Escape to Pagan (12 page)

“Jack's letters seldom contained his military duties but he occasionally wrote of amusing events. One Sunday afternoon he was ordered to round-up soldiers to accompany a group of new officers to inspect an island.

They were told to bring wooden pegs and mallets. Most of the soldiers were drunk. They boarded the launch and were surprised to see picnic hampers. Soon they were joined by the officer's girlfriends. The sailor driving the launch was also drunk and pulled away too quickly causing two officers to fall into the filthy harbour to the amusement of the men.

“The officers insisted on returning to their quarters to change. They were driven back by a Royal Scot, who while waiting for the officers, helped himself to more alcohol. On the way back he crashed the transport and punched one of the officers. On reaching the island, the officers did not care to linger among the rocks, as the island's only occupants were poisonous snakes.”

The troops settled into this wonderful life. Some had their own servants, others found Chinese girlfriends and this arrangement was certainly safer than the Dark Harbour. However, the queue at the VD clinic and the cases of malaria grew. It is fair to say that the Royal Scots were well represented in both these queues.

Brigadier Cedric Wallis, Commander of the Rajputs; was to conduct the defences on the mainland but paid little attention to the Gin Drinkers' Line. Brigadier Wallis did not have a high opinion of the Royal Scots. He made it clear that he had little confidence in their CO Colonel White, an Irishman, who was liked and trusted by the Royal Scots.

Brigadier Wallis thought the Scots were lacking in discipline and held the monopoly on venereal disease and malaria. Yet despite his low opinion of the Scots fighting qualities, he had them moved from the island defences and placed them (seriously under strength) in the most strategic and vital position on The Gin Drinkers' Line, a position they were unfamiliar with and which required substantial improvements.

General Maltby received another intelligence report that a Japanese regiment was only a few miles from the mainland border. This he believed and he placed Hong Kong on a war footing.

After the war it was Brigadier Wallis' opinion that the Royal Scots should not receive the Battle Honour “Hong Kong”. This seemed unfair and unjust to many. They were the sole target for the initial Japanese attack, while also being heavily shelled by their own guns. Brigadier Wallis himself did not witness the fighting on the Gin Drinkers' Line.

Dad, Tam and Willie often joked about their new nickname “The First to Foot It” after the war and the many fights it caused in the bars of Singapore. General Wavell, the worst offender in underestimating the Japanese Army, was finally replaced by General Slim, a well-respected commander from a working class background. Slim also changed the British tactics. The subsequent battles of Kohima and Imphal were great victories for the British Army. A Japanese soldier who survived described the British soldiers at Kohima as formidable.

The Japanese Army did have weaknesses; the Russians proved this in 1939. The Japanese lost two major border battles fought in the vicinity of Khal-khin-Gol (Halha River) and were totally beaten by the Russian Eastern Divisions led by General Zhukov. The Japanese suffered heavy casualties. The Russians exposed the fact that the Japanese were an outdated Army, employed repetitive and primitive tactics, had weak logistics and lacked large scale mobility. The arid plains of Burma were suitable for tank warfare and our tanks were far superior to that of the Japanese and yet we were constantly out-manoeuvred by soldiers on foot.

The Three British Blunders

Perhaps these blunders were mistakes, deliberate or just down to plain laziness. I have heard that two of these blunders were committed by members of the Royal Scots, one an officer and the other a private soldier.

Firstly, Captain Jones sent out a patrol to the north to check Needle Hill and Shing Mun Valley. Colonel White felt that both areas were prone to enemy infiltration. Captain Jones asked a newly arrived officer,
Lieutenant Thompson, (known as “Bunty” to his fellow officers) to carry out this vital patrol. The Lieutenant was accompanied by twelve armed men. For reasons of his own Lieutenant Thompson neglected to carry out the full patrol as ordered and instead, decided to do some socializing. Had he continued to Shing Mun Valley as ordered, he would have seen below him hundreds of crouching enemy soldiers hiding in the ravine, alerting all the British commanders that an attack was imminent.

