be a prisoner of the Japanese armed forces? Well, imagine a prison sentence with no term limits. Don’t talk about rights
; there were none. The Japanese guard commander made that clear in the very beginning when he said, We do not recognize the Geneva Convention.
You did whatever the guards told you to do, with no way to appeal, even if threatened with death. It was unquestioning obedience. There was no chance to escape. Day to day, you were at the whim and mercy of the guards.
Even so, one can grow in character, wisdom, survival tactics, relationships, respect for others, knowledge, and common sense. If I were to be asked the secret of survival, perhaps I would answer like this:
Hope: The sustaining element. Never give up in mind or heart.
Survival: the motivational drive.
Unity: lock arms in the face of a common enemy
Work: physical preservation.
Faith: Trust God no matter what. Fear God, not man.
I have often been asked, Do you hate the Japanese?
No, I do not. There were times during our imprisonment when guards were mistreating us that hatred rose to the surface, but I never nurtured hatred or allowed it to fester. You know why? Because we were in a survival mode. Every thought and action was based on survival. We wanted to emerge from captivity as whole and healthy as possible, not only for our own sakes but for the sake of our families as well.
My family has been after me a long time to write an account of our capture, internment, and finally, our release by the Japanese armed forces. It took me a while, but here it is.
Randall Whetzel
Home safe and sound
Interior%20images_Page_09.jpgRandall and Dorothy Whetzel were commissioned as missionaries by the Congregation of Immanuel Temple, Portland, Oregon, in mid-1939. This photo was taken after their safe return from the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia). The founder and pastor of Immanuel Temple, Rev. William E. Booth-Clibborn, is seated with Dorothy and Randall in the photo above.
The Congregation of Immanuel Temple was truly favored by God to have Rev. Booth-Clibborn as its pastor. He was a grandson of General Booth, founder of the Salvation Army. He was Randall’s and Dorothy’s spiritual mentor for many years. His enthusiastic and unwavering support never flagged.
Randall and Dorothy set sail for the Dutch East Indies in 1940, with no inkling of course of what lay ahead of them. How could the congregation, family, and friends even remotely suspect that just two years later, they would vanish from sight, location unknown, and be enveloped in a silence that lasted three and one-half years?
Chapter 1
Internment by the Japanese
The story of our internment by the Japanese military in 1942 in the Dutch East Indies cannot get off to a good start without explaining how on earth we got there in the first place. My wife and I went ashore in the city of Ambon on the island of Ambon on March 22, 1940, after an eight-week voyage on the Klaveness freighter, MV Corneville, from Los Angeles. Dorothy and I had been invited by the Devins, an American missionary family working in the Moluccas, or Spice Islands, to launch our missionary career under their auspices. Ralph and Edna Devin received us into their home and hearts, making our first year there a rich and never-to-be-forgotten experience. Their three beautiful teenage daughters (Shirley, Thalia, and Florence) and their two lively sons (Rod and Morris), all fluent in Dutch as well as their native English, added fun and spice to that memorable year.
A LIFE-CHANGING MOVE
The first twelve months slipped by quickly. Before you know it, we had acquired a tolerable ability in the language. Then too our first daughter. Thaïs was born. Like birds leaving the nest, we knew it was time to move out on our own, to begin the work we had come halfway around the world to do. The opportunity to move to the island of Bacan (pronounced Bah-chan) arose, and we accepted it. Bacan lay some 180 miles north of Ambon and is one of 55 islands that make up the Bacan group. It measures 52 by 23 miles, and it lies 50 miles south of the equator. We arrived at the port town of Laboeha, Bacan, June 7, 1941. In no time at all we settled in, hardly making a ripple in the tranquility of the largest town, Laboeha. Laboeha was the seat of government for the Bacan group. A Dutch controller (district officer), Mr. Henk Bartstra, was the top magistrate for the island group. Other than the Bartstras and ourselves, there was only one other western family on Bacan, the Tripp family, who managed a large coconut plantation. The government was also represented by the sultan of Bacan, a figurehead position, but one that accorded him honor and prestige.
We had never been to Bacan, nor had we sent word ahead that we would need a house to live in. Yet God had provided for us a house and a place of worship. The leading Chinese merchant, The Hong Seng, had just built a house by the bay, with an empty large room attached. The room was large enough to seat seventy-five people. So we had both a dwelling and a church under one roof. Miracle? In our book, it is. We were so close to the water