Harold Guard
Page 8
Christmas had passed, and it was now about the second week of January 1942. News came that the army had decided to evacuate women and children, and so it was that Marie and Pat had to pack a single suitcase each, and board a boat to go back to Australia. Things happened so quickly that I was unable even to say goodbye properly to them, and the last time we were together was in Marie’s military quarters in the barracks. I was not allowed aboard ship or even to accompany them down to the quay. It was on that day that I decided I was going to cut loose from the Press Corp, and that I would really go up country and find out what was going on in the war myself.
CHAPTER SIX
Up Country in Malaya
It was never difficult to get a ride up into Malaya with one of the army units, and the first time I went was on a truck with the Royal Army Ordinance Corp, who were frequently taking up supplies. As we crossed the causeway that connected Singapore Island with the state of Jahore, I could see one of the outstanding sites of the region, the Sultan’s Palace. It was a striking view. The palace seemed to be roofed with a translucent green tile that shimmered in the sun, with the Sultan’s own personal standard flying above it. He had the reputation of being a rather autocratic ruler, and had a beautiful Austrian or German wife.
I was shocked on my first visit up country by the amount of destruction that was already taking place in the south of Malaya. They were carrying out what was known as the “scorched earth policy,” to prevent anything of value falling into Japanese hands. Great stocks of rubber were deliberately being burned, and the tin mines were being wrecked. It must have been a most disheartening sight for the soldiers heading up north to see everything around them being destroyed to prevent it from falling into Japanese hands.
To begin with I made several daily trips, with various units, each time going a little further north, making as many contacts as I could. One day towards the end of January, I was making my way up country aboard an army ordnance unit truck and was greatly surprised to come across hordes of people heading down south. They comprised mainly of Malays, Chinese, and Europeans, and from all different types of background. These people carried with them pitiful amounts of personal belongings; some had handcarts and others bicycles piled high with all sorts of things. It was a heartrending sight as there was hopelessness in their faces and they did not know where they were going or what they were going to do. They all had one objective in mind though: to make their way as far south as possible, and away from the advancing Japanese forces.
I remember an elderly Malay man coming to me with a bundle in his hands, saying, “What can I do with these?” He had a little packet of Malay Government War Loan Certificates, in which I suppose he had invested his life savings. So as hopefully as I could I said that with the certificate he could get his money at any time from the post office. “Oh yes” he said, “but the post office has gone!” Another man who owned a beautiful bungalow up country, and who had been in the rubber plantation business for many years, had a hobby of collecting Chinese ceramics. It was a priceless collection, but he knew he had to leave, and was going around methodically with a hammer smashing up these ornaments and vases. As he did this he was reciting Rudyard Kipling’s poem If, and punctuated each line with a blow from the hammer. I also met an English couple who were missionaries, and had spent their lives translating the Bible into the various Malay dialects. They were piling all their belongings onto a little handcart, and burning the papers to which they had given a lifetime’s work. I felt almost as helpless as these people who were running away from the Japanese.
Sometimes I would spend two or three days up country getting as far north as I could, and then coming back to Singapore to write my stories. One of the greatest shocks of all came one day when I went up country, accompanied by a Reuters correspondent called Bill Henry. We were making our way to the naval base, and when we got there found it to be deserted. The great King George V floating dock had been deliberately wrecked, and was lying half sunk, with all the machinery in the workshops sabotaged and offices empty. While we were there I even went to Admiral Sir Geoffrey Layton’s office, and sat in his chair. The naval base was nothing but an empty shell, and I remember writing my report on his desk, and likening the experience to a visit I had made to Madame Tussauds when I was a little boy, and wondering why everything was so very, very quiet.
