Kanchanaburi and Relative History

The gravestone above sits amongst thousands of others in the War cemetery at Kanchanaburi, site of the infamous Death Railway of World War 2, but this one resonates with us. This modest headstone is the memorial to Phil’s Dad’s cousin Roland, who, like so many other young men, died a dreadful death here at the hands of the Japanese during construction of the Thai-Burma railway. He must have suffered unimaginable torment. We have come to Kanchanaburi purely to pay our respects to our family member, some 76 years after his death.

We find the whole experience of visiting this headstone surprisingly emotional, given that this was someone who died more than 10 years before Phil was born. Just imagining the conditions in which our family member must have lived his final days, is painful…….

It’s an early start today, out of Bangkok on an early train northwards to Kanchanaburi, after a bit of nonsense with a taxi driver who didn’t know where the Thonburi railway station was! Right next to Thonburi station is a huge food market, madly busy before 7am; we thought Chatuchak was big but this is clearly where the entire city buys most of its food!

The train moves through lush green countryside and rice fields, successive vendors boarding the train to hawk foodstuffs of various types. Kanchanaburi is these days a mix of things. A long street of backpacker territory stretches away from the main drag towards the river, cheap bars and hostels abound. Step by step towards the river and its famous bridge, this atmosphere changes, but more of that later.

This is, of course, the Bridge On The River Kwai, famed from World War II and the subsequent movie, and Kanchanaburi itself was home to one of the epicentres for the construction of the so called Death Railway. In all of the atrocities in the history of war, the brutal treatment of POWs by the Japanese right here, is surely one of the most extreme, and makes appalling reading. Thousands of young men, mostly British, Dutch, Burmese and Malay, perished in the most unimaginably horrific circumstances. Nowadays Kanchanaburi is home not only to the cemetery and the bridge, but also a Death Railway Museum, recounting in horrific detail the suffering inflicted on these men. The word “inhumane” simply doesn’t do justice. And here before us, in stark reality, is the resting place of one of our own. We laid flowers, and cleaned the headstone. It’s not much. But he was family.

It’s a little bit confusing to find that the bridge itself has become such a tourist attraction. Hotels have sprung up on the banks of the river, resorts are under construction, floating restaurants afford diners views of the river and the bridge. Most disconcerting of all – offensive even? – is the reconstruction of a POW camp right by the bridge, so that modern day visitors can enjoy a beer and a meal whilst supposedly seeing what a POW camp would have looked like. And all this a 5-minute tuk-tuk ride from the cemetery and the museum. Poor taste, surely? It’s a strange world sometimes. It’s as if the memory of the movie is stronger than the memory of those who suffered, and that’s not right.

Our short stay in the town is in a guest house in a delightful garden setting, abundant bird life all around, we wake to exotic calls and a crowing cockerel instead of the sounds of a city. Despite our reservations we engage a bit with the tourist thing: a river trip on a long boat (actually really enjoyable) and dinner of fresh river fish at a floating restaurant looking up at the bridge, and of course we take the walk across the bridge itself.

International coach tour parties come and go rather like cruise ship crowds in a port, help themselves to a pile of food from the laid-on buffet and then each leave half of what they’ve taken, meaning tons of it goes in the bin. It’s a strange world sometimes.

And so the first part of our trip comes to a close. We move on to Southern Thailand next…