Today Dad would be 100 years old: Eighty years ago today on Sunday 27 April 1941 he wrote
Awoke early and remembered it was my birthday. Arose about 7:45 a.m. and went to breakfast, afterwards to service at St Mark’s Church. Sunday is a grand day, rest and quiet. Writing letters now. A number of cadets have noted, as have I, that we are giving these people a raw deal. Their standard of living is scandalous, often they are treated more as animals than men. I was very impressed with Gandhi’s criticism of Avery’s [Secretary of State for India and Burma, Leo Avery] speech. Well, a strange birthday, not a letter, greeting or present.
Extract from Dad's memoirs on his experiences during WWII
"When war broke out in August 1939 I returned to school to find everyone preoccupied with OTC and I and several of my contemporaries, encouraged by staff, volunteered for army service and within days went to Cardiff University to be attested, given the King’s shilling, and told to go home and await call-up.
Post Enlistment
My father, after his experiences in the Royal Artillery (RA) on the Western Front in the 1914-18 war, would no doubt have opposed my joining up. Mother, as I recall, although not happy, did nothing to persuade me against the RA and again later against volunteering for the Indian Army.
… I was ordered to report to Wilhelm Barracks, Aldershot, around 18-20 December 1940, railway warrant enclosed.
… Wilhelm Barracks was a shock. In order to get us out to India as officer cadets, we were put into a battalion of the Royal Scots for transit¹, commanded by regular army officers and NCOs who were not going to give these potential officers an easy ride whilst they were privates.
So, we drilled and queued and froze in the barracks. It must have been a hard winter for the pipes froze and washing facilities and lavatories were often out of action. I have been against alphabetical order ever since, having been in a queue ALL day and then told to reassemble again next day to draw basic kit for ship and tropical use. It was a relief when orders were given to assemble 6.30am next day to march to station. No one knew where the train was going, but after some had recognised landmarks on route, Gourak seemed to be the likely destination. All was top secret, but topis strapped to our packs, very visibly, suggested it was somewhere hot. So, we embarked on small ships (standing crowded below) which I feared was going to be hell all that way to India. (How ignorant!) These were only lighters taking us to the Highland Chieftain, a ship normally used to carry meat from Argentina to Liverpool, adapted a little for human cattle – us. We were grossly overcrowded, floor, tables and hammocks all used in North Atlantic gales, most seasick. It was not fun. Food also was scarce and rough. A huge convoy assembled over a week or so, joined by a battleship, aircraft carrier and destroyers and, again, it was a relief to begin moving toward India although the course was northwest for days, before turning south. A needed explanation which we didn’t receive was that the convoy must get out from the reach of German submarines.
Another useless exercise inflicted on us, was the submarine-spotting posts all night, gazing into blackness to see some sign of submarine periscopes, in freezing gale force winds and rain. So we were glad to feel warmer each day and eventually to dock with palm trees in Freetown, though we were not allowed ashore (http://naval-history.net/xAH-WSConvoys04-1941A.htm) We were at anchor about ½ to 1 mile from shore, beyond mosquito flying limits, but still had to smear on anti-mosquito cream. Here days passed before we moved on again and the rumour, later confirmed, was that the battleship and destroyers had been searching for a German pocket battleship seen in our area.
Durban, next stop, was a mixed blessing. Seeing apartheid at its worst was a shock. However, my observation of this situation was cut very short as I had very bad toothache, not surprising as I had never had any dental treatment and cannot remember toothpaste in my young days. They took me to a South African military hospital where 2 or 3 large back teeth were extracted. I suppose they had no concern for fillings as a long term preservation measure. (Why spend money on machine gun fodder!) Wartime treatment was emergency only and short term. As bleeding would not stop, they plugged the gaps and put me into sick bay for two or three days on the Windsor Castle on which we were to complete our journey to Bombay. This passenger ship, though overcrowded, had much better facilities and more space and the rest of the voyage I and many others slept on deck in the balmy air of the Indian Ocean. However, we did have to rush to get up in the morning before 5.30am hosing of the decks and a soaking at 5.30am was a minor irritant.
