by Ellie Dean
‘I might have to come in early or leave late,’ said Doris hurriedly. ‘The Colonel doesn’t keep regular hours.’
Ivy chuckled, hitched up her dungarees and ran off to join some of the other girls who were pouring through the gate.
Doris slowed her pace to keep well behind them. It was bad enough having to once again share a house with her one-time evacuee, but she wasn’t about to encourage any sort of intimacy. After all, Ivy had left Havelock Road for Beach View without a by-your-leave and caused her endless trouble with the billeting people because of it. And if she thought she could now take liberties, then she was sorely mistaken.
Doris reached the gate and watched Ivy and the other girls race each other down the hill, their heavy boots clattering on the pavement, their shrieks of laughter echoing through the streets. She took a steadying breath and slowly headed after them. Their short exchange had somewhat blunted her spirits, but the thought that she would back in the neat, quiet office again tomorrow brought back the spring in her step, and she couldn’t wait to tell Peggy all about her busy and fulfilling day.
10
Burma
Jim was stripped to the waist, sweating and straining alongside two hundred other men beneath a merciless sun, rifles slung across their backs and hounded by swarms of mosquitoes as they dug away at the paddy field and tried to even out the five-foot drop in the middle. The natives had disappeared into the jungle as if realising this would soon become a battleground, but so far, nothing had been heard from the Japanese.
As he dug, Jim watched his CO pace the perimeter of the block with his battalion commanders, arranging junction points, and the exact siting of reserves, headquarters and mortar positions. He ordered several strong detachments into the surrounding dense jungle to hunt for Japs, and had set up his HQ on the ridge where he had an overall view of the whole block and the railway valley.
‘This is nothing less than slave labour,’ moaned Ernie as they finally got to rest in the shade of a craggy rock and drink copious amounts of water to replace what they’d sweated. ‘They should pay us better.’
Jim dredged up a wry smile. ‘To be sure, Ernie, you do like a good moan, don’t you?’ he teased, rolling a smoke. ‘And what would we spend all that extra money on, eh? It’s not as if we’ve got dancing girls, cinemas and bars here.’ He lit the cigarette and eyed the flattened paddy, which still had a five-foot drop in the middle that had proved impossible to fill by hand, and the seemingly deserted jungle looming all round them.
‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Ernie persisted, stirring his entire day’s K-rations into a glutinous mess and stuffing it down. ‘A fair day’s pay for a rotten job.’
Jim could have given him an argument, but was too tired. It was certainly a rotten job, but it was what they’d both been trained for. And if this war was to end, it was up to men like him, Ernie and Big Bert to strain every muscle and sinew to get the job done – regardless of the lousy pay and conditions.
‘Stand by your beds,’ muttered Big Bert. ‘I can hear the first glider coming in.’
It came in short and too high, and Jim’s stomach lurched as its tail suddenly flicked and the glider nose-dived straight into the ground with an almighty crash that reverberated across the entire block and into the hills behind them. It was doubtful anyone could have survived that, he thought sadly, and he was to discover later that indeed all three men had been killed – not by enemy bullets, but most likely a mechanical fault.
The RAF officer was on the wireless shouting orders which appeared to be heard and understood by the pilots already circling overhead, for the next four gliders landed safely on the makeshift runway.
For Jim, Ernie and Big Bert, their all-too-short respite was over, and, as dusk turned to darkness, they were sent as part of the large team to push the gliders to the end of the strip and then unload them. They were already exhausted, but time was of the essence, for they could hear the stutter and pop of small-arms fire coming from somewhere close to the demolished Jap HQ and railway station and the answering rattle of their own guns.
Every man worked at a hectic pace throughout the night and into the next day, using the small bulldozers and graders the gliders had brought in to level the five-foot drop into a gentle enough slope for a heavily loaded C-47 to take at fifty or sixty mph in the middle of its landing run. Employing the remaining mules, working parties carried the wire, ammunition, medical supplies, fresh rations and tools into the block. Others dug trenches, laid cables, wired up lighting on the perimeter, ranged mortars and set up fields of fire on the outskirts of the paddy and along the steep ridge behind it.
