by Boris Hembry
Towards the end of May 1945, after his rescue and while we were chewing the fat at my ISLD training camp just outside Trincomalee, Ceylon, Freddy gave me the full explanation for his non-arrival at our rendezvous at Tanjong Malim. (See Appendix A)
On about 10 January we began our attempt to catch up with the British Army. We still thought that we could get back to our lines in a week or so. We each took sufficient tinned food, milk and dates from our stockpile to last for about seven days and set off up the track that we had been told by the Chinese would eventually lead to Fraser’s Hill, intending to turn off after five miles or so and then, with the aid of our compass, to head in a southerly direction for Kuala Kubu Bahru.
We set off, full of optimism, with me in the lead, about 20 yards ahead. Very soon it began to rain, a real solid Malayan tropical downpour. But, unusually, it did not ease off after an hour or so. After three hours we turned off in what we hoped was the right direction. The going steadily deteriorated and movement became very difficult and progress slow. The incessant rain made the track very slippery. I still recall the utter misery and discomfort of that afternoon and evening. We waded across two rivers, more than waist deep, and, to make matters even worse for me, I was wearing slacks and there was no sun to help dry them out.
In the evening we started to climb again. We had now left the path and were in deep jungle. Soon we got into nipa palm where the thorns tore strips of flesh out of us. What with this and the leeches we were soon soaked in blood. It was impossible to progress for more than a yard or so without having to slash a path with the parang. And all the time it rained. In the 11 years that I had hitherto spent out East I had never known it rain so hard so incessantly.
The Tommy guns soon proved to be quite unsuitable for the jungle as they had far too many projections which caught in every branch and root and had to be constantly disentangled, which slowed us down even more. So we chucked them and our ammunition away as unnecessary encumbrances, realising that if ever we had to use them in defence the game would be up, and there was little chance that we would wish to go on the offensive as our aim was to get back to our lines unscathed, to live to fight another day.
The ascent was at times almost perpendicular and our progress at snail’s pace. Our hands were ripped by clutching at the vicious palms for support. Visibility was almost nil and, despite every effort to maintain a southerly direction, sheer fatigue often made us take the easiest path which, sometimes, was northwards. The leeches fastened on to us in their dozens. The best way to get rid of them was to apply a cigarette end to its body when it will let go and fall off. But it was far too wet to be able to light a cigarette so we simply had to pull them off, which usually meant that the head was left still gripping and sucking away on one’s flesh. They penetrated everywhere, including my balls and the crack of my bum. I developed a suppurating ulcer, some two inches long, on my backside, which was not cleared up until I reached civilisation again and it could be treated with sulphonamide. It was excruciatingly painful. When one is exhausted and run down the likelihood of leech bites becoming septic is even greater.
Towards dark the rain eased and then ceased altogether. But if anything the going got harder. Eventually we had to stop through total exhaustion. We cut a small square area out of the thorn bushes and laid out our soaked groundsheets to sleep on. Our search for dry wood was fruitless, but after about two hours of fanning and blowing on the few twigs we were able to collect we managed to get a fire going and boiled some tea in our mess tin lids. We then lay down to sleep. A forlorn hope. To the leeches were added the attentions of very hungry mosquitoes. At dawn, even though we were far from rested, very cold, wet and utterly miserable, and far too despondent even to attempt another brew up, we resumed our hacking through the jungle in the hope of getting past the palm thorns and into some clearing where the sun, which we could see palely shining through the fronds above us, could penetrate sufficiently to dry us off.
After wandering up hill and down dale for several hours in approximately the right direction according to the compass, the thorn forest began to thin out, the going got easier, and eventually we came out into a rubber estate. Here I had a nasty shock for, leading the column as usual, I spotted a man in uniform, only about 50 yards away, but too far to see what nationality. Taking no chances we beat a hurried retreat back into the undergrowth, hoping that we had not been seen. After a little while Frank set off to recce the area. He returned to report that no one was in sight.
