The Battle for Hong Kong 1941-1945

by Oliver Lindsay

  On leaving Harrow in the Summer of 1937, I was accepted for the five-year course to become a student at the Architectural Association in Bedford Square. Run by architects for architects, it was one of the premier schools in the United Kingdom.

  My architectural course consisted of a long sequence of different subjects. I enjoyed it immensely, often working late into the night (as my architect son, Mark, does to this day!). At weekends I used to bicycle a lot, sketching churches and other buildings around Surrey, with pencil and watercolours as at Harrow, but now for my diploma. In 1937 my father and I had watched from Park Lane the Coronation procession, seeing King George VI pass by.

  Although I never considered myself cut out to be a soldier – far from it because I always wanted to be an architect – I volunteered to join the Territorial Army, which was growing fast. Many of my fellow students had chosen to do likewise. Naturally we preferred the Royal Engineers for we were familiar with construction and Sapper tasks. We started to take part once a week in exercises in London’s Duke of York’s Headquarters – now largely sold off to the private sector. In August 1939 we went to the TA camp on the cliffs above Dover and were taught how to dig trenches and make redoubts, using an outdated handbook published more than 20 years earlier. We could see naval convoys on the horizon going we knew not where, and wondered if one day we would be amidst them.

  Time was marching on. The previous year, on 12th March 1938, German troops had entered Austria. The following day, Germany annexed the country. Western powers looked on with disapproval but did nothing. America’s policy of isolation was scarcely a factor; we did not regard the Americans as ‘sleeping giants’ for they were set on non-intervention; their military capability, like ours, was, we now know, shockingly inadequate.

  We feared that war was imminent.

  Notes

  1. Churchill, Randolph S, Winston S Churchill: Vol I, Youth 1874–1900, London: Heinemann, 1966, p. 106.

  2. Kershaw, Ian, ‘Making Friends with Hitler’, BBC History Magazine, November 2004, pp. 13–16.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Outbreak of War in Europe

  Czechoslovakia developed, during the years that followed its founding in 1918, into the most progressive, democratic, enlightened and prosperous state in Central Europe. But it was gripped by one domestic problem – its minorities of different nationalities, including 250,000 Sudeten Germans, although the Sudetens had never belonged to the German Reich. Hitler harangued his military leaders with the need to destroy the Czechoslovakian state and to grab its territory and inhabitants for the Third Reich. Despite what had happened in Austria, the leaders of Great Britain and France did not grasp this.1 Appeasement was still paramount in unexpected quarters.

  Rarely in the history of The Times has such abuse descended upon the newspaper as it did on 7th September 1938 when its leader advocated the handing over of the Sudetenland to Germany, with a hint that this policy “has found favour in some quarters” which led everyone to assume that the editor, Geoffrey Dawson, was relaying the British Government view. The Foreign Office disowned the leader in its communication with the Czech Government, but the damage had been done. The period of The Times being almost a great Department of State and its editor almost an honorary member of the Cabinet was over for good. Its influence declined accordingly.2

  The Queen, the glossy magazine, was equally off-net. Persecution of the Jews was dismissed as unreal, and was claimed to be Germany’s own domestic problem. There were attempts in the social journal to laugh it off as ridiculous or even humorous. A great joke was made of Hitler’s decree that shops should only be allowed to sell dolls with Aryan features. The Queen estimated that in the matter of Mussolini’s invasion of Abyssinia, his efforts were undoubtedly beneficial and there was nothing self-seeking about him. Mussolini was nominated in 1933 as one of the great personalities likely to become an immortal, along with the Prince of Wales, Charlie Chaplin and the Chief Scout.3

  Having occupied Czechoslovakia with impunity in 1938, Hitler believed that the British and French would still not fight were he to further his territorial ambitions by invading Poland.

