The “Old Lady”: Engineering Hope in a Prisoner of War Camp

By Terry Justin Dit

In a global effort to bridge generations and preserve history, Victory in 80 Objects is a project commemorating the 80th anniversaries of VE Day (Victory in Europe) and VJ Day (Victory over Japan). It focuses on telling the stories of these victories through 80 objects curated from leading military museums, each narrating tales of courage, sacrifice, and human experience during the conflicts. Launched on May 6, 2025, the project includes an online exhibition, a book, and community outreach initiatives.

Among these significant items is Object Number 32, simply titled “Secret POW radio,” a relic with a profound connection to the Batu Lintang Teacher’s Training Institute in Kuching, Sarawak. This unassuming object represents the crucial, often life-saving, role of information for prisoners of war.

Within the confines of the Batu Lintang camp in Sarawak, thousands of Allied POWs faced more than just the immediate horrors of starvation and disease. They battled a pervasive monotony and isolation that, as researchers note, could render lives “meaningless” and lead to profound psychological distress.

The barracks themselves, completed in May 1941, were originally built to house detachments of the 2/15th Punjab Regiment, tasked with defending the airstrip at Bukit Stabar, commanded first by Lt. Col. J. Peffers and later by Major (later Lt. Col.) G. H. Lane, MC.

It was into this environment, where external information was virtually non-existent, that the need for a clandestine connection became paramount. A hidden radio, affectionately known as the “Old Lady,” was meticulously crafted and maintained to deliver uncensored news from the outside world. This was no mere diversion; it was a psychological lifeline, a testament to human resilience against overwhelming odds.

Warrant Officer Leonard A.T. Beckett, an experienced radio engineer, understood this desperate need for psychological sustenance. Transferred to Batu Lintang in October 1942 from Tanjung Priok Prisoner of War Camp in Java along with 1,150 other men, Beckett recognised that the occasional scraps of news trickling in from work parties were insufficient. A consistent, reliable source was an “invaluable boost to morale.”

The Japanese stance was chillingly clear: operating shortwave radios meant immediate execution for all involved. Yet, the profound psychological imperative to connect with a world beyond the barbed wire outweighed even this terrifying risk.

The birth of the “Old Lady” was an astonishing act of ingenuity, a direct battle against the “daily void” threatening the prisoners’ mental well-being. Beckett, aided by a small, trusted group, scoured the camp for any salvageable scrap.

Her components read like a surreal inventory of desperation and brilliance: a deaf aid, the steering damper from a Norton motorcycle, a Bakelite shaving soap container, an army mess tin, the backing of an old map case, and even pieces of glass, wire, mica, and barbed wire. Some parts were sourced from a Chinese family, others daringly “stolen from Japanese-owned motor cars and motorcycles.”

During her construction, the “Old Lady” was hidden within a large stewing-pot. Once complete, her ultimate sanctuary became a biscuit tin, buried under the bake house fire. During operations, she found a temporary home in a false-bottomed table within the camp stores. Elaborate security measures, including a network of vigilant lookouts, were put in place to guard this precious secret.

The “Old Lady” first crackled to life on the night of February 24, 1943. Initially powered by fleeting torch batteries, Beckett soon engineered a unit to tap into the camp’s electricity supply. In a stroke of darkly ironic luck, access to the powerhouse was gained by a fellow POW, a man who, before the war, had been a professional burglar.

However, the threats to the “Old Lady’s” voice were constant. In early March 1943, the Japanese cut off the electric power, a “serious blow” that silenced the radio. With no replacement batteries available, the only solution was the audacious idea of constructing a hand-cranked generator, affectionately named “Ginnie.”

Beckett was confident in his ability to build it, and British Royal Army Ordnance Corp (RAOC) personnel committed to supplying components, even if it took three months to craft the necessary tools. To mask the tell-tale sounds of their work, the men spun a clever tale for their captors, describing their enterprise as a “watch repairing factory,” a deception so effective that the Japanese even offered tools.

“Ginnie” demanded immense physical effort, requiring the “fittest of the men” to turn its wheel at 3,000 revolutions per minute – a task so vital they were given “extra food rations” to sustain them. This collective physical exertion was a direct investment in their shared mental resilience.

Every “daily news bulletin” received from Australia, London, America, and S.E.A.C. (South East Asia Command) was a psychological victory against the continuous confinement and restrictions that otherwise fostered frustration and depression. The “Old Lady” provided a vital counter-narrative to Japanese propaganda, shattering the imposed information blackout and reminding the prisoners that they were not forgotten, that a world beyond the barbed wire still existed.

News of Allied victories, however small, provided concrete evidence that the war was being fought and won, directly combating despair and providing tangible reasons for hope. It transformed passive endurance into active psychological fortification, solidifying their “will to live against overwhelming odds.”

Remarkably, the “Old Lady” was never detected. She continued her vital work, a silent, powerful beacon of truth, until the very day of the Japanese surrender. After liberation, Leonard Beckett was photographed proudly displaying his creations, the “Old Lady” and “Ginnie,” a quiet recognition of their immense, life-saving impact.

The “Old Lady” of Batu Lintang stands as a profound testament not merely to ingenious engineering, but to the extraordinary power of information as a psychological weapon, proving that even in the darkest of times, a whispered truth can ignite an indomitable spirit.

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Terry Justin Dit is a lecturer in the Department of Media and Communications, Faculty of Humanities and Health Sciences at Curtin Malaysia, where he teaches Borneo Studies and Media. He can be reached via email at terry.j@curtin.edu.my.