Orders, Decorations, Medals and Militaria

The important and deeply poignant Second World War posthumous G.C. awarded to John Alexander Fraser, Civilian Defence Secretary and Assistant Attorney-General, Hong Kong, who organised escape plans and a clandestine wireless service at Stanley Civilian Internment Camp: as a consequence he was brutally beaten and tortured by the Japanese over a prolonged period

Displaying high courage of a different nature to the gallant deeds that had won him the M.C. and Bar as a young officer in the Machine Gun Corps in the Great War, Fraser ‘refused to utter one word that could help the Japanese with their investigations or bring punishment to others’: in fact ‘his fortitude under the most severe torture was such as that it was commented upon by the Japanese prison guards’

On 20 October 1943 - and having failed to break Fraser’s remarkable spirit - the Japanese took him and 32 others to a beach and beheaded them all: that night the Japanese officers responsible celebrated their butchery at a drunken party, from which emanated the sounds of loud laughter and music

George Cross (John Alexander Fraser, (lately) Assistant Attorney-General, Hong Kong, 29 Oct. 1946), in its Royal Mint case of issue, extremely fine £120000-150000

G.C. London Gazette 29 October 1946:

‘Fraser was interned by the Japanese in the Civilian Internment Camp, Stanley, and immediately organised escape plans and a clandestine wireless service. He was fully aware of the risks that he ran but engaged continuously in most dangerous activities and was successful, not only in receiving news from outside, but also in getting important information out of the Camp. Eventually he was arrested and subjected to prolonged and severe torture by the Japanese who were determined to obtain information from him and to make him implicate the others who were working with him. Under this treatment he steadfastly refused to utter one word that could help the Japanese investigations or bring punishments to others. His fortitude under the most severe torture was such that it was commented upon by the Japanese prison guards. Unable to break his spirit the Japanese finally executed him. His devotion to duty, outstanding courage and endurance were the source of very real inspiration to others and there can be no doubt the lives of those whom the Japanese were trying to implicate were saved by his magnificent conduct.’

John Alexander Fraser was born in Edinburgh on 12 February 1896, the son of Thomas Fraser, a mercantile clerk and Mary (nee Duguid). Educated at the Trinity Academy, where he was head boy, and Edinburgh University, John was commissioned in the 9th Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers after the outbreak of hostilities in August 1914.

Transferring to the Machine Gun Corps in March 1916, he went to France in June of the same year and served with distinction, winning the M.C. (London Gazette 20 October 1916, refers) and a Bar (London Gazette 17 December 1917, refers).

The citation for the M.C. - an award for the battle of the Somme - states:

‘For conspicuous gallantry during operations. When the enemy were working round the position, he took his machine-guns up to a position in the open in a shell-hole. Here he remained for four hours, and materially assisted, first in checking, and then in stopping the enemy’s attack.’

The citation for the Bar states:

‘For conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty. As second-in-command of a machine-gun company he was directly instrumental in organising the defence of a newly won position under very heavy fire. On two occasions he rallied and re-organised scattered parties of troops and led them up to the front line through the intense barrage. He repeatedly led up new gun teams to replace casualties and showed a complete grasp of the situation. He continually attended the wounded under fire from snipers and finally when our infantry were forced back he rushed up two machine-guns and warded off further thrusts from the enemy.’

In May 1918, Fraser was appointed to the acting rank of Major and took command of a Machine Gun Company, but he was invalided home after being wounded in the leg in August 1918.

Hong Kong

Entering the service of the Colonial Government of Hong Kong in late 1919, Fraser was appointed 3rd Assistant to the Secretary for Chinese Affairs in 1921 and, having passed in Cantonese in the following year, became a 2nd Police Magistrate and District Officer (North). In 1922-24 he served as an Assistant Head of the Sanitary Department and as Secretary to the Sanitary Board, followed by a term in office as an Assistant Superintendent, Imports and Exports.

Having then served as District Officer (North & South) in the period 1926-31, he was called to the Bar, Middle Temple, in June of the latter year. Thus ensued a successful legal career, commencing with an appointment as Police Magistrate at Kowloon. He subsequently served as an Acting Assistant Attorney-General from October 1932, Acting Crown Solicitor in 1936-37, and as Acting Puisne Judge and Temporary Additional Judge. Next appointed an Acting 1st Magistrate, Fraser was elevated to Assistant Attorney-General in early 1938, the year following the publication of Ordinances and Regulations of Hong Kong, of which he was the editor.

