Scotch College

Two more dramatic wartime escape tales

Tracing the escape tales of two Old Boys, Pieter Marseille and Theo Doorman, during the Japanese invasion of Indonesia

Words: Jim Mitchell

After Robby Drijver’s wartime escape tale in our December 2006 issue (‘A boy’s own war story’), we have just learned of the experiences of two more Old Scotch boys who also had narrow escapes during the dark war year of 1942.

They are Pieter Marseille and Theo Doorman, who both also fled the Japanese invasion of the Netherlands East Indies (now Indonesia).

Pieter, who was at Scotch from 1942 to 1946, wrote from where he now lives – in Holland – to say that he was most interested to read about Robbie Drijver. ‘Robbie entered Scotch as a refugee from the Dutch East Indies, just as I did, in 1942,’ Pieter wrote.

Pieter, who was nine years old in 1942, was with his family in Amboina (now part of Indonesia). Accompanying Pieter were his seven-year-old brother, a baby brother and their stepmother. Eventually they settled in Melbourne and Pieter went to Scotch. ‘I wondered how it was possible for refugees to enter Scotch without a penny to spend,’ Pieter said, ‘but that was explained during a visit to Scotch in 1988. There were apparently special funds available at the time.

‘We stayed until mid-1946 when we had to return to Holland, as my father wasn’t able to send money from Indonesia to Australia. What surprised me is that I never knew there were other Dutch refugees at Scotch at that time, although Robbie was several years older and had real war experience.’

Theo’s father was Rear-Admiral Karel Doorman, who on 28 February 1942 commanded the combined American, British, Dutch and Australian (ABDA) fleet which was defeated in the Battle of the Java Sea (where HMAS Perth was sunk). Said to have given the order ‘I am attacking, follow me’, Admiral Doorman went down in his flagship, the De Ruyter.

At the time, six-year-old Theo was living in Soerabaja in Java. What follows is an edited version of his later recollections:

‘I remember the feeling of the threat of the coming war. My father’s bed was raised onto blocks to serve as a bombardment shelter. At my school I was issued with a small helmet and a little bag with my name tag, a certificate with my blood group, bandages and an ugly tasting eraser that was to be held between the teeth during bombardments. From the beginning of February 1942, these indeed started, every morning.

‘At Christmas as a present I had got a nice metal fighter-bomber plane with foldable wheels. Shortly after, my father sent us away to the mountains.

‘After the Java Sea battle, my then 30-year-old mother indirectly heard that something terrible had happened, upon which we immediately returned to Soerabaja. The next morning my mother told me I would probably not see my father again, and she took steps to evacuate us, joining an automobile convoy that, pausing only for a quick meal of rice, took us to Catalina seaplanes departing from a mountain lake in East Java.

‘We were the last plane to take off for Australia in the quickly falling dusk. Suddenly, machine-gun shots sounded, but luckily it was only a try-out of the weapons. And so we settled down for the night. Together with my mother, I slept in one of the bunks. On waking next morning, March 3, at about 8 o’clock, under us we saw Roebuck Bay, near Broome on the north-west Australian coast.

‘We landed on the water and anchored among many other seaplanes – military Catalinas and Dorniers, large Short Sunderland Qantas passenger planes, and a big international seaplane, the Corinna. Near our plane a lugger used for issuing petrol lay at anchor.

‘Suddenly, around 9.30am, I heard yelling, and, immediately after that, the roar of aircraft engines, machine-guns firing and incoming bullets. My mother yanked me away and stuffed me under a bunk. (Toys I had been playing with spilled into the sea, and only very recently some were salvaged and are now in the Broome museum!)

‘In a short while our wings and engines were on fire. My mother again yanked me out from under the bunk and we made our way into the cockpit, through an open hatch near the starboard flight-chair, and into into the water.

‘The strong tide sucked me under the burning starboard motor and wing. Although swimming against the current, by diving underwater I managed to swim out from under the fiercely burning wing above me.

‘We dived under the surface when we saw Zeros flying over, and swam around for about one hour in water infested by sharks and saltwater crocodiles. When the Zeros had disappeared, an American naval barge looking for survivors picked us up. Among the dead were 32 women and children.

‘After a short while my mother was also picked up. By now the barge was full of survivors, and I remember a man sitting on the floorboards with a completely burned back. The crew of the barge gave us something to drink from a tin can.

‘We disembarked from the barge at the head of a very long pier and sat on the flat wagons of a narrow-gauge train. After some time, the train rolled to the foot of the pier and a lorry brought us to the airfield. There we walked past the smouldering remains of a B-17 Flying Fortress and a B-24 Liberator.

‘A small Lockheed that had landed just after the attack flew us to Port Hedland, where we were lodged in a small hotel. Several days later we travelled to Perth and some weeks later we sailed to Melbourne with many survivors. In Melbourne my mother was employed to sort out personnel data, and I went to Scotch College.’

Theo stayed at Scotch only a month, but still has clear and affectionate memories of his time as a Scotch student. No doubt this little child was very traumatised, and indeed, for the rest of his life his sleep has been disturbed by nightmares.

Theo and his mother soon moved in New York, and in 1946 returned to Holland where Theo became a naval officer, and after leaving the navy, had careers as a human resources manager and finally as General Secretary of Credit Lyonnais Bank Nederland.