We decided to go back deeper into the jungle and to work our way round the rubber estate as there could well be Japs there. We crossed a fairly deep stream, which again meant a soaking, and were soon covered with even more leeches. The irritation was almost unbearable. We were in the jungle for about two hours before coming out on a cleared hilltop, covered in tall lalang grass and planted somewhat sporadically with fruit trees. Frank sent me ahead to recce – and I received another shock when I suddenly stumbled across a group of British soldiers lounging around an atap hut. I hastily withdrew into the undergrowth, called up the others and finally, having first assured ourselves that there were no Japs in the immediate vicinity, with extreme caution made our presence known.
There were 20 of them, including two sergeants, Lancashire gunners who had been cut off from their unit by Japanese tanks during the Slim River battle, and had escaped into the jungle. They had been five days without food or compass, without any idea where they were going, without hope, and very frightened – of the endless impenetrable jungle, the Japanese, the natives whose language they could not understand and who might betray them, and the poisonous snakes and other dangerous beasts that they imagined were everywhere. We handed over all the rations that we had so painfully carried with us. So now, on top of all our other problems, we really were without any food at all. We stayed on the hill for the rest of the day, drying out in the sun and looking at Tanjong Malim in the distance. We were now very hungry as our total food intake for the whole day had been six dates.
The senior sergeant asked us to take charge and lead them, as they were quite incapable of looking after themselves. We were reluctant to have them with us, as a larger party would certainly hinder our progress, but as we could not leave them to fend for themselves, we agreed. But we made it quite clear that, as British officers, we expected our orders to be obeyed instantly.
We spent the night around the hut in the orchard, very cold from the night air and soaked through again from the heavy dew. To make matters worse for me, my chosen resting place was close to a gunner who had acute diarrhoea or, more probably, dysentery. I dared not move in the dark in case I encountered the contents of his bowels, so put up with the disgusting noise and stench until I could move away in the morning.
After breakfast of tea and one biscuit each, Frank, Ronald and I discussed what we would do next. We could see Tanjong Malim quite clearly, so it was obvious that, after two days’ march we had not made more than a couple of miles. It did not take a mathematician to work out how long it would take us to hack through the jungle to catch up with the British Army which we assumed would try to make a stand at Seremban, some 80 miles to the south. We therefore decided to go through no more jungle if we could possibly help it, to make for the railway line and simply to march down it at night, making for Rawang, a few miles north of KL. At Rawang we could decide whether to continue southwards or to head west for the coast.
The broad Lancashire accents of the gunners caused us much amusement. Every second word was ‘fook’. Their favourite expression was ‘by the fook’, and they used it so much that before long we were using it too. The young men now in our care were pretty poor specimens of soldiery. Entirely unsophisticated, poorly educated, and totally ill-prepared for fighting the Jap. Many had never known a pay packet before being called up, victims of the Depression. Nevertheless, they were typical of the material that, when trained and battle-hardened, beat the Hun at El Alamein and in Normandy, and the Jap at Imphal and in Burma.
While the troops again rested we three discussed the next move, and it was decided that I would go forward with Ah Lam to the nearby village, where we knew from our Tamil coolie that Japanese troops were billeted, endeavour to contact a friendly Chinese and get him to lead us safely past any danger spots, to the railway. We set off and had not gone very far when two men sprang out at us from the shadows. Thinking they were Japs I fled, leaving Ah Lam rooted to the spot. But not hearing any shouts or shooting I stopped and slid into a ditch and, in the darkness, watched the three of them in deep conversation. After a few minutes a lamp was lit and Ah Lam called out to me to come out of hiding. I was still not entirely convinced that the men were not Japanese so approached somewhat warily, holding at the ready a stout stick that I had picked up. The two were Chinese coolies, who agreed to fetch a friend from the village who would, they were sure, act as a guide.
