SANDAKAN MEMORIAL SERVICE
TUESDAY 9 SEPTEMBER 2025
HELD BOYUP BROOK
Boyup Brook was especially cold on this morning, in fact it was very cold across the whole south west. Visitors welcomed the opportunity to warm up with coffee/tea and a splendid morning tea hosted by the Boyup Brook Shire.
Service MC was Colin Hales, who is also President of Boyup Brook RSL. The Catafalaque Party was represented by 515 ACU Bunbury who did an excellent job.
Sandakan Scholarship Recipient for 2024 Amalia Cailes gave her presentation outlining her memorable visit to North Borneo and the Sandakan Anzac Day Service.
Two young boys from St Mary’s Catholic Primary School gave a Prayer of Remembrance. Followed by a song by the Boyup Brook Distlrict High School Choir.
Colin Hales gave the address.
The previous day the Sandakan Scholarship for 2025 had been awarded to Clancy Westphal, 14 years old who had constructed a replica punishment cage which was on exhibition.
SANDAKAN SPEECH by CLANCY WESTPHAL
BOYUP BROOK 2025
DIARY ENTRY – MARCH 3, 1945
PTE EDWARD ‘NED’ LAWSON, 2/18TH BATTALIION. (Fictional name based on real events))
(Sound Cue: Jungle ambience – birds chirping, insects buzzing, distant rustling of leaves)
The jungle around us is deceptively beautiful, lush, green and alive but it masks the decay and desperation that have taken hold of this place. It’s early morning, I think, though time has lost its meaning here. The sun is already high enough to cook the canvas roof above me and the air is thick with humidity. I didn’t sleep last night. The coughing never stops and someone, maybe two, passed in the dark. We don’t ask names anymore it’s easier that way.
(Sound Cue: muffled coughing, soft groans, distant footsteps crunching on dirt)
They’re calling roll again. The guards shout in Japanese. Their voices sharp and impatient. If you’re slow to respond, they beat you. If you collapse, they leave you where you fall. I’m trying to stand but my legs feel weak. My stomach hasn’t known food in days and the rice they give us when they give it, is barely enough to keep a man alive, we receive 80 grams of rice a day which is 108 calories even though an average man needs 3500 calories for the same work. Because of this we are skin and bone and our uniforms are hanging off our bodies like rags.
(Sound Cue: Barked command in Japanese, followed by slap and a grunt)
Just now Jacko stumbled. He didn’t move fast enough. He’s being dragged to the punishment cage, a bamboo box no bigger than a dog kennel measuring 170cm by 130cm in size, left out in the sun. Men spend days in there crouched in agony, their skin blistering, their body has been defeated. No food. No water. Just heat, flies and silence. It’s meant to break you. And it does.
(Sound cue: Buzzing flies, creaking wood, faint whimpering)
I’m shaking constantly now. It’s not just the fear, though that’s always present, it’s the fever. Malaria maybe. Or beri beri. Or both. It doesn’t matter. There is no medicine here. The Japanese guards don’t allow Red Cross parcels through. We were told they were sent, but we’ve never seen them. Our medical officer does what he can, but he’s working with nothing, no medication, no bandages, not even clean water.
(Sound Cue: Rain begins softly, then intensifies, distant thunder and cries)
It’s raining again. The monsoon season has turned the camp into a swamp. The mud is ankle-deep, and we’re still forced to work. We haul logs, dig trenches and build an airstrip that will never be finished. Yesterday I watched a man collapse from exhaustion. He was shot on the spot. No Hesitation. No mercy. His body dragged away like he was worth nothing.
(Sound Cue: Gunshot echoing, followed by silence)
There’s talk of another march. They call it the ‘death march’ to Ranau, 260 km through dense jungle. Only the strongest are being chosen. Those who collapse along the way will be shot. Those too weak to begin will be left behind to die slowly. Till now a dozen prisoners have accepted. It will be a miracle if they can survive. The rest of us aren’t sure if we should risk it, most of us aren’t willing and the other half aren’t capable.
(Sound Cue: Marching boots, laboured breathing, jungle sounds fading in and out)
I’m writing this now hiding the pages beneath my blanket. If they find it this will probably be the last you will ever hear from me. I’ll be punished. Beaten, maybe even worse. But someone has to know. Someone has to remember what happened here. We were soldiers once, Australian and British men, proud and brave. Now we’re shadows of ourselves, clinging to scraps of dignity and life in a place designed to erase us.
(Sound Cue: Whispered prayers, pencil scratching on paper)
Even here, in this forgotten corner of the world, we try to hold onto something, brotherhood, humanity, the idea that we even mattered. We share what little we have. We comfort each other when the pain becomes too much. We bury our dead with whatever honour we can put together. And we hope, somehow, that the world will hear our story.
(Sound cue: Wind through the trees, distant birdcall, fading footsteps)
If this page survives, let it speak for those of us who won’t. Let it scream what we couldn’t. Let it bear witness to the cruelty we endured and the courage we tried to hold onto. The world must never forget Sandakan.
_____________
This was the diary of Edward ‘Ned’ Lawson.
After hearing this story it showed me that it’s up to us to keep these memories going for generations to come. War is unforgiving and miserable and no-one deserves to go through that pain, by learning about the Sandakan story we can honour the 2,428 men who died as POWs at the hands of the Japanese. Their stories rest where they lay and must never be forgotten.
Below: Clancy Westphal and his mother
Clancy’s replica of the punishment cage.
Above: Mrs June Edwards aged 100 years, sister to WX7883 William ‘Bill’ Herbert Beard, d. Sandakan 10 July 1945 aged 34 years.
Above: Boyup Brook District High School Choi
Above: Brian Osborne, now 80 years, son of WX7634 Sydney Albert Osborne who died at Sandakan 21 June 1945 aged 31 years.
When Syd Osborne sailed to Singapore in 1942 Brian was 3 months old. Syd and his wife were Fairbridge Farm School children. Brian was the youngest of two boys born prior to 1942.
THE SANDAKAN ODE
They are not dead, not even broken
only their dust has gone back home to earth,
for they, the essential they,
shall have rebirth whenever a word of them is spoken.
