It is summed up in a warm hug, a prayer for the many whose lives were cut short, and a heartfelt apology for what occurred outside the country town of Cowra on a chilly morning 70 years ago.

Asked if he has a message for his Australian hosts, the diminutive 93-year-old presses the palms of his hands together and, through his interpreter, offers a solemn "sorry" for the largest prison break in history.

On August 5 in 1944, Mr Murakami was prepared to die, and he vividly recalls the vote that was secretly held earlier among many of the 1100 Japanese prisoners of war at the camp on whether there would be a "revolt".

The prisoners were divided into groups of about 30, with each allocated a different hut. Many of the hut leaders handed those in their charge a blank piece of paper, with an instruction to mark it either with a circle or a cross. A circle signalled support for the breakout, a cross opposition.

Overwhelmingly, they voted to escape.

"A circle meant death," Mr Murakami explains, and it did mean death for 231 Japanese and four Australians who died during the breakout, and another 25 Japanese who were either killed or committed suicide in the days that followed.

"I drew a circle. I was determined to die."

Mr Murakami was a lowly private and a relative newcomer to the prison camp when plans were made for the breakout, but he knew his duty as a Japanese soldier.

"He was taught never ever become a POW," explains interpreter Mami Yamada, who is travelling with him. "He was told to commit suicide rather than become a POW, and that’s why he thought that death was the only way."

Like most of the Japanese at Cowra, Mr Murkami was captured because illness or wounds rendered him incapable of fighting. They shared the camp with many more Italians, who had surrendered in great numbers on the Western Front and had a very different attitude towards captivity. Unlike the Japanese, who brooded and plotted, the Italians tended to enjoy their captivity, working on local farms, drinking wine and flirting with the farmers’ wives and daughters, often through song.

Mr Murakami did not die in the breakout. He was among those who sheltered in a ditch when many around him were cut down by machine-gun fire, and he was among those who raised their hands in surrender when dawn broke.

Now, he is back for a five-day commemoration at Cowra, the last Japanese survivor of the breakout well enough to make the trip, with a message of peace and friendship between Japan and Australia.

The program includes the Australian premiere of a Japanese play on the breakout, wreath-laying ceremonies and art and photographic exhibitions that reflect the camp’s Italian and Japanese history.

The aim, says organiser Lawrance Ryan, is to commemorate the sacrifice of those who died, remind Australia of what took place, and to promote peace, harmony and reconciliation.

Mr Murakami says that sometime after the breakout he changed his view about death being "the only thing". Asked when this was, he pauses. "That’s a hard question," he replies. "I don’t really know, but I am extremely happy I survived."