As I cycled home one morning, still wearing my tin helmet and armband, I passed a line of military lorries parked in Stevens Road. Standing beside them were some tall, very dejected-looking Australian soldiers wearing broad-brimmed Aussie hats. They looked frightened and demoralised. I stopped to ask them how close the front was. One soldier said, “It’s over; here, take this,” and offered me his weapons. I was startled and shaken. Could it be this hopeless? I refused the weapons and tried to comfort him by saying that no battle was lost until it was over. But for that Australian group, the battle was lost. I did not know what horrifying experiences they must have had.
— The Singapore Story (Lee Kuan Yew), Loc. 672–6