by Pacific War Uncensored: A War Correspondent's Unvarnished Account of the Fight Against Japan
At the beginning of December two large battleships, HMS Repulse and the Prince of Wales, arrived in Singapore. There was no fuss or official welcome for these great ironclad vessels as they steamed up the Straits of Jahore, and the press were only allowed to report their arrival several days after the event. The Prince of Wales flew the flag of Admiral Sir Tom Phillips, who had arrived secretly in Singapore a week previously and taken over the Far Eastern Naval Command from Admiral Sir Geoffrey Layton. These ships, we were told, were merely a vanguard of a newly formed Eastern Fleet, which would eventually consist of a number of heavy ships plus all the necessary auxiliaries. Watching these ships sail in filled me with some exultation, but did nothing to impress Sir Geoffrey Layton, who told me that the ships that had been sent were not the type that were needed. He said that because there was very little protection from the air, two heavy vessels such as this would be left exposed and vulnerable to attack. Instead of this what was needed were smaller more mobile craft that could move in and out from the shore quickly and easily.
On the following day Marie and I had intended to go to the Cathay Theatre to see a film called Major Barbara, based on a story by Bernard Shaw. I remember this small point because I had frequently been letting Marie down, after promising that we would go and see it. Opportunities for doing this kept passing us by, because so much of my time was being spent in the United Press office, evening after evening, long after the theatre was closed. It had become a bit of a standing joke between us that when I left in the morning I would say to Marie, “tonight we will go and see it,” with the inevitable result, of course, that it would never happen.
On December 2nd we got news of the mysterious and tragic loss of HMAS Sydney. By this time the entire Malay peninsula was in a state of emergency, including the state of Jahore where Sultan Ibrahim had made a dramatic overnight proclamation. Volunteer mobilisation throughout Malaya proceeded rapidly and the Regular Army was closed up for instant action, manning coastal stations while the Air Forces under the Far Eastern Command were reported to be “on tiptoes” for any eventuality.
Air Vice Marshall Sir Robert Brooke-Popham, who was now in charge of all forces for Malaya and Singapore, called a press conference for purposes of—“entirely off-record”—allaying what he called “scare reports” emanating from the foreign press regarding the threat to Malaya. For months now I had been investigating the situation regarding the strength of the defences protecting Malaya and Singapore, and been unable to align myself with the unflappable belief persistently voiced by defence chiefs about the unlikelihood of a Japanese invasion. Now with the arrival of HMS Repulse and the Prince of Wales, along with Sir Robert’s unruffled assurances, I began to doubt myself. On this assumption I attempted to summarise the situation once more in a long message to the United Press, which took me most of one evening, only to find afterwards that it had been blocked by a censor. Once more Marie was disappointed, as Major Barbara had to be cancelled.
The next thing that happened was a report received from the United Press Manila Bureau saying that a fleet of 110 Japanese transports, escorted by strong naval forces, had been sighted heading southwards. That report was intended for inclusion in the United Press News Service for distribution in the Singapore press, including our good clients the Straits Times and Singapore Free Press, as well as several vernacular newspapers. The censors in Singapore blanketed it once more as a “scare report,” but I was convinced that it would still be of interest to the naval authorities.
I telephoned Commander Allan Burrows, Royal Navy, who was chief of the Services Public Relations Organisation acting as Press Liaison Officer for the Navy, and told him of Manila’s report. “Ha! Ha! … that’s a good one … hundred and ten transports did you say? Must’ve opened a new box I should say-what! Good old United Press, you certainly like your sensational stuff. Anyway thanks for the dope, Guard … but I don’t think we need worry very much about it,” he scornfully replied to my news.
At the same time, Radio Bangkok was broadcasting an increasing amount of anti-foreign propaganda, and Japan’s envoy to Washington, Mr. Kurusu, seemed to be playing for time. Statesmen on both sides of the Pacific were scratching around the bottom of the “diplomatic basket,” and Manila’s report of the approaching Japanese armada came as the first real rumble of the war machine in Malaya.
