As described by Kenneth Horne: The days ground on like some eternal torment, some diabolic punishment for our past misdeeds, boiling sun, empty bellies, bone weary nights on the stone floor of the cell, an occasional man, too sick to move being moved from the cell to God knows where, each day an eternity. March out in the morning, stagger back at night. Each day hoping against hope that the Australians would come and each day knowing in our hearts that they would never come.
This quote from Horne is hauntingly vivida powerful window into the psychological and physical toll of captivity. His language evokes a sense of relentless suffering, where even time itself becomes a torment, and hope slowly corrodes into despair. It's not just the heat or hunger or exhaustionit's the erosion of humanity, the numbing repetition of survival without resolution.
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