In the Mouth of the Tiger (56 page)

Many of my friends were doing serious war work as volunteer nursing assistants or as drivers and secretaries for Services officers, and my twiceweekly visit to Dalforce HQ in Holland Road at least gave me the feeling that I was doing something useful.

My job was to assess the credibility of the information provided by potential recruits, and to contribute any personal knowledge I might have of the men concerned or of their families. For example, the applicant might be Yip Lim, apprentice mechanic from Seremban. I wouldn't know Lim from Adam, but I would know the Seremban Yips. Good family, with one or two members in the professions. To become an apprentice also meant commitment and education. So I would scrawl my comments on the space provided on the man's file and chuck it into my out-tray. It was fine when there were only half
a dozen names to check in a week, but twenty in one day! I remember that on that particular day I scribbled notes on those that meant anything to me and dumped the rest of the files on John Dalley's desk with a resounding thump.

‘I think you should take them all on,' I said briskly. ‘The way things are going we would be silly to turn anyone away.'

I was helped in my work by a Dalforce sergeant called Robert Koh, a tall, good-looking Peranakan Chinese, distantly related to Molly Tan, who sat on the other side of a large table in the office we shared. Robert was the Singapore expert, vetting applicants from Singapore and Johore, while I was supposed to be the Penang expert. After a while we struck up quite a friendship, sometimes chatting half the day about our different experiences growing up in Malaya, or talking about what might happen to Malaya in the future.

It was Robert who disabused me of my fond notion that the Peranakan Chinese were keen to be in the war because of a sentimental attachment to England. ‘We are going to fight for Singapore and Malaya,' he said bluntly. ‘For the place where we grew up, went to school, made all our friends, and where are families live. Not for a distant country that doesn't really care two hoots for us.'

‘I have friends in Penang – your cousin Molly is one – who went to school in England, and who call England home,' I insisted.

‘Oh yes, like my father,' Robert said. ‘Father waffles on about England, about cricket, about the great English institutions, as if they were his own. He is wrong. We must build up our own traditions and institutions here in Singapore. My mother thinks the same way as Father does, but in her case all she can think about is China. She came out from Hunan Province as a baby, and cannot remember a single thing about the real China. Her China is a mythical place that exists only in her mind, and has nothing to do with the reality of here and now. We are poised on the threshold of a new Singapore – a new Malaya – and we should be putting all our energy into making sure it will be the best place in the world to bring up our children.'

‘Will the British still run this new country of yours?' I asked and Robert shook his head. ‘The days of Colonialism are over,' he said. ‘This war will see to that, one way or another.'

‘Then who will rule this new country, the Malays or the Chinese? Or the Indians? Because one race or another will end up on top, surely? And whoever ends up on top will not want to share power.'

Robert looked at me keenly. ‘You have put your finger on the most
important issue facing us,' he said. ‘The Malay sultans and the Chinese towkeys are already dividing up the new Malaya in their minds. And they have only their own interests in mind. That is why the people of Malaya – the real people – need to become involved in the debate. So that no single group can run away with the reins of power, leaving the rest of us once again powerless in our own land.'

I remembered what Rajeev Srinivasan had written to me so many years before: ‘When the English are gone, there will be three races left in Malaya. The Malays, the Chinese and the Indians. Each of these races is even now positioning itself to take its place in the new Malaya.'

One thing I couldn't help noticing very quickly was that nearly all the Chinese members of Dalforce were Communists. Robert made no bones about his own involvement with the Communist Party of Malaya. ‘The Communists are the only people in Singapore who have the long-term interests of the people at heart,' he said earnestly. ‘Those in the Party have no axes to grind, have they? Not like the towkeys or the sultans. The whole point about Communism is that our interests are the interests of the people.'

What he said sounded dreadfully naive to me, but I didn't contradict him. ‘Does the fact that you are all Communists upset the Government?' I asked.