In 1941, shortly before the Japanese invasion of Hong Kong, Fraser was also appointed the colony’s Civilian Defence Secretary and an Official Member of the Executive Council; it was about this time that his wife, Kathleen, and their children Tom and Ian, were evacuated to Australia.

Prisoner of the Japanese - Torture

Following the fall of the colony in December 1941, Fraser was incarcerated in the Civil Internment Camp at Stanley. Here, until March 1942 and the arrival of the Colonial Secretary, Franklin Gimson, he was the senior British government representative. As senior British officials, both men would share in the knowledge of clandestine camp activities, high among them the planning of escapes and the running of secret radio sets: the price Fraser paid for his part in such activities is well summarised by the citation of his subsequent award of the George Cross (G.C.), which distinction was gazetted on 29 October 1946, exactly three years - to the day - of his brutal murder.

Yet since that date, much information has emerged in respect of events at Stanley, some of it deeply poignant eye-witness material of the most harrowing kind: that information is recounted in the pages of Prisoner of the Turnip Heads, by George Wright-Nooth, with Mark Adkin.

Wright-Nooth, a Hong Kong police officer, was likewise incarcerated at Stanley and had knowledge of one of the illegal radio sets. Yet Fraser had knowledge of all of them and indeed knew the identities of those directly involved. He was also a member of, and liaised with the clandestine British Army Aid Group (B.A.A.G.), an organisation charged with planning escapes.

As Wright-Nooth would acknowledge, but for Fraser’s courage in resisting torture, it seems likely he would have joined those executed on 29 October 1943:

‘It is exactly fifty years ago at the time of writing that the main atrocities and beheadings at Stanley took place. I realise now how close I came to being at the receiving end of these horrors as I was, for over a year, deeply implicated in dangerous activities such as smuggling food and messages into and out of Stanley jail. I also had knowledge of one of the clandestine radio sets operating within the camp. Had I been betrayed or suspected I would have been the thirty-fourth person kneeling on the sand near the jetty on 29 October 1943, awaiting decapitation. That I was not there was due to incredible good luck and, I believe, to the great courage and amazing ability of one man who probably knew of my doings, to withstand prolonged pain, starvation and suffering. He was a small, somewhat mild-looking civil servant of 47 called John Fraser. He went to his death crippled by torture and beatings, his body emaciated and bent, virtually unrecognisable as the man he had once been. His was the triumph of the spirit over physical torment. Despite the protracted attention of the Gendarmerie over many weeks Fraser gave away nothing. His courage was a superlative example of that trite old Army expression, “No names, no pack drill”.’

Japanese awareness of food and money smuggling at Stanley came to the fore in March 1943, as did news of the inmates operating secret radio sets. As a consequence, the dreaded Gendarmerie went on the rampage in two camp raids on 28 June and 7 July: four wireless sets were discovered and Fraser was among the internees to be arrested. Of his subsequent treatment at the hands of his captors, two eye-witness accounts bear testimony. One of them was from William Anderson, who found himself in the same prison block:

‘I was able to have a good look at the European, who concerned me most, but hard as I tried I could not recognise him. I spent days worrying who he might be. I can never forget him as I gazed on him that Sunday. He was of small stature, wore a blueish badly torn shirt, and a pair of shorts also torn. He had long hair, a grey beard, eyes were sunk in his head, cheeks hollow and an emaciated body. ‘Poor devil,’ I thought, ‘I don’t know where you have come from but you sure have had a hell of a time.’

Anderson later made contact with a Chinese inmate, Gladys Loie, and through her was able to confirm that the ‘European’ was in fact Fraser. Prisoner of the Turnip Heads takes up the story:

‘Gladys Loie could not at first remember the name of the European who Anderson had glimpsed in such an appalling condition ... She told Anderson that the European had been in a filthy makeshift cell next to hers in a garage attached to the Stanley Gendarme post. She was full of praise for the way he had borne his pain and degradation. At times he was interrogated in his cell with his moans and cried terrifyingly audible through the wooden boards separating them. The man never talked. Sometimes he was taken away during the night, always returning semi-conscious and covered with blood. For much of the time he was deprived of all food. When a meal was produced it was a small ball of rice twice a day. Mrs. Loie said she spoke a lot to this gallant man, mostly about their families or about Hong Kong people they both knew. All she could remember as to his identity was that he had a house in Taipo. That was enough for Anderson. “I then knew who the European was and said his name is ‘Fraser’.” To the very end this courageous man, who had won the Military Cross in World War 1 and was to be awarded the George Cross after his death, never revealed a single name to the Japanese - and he knew them all, almost certainly including mine.’