  On the news of the German-Soviet pact signed on 22nd August 1939, the British Government at last took decisive steps: orders were issued for the immediate manning by key parties of the coast and anti-aircraft defences to protect vulnerable points. 30,000 reservists for the RAF, Air Auxiliary Force and overseas garrisons were called up. All leave was stopped throughout the fighting Services.4

  On 25th August 1939 the British Government proclaimed a formal treaty with Poland. According to Goering’s evidence at Nuremberg, Hitler immediately stopped the planned invasion of Poland to see if he could “eliminate British intervention”. Accordingly, he postponed the invasion from 25th August to 1st September to enter into direct negotiation with Poland, as Prime Minister Chamberlain desired.

  A year earlier, the journalist Leonard Mosley had an unexpected meeting with Hitler at Bayreuth. Hitler was initially in a good mood and told Mosley there would be no war over Poland. “Almost a year has passed since Munich was signed,” Mosley replied. “Then Britain and France were unprepared. We had no troops, nor arms, nor planes. Now we have had almost a year to get ready…” Hitler turned on Mosley sarcastically, his pale face growing ruddy with passion, and his stubby forefinger with its bitten fingernail jabbing towards him. “A year to prepare! What foolishness is that!” growled Hitler. “The position of Britain and France is worse – far worse – than in September 1938. There will be no war, because you are less in a position to go to war than you were a year ago …” Hitler proceeded to boast of the dramatic increases in Germany’s ships, aircraft, tanks, guns and manpower. “I remember wondering who was supplying Hitler’s information about our arms programme, and how near he was to the truth,” concluded Mosley gloomily.5

  Field Marshal Lord Alanbrooke (as he became) revealed in detail in his 1939–1945 War Diaries, published in 2001, Britain’s lack of preparation for war. Our guarantees to Poland meant little to Hitler, just as the eleventh hour reinforcement of Hong Kong, to take place only weeks before the Japanese invasion of the British colony, had not the slightest deterrent effect on Japan’s plans. Hitler had postponed his invasion of Poland not to reach agreement with that country, but instead to give the British Government every opportunity to escape from their guarantee. We can see how Hitler had miscalculated: any further appeasement from Chamberlain as the crisis intensified was unacceptable to the House of Commons following Germany’s unprovoked attack on Poland on 1st September. “There was no doubt that the temper of the House was for war,” wrote Churchill after the short but fierce debate.

  * * * * *

  Following my TA camp from the end of July to mid August with my Field Squadron of the Royal Engineers at Dover, I returned home. I had planned an architectural tour in my car around Italy before my TA unit was mobilized on about 27th August at the Duke of York’s Barracks. On Sunday 3rd September I tuned the wireless to hear the Prime Minister’s broadcast that we were at war with Germany.

  Immediately the broadcast was over Londoners heard the prolonged, sinister, wailing air raid siren announcing, they assumed, the approach of German bombers. When they emerged from their shelters, they found that about 35 cylindrical silver-coloured balloons had been raised above London’s roofs and spires to interfere with German bombing runs.

  To my great disappointment, I had to stop my architectural course for the duration of the war. Now a Corporal, I was billeted at 21 Cadogan Square, which was my father’s house. He had tried to let it, but couldn’t because of the impending war. We had no furniture and were issued with two blankets and slept on the filthy floors. Fortunately, the food was excellent: it was delivered at regular intervals in a dirty demolition lorry from a top class Knightsbridge restaurant. Each morning we went for a run in Hyde Park, frightening the wild rabbits near the Serpentine.

  I was foolish enough to believe, like some of my friends, that the wa
r would be over in six months. Ignorant people like me thought that Germany was incapable of fighting another one and could not compete with our Royal Navy.

  In October my Field Squadron paraded as usual – to be told that it would deploy imminently to join the British Expeditionary Force in France. About ten names were then read out indicating who were to be sent instead to the Royal Engineer Officer Cadet Training Unit at Malta Barracks, Aldershot. For better, or probably worse, my name was one of them. It never occurred to me for a second that I would end up fighting the Japanese rather than the Germans.