The second blunder was to take place an hour later. Sitting in his bunker, Captain Jones wished to communicate with a fellow officer above ground. Surprisingly he did not have a direct telephone line connection so he ordered his runner, a Private Gillie, a somewhat insubordinate native of Glasgow, to take a message.

Although the ground was rocky and uneven, Captain Jones knew the nimble, rock-hopping soldier would make easy and quick work of the task. However Gillie did not seem keen to leave the warmth and the company of Captain Jones' headquarters. Perhaps he was also hungry. He, like all the others, had not eaten that day and was afraid he would miss his rations.

On leaving the underground bunker, Gillie did a rather strange and unexplained thing. Taking the big key hanging near the solid iron doors, the only entrance to the bunker, he locked the iron door from the outside and took the only key with him as he skipped away into the evening mists and oblivion. This action in effect trapped all the men below, some twenty in number, and prevented them from helping their comrades who were greatly outnumbered when the attack came. It also deprived Captain Jones of his command which was vital to the defence of the position. When the Japanese had over run this position many of the frustrated and helpless men trapped underground were killed or wounded by hand grenades dropped through the ventilation shafts.

The last and most significant blunder was made by an intelligence officer during that night. He received a report from one of his trusted agents on
the mainland: “Japanese amassing for an attack the following morning.” The intelligence officer drove to the mainland to check for himself. He surveyed the ground below for signs of the enemy. What had he expected to see? Perhaps dozens of blazing camp fires or hundreds of Japanese troops' glowing cigarettes as they waited to receive the orders to attack? Instead he saw and heard nothing, just the high pitched chirping chorus made by thousands of auspicious Chinese crickets. Satisfied no attack was imminent, the intelligence officer returned to Hong Kong Island. He reported: “no attack expected the following day.” General Maltby issued orders for the troops to stand down.

For some reason this order did not reach the Royal Scots on the mainland. The inhabitants of Hong Kong slept peacefully that night under their blankets of complacency.

The Evening before the Japanese Attack: Mainland China

That afternoon, a thousand yards to the front of The Gin Drinkers' Line, under camouflage, the same young Japanese 2nd Lieutenant Nakamura had resumed his duties of observing D company of the Royal Scots. The young 2nd Lieutenant was to report any new developments back to Lt General Takashi Sakai's headquarters. The attack was due to take place the following morning at 08:00 on the 8th December. Many of the Japanese were apprehensive; this was a battle against an enemy that possessed a massive empire. It was also a battle between two cultures that were poles apart.

Earlier, the young Japanese officer asked permission to join the attack to blood his sword – his face was slapped. “Stop complaining, get on with your duties” ordered a senior officer.

Undercover, Lieutenant Nakamura looked down at his other prized possession; a pair of made-to-measure black leather riding boots, always kept at their shiny best. He then lifted his binoculars and studied the tall enemy sergeant standing on the Gin Drinkers' Line. Why were the British so tall? He studied the handsome face of the Sergeant. Little did he know they were destined to meet the following day.

Unaware they were being closely watched, Lieutenant Ford and Sergeant Devereux chatted in a relaxed manner. The two men discussed the intelligence officer's last talk. Both men were not admirers of these strutting roosters and their many privileges. They always seemed to be holding parties at their spacious apartments and seemed too friendly with the Japanese. The ordinary soldiers' opinion differed slightly. They believed intelligence officers spent their time sitting in warm offices, drinking pink gin, wearing lipstick and kissing each other. That evening to the left and right of the young Japanese 2nd Lieutenant, Japanese infantry units of 23rd Regiment 38th Division took up their positions.

Lieutenant Nakamura took a sip of water; he was looking forward to his evening meal of octopus and rice. He then lifted his field glasses skywards and studied a wing of swallows performing arching aerial acrobatics in the darkening sky. These lively birds reminded him of his childhood. As soon as night fell, he would slip away and make his last report. He hoped it would be acceptable; his senior officers had taken a liking to slapping his face. Inconspicuously melting away as soon as the shades of night descended, he reported back to Lt General Takashi Sakai's Headquarters.