Fraser was sent to trial on 19 October 1943, alongside 27 fellow prisoners. Wright-Nooth continues:

‘The day started badly for Fraser who was, rightly I suppose, regarded as the man mainly responsible for organising subversive activities at Stanley. He was sick that morning with dysentery, and while still in the cell block had removed his underpants to sponge himself clean when he was spotted by an Indian guard called Mohammad Khan. Khan beat him unmercifully with a heavy truncheon, possibly doing serious injury to the base of his spine.’

Notwithstanding his injuries, Fraser had to attend the court hearing, a painful and protracted experience - the prisoners feet had to remain inside chalk lines drawn around them. In terms of the Law, it was a farcical event: no defendant was represented and no defendant was allowed to speak in his own defence. Then, as recalled by William Anderson, came the sentence of the so-called court:

‘The president then spoke to the members on his right and left. Each shook his head as if indicating they did not wish to speak. The president then fumbled with the pages in his book ... on the table in front of him ... Yamaguchi came to the rescue. He opened the book and indicated certain places with his finger. The president then called all the names of the prisoners, repeated by the interpreter, and each accused acknowledged. Again the president lost his place, and once more he was assisted in finding what he wanted. Then he said, looking at the book, and repeated haltingly by the interpreter in English, ‘The judgement of the court is that all are sentenced to death.’ Again there was a nodding of heads by all members of the court. Next the president announced, ‘The court is adjourned’.’

Execution

At the final count, 32 men and one woman - Gladys Loie - were sentenced to death. Of their appalling end, Prisoner of the Turnip Heads states:

‘The condemned prisoners had all been kept in solitary confinement since sentencing and, despite repeated requests for visits by a priest, none was permitted. The only concession was that as they were assembled that final afternoon inside the cell block they had five minutes together in which to talk and compose themselves. Mrs. Loie was sobbing. At this moment it was the Indian, the Sandhurst-trained Captain Ansari, who spoke to them, giving an impromptu pep talk. Clearly and calmly he asked them to die bravely. This officer, who had a pre-war reputation within his regiment for being “difficult”, now again expressed the sentiments of total loyalty to the Allied cause. Anderson was told that the essence of what he said was as follows:

“Everybody has to die sometime. Many die daily from disease, some suffer painful, lingering deaths. We will die strong and healthy for an ideal; not as traitors, but nobly in our country's cause. We cannot now escape the enemy's sword, but no one should give in to tears or regrets, but instead face the enemy with a smile and die bravely.”

After these words of encouragement Wong Shui Poon, who had worked at St Paul’s College, said prayers. They were then roped together in groups of three with hands tied behind their backs and, escorted by Japanese and Indian guards, were led to the prison’s administrative compound where they were put into the “death bus” for the short drive to the place of execution. The blinds were pulled down before it drove out of the gates ahead of two Japanese staff cars. At the time, being aware of the sentences, I recorded:

‘29 October, 1943.

In view of recent rumours about supposed sentences imposed on the European prisoners in gaol an incident which happened this afternoon has upset everybody ... At about 2.00 p.m. a big, light brown car flying a military flag went into the gaol. It contained three Japanese civilians ... behind came another car ... A few minutes later the big prison van left the prison with three Indian guards standing on the step at the rear ... it was followed by the two cars ... As it made its way slowly along the road to get round the prison corner it passed a few internees who heard a European voice from the van call, ‘Good-bye’. I believe it may have been Fraser or Scott ... When the van arrived at the wharf other people saw about thirty prisoners, and what they swear to be three Europeans amongst them, being marched by guards along the short distance to the execution ground.’

There they were lined up in single file and told to sit down while guards blindfolded them.  Among the Japanese officials watching were Kogi, Yamaguchi, his second-in-command lmiaye, and a doctor. Hirano was standing with drawn sword by the graves waiting for the first trio to be led forward the last few paces. It was Ansari, Scott and Fraser. Ansari knelt, hands still bound behind his back, eyes bandaged. Without prompting he leant forward to expose his neck, his face a mere inch or so from the sand. Hirano raised his arms, the sword slanted back above his head, glinting brightly in the sunlight. He glanced towards Kogi, who nodded. A momentary pause as he sighted on Ansari's neck, then down swept the blade in a silent, silver blurr. It was an expert’s stroke, removing the head with a dull thud. Blood from severed arteries spurted up over Hirano’s polished field boots and soaked the bottom of his trousers. His sword had lost its shine. He stood motionless while the body and head, which had not fallen into the pit, were pushed in. Now it was Scott’s turn, then Fraser, then ...