So, without much further incident except ‘Crossing the Line’ high jinks at the Equator, we saw land and eventually the impressive Gateway to India, Bombay.
So, Bombay to Bangalore by train and exciting changes ahead viewed not entirely without trepidation. We saw, now, something of the Raj in India, for the Cadet College Bangalore was full of tradition and except for our training which was serious and strenuous, one would hardly know there was a war on. Remember again, that Japan had not attacked Singapore or Pearl Harbor yet and that Indian troops (us included) were trained for the Middle East where the 4th Indian Division had already earned great respect.
Once a week, Mess Night (used to be Ladies Night I think) we had to dine sumptuously, pass the port to the right (or left?) and stand to raise our glasses to toast the King. It was the only time I had ever had an alcoholic drink. Cadet pay was small, and I had made an allotment to Mother (Granny Maud Ellen Webb).
Although training was tough, our accommodation was very good, a hut between two cadets and a bearer (servant) between two, who did the cleaning, laundry, ironing etc. and was paid by the Army. No complaints! Also, we had an Indian munshi (tutor) for Urdu lessons one hour a day. (About four or five in his group.) I quite enjoyed these lessons, mainly oral at first, then the writing, used mostly with Indian troops. We had a lot of lectures on Indian Army Military Law and action in case of civil disturbance too. This was quite frightening. [See Dad’s War diary 1941.]
My roommate was Norman Mischler, Oxford undergraduate and cricket blue. Luckily, we had cricket in common and I was soon in the cricket team, and later soccer team, so we got on alright despite being poles apart class wise. He had good connections and became very prominent and Chairman of ICI or similar post war. I also did well boxing and became heavy weight champion of the college in my half year-useful again.
It was a lonely existence, but little time to get homesick and miserable. I tried the Methodist Church once, but no one took the slightest interest in me. Granny had given me your Grandfather Webb’s signet ring and it must have been knocked off when we were crawling around in blazing sun somewhere. I was very sad about it. Passing out parade copied from Sandhurst was quite exciting and as newly commissioned 2nd Lieutenants we had photos taken in our smart khaki drill uniforms, tailored and Sam Browne belts (all lost in Calcutta).
We had a mid-course break and were invited by tea planters to the hills of South India. We arrived at Trivandrum Station and were collected by car, driven through the worst floods of one day I had ever experienced - 10 inches of rain in 12 hours. After a hazardous flood crossing, we climbed into sunshine and brilliant green hills. Three of us went to a couple, names forgotten, but their hospitality was really good. They took us to a planters’ club where, from 20 miles or more radius, they got together fortnightly. It was a lovely peaceful existence but very isolated. We saw how the Indian pickers were housed and watched them picking tea leaves. We also visited drying sheds and a rubber plantation and factory.
Then we dispersed to various training depots. Norman Mischler went to Indian Cavalry (no longer horses) and me to the North West Frontier RIASC Transport School, Kakul near Abbottabad. Highlights, or rather scarelights, in this three-month course were the desert navigation, getting lost; and the night driving without lights on mountain roads with ravines on one side. No fatal accidents in my time. So, I joined the Kakul soccer team, quite good standard (one-third division professional) and remember playing against the Gurkha Regiment in Abbottabad (now famous as the stronghold of Osama Bin Laden where he was killed 2011).
In April 1942 the 1st Battalion, Royal Scots[1] was moved to Bombay, and then to Chittagong in December, still with 2nd Infantry Division. It fought in the Burma Campaign, first seeing action in the Arakan operations from March to May 1943, and then withdrawing into India. It later saw action at the infamous Battle of Kohima in 1944 and the Battle of Mandalay in 1945. It was withdrawn to India to rest and refit in April 1945, and moved to Singapore in December.
So, posting came to Transport Company Quetta, where the Officer in Charge was Major Mohite, an Indian trained at Sandhurst and Staff College. This company became part of the 14th Division[2] and was training for the Middle East via the Bolan Pass.
Then came Pearl Harbour and the Japanese invasion of Malaya, Singapore, Hong Kong, Thailand and Burma. Impregnable Singapore, with guns fixed for invasion from the sea and very little air cover, fell and the British and Indian forces retreated into Burma and from there into India. Singapore was surrendered.