However, the situation turned once more, and the gravity of Singapore Island’s security was made clearer when Sir Shenton Thomas, Governor of the Straits Settlements and High Commissioner of the Federated Malay States, proclaimed a state of emergency throughout Malaya. The official statement read, “His Excellency, the governor, upon the advice of the military authorities today signed a proclamation calling up the Straits Settlements and Federated Malay States volunteers. This does not signify an immediate deterioration of the situation, but it was decided some days ago that precautionary preparations should be instituted step by step. It means only that the situation is not yet clarified. The Volunteers form an integral part of Malayan defences and their mobilisation can proceed normally without undue dislocation in the community.”
The mobilisation included the Straits Settlements Volunteers, the Naval Volunteer Reserves and Volunteer Air Force units, most of which were called up within two hours of the proclamation. Full mobilisation was expected by 4th December, leaving most business houses working with just a bare skeleton of staff. The Police Reserves similarly assumed emergency stations, and tin-hatted policemen and soldiers rapidly appeared at road junctions and protected areas. Meanwhile the regular troops on the northern border of Malaya and at coastal stations had closed up for battle. The Royal Air Force and Royal Australian Air Force received “operational” orders, and were at a state of readiness for any eventuality.
On the same day, General Sir Thomas Blamey, Commander-in-Chief of the Australian Imperial Forces in the Middle East, passed through Singapore from Australia, intending to return to the Middle East after a brief visit to his own country. I met the general in Raffles Hotel. He said he was very confident as to the outcomes of the campaign in Libya where “everything was proceeding according to plan.” Regarding the Pacific, General Blamey had little comment to make except to say Australians would like to see a United States naval cooperation in the Pacific. “The salvation of civilisation necessitates all democracies throwing their full weight into the fight. Australians are of the opinion that the United States should throw their Army, Navy and all their resources on our side,” General Blamey said, adding “in the long run, a very slow and costly run, they will do so.”
The same evening Mr. Alfred Duff-Cooper, British Minister of State for the Far East, who also had just returned from a trip to Australia, received pressmen at his Singapore residence. He said he had been “enormously impressed” by Australia’s unified war effort and production. “Even previous conscientious objectors in the New Zealand government view this war differently from the World War which was, they said, ‘Imperial,’ whereas this war is against the world’s greatest evil—Nazism.” He had no comment to make on the Far Eastern situation except to remark “I should think so” when asked whether he thought the Japanese government would continue their Washington negotiations. Covering that day’s news prevented me again from seeing Major Barbara that evening.
Singapore Civil Airport became a protected area and closed to the general public, including the airport restaurant, which was a popular rendezvous for Malayan gourmets. I found out later that there had been more than a thousand applications from domiciled Japanese in Singapore for shipping passages so that they could leave the island. That evening I poked my nose into Japanese affairs in Singapore, and through my own investigations discovered that the majority of big business staffs were planning to leave for Bangkok the following day by steamer while others were booked on the Bangkok Express.
All seemed to be quiet on 5th December, and the main news item was the arrival of the first squadron of Australian-built Beaufort Bombers. Official communiqués publicised the st
rengthening of the air defences with these additional planes, although they omitted to mention that the new aircraft were only six in number. The mobilisation of the volunteer forces had now been completed, disrupting the operations within many business houses throughout Singapore, and leaving a feeling of unrest throughout the whole of the colony. There was talk of evacuating women and children, and the Asiatic population began wondering whether such precautionary measures would be confined entirely to those of “pure European descent,” as was the case in Hong Kong’s evacuation in July 1940. I found that the censors suddenly became a lot stricter, and the content of any news stories became considerably thinner.
So we postponed our plans once more, as there was too much of an upset going on and the military seemed to be in a state of panic. The news pot really started to boil, starting early in the morning when the government issued a special decree prohibiting all non-British subjects from leaving Malaya without “special permission.” At this time there were already numbers of Japanese businessmen onboard a Thai steamship company’s vessel due to set sail for Bangkok at 10:30 am, and they were all ordered back ashore again with their baggage. All naval, military and volunteer weekend leaves were cancelled, and on Saturday morning an official announcement was made saying that further precautionary defensive moves had been taken in Malaya.