I remember on another occasion driving up north with Bob Scott of the Ministry of Information in a big government car, as Lord Wavell, who had overall command of the forces in the Far East, had flown across to Malaya from India to review the situation for himself. I had been told that there was a chance that we might be able to see him at what was called the “advanced headquarters,” which was at a place called Selangor. We drove there as quickly as we could, but when we arrived we found that the advanced headquarters had already been evacuated! Some military police there were packing up papers and filing cabinets, and as far as they knew we were already behind the Japanese lines. That is the way the war was moving, and an invisible enemy seemed to be enveloping us. My efforts were being noted though, and I was getting reports by this time from both the New York and London offices of the United Press saying that I was catching all the headlines.
Someone who I did make contact with in Malaya was the Australian General Gordon Bennett, who was the most forthcoming of all the military commanders that I had met. On every possible occasion I would get to his headquarters, which was always very well advanced up country, to get a personal briefing from him. I remember once waiting outside his hut somewhere near a place called Klang. I was sitting on a mound not far from his hut, when I suddenly became aware that ants were crawling up my legs. While I was sorting myself out some Japanese dive-bombers flew over, and on such occasions they would machine gun everything in sight.
Harold, third from right, taking notes with other correspondents from General Gordon Bennett. Author collection
The only thing to do was to make for the nearest slip trench and take cover, but as I had a stiff right leg, I was unable to move that quickly and I didn’t think I was going to make it to cover in time. As I hobbled along, though, I suddenly found my feet being lifted off the floor, as a very large military policeman named Bill Rotter picked me up from behind. He ran with me for a distance of about 200 yards, and then flung me into a slip trench and dived on top of me, then shouted in his best Australian drawl, “You silly old cow! Why don’t you go home?”
On one occasion Japanese airplanes attacked a little group of us going along a main road, and we all had to scatter. Once more I was not quick enough, and just sat in the middle of the road, making myself into as small a target as possible. While the bullets rattled either side of me on the road’s surface, I held my body in and winced. Thankfully the bullets missed me, but as they sprayed into the jungle on either side of the road a splinter was ripped from one of the trees and flew past my leg leaving a deep flesh wound. I had to go to a dressing station, and when you do that in the British Army they take your name and all your details, and I was reported as being a casualty. A day or two afterwards I had a message from New York, which said, “Trust your wound is not too serious.” I did not think too much about the wound, but was concerned to find out that the story had been reported by some of the other correspondents, and hoped that Marie would not find about it.
On another occasion I remember meeting up with a group of naval men. They were all survivors of the Prince of Wales and Repulse, and had formed themselves into a little fighting unit. They had a young commander with them by the name of Reynolds, who wore glasses and had an enormous revolver in the holster of his belt. This commando group was really on the rampage, making excursions behind enemy lines. I would have liked to spend more time with them, but felt it was prudent to make my way south where I thought the final battle would be fought.
During the course of my journey back down through the peninsula I experienced one of the most hair-raising incidents that I can remember during the seventy-one
day campaign in Malaya. I had gone as far south as Kuala Lumpur, which is the capital of the Federated Malay States, and decided to stay there for a while to write a cable, as a service was still operating there. One afternoon I went up to the Kuala Lumpur Club, which the local people, I think, used to call “The Dog.” It was up on a fairly high hill, and I was surprised that there was nobody else up there, apart from a Chinese boy behind the bar. I asked him for a gin and ginger beer, a popular drink in Malaya at that time. As I was sitting up in this club I looked out on a panoramic view of the surroundings, and could see there were three roads converging on the area. Looking around I could also see rubber piles being burned, and there seemed to be devastation all around. As I looked further into the distance, through smoke from the fires, my eyes fixed upon moving vehicles on the road. I re-focused and then could see that the vehicles were enemy tanks driving down the road!
It suddenly occurred to me that I was on my own, and did not know what to do next. I made my way down from “The Dog” and into the town, and was really taken aback as it was almost totally deserted. In an incredibly short space of time people had uprooted everything and just taken their things and gone. There was a big department store in Kuala Lumpur called Robinson’s, and the few people that remained were taking the opportunity to loot the store of anything they could carry. I watched a number of native Tamils coming out of Robinson’s with great armfuls of clothing and anything else they could lift. Telephone wires had been cut down and were trailing across the street, and it seemed that Kuala Lumpur was completely cut off and about to be captured by the Japanese.