  The six-month course was a good one. We were taught the necessary skills to support the combat formations – the infantry, the gunners and armoured units. Briefly, in defence, that meant the construction of field defences, laying anti-tank mines, and the improvement and construction of obstacles. In attack, we covered obstacle crossing, demolition of enemy defences such as bunkers, mine clearance, bridge or ferry construction. Other phases of war included withdrawal, which involved learning about blowing up or cratering roads, bridges, ammunition dumps and so on.

  There was no time or inclination to teach us infantry work. I had no instruction therefore in such matters as ambushing enemy patrols, platoon skirmishes to capture an objective, or withdrawing from strategic positions under fire: all skills which I would need in Hong Kong.

  The six months were not too intense; we certainly had good instructors. I was able to go home probably every other weekend. My father bought me a 90cc motorbike which was very economical on petrol; this was now rationed. The Colonel commanding us gave several dances in Aldershot. There was still no active fighting in France, virtually no bombing, and the food rationing scarcely affected us. We were certainly enjoying a good life compared to some others.

  On 22nd March 1940 a photograph was taken of our course, Number 3 Class of 142nd OCTU. Forty-two of us are looking as confidently as possible at the cameraman. We thought we were a fairly professional lot. How many of us survived the war, I fear to think about.

  In April 1940 we learnt our next appointment. Which theatre of war was I destined for? Students at the Staff College Camberley during most of the 20th century, or those at Quetta up to 1945, went to their ‘pigeon holes’ to collect the envelope containing the good news or bad; we newly commissioned Royal Engineer 2nd Lieutenants had ours read out to us. It was a moment of considerable tension.

  Would the appointment be in a relatively peaceful location with a pleasant climate, a social life and none too taxing job? Or would one be destined for a challenging job, back to regimental duty in a theatre of war where fighting was imminent? Finally, much worse, would one be despatched at best possible speed, without leave, to replace a key officer who had been killed in action – so no hand-over, no prior knowledge of the local tactics, and no idea of the personalities under whom one had been sent to soldier? Inevitably, particularly in wartime, one might ask oneself if one was up to the job in question? Had the posting staff put a ‘square peg in a round hole’ – someone able, but quite unsuitable for the appointment, in a vital job?

  Of course some of us, including me, would simply be told the theatre of war to which we would be sent. By the time we reached it, casualties, sickness, sackings or postings would create the vacancies into which we would be slotted. Others might go into reinforcement pools, well behind the front line, to be urgently moved forward to join, in all probability, a shattered unit following a particularly bloody battle and replace key men lost in action.

  I and my close friends, Micky Holliday and Dickie Arundell, were to receive a considerable surprise when we Royal Engineers youngsters compared notes. “France, France, France,” seemed to be on everyone’s lips, with a trickle for Singapore. But for Micky, Dickie and me it was to be Hong Kong. Hurrah! I had no military ambitions, for I planned to be an architect. What could be better? The pleasant climate and social life for a year or so in the prosperous British colony would spare us from the fighting elsewhere and do us good. By then the formidable British Expeditionary Force (BEF) combined with the massive French forces, not forgetting the Canadians, Australians, Indians and New Zealanders who were rallying to support us, would have seen off Hitler and his henchmen. Japan was already heavily engaged in fighting the Chinese and was worried about her northern border with Russia, so posed no threat to us – or so we three 2nd Lieutenants convinced ourselves.

  Naturally, therefore, I was delighted with the posting to Hong Kong. My parents were pleased; my other friends were envious. How lucky I was!

  The German onslaught on 10th May 1940 came as a considerable shock even to Field Marshal Lord Gort, VC. “The tension which had been increasing during April,” the commander of the BEF wrote in his official despatch, “had lessened somewhat during the early days of May…. It was not until the night of 9th/10th May that information was received of exceptional activity on the frontiers of Luxembourg, Belgium and Holland.” At 8 a.m. on 10th May, front-line BEF battalion headquarters, listening to the BBC announcing the German invasion of the Low Countries, could see that German aircraft were already streaming above them, dropping a few bombs in their areas.6

  I mention the above because it is indicative of the total failure of Allied intelligence to determine what the enemy was up to – both in Europe and, later, in even more traumatic circumstances, in the Far East when the Japanese launched their catastrophic invasion some 18 months later.