In the afternoon Marie, Patricia and I went to the Singapore Swimming Club, which was filled to capacity with the usual Saturday crowd. This had been one of our favourite places to relax, but on that afternoon I just could not settle with the news of everything that had been going on. Overhead there was the whine of the Brewster Buffalo’s engines, which by now had become quite familiar, and they seemed to beckon a warning of what was to come. I lay back in a long chair to bask in the glorious sunshine, and closed my eyes and found myself starting to drift into a semiconscious state. My slumber, though, was very suddenly broken by Pat’s precipitous, breathless arrival alongside my chair. She had developed an inherent nose for news and she bore tidings that the kabun (attendant in the swimming club) was paging all naval officers and men to return to their ships immediately. I overheard a disgruntled naval officer, who had been dragged from an afternoon siesta, make the remark, “Going to fight the bloody Japs now I suppose.”
The Singapore Swimming Club, where Harold first heard that all naval personnel had to return to their ships, indicating that the Japanese invasion of Malaya had begun. Author collection
Straight away I got on the phone to Commander Burrows, who was in charge of the press section at the Ministry of Information, and asked him if he could help me compose a cable to tell the United Press office in New York exactly what was happening. Between us we managed to concoct a cable, which left them with no doubt that the Japanese were about to launch an attack on Malaya. On the same day we received back a very swift reply from New York, signed by a man called Fred Fergusson, who I believe was the United Press news editor at the time. It was a very long cable that started off by explaining that the United Press now had a record overhead expenditure, and that they no longer had a “phoney” war in Europe to cover and so wanted to cut down their expenses everywhere. The last sentence that imprinted itself on my mind forever was, “we want nothing, repeat nothing, from your area.” It was just as well for them that official sources were now closed up like oysters, and the last word from that area was “Understand General Headquarters expects ‘something’ within forty eight hours.”
I felt very despondent that evening, not only by the reaction I had gotten from the New York office, but also because of the uncertainty that now hung over everything. One good thing that happened, though, was that Marie and I finally managed to get to the Cathay Theatre and found no difficulty in obtaining seats for Major Barbara. The cinema was only partially filled, and during the performance a notice flashed on the screen recalling certain sections of the Air Force stationed on Singapore Island. We enjoyed Major Barbara, and it was the last cinema show I attended in Malaya.
The next day started with another headache for me, as the antiquated teleprinter that brought the news into our office refused to function at 5:00 am. Our newspaper clients were fuming, as they were waiting for news from the outside world. The Postal Telegraph authorities were unsympathetic, and it wasn’t until the afternoon that the teleprinter was put in order and news reports started to trickle in. That unhappy experience caused me to give strict instructions to Arshad, the Malay office boy, that the teleprinter should be switched on and tested at least an hour before the news report was scheduled to start, so that it would give us time to make good any existing defects. Arshad listened to my instructions very carefully, and contritely vowed to follow them out to the letter.
That afternoon an official communiqué almost took all newsmen unawares. “Air reconnaissance over the South China Sea, which has been in progress for several days, has confirmed previous reports of considerable shipping activity and movement of naval vessels including cruisers. The movement is now around Cambodia Point and thence in a northwesterly direction. The reconnaissance was carried out by Catalina flying boats of the Royal Air Force and Hudson bombers of the Royal Australian Air Force. It is interesting to note that contact by aircraft from Malaya was made at a distance of more than three hundred miles.” The New York office now suddenly started to take an interest and was querying me regarding the reported landing of Japanese forces in Thailand, which I was able to substantially confirm, but censorship precluded any suggestion of activity in Thailand. “You must understand Thailand is very anxious to maintain neutrality,” an official spokesman said while reprimanding me. I thought to myself, “I’d like to know whose side Thailand is going to be neutral on.”