Just in front of the British position, the waiting Japanese troops remained still and as silent as a terracotta army. They had been forewarned. “Any soldier who gave their presence away would be dealt with immediately with the naked sword”: decapitation.

CHAPTER 7

An Evil Spirit

BURMA

“We walked sadly away from the airfield at Myitkyina. Some people just seemed to drift off aimlessly, each with their own plan of escape. Two large Indian families called Patel and Gundamoney that we knew from Rangoon, decided to trek to India. This large group that included many strong healthy males began the long trek, vowing to keep close together. Only three reached India.

“Many of the more optimistic groups lingered around Myitkyina airport just in case more planes arrived. The only planes that came from then on belonged to the enemy. We went our own way keeping to the many footpaths that criss-crossed the countryside. When the paths were smooth and crossed open ground, we let you walk in-between us where you would be protected from any danger. Sometime in the afternoon we reached a small row of shabby and abandoned bungalows. Tired, hot and thirsty, all we wanted was to sit in the shade. Rested, we began searching for a well, which we soon found. The deserted houses were devoid of anything useful except for one where we found rice and lentils mixed with rat droppings all over the floor. Your grandmother carefully gathered and cleaned it. There would be enough for a few small meals. Here in one of the gardens my mother found a few ladies'
fingers (okra) and a couple of small brinjals (aubergines), but the best find was a large dah: a big Burmese knife, like a machete. This knife was to prove very useful to us and became our only defensive weapon, a weapon my mother would soon need when a dangerous visitor unexpectedly entered a house we were sheltering in.

“We were grateful for the water well, even though the water was a long way down. These bungalows were the homes of Indian workers; it was always easy to tell by the pictures of various gaudy Hindu gods that adorned the walls. I was just so relieved to have a roof over our heads that night even though all the windows had been broken. Any animal or human could enter at will. Anything was preferable to sleeping in the open.

Gradually we were joined by other refugees who had also left Myitkyina Airport. We began to cook the rice and settle down for the night too tired to socialize.

“It was here that a sad and very strange thing happened. While my mother was cooking, I was holding you when I noticed a tiny hunch-backed figure of a very old women coming towards the bungalows. The old woman stopped briefly at each group cooking outside in the open; they paid her little attention so she carried on. I felt so sorry for this helpless old lady.

“On reaching us she no longer bothered to stop; it was as if she had been ignored enough and it had hurt her pride. We both took pity on the old bent woman as she walked past. She looked desperately tired and thirsty despite the fact we could not see her face or neck properly. My mother spoke to her in Burmese and offered her a drink of water. We helped her sit on the porch and gave her the water and a little rice. The old woman lapped the water with her tongue (this is how an evil spirit drinks my mother said later). Her body had a strong burnt smell. Her clothes were also rather strange and the long fingernails of her gnarled hands looked like claws. She clutched a small Shan bag in one hand and did not speak or look directly at us.

“While we were discussing what to do next, the old woman began walking away despite our invitation to stop longer and rest. She had not eaten the rice. For a brief moment we took our eyes off her. The next time we looked the old woman had disappeared leaving only her
Shan bag neatly placed at the side of the track. Thinking she had fallen I ran after her but she had completely vanished. There was no trace of her in the scrub that bordered the wide track.

“It was getting dark and suddenly I felt scared and ran back. What had happened to her? I asked my mother to come with me and look for the old woman just in case she had fallen. I was also curious to see what was in her bag. My mother said ‘that would not be safe' as she believed the old woman was an Outoasan, a spirit that takes on many disguises
[like the Banshee of Irish folklore]
. A human should never take anything left by an Outoasan because one day it will come back and ask for something in return.

“My mother believed she lost her first male child to an Outoasan who appeared every night at her hospital bedside and asked for her baby son in return for a precious gift: Mother refused. Soon the baby boy died of anaemia; my mother believed the Outoasan had drunk her son's blood during the night. On the night my youngest brother Victor died of cholera, an Outoasan called throughout the night. Despite our prayers, Victor died in my mother's arms in the early hours.”

