IT IS with sadness that Yesterday Once More reports the death of Maurice Crowther, a survivor of the Fall of Singapore and a former prisoner of war of the Japanese.

Mr Crowther, who was 93 and lived in Selby, died in December. He was cremated at York Crematorium.

Mr Crowther was with the 122 Royal Artillery regiment when Singapore surrendered to the Japanese on February 15, 1942.

He and his childhood friend Norman Wood, who were on the same gun together in Singapore, were both taken prisoner by the Japanese.

Mr Crowther was sent to work in coal mines near Nagasaki in Japan. His friend was sent to work on the infamous Burma railway, where he died working in appalling conditions.

Two years ago, Mr Crowther made an emotional return to the Far East, with his daughter Julie and son-in-law Stephen Ward, to visit Singapore and also to see Norman’s grave near Bangkok.

“Norman's grave wasn’t what I expected, just a little stone,” he told The Press afterwards. “I was with him for a while and I told him, “You will never be forgotten”.”

Now Maurice himself is gone, but like his friend Norman, not forgotten.

Julie said her dad was a quiet, private man, but with a wonderful sense of humour.

She said it was only in recent years he began to open up about his wartime experiences through talking to his four-year-old great-grandson Charlie.

It was only when Julie was clearing her father's house in Selby, however, that she came across two remarkable poems he had written while a young prisoner of the Japanese.

She’d heard talk of the poems, but had never seen them, she said. "He wrote them for himself. It wasn't something that he was willing to share."

Now, however, Julie and her husband Stephen have passed copies of the poems to The Press. They describe the battle for Singapore and the fall of Singapore, and we can think of no better way to commemorate the life of this very special man than by printing a few lines from those poems here.

RIP Maurice.


The Battle of Singapore

Rattle, splutter, crackle, stutter, heavy guns, Brens all around
Bofars, mortars, ack-ack barrage, help to swell the hellish sound
Overhead the Nippon war planes fill the sky with angry roar
“Lie down flat you silly blighters”, this is what the world calls war

Men upon their bellies creeping, thro’ rubber and thro’ palm
Hungry, dry, bereft of sleeping, knowing not a moment’s calm
Wading on thro’ marsh and swampland, clothing stiff with mud galore
On they go, these helpless victims, victims to the God of War


The Fall of Singapore

Since the day we were taken our spirits fell
And although it’s not showing, it’s easy to tell
After long days of fighting our chances were rare
For something was missing! The Boys of the Air

But the lads kept on slamming the shells up the bore
Facing death from dive bombers and mortars galore
And whilst in action their spirits were high
Even smiling whilst the shells whistled by..

..We fought gamely on with our backs to the wall
And each soldier’s heart cried, “Singapore shall not fall”
So the guns barked defiance with angry retort
When a whisper came thro’ “The ammo’s run short”..

And in the afternoon when expecting it least
We found on most fronts that the firing had ceased
And it wasn’t the silence that made us all stare
’twas a white flag flying that caused our despair

The order was given, the enemy had won
And each heart was aching like a true British son
For we fought and we fought for this small British Isle
Prepared to die to the last rank and file

Now my thoughts wander back to the day I kneeled
By a small wooden cross on the battle scarred field
To a comrade who died for a Land o’er the Sea
That country called England, The Land of the Free.