In the evening I stuck close to the telephone at home, anticipating that more news would follow shortly. Marie and I talked late into the night, and I was convinced that war would soon be imminent. The last thing I said to Marie before retiring to bed was “when the phone rings next you’ll know the war has started in Malaya.” At 4:00 am on December 8th the telephone rang. On the other end was a harassed Arshad, who reported, “Oh Sir! The teleprinter is broken Sir!” I angrily said, “How come broken?” Arshad said, “Teleprinter fell off the table Sir!” I said, “What in hell do you mean! How come it fell off the table?” Arshad said, “A bomb Sir! From the Japanese airplane.” I was stunned momentarily into silence when just at that moment there was a loud bang near our house and from the veranda I saw searchlights searing the blue-black sky and “flaming onion” tracer bullets streaking towards three silver specks high up.
Whilst I scrambled into some clothes Marie manned the telephone trying to raise transportation for me to the city. Unfortunately my own car was out of commission at that time and as a last effort, having failed to awaken a taxi station, she phoned a colleague of mine who lived nearby, Dickson Brown of the Straits Times. Dickson apparently had a bad attack of that “Monday morning feeling,” and in spite of the urgency in Marie’s appeal for him to rush his car around, Dickson’s liver got the better of his news sense and he sleepily told her that he did not “think it was necessary to do anything at that hour,” then apparently slipped back into slumber.
So I decided to walk the four miles to the United Press Bureau. The searchlights were still sweeping the sky, but despite this activity there was an eerie quietness all about. Lights were shining in many houses and there were some signs of activity, which was unusual for that time on a Monday morning. I cursed my luck for not having a car available, and was putting my best foot forward when a car driven by a Singapore Air Raid Precautions official overtook me. I shouted after the car, waving my arms wildly, and it pulled up some fifty yards ahead of me. Because of my stiff right knee joint I could not run that fifty yards, but I hurried along with all possible speed whilst the car driver exhorted, “hurry up man! I can’t lose a minute.”
Harold’s American Dodge car parked outside the Alexandra Barracks in Singapore, with chauffer and Pat sitting in the back. Aut
hor collection
In the car I ventured a remark to the driver, “Looks as though the balloon has gone up at last.” The A.R.P. official replied, “I think it’s a practice raid, I knew they were going to have one, but they certainly chose the damnedest of hours for having them!” I said, “But my office tells me there has been a bomb dropped in Battery Road.” “Quite likely, we were going to drop some practice bombs, too,” said the A.R.P man, in a matter-of-fact way, after which I lapsed into silence until we reached the Singapore General Post Office, as I could see that I was not going to glean any further information. As we approached I could see there was a sizeable crowd gathering on Battery Road, and activity going on with ambulances already picking up casualties. “Pretty realistic practice,” I remarked to the A.R.P man as I left his car. The last I saw of him, he was frantically asking a Malayan policeman what had happened.
I made my way to the Union Building, which housed the Services Public Relations Organisation offices, where I found Major Fisher, the military P.R. officer surrounded by a number of correspondents. Fisher was already busy on the “green line,” official telephone, and after a few minutes was able to give us the terse official announcement that the Japanese had effected a landing on the Kelantan coast in the northeast extremity of Malaya. I made a quick dash over to the Cable & Wireless office and flashed a message over the United Press circuits, keeping in mind what I had been previously told about cutting down expenses. My message, comprised of just twenty-five words, stated that, “Officially Jap troops landed northeast Malaya.” The Pacific War had started.
From the Cable & Wireless office I hurried to the United Press Bureau on Battery Road, which by this time had been cordoned off by police. I had to fight my way through a crowd and argue my way past the police to reach the Bureau where Arshad had reinstated the teleprinter. The morning report was coming in, bearing tidings of the Japanese assault on Pearl Harbour and the Philippines. For the next hour or so the U.P. telephone line was running hot, while I found out as much news as I possibly could from both official and unofficial sources.