Robert grimaced. ‘It shouldn't, but it does,' he said. ‘Russia is now fighting Nazi Germany on England's side. The Communists in China are fighting the Japanese, who will be England's enemy all too soon. Of all the people of the world, only Communists are on your side in this war. That great democracy, America, couldn't care tuppence. And yet the stuffed shirts at Government House won't recognise us as a legitimate military force. They refuse to list us with the Territorials, they don't give us any guns, and they won't give us any proper training. They pretend we don't exist. It's only because John Dalley is a member of the FMS Police Force with a good reputation that they don't prosecute us as an illegal force.'

I told Denis what Robert had said that evening. ‘It's not quite as bad as that,' he said thoughtfully. ‘The powers that be
are
giving Dalley some help, but they are doing it behind the scenes at the moment. It would ruffle too many feathers if they came out and armed a bunch of Communists in the open. After all, the Malayan Communist Party is still illegal, you know.'

We were sitting out under the stars, chatting quietly as an evening breeze rustled the coconut fronds above us. A passenger liner was just visible
on the horizon, a scattering of lights against the immense blackness of the sea. ‘Shouldn't someone start changing the perception that the Communists are against us in this war?' I asked. ‘Robert made the point that Communist Russia and the Communists in China are fighting on our side while America is still sitting on its hands.'

Denis shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘As you know, some of the older hands are implacably against the Communists. They'll need a little time to get used to the idea of trusting the Reds.'

I pondered for a while, thinking that until I'd met Robert I too had been implacably against the Communists. ‘Perhaps the old hands need to see the sort of people that make up Dalforce,' I suggested. ‘I've met quite a few of them. They may be Communists but they're a fine lot of people. A little naïve, perhaps, but a bit of living in the real world should change that. A lot of them are awfully young.'

I didn't think any more about what I'd said but Denis obviously did, because when we were riding the next morning he suddenly reined in his horse and drew alongside. ‘So you think the old hands need to see the sort of people Dalley has in his battalion?' he shouted.

‘Yes!' I shouted back. ‘It's a pity they never will. Trouble is, they live in a different world. What did Rudyard Kipling say?
And never the twain shall meet
.'

We slowed from a trot to a walk, and then Denis grinned at me. ‘Why don't we try to get those two worlds together? Get them to meet on even terms?'

I didn't know what he was getting at. ‘They do meet on even terms,' I said uncertainly. ‘At Government House. On community boards and so on. But there are social barriers that stop them really talking and getting to know each other.'

‘Then we'll knock down some barriers,' Denis persisted. ‘I'll get old Shenton Thomas along for curry tiffin one Sunday, and you rustle up a few of your friends from Dalforce. Leave Dalley out of it – let's see how his chaps stand up for themselves.'

I thought it a tremendous idea. Sir Shenton Thomas, the Governor, had arrived in Singapore after a long and impeccable career in the Colonial Service, and his opinion would be treated as definitive by the old Malaya hands. It would be a tremendous coup if we could win his support for Dalforce. I rang John Dalley later that morning and he was all for the idea.
‘If you can get Sir Shenton along I'll make sure he meets some of our finest,' he said enthusiastically.

It proved easier than I had imagined. Sir Shenton may have given the impression of being a bit of a blimp but he had a surprisingly open mind. Denis buttonholed him at a Singapore Traders' Association luncheon at the Cricket Club that afternoon and put the invitation to him quite bluntly. ‘The Dalforce people are Communists, sir, and that means a lot of people don't trust them. But they are prepared to fight shoulder to shoulder with us if the Japs attack. I think you should meet them and judge for yourself if they are worth trusting.'

Sir Shenton had rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Dalley's Desperados. I've heard of them of course. Communists, you say?'

‘The Communist Party of Malaya is picking up all the patriots, sir. And perhaps the idealists, too. But we've got the hard core people – the Comintern people – rather well watched. And don't forget, the Communist interests are identical with our interests just now.'

‘But they won't be after the war,' Sir Shenton said. But he'd said it smiling – after the war seemed a long way off.

‘You'll come then, sir?'

‘Of course I'll come. I need to get to know all my people, particularly if we are all going to have to stand together one day against the Japs.'