  My Royal Engineer course had finished in April and I had been sent home to Chobham to await orders to sail to Hong Kong. Then came the German breakthrough, which led to lack of ships to take us to the Far East. It is quite possible, of course, that the posting authorities had simply forgotten about me. So what was I to do?

  On 14th May, with families huddled as usual around their wireless sets after the BBC’s nine o’clock news, Anthony Eden, the Secretary of State for War, announced that “the Government has received countless enquiries from all over the kingdom from men of all ages who wish to do something for the defence of their country. Well, now is your opportunity….” He went on to announce the formation of the Local Defence Volunteers, which was soon rechristened the Home Guard.7

  My father became fairly senior in this unpaid force. I immediately joined to help him by undertaking night patrols, particularly in the Chobham Ridges area near Woking and south of London. The locality has excellent views over part of Surrey. We had good visibility on moonlit nights to see any enemy parachutists being dropped in our neighbourhood. I carried a shotgun with which I occasionally shot rabbits – it was all a bit ridiculous really. We stopped all traffic including buses to check the driver’s identification card. If we saw lights, we promptly ordered that they be extinguished. Churchill seemed to be under the impression that there were some 25,000 organised Nazis in Britain when war was declared, and so keeping an eye out for saboteurs was important.

  Despite being in Surrey, I heard very distinctly the rumble of gunfire during the evacuation of Dunkirk. I then witnessed some of the BEF survivors coming through Woking and Guildford. The Women’s Voluntary Service and other marvellous organisations served them hot drinks and sandwiches as the overloaded trains came through. My mother worked many hours there. The men’s appearances and uniforms were dishevelled. Some were absolutely shattered and a few were never the same boisterous personalities again.

  During all this time, I witnessed only one lone German aircraft. I was half a mile away working on an anti-tank ditch at Crondall when it dropped a single bomb, hitting a telephone box in Aldershot and killing the unfortunate man making a call. As the war intensified, nobody, however isolated, was entirely safe because German bomber crews, returning from raids and still carrying bombs, dropped them indiscriminately to lighten their loads and thereby endeavour to escape our fighters. For example, many of the leading schools were hit in 1940. Incendiary bombs caused some fires at Harrow, but the only significant damage was due to the Fire Service deluging the organ in Speech Room with too much water. In September
, when the Battle of Britain was at its height, the sirens were constantly sounding throughout London and southeast England. There was a continual dash to the shelters. One German aircraft, annoyed by the anti-aircraft guns defending Windsor Castle, dropped two bombs on Eton out of sheer pique. One of them fell on the house of the master responsible for music, destroying his dining room, where he would have been killed had he not been elsewhere reading an article in Punch! The Headmaster of Wellington College was killed when visiting school houses during an air raid.

  Waiting impatiently for a ship to Hong Kong, I tried to learn from Royal Engineer manuals what might be expected of me. But they seemed to relate more to the closing years of the First World War and what a sapper officer was supposed to do in 1918. Perhaps things hadn’t changed much in the intervening years.

  At last I received a cable telling me to report to Liverpool to board SS Viceroy of India bound for the Far East. The family gathered at Brook Place before I departed. They reminded me again how lucky I was to get away from Europe – to Hong Kong’s wonderful lifestyle with no food rationing or blackout. My mother, in tears, said goodbye. My father accompanied me by train from Woking station to London, en route to Liverpool and the Far East at last. Little did I know that I was to return to Platform Two at Woking station five years later having circumnavigated the world.

  Notes

  1. Shirer, William L, The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, London: Secker & Warburg, 1960, p. 360.

  2. The Times Past Present Future (published to mark the newspaper’s bicentenary), p. 30.

  3. Crewe, Quentin, The Frontiers of Privilege, London: Collins, 1961, p. 196.

  4. Churchill, Winston S, The Second World War, Vol. I, London: Cassell, 1949, p. 353.

  5. Owen, James and Walters, Guy (eds), The Voice of War, London: Viking, 2004, p. 1.