So, the 14th Division and me, now a lieutenant, set off to cross India to Ranchi in Bihar State, then Dimapur in Assam, and to the Burma border beyond Imphal and around Tamu across the Burma border.
The morale of the retreating troops was so low that we were told to prevent them from talking to our men. Part of this journey was made by train, on open wagons, guns, vehicles etc., and I remember seeing civilians who had walked and survived the jungle-clad mountain tracks from Burma to India, drop and die on the station platform as we went forward.
All the timescale of this move is now vague, but I remember going to Delhi to collect vehicles and equipment and missed a golden chance of visiting Agra to see the Taj Mahal, thinking I would go sometime in the future. The Indian sepoys, recruited from their villages, had little training and very, very little driving instruction, so crossing India by road was hazardous to say the least. Many vehicles fell off the road into paddy fields, hit bullock carts etc.
I remember too that, in our tents, we had collapsible beds of canvas in shallow slit trenches, which soon became baths as monsoon rain arrived and waking up in water, not so terrible except for the fear of snakes, scorpions etc. seeking dry land.
My memory of training around Ranchu in Bengal is now vague in detail but was very strict (See Defeat into Victory p.139) I remember one visit to a club in Ranchi only, seeing but having no communication with civilians. I was introduced to brandy and ginger ale, which seemed like a soft drink to me, with dire effects. I had the greatest difficulty in getting to work next morning. Luckily Major Mohite was sympathetic, but the Colonel would not have been if he had chosen to visit. Another memory is of the Lieutenant who trained with me in Bangalore; he died of cerebral malaria there. Up to 50% became sick with malaria, including myself. Many had to be moved back and replaced. Then came ‘Mepacrin’, a tablet a day, turning faces yellow in time, but it reduced the malaria cases to 10%.
Our next move was forward via Dimapur through Assam into Manipur State (Imphal) and the Burma border around Tamu. All vehicles, armoured cars, artillery, etc. were moved into Dimapur by rail. Again, a tragic scene when we were static in a siding awaiting an opportunity to go forward, I saw Indian refugees, mainly women, drop and die on the opposite platform. There was only one railway line with passing places.
Before leaving training behind a brief mention of the problem. Many of the Indian units were newly raised, some from races that had no traditions of military service. The bulk of British troops were getting their first experience of India, marooned in mildewed Bengali towns and dumped in sodden paddy fields. In other words, it was a neglected mess as the German Front demanded and got all the best equipment and services. So, we became known as the Forgotten Army. I must not get bogged down with details. No one can understand now. Bill Slim’s book, ‘Defeat into Victory’[3] is illuminating, but a big tome to plough through.
So, to some few memories of Imphal, Tamu, Manipur State and the Naga Hills. The railhead was Dimapur (Map in Defeat into Victory p110) and then there were bits of road, but most had to be carved out of the hillsides and mountains for 200 to 300 miles. The Japanese were being held around Tamu largely due to the monsoon when movement was virtually impossible other than sending out some foot patrols, between Tamu and Tiddim.
Troops bogged down still needed basic supplies, especially food, and this was our big job over roads that were flooded or blocked with rock and mudslides. Vehicles often went over the edge, holding up the rest of the convoy for hours and days. There were no sources of fresh food, meat or vegetables around except in the Imphal Plain, so dried meat and dried veg. were reconstituted and curried. Each day could be monotonous, except that overcoming the rain, mud and terrain occupied every waking moment. No radio, no books.
However, time moved on and the arrival of the 1st Wingate expedition and their moving into Burma with mules raised morale for a while and we helped them in with transport and collected about one third who came out.
I remember Christmas 1943 in a teak forest near Tamu in the Kabaw Valley, highly malarial, especially because it was cold and wet and a few of the officers gathered in a tent or something and drank rum. We had a daily ration of 100 percent proof rum to offset difficult operational conditions. Muslim troops did not drink, so double/triple rum rations were on hand. I was ill next day and put off rum for about 40 years. Another memory soon after was a visit after the worst monsoon; by a general and for some reason I was left in command of the Company. It was a tense occasion, and he asked all sorts of questions about defence of the Company block and criticized some, but left with reasonable approval. We did not realize at the time that he knew the Japanese were going to make a great attempt to push forward in India, which would have been a complete disaster, if successful.
