Military History > Articles > The Jungle is Neutral

They call it the Hellfire Pass, and indeed in the tropical sunshine and humidity it feels like the devil's kitchen itself. But remember what happened here and, despite the sweat and the flies and the dusty walk to get here you begin to think yourself lucky. Once, long ago, the Hellfire Pass drank the life and the blood of men.

Today it lies quiet; still and serene. The whips and tools were long ago laid down and the jungle on either side buzzes instead with insects, a thousand miniature chainsaws scraping out their cacophonous song. The rust-brown rockface is pitted and gouged by the picks and hand drills used to hew the passage 60 years before; the occasional drill bit has snapped off and embedded in the stone. Aside from this, however, little now remains.

Perhaps seven or eight feet of railway track, worn away by weather and age, and a plaque festooned with withered flowers and drooping Commonwealth flags. But just this small section of the Burma railway cost the lives of hundreds of Allied prisoners of war, starved, beaten and tormented by their Japanese captors. One cannot help but to stop for a moment and simply contemplate.

Hellfire Pass, near modern-day Kanchanaburi in Thailand, is a fitting start to a loop of historical sites that takes you around South East Asia, following the progress of 20th-century war's bloody toll. The Japanese occupation of French Indochina, as the eastern countries of Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia were then known, was just one catalyst of the conflicts that unfolded there from the 1950s to 1980s.

Countless lines of marble headstones poke up from Kanchanaburi's three major cemeteries, tended to an immaculate standard by armies of Thai gardeners. The town is also the site of the famous Bridge on the River Kwai, fixed for posterity in our imaginations by David Lean's 1957 cinema epic of the same name. The structure that spans the flow now, however, is not the original bombed to destruction during the war; and the museum set up on the bank is a curious and decrepit mixture of authentic artefacts and badly-wrought papier-mache figures.

Despite the horrors of the past, Kanchanaburi is in fact a fine place to relax and settle into the pace of life in rural Thailand. Hotels and bungalows stand on stilts above the stream of the river itself, and the balconies and restaurants are ideal for lazy afternoons and laconic nights watching the water ebb by. Returning to Bangkok by train, one can still ride some of the original wartime railway.

On to Laos, scene of clandestine conflict during the Vietnam War. Much of the evidence lingers on. Instead of horsebrasses and pewter tankards, the shacks that pass for public houses in Laos often harbour macabre collections of clusterbombs, grenades, small arms and ammunition discovered in the neighbouring fields. Hard to imagine now, perhaps: more bombs were dropped on Laos than were expended over Germany during WWII; most over sections of North Vietnam's celebrated supply route, the Ho Chi Minh trail; some allegedly dumped by US pilots returning from Hanoi with bombs to spare. Even 40 years later, blue-capped United Nations mine disposal experts can still be seen combing the countryside for more unexploded ordnance.

Hanoi itself, capital of the now re-unified Vietnam, is an almost European city but for the heat and the oppressive whirr of thousands of mopeds (private car ownership is still rare in this reforming Communist state). The old centre is a cosmopolitan locale of lakes and leafy boulevards, the French influence readily apparent. Embalmed and somewhat waxy-looking, the corpse of Ho Chi Minh is preserved in a typically austere Stalinist-style mausoleum. Thousands of Vietnamese troop past every day for a quick gawp at the exulted leader. Yet for downed US pilots, Hanoi held few attractions.

Hoa Lo Prison, otherwise known as 'the Hanoi Hilton' was established by the French in the late 19th century. Now a museum, many of the exhibits (including the regulation Gallic guillotine) are devoted to the undoubted oppression of the colonial years. A section is dedicated to the building's life as a POW camp and is stark proof of that old maxim, 'history is written by the victor'. American internees here apparently enjoyed cordon bleu cuisine, sports facilities, a well-stacked library and workshop. Propaganda posters extol the virtues of this model environment. You suspect that the museum is being economical with the truth.

From Hanoi it is a short flight to another name resonating with history, Dien Bien Phu. Despite its significance to the Vietnamese - the siege in 1954 signalled the end of the French empire - it is surprisingly tourism-free. Stone plaques mark places of interest, such as the spot where a French artillery officer shot himself in despair, and General de Castilles' bunker has been roughly recreated. But for the most part, the ambience of Dien Bien Phu is in the rusting relics that never quite made it off the field of battle: tanks, guns and machinery of war litter the paddies and even the gardens of private houses, as if subsumed into the fabric of the countryside.