Just before nightfall on that second day an enemy shell whooshed across the block and exploded in the river valley behind them. This was swiftly followed by two more, which thankfully fell harmlessly into the jungle. ‘The Japs have discovered what we’re doing and are trying to find their range,’ muttered Jim.
‘Bad timing, considering the C-47s are due in tonight,’ replied Big Bert, checking his carbine. ‘And by the sound of it, they’re already here.’
The thinly spaced lights around the airfield were switched on as the drone of the plane grew louder, and they all looked up to see the leader circling above the valley, headlights piercing the black jungle.
‘He’s coming in too high,’ gasped Jim in alarm.
The C-47 seemed to drop out of the sky. It landed abruptly, bounced over the slope in the runway, swung out of control and then roared off into the jungle where it burst into flames.
Jim and the others were too far away to be of any help, but in the flickering light of those flames they could see men jumping out of the plane door and others rushing to help put out the flames and rescue the injured.
The fire had been extinguished by the time the second plane landed without a hitch, but the third got its undercarriage ripped away as it slid on its nose into the bushes. Everyone survived, and the fourth C-47 landed safely.
To the distant sound of enemy rifle fire, Jim and his squad of sappers hurried to the end of the runway to help unload explosives and other desperately needed engineering tools and stores.
As they were hoisting boxes of explosives out of the plane and loading them onto the backs of the few mules they still had, a grenade was thrown out from the jungle and exploded beneath the wing of the C-47 that had lost its belly, setting it on fire. A patrol immediately charged into the jungle, machine guns rattling, in search of the perpetrator.
The already damaged plane was now burning furiously, and as it lay over the wire linking the airfield lights, it short-circuited the entire system and the lights went out.
Chaos descended within seconds. The plane that was about to land opened up its engines and roared off again; the crew of another that had already landed heard the grenade, saw the flames and slammed the door shut as the pilot sent the plane roaring down the strip in the darkness. But before it could reach take-off speed, its wing caught on the C-47 that had landed safely, which made it skew and skid to a halt. Men poured out through the door, and unloading parties swarmed all over it to get the supplies out quickly before it too could catch fire – which thankfully it didn’t.
‘That’s two C-47s written off – and two damaged,’ muttered Jim to no one in particular as he fumbled in the pitch black to tie a box of explosives onto the shifting mule’s back. ‘I hope it was worth it.’
The CO had clearly decided they couldn’t afford to lose any more men and planes, and ordered the rest of the incoming C-47s to abort the op and return to base, for there were no more arrivals that night.
With the stores carefully stowed away and the runway lights repaired, the men were stood down. The fresh batch of men who had arrived that night were sent to guard the perimeter of the block and keep watch from the ridge, whilst a group of Gurkhas had been sent out on patrol to see what the Japs were actually up to, where they were, and how many.
Jim was completely drained of energy, too tired almost to be able to sleep. He settled
into a slit-trench halfway up the rocky hill and close to the HQ, and tried to get comfortable, but then lay awake in the darkness listening to the desultory firing of guns to the north. There seemed to be some sort of half-hearted battle going on down on the far side of the ridge where the brigade of Gurkhas must have made contact with the Japs.
The gunfire eventually petered out at about two in the morning, and Jim’s eyelids flickered. The Japs were probing, searching for the strongpoints in the British defence and where their machine-gun posts were, but the British Tommy was smarter than any Jap, for they’d returned fire with only Brens, rifles and mortars – the all-important batteries of machine guns had remained silent.
Jim’s eyelids grew heavy. Despite the knowledge that the Japs would make a serious assault on the same sector the next night, he was too exhausted to care, and in the moment before he drifted into sleep he thought of Peggy and home, and imagined he was there, holding her in his arms, safe and warm.