It came early in 1944, the Japanese all out attempt to conquer India, the first decisive battle for Imphal and Kohima. (General Slim[4] in Defeat into Victory starts his account in a chapter p285, ‘The Tide Turns’.) He says, “If it succeeded the destruction of the British forces in Burma would be the least result, China isolated would be drawn into a separate peace and India ripe for revolt would fall a glittering prize into their hands, changing the whole course of the war.”
Major Mohite had been moved to 4 Corps. HQ and must have asked for me as Adjutant for I got promoted to Captain and ordered to report for that job somewhere about 100 milestone off the Imphal to Tamu road he had hidden away in dense rhododendron-clad mountainside, without army phone contact. I remember little of events except that I was assisted by a Scottish Lieutenant, until there was a panic and hurried retreat into a valley called MS109. Places did not exist, just odd Naga hillside small villages so the map milestones on the only road identified positions. But MS109 will always remain in my memory. The battle for that area was recorded in Slim’s book as an event in the retreat into the Imphal block (maintained only by airdrops (See p297-8 for short report) as road and land access was completely blocked by the Japanese divisions.
So somehow all our vehicles, various units of Indian Engineers, Signals and Transport of all sorts arrived in the valley. All that was missing was Infantry, weapons other than rifles and one or two Bren guns. Rumour was that an Indian Machine Gun Regiment was trying to fall back from some miles away, MS 112 or more. It was chaos and I was put in charge of one area of mountain with a Lieutenant I had not met before and a Jemadar or Havildar and Indian sepoys of some units I did not know. The area to cover was one quarter to half a mile or so, so I divided it into three, chose the middle third for myself; put the Lieutenant to the left and Jemadar to the right. I went with Jemadar and some sepoys and set them into defence of a gulley leading into the valley, then found I had no contact with the LT. Colonel of Engineers who was the senior officer in the valley. There was a field telephone to the left wing, so I changed places with the Lieutenant on the left and put him in the middle. He died when the Japanese attacked. How long we held the ridge I can’t say. There was a lot of tracer machine gun fire and at one time I remember seeing the Japanese advance supported by elephants in the valley on the opposite side of our ridge. Some of my men were wounded and ran down, then by phone came the order to withdraw. It seemed we could not hold out, so would be led out of the ambush, through jungle paths by a Burmese group. By this time, the machine guns had arrived. Exactly how long the march took, two days at least, I don’t know, but dishevelled and exhausted we made it to the Imphal Plain and just lay down and recovered. I lost every possession I had except my green drill battle dress, a sten gun and a revolver. I have some memories of shelling on crossing the Chindwin and also from the hills, but morale was higher because it seemed that after all the months and years on the border of Tamu, Imphal, Tiddim, just surviving, we were going forward and news from the European Front suggested we would get arms, planes food etc.[5]
In the battles that followed, there was sometimes danger from shelling, especially, but at MS109 I survived. The Lieutenant didn’t.
Jemadar
Pre-colonial: A jemadar was originally an armed official of a zamindar (feudal lord) in India who, like a military general, and along with Mridhas, was in charge of fighting and conducting warfare, mostly against the peasants and common people who lived on the lord's land. Later, it became a rank used in the British Indian Army, where it was the lowest rank for a Viceroy's commissioned officer. Jemadars either commanded platoons or troops themselves or assisted their British commander. They also filled regimental positions such as assistant quartermaster (jemadar quartermaster) or assistant adjutant (jemadar adjutant).
Post-colonial: The rank remained in use in the Indian Army until 1965 as the lowest rank of junior commissioned officer.
Havildar
A havildar or havaldar (Hindi: हविलदार (Devanagari) حوِلدار (Perso-Arabic)) is a rank in the Indian and Pakistani armies, equivalent to a sergeant. It is not used in cavalry units, where the equivalent is daffadar. Like a British sergeant, a havildar wears three rank chevrons.