As I walked further down the street I passed some offices that had written above them the name “Burns Phelps,” an importing and exporting company that had an office near our office in Singapore. Instinctively, I ducked into this office, and on a desk found a green telephone, which in desperation I picked up. To my amazement a voice on the other end said, “Burns Phelp. Hello?” I was speaking to their office in Singapore, on a direct line from Kuala Lumpur, in spite of having previously seen that the telephone wires had been cut.
I hardly knew what to say at first, then, just as I started to speak, I saw a tank through the window of the office. There were also British soldiers, some wearing kilts, who started firing up the road with a machine gun. A pitched battle then ensued outside the office, and suddenly I found myself chattering away to the person on the other end of the phone about everything I could see. Meanwhile, outside the window there was bedlam raging for quite a few minutes and then for a moment it all seemed to stop. I waited inside that office until it was almost dark, as I was scared and did not know who or what was outside. Eventually I decided to very carefully step outside, and all around everything seemed to be peaceful.
Suddenly there was a tremendous engine roar, and an armoured car came hurtling around the corner. I found myself being hauled aboard, and to my great relief I found that I was with an Australian film unit attached to the Australian army. A little chap introduced himself to me, named Cliff Bottomly, who was one of the official photographers attached to the Australian Imperial Force (AIF). The film unit were making a run for it away from the oncoming Japanese forces towards Singapore, which was still another two hundred miles away.
More than once we had to run the gauntlet, as there were ammunition dumps on our way being blown up; it was like being in the middle of a gigantic fire works display. Eventually we stopped to rest when it seemed to be safe, and it was obvious that the Australian film crew had also done their share of lifting things out of Robinson’s. They had bottles of champagne and many different types of household receptacles that could be used for having a drink. I sat down on somebody’s camera case, and drank champagne out of a silver sauceboat. We eventually managed to get back to Singapore safely, and I was very gratified when I learnt from Wee Kim Wee that an office boy from Burns Phelps had brought along my account of the Japanese entry into Kuala Lumpur. It seemed that Malaya was now completely overtaken by the Japanese, although the home of the redoubtable Sultan of Jahore still remained with the standard flying above it.
We were now nearing the end of January 1942, which would prove to be a fateful month for Singapore. Cliff Bottomly was now my constant companion and lived with me in Marie’s quarters, which the army had allowed me to occupy even though she had already left Singapore. I remember us sitting on the steps there in the evening of Sunday 9th February, talking about our adventures with the warden for the whole barrack block. Suddenly our conversation was broken by artillery gunfire over in the northwest, and the night air began quivering with gun flashes. Cliff Bottomly decided that we should go and investigate what was happening, so we got into the old Dodge car that I owned and dashed across to the causeway linking Singapore with Malaya.
The scene was one of utter chaos; the Japanese artillery fire was coming from across the Jahore Straits, which at that point was not much more than half a mile wide. The defending soldiers were being literally ground into the mud by the oncoming force, and it was a terrible event to witness. Everyone on that front line was doing their level best, but they were being blasted out of position by the superior Japanese air power and sheer weight in number of enemy troops.
We knew that the tremendous artillery barrage must be the prelude to a Japanese landing in Singapore, and to all intents and purposes we appeared to be in a state of siege. Nobody seemed to know exactly where the Japanese were positioned, and the artillery bombardment could have been coming from some miles into Jahore, though nobody was quite sure. On the following day Cliff Bottomly and I went and took a look from some high land that overlooked the causeway, and as I looked through my binoculars, I was amazed to see the standard was still flying over the Sultan’s Palace. I wondered whether the Japanese were there or if they had not yet arrived. We were soon to be disillusioned on this account, as it was on this morning that the British Military decided to blow up part of the causeway, which severed that last link between Singapore and the mainland. We heard later how one of the Scottish regiments, the Cameronians, was the last to march across with their pipes playing “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair.”