The shelling began again an hour before dawn, but this time the Japs were more accurate, and as Jim was about to tuck into a lump of bully beef a great boom sent him diving back into the nearest rocky defile, where he lay, his breakfast in one hand, his rifle in the other as he was showered with debris from the blast.
Shells continued to shriek and explode all around him with growing intensity, and it seemed to go on forever. Jim was beginning to wonder how much longer he could bear the noise, and if his number might be up, when it abruptly came to a halt.
The ensuing silence was deafening. Cautiously, Jim lifted his head, the lump of bully beef between his teeth, his finger on the trigger of his rifle.
Ernie emerged from a nearby slit-trench, a trickle of blood running down his cheek where a sliver of shrapnel had grazed it. Big Bert appeared to be unscathed, but one look at the artillery major who’d only arrived on a C-47 the night before to take command of the field gunners was enough to show that he was dead. A large shell splinter was buried deep in his head. Jim spat out the bully beef, he’d suddenly lost his appetite.
The siting of the Japanese artillery had become apparent during the bombardment, so the CO quickly shifted his headquarters and the dressing station to a more sheltered spot away from the line of their fire so the injured and dead could be dealt with. The bombardment had lasted two hours, but the more experienced soldiers amongst them warned Jim and Ernie that what they’d experienced was nothing compared to what would surely come.
Jim had a sudden premonition that he might not see the day out, and as it was the first time he’d experienced such a feeling, he decided to use his short time of stand-down to write to Peggy. He settled into a slit-trench, found his notebook, rested it on his knees, and licked the blunted lead of his pencil.
My darling girl,
I love the bones of you, and miss you so much it’s an ache inside me that never goes away. I wish I could see you, hold you, and kiss the very breath from you. If anything should happen to me I want you to know that my last thought will be of you.
You have made my life complete, given me love and understanding when I’ve not deserved it, and above all, given me joy in the precious gifts of our children. I long to see you all again, to hold you to my heart and reacquaint myself with little Daisy and the boys and get to know our granddaughters, but if it’s not to be, then perhaps you can keep my memory alive for them by telling them about the daft things me and Da used to get up to.
Those were such happy days. Da is my hero, for I saw him in action during the first shout, and know the price he paid for the courage he showed then. And yet, for all his stories, he’s a modest man who never revealed the true depths of his bravery, and the honour that was bestowed on him. He’s never failed in his duty as loving father and grandfather, and Frank and I know how blessed we are to have him. I love the scrapes he gets into, and the stories he can tell with that marvellous twinkle in his eyes – and I hope he can forgive my previous waywardness and be proud of who I am and what I’ve become during these past few years.
Amid the sounds of battle, and in the darkest hours of the night, the love and warmth of home keeps me going, Peggy, and I pray that I will soon know it again, for I’m sick of war and noise; of death and destruction and the endless struggle to remain strong and brave and not let my comrades down.
I’m sealing this letter with kisses, and a prayer that we shall be together again one day very soon,
Jim. Xx
He read it through, saw how soppy it was and was tempted to tear it up. But it had come from the heart, and Peggy deserved to know the depths of his feelings for her and the rest of his family. Before he could change his mind again, he placed it in the envelope, addressed it and took it straight to the communications post. With any luck it would go with one of the C-47s due to fly in tonight with more men and equipment.
Sporadic fire continued throughout the day, and just before dusk, the shelling began again – closer now – and on both sides of the block. Jim and some of his battalion had been posted in a defensive spot close to the wire that surrounded the airfield. He was sweating although it was now dark, for the monsoon was building again, the sky seldom clear and the damp heat oozing into every pore. The fighter planes were occupied in covering a battle further to the north and weren’t coming over as regularly, and it seemed the Japs were taking advantage of the situation.
The first assault group of Japs came out of the jungle with blood-curdling screams and yells, the Very lights shining on bared teeth, pot helmets and long bayonets. Jim and his men returned fire, but then the lights fizzled out, and in the sudden, blinding darkness the clatter of bullets rang out as the shelling continued.
In the midst of this mayhem the C-47s came in, and every available man not involved in defending the block was sent swiftly to unload so the planes could take off again.