Further south, situated along the 17th parallel is the area known as the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). This was the scene of the heaviest fighting during the 1965-1973 'American war' as the Vietnamese call it, and in the once war-torn city of Hue a tourbus industry has sprung up to cater for those who wish to revisit it.

To the west is Khe Sanh. Set at an altitude of 600m among a panorama of jagged hills, part of the airstrip remains, desolate but for eddies of red dust kicked up by the wind. In 1967, the US Marines were besieged for weeks by overwhelming forces. It was a diversion for the Communists' real plan, the Tet Offensive. Some of the former Khe Sanh firebase is now a coffee plantation.

Elsewhere in the DMZ can be found other sites such as former sections of the Ho Chi Minh trail, now sanitised and asphalted-over to become part of the road network. One can also visit the tunnel complex at Vinh Moc with its beachside escape routes and underground hospital the size of an outdoor privy.

These are overshadowed by the better-known tunnels of Cu Chi, hundreds of miles further southwest. With undisguised glee, the guides show you just how well hidden these catacombs were, kicking away dead leaves and undergrowth to reveal entrance holes no larger than a shoebox. While Vietnamese tourists deftly pop themselves through the openings, none of the Europeans present have a hope. Crawling through the 4ft-high passages themselves is even less fun for a tall, perhaps overweight westerner, and one pales further when shown the display of Viet Cong booby traps also on display. The thought of carrying a rifle through the heat, humidity and insects surrounded by such vicious devices as the 'souvenir' trap (that gripped the limb so firmly that troops had to be evacuated with it still attached) doesn't bear thinking about.

All roads in Vietnam lead to Saigon, where the regime finally collapsed on 30 April 1975. While helicopters evacuated the last remaining Americans from the embassy roof, Vietcong tanks smashed through the gates of the Presidential Palace at the heart of the city. With an exterior not unlike a multi-storey car park, the inside of the palace has been preserved to illustrate the lifestyle of the fallen government of the South. Stylish and opulent conference rooms and offices and a swinging 1960s upstairs ballroom area contrast with the underground command centre. This was the Asian equivalent of London's cabinet war rooms, from where the war was run and lost in relative safety.

From Saigon, the route turns west to Phnom Penh, capital of Cambodia. As the Vietnam War wound up, another violent episode began in this small and backward country. A bumpy half hour ride from the town centre takes you to Choeung Ek, better known as the Killing Fields. It is the final resting place of 17,000 hapless victims of the Khmer Rouge, bludgeoned to death to save ammunition and cast into mass graves. These pits have now been excavated, and the crania of the anonymous dead that were found now goggle at you from behind a pane of glass, preserved for eternity as part of the monument erected to remind Cambodia and its visitors of what happened here.

Even more chilling is Tuol Svay Prey High School, also known as Tuol Sleng or 'Poison Hill'. Bearing an uncanny resemblance to the functional architecture of a London secondary modern, the premises were converted into S-21, an administration and interrogation centre for the regime's enemies. Preserved just as it was when Cambodia was 'liberated' by Vietnam in 1978, the decaying complex is filled with bare cells containing nondescript iron beds, agricultural tools and dried blood, and understated displays illustrating the incomprehensible cruelty of torture practised in the camp. Most poignant of all are the thousands of mugshots taken from the prison files and now pinned up in rows on the walls; the eyes of the condemned, sometimes defiant, sometimes pleading, sometimes uncomprehending, stare through space and time and remind you that yes, you are a voyeur.

It is strange how history works in these cycles. From the genocide of the Thailand to Burma Death Railway where the route begins, through the warzones of Laos and Vietnam, to the Killing Fields of Cambodia where it ends, the bloody history of this troubled region maintains a presence there. Now the region is at peace, and is swamped with tourists looking for culture, adventure, and that-all important photo-op. Perhaps it is best that the past is laid to rest. But it is also right to remember. And one can only hope that eventually the lessons of history will be learnt.

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