At this time I met up with a British Brigadier, who I think was named Bexwith-Smith, and in conversation he told me that this was his “week anniversary.” He had come with the East Anglia Regiment, which consisted of a lot of different units; they had obviously not been equipped properly before they were sent to Singapore, as they were still wearing regulation battledress. Wearing such clothes in a climate like Singapore would be enough to kill a man without the Japanese trying to do so, and I felt really sorry for them. I sat on the running board of the Brigadier’s car with him, and told him all that had happened, what I had seen and what had been going on up in Malaya. He was of course very interested, but I was most intrigued when he drew from his knapsack some jam sandwiches and started to eat them. To me this seemed to be most incongruous given the prevailing circumstances, as there were more urgent matters to attend to— a few miles to the north there was an invading Japanese army.
Having taken a look across the Jahore Straits, there was still no sign of the Japanese. Though the bombardments had increased in their intensity, it was obvious that the Japanese were also using their naval units to attack Singapore from the south. The naval bombardments took place in combination with artillery and incessant air attacks, and being in Singapore during those days was a very dangerous and uncomfortable experience. It seemed that the Japanese had been able to make a swift advance down through the Malayan peninsula, and I tried to think about how this had been possible.
The only conclusion I could come to was that there had really been nothing to stop them, even though wherever our armies had been able to contact the enemy they had put up a good fight. The Japanese force was considerably greater than ours, and had more experience fighting in such terrain. Their advance was checked more effectively by the Australians, in the Muar River area, about two thirds of the way down the peninsula. The Aust
ralians had ambushed the Japanese, and managed to hold them up for two or three days. I spoke to some of the Australians that had taken part in this, and they told me how the Japanese had eventually come through the rubber plantations on bicycles. So much for the impregnable jungle!
The surrounding areas of the city were now blazing once again as Japanese mortars threw up a solid wall of fire, while planes bombed and machine-gunned at low altitude unhampered. During a period of an hour, three separate waves of bombers blasted our positions at their leisure. I spoke to an artillery sergeant who was directing a twenty-five pounder gun that had been blasting Japanese lines incessantly since Sunday night. The sergeant, grimed black with smoke, cursed the Japanese planes and our lack of air strength. He said, “If we had something to halt their dive bombers we could hold out, but what can we do? How can we work guns when men are being mowed down whenever the Japanese like to do it?” I got second hand reports that Australians from the northern sector were without equipment, and those from the front line told me the troops there were forced to make a quick getaway, abandoning everything. The Chinese volunteers, who were also occupying the northwest sector, only carried shotguns and were armed with nothing but fervent enthusiasm to oppose the Japanese.
I returned to the city and started to write as much as I could about what proved to be my last days in Singapore. It had suddenly dawned on me that most of the other correspondents that had gathered in Singapore were now absent. The United Press in New York then sent me a telegram asking me to write a feature for one of our chief subscribers, the New York World Telegram. They wanted me to describe what it was like to spend one day in the besieged city.
I set about this task quite faithfully, and described how in the morning Cliff Bottomly and I got up in Marie’s army quarter and made ourselves a cup of tea, followed by the usual routine of going to the Press Centre in Singapore to get the daily communiqué. This as usual told us little or nothing. Then we went down to the ice and cold storage plant on the wharf in Singapore, and managed to get hold of the right end of a leg of pork. We then brought it back to Marie’s quarter, so that we could have a roast that evening. During the day I took advantage of a bit of a lull in the siege to do some washing, and boiled my dirty khaki shirts and shorts. While I hung it up on the line, one of the artillery shells came over and landed in a crater nearby and splashed all my washing with dirty mud. I even described how we went to roast the pork in the gas cooker, and that it had blown up, because the gas supply had been cut off and we had tried to light the cooker at the wrong moment.