The stock of Jim’s gun was red-hot, his sweating fingers slippery on the trigger as the Japanese assaults continued and their artillery grew increasingly bold, with what seemed an endless supply of ammunition – which could only mean they had a hidden ammunition dump outside the village which hadn’t been spotted by air reconnaissance. Sweat stung his eyes as he tried to pierce the darkness, for the Japanese were closer now, and were more than likely dug in twenty yards from the wire, with snipers hiding in the trees.
‘Stay low and tight,’ came the message down the line from the brigade CO. ‘The snipers in the trees might think they’ve got one over on us, but our snipers have got them in their sights.’
Jim hugged the ground, looking through the long grass, finger poised to shoot anything that came out of the jungle yelling and screaming. The shelling continued, the snipers picked off anyone who moved, and were themselves picked off by snipers from the King’s Own. It was a terrifying and uncomfortable place to be, and although Jim wished the CO would call for mortar fire and back-up from the air to blast the Japs out of the jungle, he knew he’d think long and hard before doing it, for it would be suicidal. The enemy was dug in too close – almost leaning on the perimeter wire – and any bombardment from the air or the mortars would kill countless numbers of his own men.
By some miracle, Jim had survived the assaults which had gone on continuously for seven heart-stopping hours before they petered out at two in the morning. Given the order to retreat from the front line, he backed away on his belly from the wire, still poised for any sudden movement in the jungle, and then scuttled to the relative safety of a deep trench at the bottom of the high, craggy ridge.
Ernie swore softly as he slumped down beside him. ‘That was too flaming close,’ he breathed.
‘And it’s far from over,’ said Big Bert, engrossed in stuffing down his rations and emptying his water canister in three great gulps. ‘They’ve trapped us in this valley and have us in their sights. They’ll be back twice as hard, sooner rather than later.’
‘Thanks, Bert. That’s just what we needed to hear,’ said Jim through a vast yawn. ‘Let’s hope we’re allowed a bit of
kip before we have to go through that again. I’m dead on me feet, so I am.’
But it was not to be, and Jim’s platoon was ordered to help stow away the supplies and equipment that had come in throughout the night. As the sun rose the sky became thick and thunderous, the sweltering heat increasing by the minute. The monsoon was gathering itself to break, and every man in the block prayed it would be soon.
The work was painfully slow, for everyone was exhausted, and because huge numbers of men had been posted in clusters all around the block, and there simply weren’t enough hands to do the job quickly.
The heavy artillery had come in with the bulldozers to help shift it, and the men to fire it. Tons of stores, hundreds of Bren guns, machine guns, and thousands of grenades and boxes of arms and ammunition had to be carried from the strip. Miles of wire had to be laid and positions dug deeper or repaired. The injured had been flown out, but the dead had to be buried, and patrols sent into the jungle to protect the airstrip, and in the middle of it all, the CO decided to move all the three-inch mortars into one place to use them as a single battery. Which meant laying more cable.
The Japanese continued to harass them all through the day with small-arms fire and the CO ordered the entire perimeter of the block to be stripped down to one section per platoon, with no battalion reserves, but a good cover of mortars and machine guns. The main core of the block, which was now known as Blighty, would be heavily defended by a full-strength brigade and a rifle company.
Jim and the men understood why he’d done this, for the Japs had curiously left the airfield alone and were definitely concentrating on Blighty – and going by past experience, they would probably continue to do so – but it was a risk, and they could only hope he was proved right.
And he was. Four nights in a row the Japanese attacked Blighty, and furious battles raged from dusk until an hour or so before dawn, fought at ten yards’ range with Brens, grenades, rifles, tommy guns, two- and three-inch mortars and machine guns. Three hundred yards to one side of the attacking Japs, and in full sight of them, C-47s landed with glaring headlights on the now brilliantly lit airstrip to offload their men and supplies and swiftly carry away the wounded. But the Japanese never attempted to destroy the airfield – which puzzled everyone, although it seemed like a miracle.