Hirano began to tire and lose concentration quite quickly, so others took their turn, including Sahara and Takiyawa. The butchery became even more cruel and bloody as some victims moved, or inexpert swordsmen only partially severed a head. Some waiting prisoners who had broken down had to be dragged forward squirming and squealing and forced to kneel. Wong Shui Poon was struck by Sahara, whose blow only wounded him so that he lay shrieking in agony with his life blood pouring from his open neck. Still alive he was booted into the grave where he lay crying piteously until Sahara leaned over to thrust the point of his sword into his stomach. Takiyawa made a similar mess with Kotewall. He also was thrown in while still obviously not dead. This time Takiyawa apparently finished him off with revolver shots.

It is of interest to record at this point that Takiyawa's eventual fate was perhaps appropriate. After the Japanese surrender he was seized, half-drowned, then lynched by a Chinese mob before being hanged, still alive, from the Star Ferry terminal and left to rot.’

That night, back at Stanley, no Japanese officer appeared on the scene to supervise the roll call or search of prisoners: instead, emanating from the Japanese officers’ quarters were the sounds of loud voices, laughter and music, and ‘the rabble as if from a drunken party.’

Postscript

Frank Roberts, another prisoner of the Japanese, later described in The Journey Back how, on his liberation, he was returned a bundle of clothing which had been taken from him at Stanley in 1943: within this bundle was clothing and a Bible belonging to Fraser and Roberts personally returned them to his widow, Kathleen, together with Fraser’s last message written on the day of his execution.

She received her late husband’s G.C. from King George VI at a Buckingham Palace investiture held on 27 November 1946.

Other than the Commonwealth War Graves Commission headstone that marks Fraser’s burial site in a collective grave at Stanley Military Cemetery, Hong Kong, he is commemorated on a special panel at the Trinity Academy.

to be sold with the following archive:


(i)
A letter to Fraser from Sir Geoffrey Northcote, K.C.M.G., the Governor and Commander-in-Chief, Hong Kong, dated at Government House, 3 September 1941, in which he commends Fraser for his new role in Civil Defence.

(ii)
A letter from the Chief Justice’s Chambers, Hong Kong, dated 4 December 1941, thanking Fraser for stepping in to attend a meeting at short notice.

(iii)
A letter to Mrs. J. A. Fraser from the Private Secretary at the Colonial Office, Downing Street, dated 17 September 1945, regretting the news of ‘the tragic circumstances of your husband’s death in captivity.’

(iv)
A letter of condolence from an ex-Hong Kong hand, Mark Young, addressed to Mrs. Fraser and dated 15 October 1945: ‘We shall assuredly not forget him, nor, I hope, shall we fail to profit by the magnificent example he set us all.’

(v)
A letter to Mrs. Fraser from the Colonial Office, Downing Street, dated 29 October 1946: ‘I write to let you know that, on the recommendation of the Governor of Hong Kong, I had the pleasure in submitting to His Majesty the King the name of your late husband for the award of the George Cross. This recommendation the King has been graciously pleased to approve, and the award will be announced in the London Gazette this evening’; together with an original copy of said Gazette.

(vi)
A Central Chancery letter to Mrs. Fraser regarding an investiture to be held at Buckingham Place on Tuesday, 26 November 1946.

(vii)
A letter to Mrs. Fraser from a designer at the Edinburgh Corporation, dated 9 December 1946, discussing plans for war memorial panels to be unveiled at the Trinity Academy, including one dedicated to her late husband, and enclosing a copy of a letter of tribute published in the South China Morning Post on 31 October 1946; together with the programme for the unveiling ceremony of the panels on 28 May 1949.

(viii)
Three letters from the 1950s, the whole in respect of the Imperial War Graves Commission and the inscription to be used on Fraser’s headstone at Stanley, Hong Kong.

(ix)
A quantity of photographs, including studio portraits of Fraser in uniform in the Great War (2) and another of his wife; a picture of him in later life, one of his home in the New Territories, ‘The Lookout, Tai Po, pre-1940’ and two of the original wooden cross marking his grave; together with a photograph of a list of names, calendar and inscriptions found in Stanley Gaol, Hong Kong, with caption, and contained in an envelope addressed to Fraser’s son, Ian, dated June 1954.

(x)
A quantity of newspaper cuttings, including two from the Great War period.

The whole contained in recipient’s leather suitcase, the lid bearing his stamped initials ‘J. A. F.’, in which were returned his last effects to his widow after the war.