by Pacific War Uncensored: A War Correspondent's Unvarnished Account of the Fight Against Japan
Out of the initial welter of conflicting reports the following facts emerged. First, Japanese troops attempted a surprise landing at 1:10 am in the northeast extremity of Malaya near the Thai border. This attempt was repulsed by Imperial land troops after which Japanese planes from aircraft carriers in the south and north flew over various parts of Malaya bombing indiscriminately. Secondly, reinforced Japanese troops again essayed a landing, which this time was successful. The first official report said, “The enemy is infiltrating and converging on Kota Bharu aerodrome.” Thirdly, at least three bombs fell in Singapore city, the first falling within thirty yards of the United Press Bureau; some casualties were reported, with the first fatality being Raymond Lee of the Chinese Volunteer Section. Fourthly, Japanese troop transports were massing off the northeast coast of Malaya where they were being bombed by British planes while additional transports and ten Japanese warships were reported off the coast from Bangkok.
By this time Singapore was awaking to the most fateful Monday morning in its history. Battery Road and Raffles Place, in the heart of the city, were crammed with hordes of people of all races watching the police and A.R.P. workers clearing debris from a block of offices and a big department store, which had moved into new premises less than a month previously. Sir Robert Brooke-Popham then issued his “Order of the Day” at 7:10 am, which stated, “The Japanese action today gives the signal for the Empire’s navy, army and air force with their allies in the Far East to go into action with a common aim and common ideals. We are ready! We have had plenty of warning and every preparation has been made and tested. Japan thought she could take advantage of Singapore’s weakness. However, now that she has decided to put the matter to a stern test, she will find she has made a grievous mistake. We are confident and our defences are strong. Let us all remember that we in the Far East form part of the rest of the campaign for the preservation of truth and justice throughout the world which we must enter with confidence, resolution and devotion to the cause.”
An official communiqué was then issued. “All surface Japanese craft are retiring at high speed while a few Japanese troops left on the beach are being heavily machine-gunned in the Kota Bharu area. This morning’s landing occurred at Kemassin, and was followed by infiltration towards Kota Bharu. Large concentrations of ships were observed off Kemassin. One Hudson bomber scored a direct hit on the leading ship, which was set ablaze. The second ship was also hit. A landing was effected at Sebak where contact was made by aircraft and land forces on the beach. Fighting on the beaches is still proceeding. Another Hudson bomber scored a direct hit on a barge carrying Japanese troops up the Kelantan River. There have been no bombs dropped on the naval base. Unconfirmed reports state that mustard gas bombs have been used in the northeastern fighting.”
Meanwhile all Japanese domiciled in Malaya had been rounded up. I saw fifteen busloads being taken to the concentration camp on Singapore Island, driving through the city past A.R.P. gangs cleaning up damage caused by the first two bombs. Windows within a two-hundred-yard radius were completely shattered by the blast from the heavy calibre bombs. Overhead I observed an open formation of RAF fighting planes speeding out to sea, while there were unconfirmed reports of naval action off the east coast.
Nothing worked properly, and the communications systems became clogged with a terrific deluge of official and press messages; service censorship disrupted and insinuated itself into an otherwise efficiently functioning civil censorship organisation. A fog of officialdom had now descended over Malaya, which the Service Chiefs apparently mistook for a “halo of efficiency.” At 11:00 am it was officially announced that Japanese troops had landed at Patani on the Thai side of the Malayan border. Another larger landing was effected at Singora on the Kra Peninsula, making both Malaya and Thailand under attack. Official reports also revealed that one Japanese cruiser, four destroyers, one armed merchant ship and one transport vessel participated in the first attack on northeast Malaya, where they were engaged by British land and air forces. I also found out that there had been sixty fatalities and one hundred and thirty hospital casualties during the morning’s air raid on Singapore, but the censor soon jumped on that one before I could report it.
A later official report said three British aircraft were missing from the morning operations in which three large Japanese transports were set ablaze, in spite of the previous communiqué asserting only one transport participated. Late in the afternoon I learned that Japanese bombers were dropping their calling cards on the RAF aerodrome at Sungei Patani in the northeast extremity of Malaya. I tried to confirm this story through the RAF Press Censorship advisor, a former journalist named Gerald Sampson, but found out later that he did not even know where Sungei Patani was!
Soon the news wires were humming again with reports of heavy fighting around Kota Bharu. More and more Japanese forces were pouring into Singora—we heard unofficial reports that Thailand had ceased fire, thus giving the Japanese troops unhampered entry into Malaya over the Thai border. There was a complete blackout in Singapore that night after a quiet afternoon in the city, and the only thing of note taking place was a con siderable exodus of the native population to the country in anticipation of Japanese bombs plastering the city. But no bombs came that night, in spite of there being four air raid alerts.