Historically, a havildar was a senior commander, being in charge of a fort during the times of the Mughal Empire and later Maratha Empire. It was used as the equivalent of a sergeant in the British Raj, which has led to its current usage.
Naik
1: a leader, chief, or governor in India —used as a title of authority or form of address.
2: a native subordinate officer in the British India army; specifically: corporal.
The Battle of Meiktila and Mandalay
So from the Imphal block we were flown out to Comilla in Assam or Bengal, re-clothed, re-equipped and I was posted as second in command to the British Co-Commander in Chief of Transport somewhere in the Burma – India borderlands. It was not a happy posting. The major was conscripted, older (35-40) and scared stiff of two of the Lieutenants who had hoped for a third to get the second in command job. I survived in a difficult atmosphere for 6-9 months but was delighted to get a promotion to Major as officer in command 60 COY. RIASC Jeep in the 7th Indian Division, and we were moving forward into the Burma plain with the enemy retreating. Battles were not over but from despair there was now real hope of recapturing Burma and news also that in Europe V. E Day was near. A newspaper SEAC (South Eastern Asia Command) came now and again lifting morale. I had a copy somewhere. It may turn up! (See P288 Defeat into Victory) “But Cinderella, i.e. 14th Forgotten Army was still at the bottom of all priority lists”.
This happened once the war moved into the plain around Meiktila, Pagan and soon Mandalay. Japanese casualties were very high (rather dead), very few prisoners and I remember using petrol on bodies to reduce stench somewhere in this area. Pagan with its hundreds of Buddhist temples was blown to pieces also. I remember also how American planes trying to blow openings in the wall around Mandalay overshot and caused many casualties to our own troops. (P468-470)
Strange how big events like the fall of Mandalay, well recorded in Defeat into Victory, in my memory are overshadowed by the task given to me to bring out these people, civilians, prisoners of the Japanese, brought me into contact with real, normal people, not Army officers, but other ranks - Duhedas, Jemadars, Havildars, naiks, etc. and sepoys, with whom I could not converse easily about life and normality.
It was in my memory a happier time although the war in Burma was far from over and recapture of Malaya was ahead and eventually the invasion of Japan with who knew? It was an interlude and I took a personal interest in the wellbeing of these ex-prisoners. A lorry load of nuns, mostly French were taken somewhere and I seemed to become involved with a makeshift camp of mainly Anglo-Burmese. They needed basic things like soap, toothbrushes and paste etc. and as these items were now reaching us at this time, I took some luxuries beyond basic rations. For how long I managed this, I can’t recall, days rather than weeks, but I often listened to groups and joined their conversations. In particular there were two Anglo-Burmese sisters who among the mixed male-female group were attractive. They needed to get to some of their family in Maymyo and I arranged a few days leave on health grounds in this lovely hill station whence war had moved on. So Desai (my faithful batman Sadashir Desai) and I took the two sisters and all their belongings in an overloaded jeep to Maymyo and met some of their family. It was a wonderful interlude. I cannot remember their names even, but I enjoyed their company and some food. I remember too how disappointed I was, when having arranged to take the elder sister to a lakeside one evening, there were the two of them waiting. On reflection, ex-prisoners of the Japanese had no reason to trust their rescuers.
I corresponded three or four times with the elder sister before the war ended and the 7th Indian Division left Burma for Bangkok. I managed to visit Mandalay before I left the area.
Bangkok
There was euphoria following Hiroshima and the atom bomb but there were many more casualties (deaths) that occurred in the Gurkha battalion of 7th Indian Division for two weeks after as the Japanese troops could not believe surrender was possible. Life changed into hope at the end of war. After hell, heaven equalled home – England and family were unbelievably attractive.
We left Pegu and arrived in Rangoon, a mess, but I did get a brief look at Shewdagon Pagoda before being put in charge of a Tank Landing Ship (LST), when as guests of the naval officers ward room we had the best food since Bangalore in July 1941 and spirits 6/- (?) a bottle. LST’s had refrigeration: meat, fish and some chilled vegetables for the week’s voyage to Thailand. Discipline was now relaxed, and the naval officers very hospitable, especially Larry 1st. Lt. (No 2 in rank after the Captain).
