At War with My Father Fred Howe

It is June 2008, and I am standing on a hillside overlooking the NSW country town of Boorowa. It has been a long time since I felt any need to visit the cemetery, but today I have come to talk to my father. My research on the notorious Burma-Thai Railway, where he was a POW, has led me to this moment. For the past thirteen years I have been following my father's wartime footsteps as a way of understanding him as a person--and in turn, understanding myself.

Sergeant Fred Howe struggles to stay conscious. A hundred barbs from the wire binding him to the tree pierce his thin frame; cigarette burns inflicted by his tormentors sting his bare skin; the hot tropical sun deepens his thirst; and hunger twists in his gut.

In his lucid moments, Fred questions his decision to enlist. He had been thirty-four years old, a married man with four children. How much longer can he endure--physically or mentally? Will the war soon end and allow the survivors to return home, or will it drag on until none of them remain?

As a young girl, I had no understanding of the war. All Dad ever told me was that, during the fighting, his mates had been shot and killed on either side of him. At that age, I could not grasp the weight of those words. I never asked questions, so I received no answers--answers I would come to desperately crave.

I now realise why, for so much of my life, I have been at war with my father--both literally and by following in his footsteps. I am finally beginning to understand the extent to which his experiences shaped our relationship.

Fred Howe was a prisoner of war for more than three years.
I have been a virtual prisoner for sixty.