Even though my first message was lodged with the Cable & Wireless office for transmission at 4:50 am Singapore time on December 8th, it did not reach New York until sometime the next day. Joe Alex Morris, the brother of John Morris and foreign editor of the United Press in New York, signed the message that came back. It said, “Up Jack Pronto!” In other words, they wanted me to send more details as quickly as possible. That was not easy for me to do because Kota Bharu, where the Japanese had landed, was three or four hundred miles to the north, and we were getting scarcely any information through from there at all. What news we did have was that there had been simultaneous attacks on Hong Kong and of course, the dreadful news of the Japanese attack on the American fleet at Pearl Harbour. This seemed to plunge the whole of Singapore and Malaya into a tremendous gloom, with a very dangerous threat being presented by our enemy.
On the following day it became apparent to the correspondents in Singapore that things were not going well for the Imperial forces in the north. Censorship suppressed information, which succeeded only in snowballing rumours that a number of RAF and RAAF fighter planes had been destroyed on the ground during Japanese raids on the north Malayan aerodromes. I heard later from more than one source that on the Monday morning when the Japanese planes were plastering a northern aerodrome, an RAF squadron leader had his squadron ready with engines revved up and pilots aboard waiting to give battle to the invader. However, the squadron was not allowed to leave the ground and give fight because war had not yet been declared, and as a result of this insanity every grounded British plane in that particular aerodrome was blitzed and battered by Japanese bombs and machineguns.
Within the first two days of the campaign it became painfully apparent that the Japanese had already achieved air superiority. Kota Bharu was evacuated, Alor Star on the other side of the north peninsula quickly followed suit, and the aerodromes were rendered untenable. Malaya’s puny enough air strength was crippled, and without air support our land forces were forced to commence an endless succession of “strategic withdrawals.” The official communiqué issued at 1:00 pm December 9th said, “Since yesterday’s noon communiqué the situation seems to have developed as follows: the Japanese have engaged considerable numbers of aircraft endeavouring to attain aerial superiority in North Malaya in order to cover landings in South Thailand. Japanese transports were proceeding down the coast of South Thailand escorted by warships and it has been ascertained that all the transports located on December 6th and 7th are now apparently engaged in these landings on the Kra Isthmus and northeast Malaya. So far there is no information regarding further support for these forces and the condition around the Singgora area is such that the advances
will be restricted to the few available roads. Fighting at Kota Bharu is still severe although by noon yesterday a large measure of control had been achieved by the Imperial Forces. Further landings took place yesterday afternoon and very heavy fighting ensued. The situation in this area is very confused.” A later communiqué the same day included these classic lines: “Information received from the General Officer Commanding the Philippines, also from Australia and the Netherlands’ East Indies states that pre-arranged reinforcement and reconnaissance plans have been fully implemented. It is too early yet to attempt to forecast what the Japanese plan consists however it is indicated that following Thailand’s collapse the Japanese are preparing to engage considerable forces in order to control North Malaya. This move has always been foreseen as being very likely, and therefore the disposition of our forces has been designed to meet it.”
Singapore’s back door immediately became front page news, and the official reports failed to shroud the fact that the northern border approaches were not as invulnerable as the defence chiefs apparently wishfully thought. About this time I became afflicted with ear trouble having previously had a heavy cold. Abscesses then formed in both my ears and for more than a week I was almost totally deaf, which was a painful and inconvenient affliction, but had its compensations inasmuch as I was immune to officialdom’s quacking platitudes and smug deception.
As time progressed it was apparent that the Japanese onslaught showed no signs of waning. Official reports admitted Imperial reinforcements were being rushed to the north in order to bolster the defences. I turned my attention to naval matters but the official censors refused even to whisper the name of the Eastern Fleet. I knew they had moved out to sea, because two colleagues, O.D. Gallagher of the London Daily Express and Cecil Brown of Columbia Broadcasting System had that day gone to sea aboard HMS Repulse. I felt mortified at not being given a chance to make the trip, but again my deafness stood me in good stead—had I heard about the opportunity I would undoubtedly have fought to board the ill-fated warship. It was then that we received confirmation of the crushing news that the two great battleships, the Prince of Wales and Repulse, had been sunk by Japanese torpedo bombers off the west coast of Malaya. Thankfully Gallagher and Brown both survived that tragic loss, which bowed all heads in Singapore.
Chairman of the War Council in Singapore, Mr. Alfred Duff-Cooper, made an announcement on the 9:30 pm radio broadcast on December 10th. In it he said, “Having looked our losses straight in the face with unflinching eyes and bowed heads in revered sorrow, let us raise our heads and raise our hearts. This is not the first time in our long history we have met disaster and surmounted it. There is something in our nature only disaster can produce. These warships were precious but we have others and yet others being built. A month ago we were not safe. We are not safe now, but in these great days safety seems hardly honourable and danger seems glorious. We British living in Malaya are fortunate in having an opportunity to prove our hearts are stout and our patriotism is as pure as that of our brothers and sisters who have kept the flag flying over the capital of the Empire. Battleships are precious but more precious are the hearts of a great people.”