These stories were told to me by my mother and may seem incredible for a religious and intelligent woman to relate, or perhaps even believe. But one must remember Mother was born in the Far East. If superstition is female and whispers discreetly in soft cautious tones in the western world, she runs naked and screaming in the Far East. British and Europeans born or living for long periods of time in the tropics sometimes absorbed local superstitions and beliefs; perhaps my grandmother and mother were no exception. One thing I am certain of, both Grandmother and Mother enjoyed the telling.

“Some time in the late afternoon, large groups of people began passing the row of bungalows we were staying in, heading for Myitkyina Airport. These people insisted they had been informed while in Rangoon that the airlift was still in operation and they would definitely get a flight if
they had the fare. They had caught the last train from Rangoon which had been attacked on several occasions by enemy bombers. The driver decided to wait for darkness to fall before setting off on the return journey to Mandalay where the train would terminate. My mother told me to hurry and get ready to leave; we had to catch that train. On the way to Mandalay we could get off and be nearer to Maymyo, a place we knew well. My mother felt Cyril, Victor and Lucy may have gone to Maymyo to find us.

“We packed up our few belongings and began walking along a wide path bordered by scrub jungle. None of the refugees staying at the bungalows wished to join us. We were worried in case the train left before we reached it. It would soon be dark. All along the way people had discarded their possessions before the flight to India. There were so many useful things like shoes, hats and clothes. But my mother would not stop. ‘There is no time, we could miss the train' she said. The only objects she picked up were a deep Indian frying pan, several boxes of matches and a large lightweight waterproof ground sheet; we now had two.

“It was almost dark when we reached the train. The driver and his crew were sleeping underneath it behind the wheels for protection from bombs. They intended to move off shortly. Some Indian passengers had remained on the train as they had no money for the airfare having been robbed by Burmese dacoits before leaving Rangoon.

“By now we were starving again; you were the only one who had eaten properly that day. In our compartment, which was almost empty, I found some abandoned tin cups, a large metal water container and an aluminium Tiffin-carrier that had been made in Birmingham. It contained a half-eaten mild Burmese curry, rice, vegetables and perajos at the bottom. There was so much we shared it with a young Indian couple who moved down to our carriage for company. We had to leave this Tiffin-carrier behind as it was too big and made a great deal of noise when carried. The train finally moved off and began travelling towards Mandalay; I quickly fell asleep.”

Mother bought another Tiffin carrier after the war (for picnics). Dad hated it; at the slightest touch it fell over and made a racket. When Mum was not around and it fell over he would kick it. Of course I used to tell Mother when she returned. This did not endear me to the RSM.

“The train travelled slowly through the night. In the morning planes were spotted and the train stopped again. The drivers and the few other passengers took shelter in the jungle by the track in case the train was attacked. Fortunately we were overlooked. However my mother had been informed by the Indians that the Japanese were now in Maymyo and decided to leave the train. How far we were from Maymyo I do not know. We were now terrified of Japanese planes and kept to the jungle fringed footpaths.

“After many hours of walking we came to a long row of nice European bungalows at the end of a tree lined drive. Each house appeared undamaged; gardens were filled with flowers and roses, enclosed by white picket fences. The owners seemed to have been in a great hurry to vacate their homes as possessions were scattered everywhere. We needed shoes; there were none to be found that fitted us but we found a wide brimmed straw hat with a long blue scarf tied around the crown. I was hoping we could sleep in a bed for a change. The doors and windows of the bungalows were left open and swung eerily to and fro in the late afternoon breeze. The first south-westerly winds were warning of the imminent ‘mango showers' that would herald the monsoon.

“My mother chose a bungalow in the middle of the row for safety; we would stay here and think of our next move. There were no beds; all the furniture had been looted. But there was some food left in the properties, mostly tinned. Also, I found a bottle of gripe water for you and a carton of Tate and Lyle sugar and loose tea. These items were a godsend. To our joy there was still running water fed by a large tank situated high on a metal tower behind the row of bungalows.”