However, the suicide of one of the Indian soldiers (sepoys), not one of my company, but under my command as Officer in Charge of troops, upset me. He had been accused of petty theft by another sepoy and before he was brought to me for trial (Senior Army Officer) he shot himself. I had desperate hours arranging a post-mortem (necessary because the war was over) and a burial before the LST sailed.
LSTs were big ships like roll-on roll-off ferries and could not go up-river to Bangkok so we anchored about 10-12 miles down at sea. There were other LSTs for the rest of the 7th Indian Division. My 60 Coy Jeep was allotted the Japanese Barracks in Lumpini Park. Bangkok (see photo), threequarters vacated by the Japanese, who were put under my command as prisoners. They had lots of dilapidated lorries and cars. From those repairable by my workshop platoon, who was in the charge of a REME captain, we selected the best. The Japanese captain reported every morning, bowed and I gave him tasks for the day. We didn’t need to guard prisoners as his discipline was brutal, but very effective and they gave me no trouble. Much more difficult was to keep my own men from absence without leave exploring the attractions of Bangkok after years of war (e.g. wine and spirits and Ganga drug (cannabis?) I had much sympathy for them. I chose the best house, traditional teak one storey, on the edge of the lake for my residence. More about that later, also about my bearer (batman) Sadashiv Desai. [Dad never did get back to write more about Desai, but he spoke about him often and held him in high regard.]
There was a rumour of electric eels in the lake by which was my bungalow on stilts. I had scoffed at the rumour, so was challenged by other officers to swim across it for a bet (I can’t remember how much) and I won the bet, but I was very glad to get out without any shock. Less funny was that, after two weeks of what was thought to be malaria, despite treatment I was getting worse with a very high fever, so they moved me to 33 General Hospital, a Thai hospital taken over by the Indian Army IAMC. They diagnosed murine typhus, carried by rat fleas and there was no treatment with a 55/55 chance of recovery after crisis. This was very difficult for your Mother and me. I had severe hallucinations, so they put a British soldier on guard to prevent me running out and I thought they were preventing your mother from visiting. This turned out to be untrue. She came many times, despite it being very difficult for her.
It is a strange coincidence but Dr. Steele, Bishops Waltham, who looked after your Mother had been an Army Medical Corps orderly in that hospital before going back to complete his medical degree.
It was late August, early September 1945. We were at the end of the war operating in a military environment with no possibility of leave to the UK. We were amongst civilians, mainly Thai and Chinese, with a few British from internment camps who stayed. We needed ships to move Japanese prisoners back to Japan (taking two years in total) The Thai government and military were very anxious to please the victors. However, most of the Thai people were very friendly and helpful by nature.
We were invited to be honorary members of the Thai Officers Club, a magnificent place with ballroom, tropical gardens, swimming pool etc. and this led to my meeting Pat, your Mother.
[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_Scots
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/90/a1084790.shtml Hazardous Journey By Ronald G. Dawson
http://naval-history.net/xAH-WSConvoys04-1941A.htm World War 2 at Sea ROUTE TO THE EAST - the WS (Winston’s Special) CONVOYS by the late Arnold Hague, Lieutenant Commander, RNR (Rtd.) (c) 2007 WS CONVOYS - January to June 1941 SAILINGS, WS 5B to 9C
Transport Company Quetta and the 14th Division – The Battle for Kohima Ridge.
[3] Defeat into Victory is an account of the retaking of Burma by Allied forces during the Second World War by the British Field Marshal William Slim, 1st Viscount Slim and published in the UK by Cassell in 1956. It was published in the United States as Defeat into Victory: Battling Japan in Burma and India, 1942-1945 by David McKay of New York in 1961.
[4] Field Marshal William Slim https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Slim,_1st_Viscount_Slim
[5] The Arakan Campaign. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arakan_Campaign_1942%E2%80%9343
Allen, Louis (1984). Burma: The Longest War. Dent Publishing.
Latimer, Jon (2004). Burma: The Forgotten War. London: John Murray.
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