Goldeneye had to be lifted bodily over a harbour boom, they missed a floating mine by inches, were repeatedly buzzed by a Zero fighter and narrowly avoided attack by parang-toting natives on an island. On another, friendly Chinese fishermen told them of a major battle much further south, which had left the area "strewn with dead sailors and debris and so much oil on the water that there were no waves." This of course was the Battle of the Java Sea.

Two vicious "Sumatras" (sudden mini-hurricanes) were survived and they sailed one night slap through the Jap Palemband invasion fleet, to find themselves after fourteen days off Merak Island in the Sunda Strait. At that moment they had one tin of peas, one of parsnips and half a pint of water left. After dark, a new sound was heard, the throbbing of ship's engines. At first they see nothing and then a large warship appears, a cruiser. She looks like one of ours. Morris' account goes:

We wave and yell from parched throats but the three of us, all full volume, would not waken babes in a nursery. Gillie seizes a torch. Its light flickers S.O.S. - S.O.S. We feel that the lookout must be asleep, but he's not. The cruiser reverses engines, a bell clangs, a whistle blows - surely this is the British or Australian Navy. She looks like one of the county class perhaps they have stak, eggs and chips aboard. We are very hungry. White clad figures throng the starboard rail The Goldeneye faithful to the last, obeys her helm; one hundred and fifty yards to go, now only a hundred; fifty, thirty - and we tremble slightly, our nerves a jingle of excitement, hope, truimph and thanksgiving merged together in one never to be forgotten two minutes. A voice hails us "Who are you, where are you from?" It sounds strained but the tone is good and language is just right - English. Feeling rather sheepish, I stand up ad yell, "This is Goldeneye, fourteen days out of Singapore. We are English." No more voices greet us and by now we observe a line of figures dressed in peak cloth caps.

Suddenly Bob fairly yells "THEY'RE BLOODY JAPS!" and he is all too perfectly right. From the deck the equivalent of Bren guns are trained on us from a dozen points. Do as the gentleman directs," Gillie advises quietly. "We're in the bag again!"

Down th lower gangway hurries a Japanese officer, who continues to address us firmly through politely in Oxford English. "Have you any guns? Revolvers?" "No." "I will make a search. If you are lying, you die!" The search over, he turns to Bob "You will continue south until you come to Tapir Island, the one with the lighthouse. Go ashore and await the arrival of the Imperial Nippon Army. Do you understand? If you attempt to escape you will be shot!" Once again the throbbing of the engines, for a while anyhow we are at peace, the cruiser having departed northwards, but from her superstructure a white light winks a message to somebody to the south. "What now?" enquires Gillie. "We'll be shot for sure if the Army takes a hand; perhaps we had better try to get through the Sunda Strait and run the gauntlet of the coast south of Java." Bob advises. Off we go on the first tack and within a quarter of an hour we are past Tapir Island. We are congratulating ourselves on the speed of our progress when another cruiser suddenly emerges from the gloom, only fifty yards away to the starboard. "In case we are separated or don't meet again," Bob observes, "Here's wishing you the best of luck."

For the second time in twenty minutes a voice booms through a megaphone, still in English but not so agreeable polised. It challenges "Stop or we'll shoot". This is truly the end of the road. We head in towards the ship's side, where there is a Jacob's ladder. I take a last long look at the dinghy, a fond farewell to a faithful friend, and mount the ladder, being forcibly assisted as I near the top of the ship's rail. As my feet touch the deck a rating slaps me lusttly across the face and I fall back on my scupper. Truly I am again in Japanese hands and stagger to my feet. By this time Bob and Gillie have appeared iver the rail and I expect that they will be hit, but my tormentor receives a resounding clout across his face, presumable for having struck me without orders. We are cursed roundly. Had we not received orders from the Commander of the other cruiser? Why had we disobeyed? We are no good, kinaro, etc. etc.

I hear the name of the cruiser - Asigara - a flagship of Admiral Takahashi. They are very proud to be the late conqueror of Exeter. We have disobeyed the most important man for miles around. I am suitably appalled! Then I remember where I had last heard the name Asigara - as the chief representative of Emperor Hirohito's Navy at the Coronation Review at Spithead in 1937. My surprise is completed for I had also soon Asigara at anchor next in line to the Dutch cruiser Java, fated to be sunk in recent battle.

After fourteen days of doubtful freedom we are back again almost to where we started, or maybe not at the starting point, for we are richer for the experience. We have travelled on wild sea journey of over 650 miles. By something akin to a miracle we have survived the onslaughts of terrible storms, ordeals of hunger, thirst, sun, tropical rains and cold. We are amazed at out ill fortune, but perhaps after all we are not disgraced.

The three waifs for the sea stood drinking in the atmosphere of the room, which was clean and well ventilated, no-one smoked in there; for this was the nerve centre of the ship - the charting and battle HQ. We were impressed, but not overawed, though I remember feeling a sense of unease. The Captain sat like a statue - a short muscular man. The face with high cheek bones and slating eyes had noted our entrance though his head had scarely moved. His skin was a matt of light tan - the mouth large, with rather thin lips; the nose not as flat as most Japanese, but long and intrusive. He sported a typical "Nanchu" moustache; it extended deep below the corners of his mouth like two black bootlaces. Suspended from the ceiling a bright light swung gently and rhytmically above the charts in harmony with the motion of the ship.