We decided that lunch should be a small, intimate meal. Just the Governor and Lady Thomas, Denis and me, and a couple of members of Dalforce and their wives. Robert Koh and his wife were to be one of the Dalforce couples, while Dalley had suggested Dr Gordon Pang and his wife as the other. Dr Pang was a medical doctor who had studied at Harvard Medical School, and his wife a vivacious American called Ruth.

The first to arrive were the Kohs, and as I saw them climbing out of their little Singer car I realised that Catherine Koh was a woman of quite extraordinary character and beauty. She was small and petite, with long black hair, alabaster skin, and delicate features saved from perfection by an endearing, lopsided smile. Her every movement was full of grace and elegance, and her voice was soft and throaty, lightened by a tinkling laugh.

‘It's beautiful,' she said gesturing towards the house. ‘Like a sultan's palace from a fairytale! We could see the turrets through the trees as we were driving up, and I
knew
it would be beautiful.'

The Pangs came next, Gordon tall and a little disdainful, Ruth blonde
and bubbly and very American. And then the Governor and Lady Thomas, deposited by their glittering black Rolls Royce with a Union Jack on its mudguard. Once we were all gathered I led the way to the verandah for prelunch drinks.

It was difficult at first – we were, after all, all complete strangers to each other – but then Catherine came to the rescue. ‘Do you know what I'd like to do? I'd like to run across the lawn, down those grassy terraces, and plunge into that lovely sea.' She looked at me. ‘Would it be dreadfully bad form if I suggested we all go for a swim after lunch?'

There was a silence and then Sir Shenton put one hand in the air. ‘Capital idea. I second the motion, ma'am. Anyone else in favour?'

There was a chorus of comments with several people protesting that they had not brought bathers, but the ice was well and truly broken. ‘There will be swimming after lunch for those who wish,' I ruled finally. ‘And lounging under the loggia for those who don't. We have plenty of spare bathing suits, by the way. Lots of friends who come out here suddenly decide that they absolutely must try our little bit of the Singapore Straits.'

We all went into lunch as cheerful friends, and it was only when I saw the tiny trembling of Catherine's hand and the way she leaned against Robert that I realised the strain her exuberance had been for her. I knew then that she was someone really special.

Lunch went well, though nobody pulled any punches. Gordon Pang started the ball rolling with a fund of stories about his ‘exile' in America. ‘My father wanted me to spend at least ten years out of Malaya so that I would not grow up infected with the colonial spirit, as he called it,' he said. ‘You do know what I mean, Governor? The unconscious acceptance that we Chinese are in some way inferior to you English.'

Sir Shenton chuckled. ‘I didn't know the Chinese had feelings of inferiority towards anybody,' he said. ‘On the contrary, I thought the Chinese regarded all Westerners as illiterate, boorish barbarians. And didn't mind telling them so to their faces.'

‘Gordon can't join the Tanglin Club, or the Swimming Club,' Ruth said, ‘which means I can't either. That's enough to give anyone the hump! He's good enough to look after Europeans when they are ill – or dying – but apparently he's not good enough to share a drink with them after work.' Ruth was a member of a moneyed New England family who had married Gordon while they had been students at Harvard together, and I could imagine that her
initiation into narrow Colonial society would have been a dreadful shock.

Catherine cleared her throat. ‘A lot is changing in Singapore. It won't always be like this, Ruth. Robert and I have joined the YMCA Tennis Club. It has no rules preventing Asians from joining. And a lot of younger Europeans are joining, too.'

‘Malaya will change!' Shenton Thomas said, banging his closed fist down softly on the tabletop. ‘It had better change or it will die. Like the dodo, which couldn't adapt to change.'

‘The dodo was wiped out, Your Excellency,' Robert said softly. ‘By European colonists who hunted it to extinction.'

Sir Shenton laughed with the rest of us. ‘Not a good example, then,' he said. ‘But what I say is true. If the Europeans in the Far East don't wake up and change their ways they won't have a role in this part of the world for very much longer.'