Despite such a rousing announcement, in my opinion, that evening was the darkest hour for Britain in the Far East, and I felt the first tremble in the foundations of British prestige in Malaya. The loss of the Prince of Wales and Repulse was a numbing shock, as they had represented the figurehead of our defence. My aching deafness and the close darkness of the complete blackout accentuated my misery and I lay wide-eyed throughout the night with a prayer in my heart for those fighting to stem the Nippon flood. But I could not stand still, and I had to get myself accredited as a war correspondent with the military headquarters in Singapore. I was told that I had to wear a uniform, although I had no intention of spending a lot on an expensive outfit, and looked around for a cheaper option.
I found a little shop underneath our office on Battery Road, where I was able to buy a military uniform cap, khaki bush jacket, and some shorts. I had been given a badge with a “C” on it to signify that I was a correspondent, and I stuck this on my cap, so my “uniform” was now complete. After doing this, the first big story that I had to cover was the loss of those battleships, which was not easy because we were not given a great amount of detail about it. What we were told was that Admiral Sir Tom Phillips had gone down with the Prince of Wales. Fortunately there had been no great loss of life, and most of the survivors were able to make their way to shore because the two ships were close to land when they were sunk. It was, however, a terrible blow, and one that filled the whole island of Singapore with despondency.
Letter confirming Harold’s accreditation as a war correspondent in 1941, which prompted him to go and buy the “least expensive” uniform he could find to meet with regulations. Author collection
War Department of Malaya “Pass and Identity Book” issued July 1941, revalidated many times with extensions up to March 1942. This was unnecessary as Harold escaped from Singapore in February 1942 to avoid the invading Japanese troops. Author collection
Christmas was approaching, and I remember at this time that Sir Robert Brooke-Popham issued his Order of the Day in which he explained about the Japanese landing. He said that the Japanese had landed in some strength in the north of Malaya, and that steps were being taken to meet the threat. There is one sentence of his that has imprinted itself on my mind forever, in which he said that there was nothing to worry about because the Japanese were “easy meat.”
On Christmas Day, Marie, Pat and I were sitting down to have our dinner when a van drew up outside the military quarter. Some volunteers started distributing food supplies, which were to be stored as a contingency against us being invaded. In the cupboard space under the stairs in Marie’s quarters they put great stacks of tins of bully beef, and all kinds of tinned food. We also at this time got news that Hong Kong had surrendered to the Japanese, just 17 days after the first attack. Our thoughts went to our many friends that we still had in Hong Kong, including George Baxter, the man who took over my job when I left in 1940. We felt very sad, as we had spent many happy years in Hong Kong, and this added to the growing feeling of gloom.
In the meantime I had little or no idea what was happening in the north of Malaya. We got daily communiqués by the army headquarters in Singapore, but these gave us no true idea of what was going on; they included phrases such as “today we successfully disengaged the enemy,” which meant very little to me. A Major Fraser had been put in charge of what was called the Press Corp in Singapore, which was comprised of about thirty correspondents, and we were marshalled around just like the military. We used to receive messages from the army headquarters, and the messages would read something like this, “A sortie of correspondents will rendezvous at these headquarters at 0800 hours tomorrow.” It then would go on to give details of transport and rations, and it was presented in a military style language, all of which I found rather comical.
By this time I was very much on my own in regards to the United Press. John Morris decided that as soon as the war started that Darrell Berrigan, who he had sent to help me, should be shifted across to Bangkok where there was no coverage of the war at all. I had some very able help from Wee Kim Wee and Arshad, but I needed someone to handle our incoming news service, so that I could go out and do some reporting. To do this I hired a man called Stanley Jones, who had been the editor of the Singapore Herald, a newspaper that had been largely financed by the Japanese. Very often his character had been called into question because he was an occasional heavy drinker, but I knew him to be a very able newspaperman.
So it was that Stanley Jones took charge of our incoming service at the United Press in December 1941. A number of quite “high-powered” correspondents by now had arrived in Singapore to report on the war, many of whom were American. It constantly amazed me that they found so much to write about when I could find nothing at all from the military communiqués we were given. The
war was still going on up in the north of Malaya, and the daily communiqués, which were also called “The Situation Reports,” did not give much inspiration to write a lot of copy. These American correspondents, though, seemed to sit down and write great copious reports, and I could only arrive at the conclusion that I was not a very good war correspondent.
We now started to get fairly regular air raids on Singapore. All the army quarters were fitted with blackout curtains, and we shifted Pat’s bed downstairs from the bedroom into a little cupboard where we thought she would be safer. There was an air raid alarm siren quite near Marie’s quarter, and though we had some very alarming moments when this thing would sound, we eventually got used to it. Marie continued to go to school on the little island of Blakamati, and life continued where possible in a fairly regular routine.
Harold outside the United Press offices on Battery Road in 1941, the place where Japanese bombs were to later fall. Author collection
The so-called “Press Corps” was being more and more regimented. There was a young army captain by the name of Henry Steele who was a real “live-wire.” He tried to organise parties of us to go up as far as we could into Malaya, but we never seemed to get very far, and going there did not yield much more copy than the daily communiqués distributed to us in Singapore. I began to wonder how I could report on a war that I could not actually see. The war was now nearly a month old, and so far I had not even seen a Japanese, unless it was one about three miles up in the air in an aeroplane!