They said we were in great danger as the village was full of Japs, and convoys were constantly on the main road across which we were going to have to dash to reach the railway line. I arranged that I would bring up our party whilst they went off for the guide. Again, unaccountably, and in spite of their obvious lack of money, I did not fear that we would be betrayed. I made my way back to the main party, and led them forward to where Ah Lam was waiting with the coolies and another Chinese whom I took to be the guide. They had brought three packets of biscuits and two tins of condensed milk which were handed over to us. They refused payment for the food, or reward, but we insisted and pressed a few dollars into their hands.
Then the 24 of us, each holding on to a stick held by the man in front, stumbled along through the outskirts of the village that we could see was full of Japs – as we had no aircraft the enemy quite obviously saw no need to observe a blackout – myself in the lead, quite certain that any moment we would be challenged and fired at. The gunners following seemed to make a terrific noise in their army boots.
Food in a starved stomach is replaced by wind. The pain from the build up of gas can only be relieved by farting. This from a score or so of men, added to the sound of hobnailed boots, and much muttering of ‘by the fook’, had to be heard to be believed. I was glad that I was in the lead. Luckily the Japs in the village were either rear-echelon troops or had been withdrawn from the front line for rest and, in the euphoria of victory, were in no mood to take elementary guard-keeping precautions.
The guide, sensibly, had chosen to cross the road in the middle of a bend, so in the dark we could spot the oncoming headlights from either direction. After several interruptions from the constant traffic, we got the troops across in groups of four or five, Frank despatching them at one side of the road, I receiving them at the other, hastening them away to lie down amongst the rubber trees. From time to time we could see unescorted staff cars going by, in both directions, containing senior officers, which were very tempting targets for the six hand grenades we carried between us. But this would have been suicidal so we decided against it.
Our guide took us to the railway, about 50 yards through the rubber and departed, wishing us well.
We decided that it would be unwise for the whole party to be together so we split up into groups, each in charge of one of the three of us and the two sergeants, and set off down the line at five minute intervals. The recognition signal was to be the first few bars of Lupino Lane’s ‘Lambeth Walk’, whistled. Incidentally, I was to use this for the rest of the war, with V Force in Burma, and ISLD in Sumatra and Malaya.
Kalumpang, the first station south of Tanjong Malim, was reported by our guide to have Japs billeted there, so I decided to make a detour through the rubber, to the west. Unfortunately, when we had reached the point where we could see the station lights we had to cross a river that ran parallel to the line to get into the rubber. We got the gunners across safely, and I took off my trousers and hung them around my neck. I could not help wondering how I would feel if I were caught on the other side with my trousers down. But at least they remained dry. On the following day I somewhat stupidly gave them up to a gunner, after which I wore my shorts. We split off into our smaller parties again.
The night was now pitch black, with visibility no more than a yard. I was in the lead as usual. After creeping through the rubber for about 20 minutes we suddenly found ourselves in a mangrove swamp. Instead of firm ground we were in mud up to our ankles and getting deeper with each step, and the tree roots, instead of being below ground were now knee high, so the deeper we sank into the mud, the higher we had to climb over them.
The next three hours were quite the worst that I have ever experienced. The thorn jungle was bad enough, but at least in that one could sit down to rest. Here one would very quickly be over one’s knees in the vile smelling mud. Added to which we were clearly lost. The muttered curses and the ‘by the fooks’ could have been heard a mile away. I lit a match and from the compass realised that we were going in quite the wrong direction. I thought that we must have bypassed Kalumpang by then so decided to head east to pick up the railway again. Eventually the going got easier and we came out into secondary jungle and shortly afterwards hit the railway line.
I cannot describe the utter slough of despond which surrounds and encapsulates a mangrove swamp. The sheer exhaustion that is quickly reached is aggravated by the appalling stench, the leeches, the myriads of mosquitoes, the impalings by the roots – usually at lower midriff level – the heat, and the fear of crocodiles and snakes which abound in these swamps.
Unfortunately we found that we had not bypassed the station, having re-emerged on to the line only a hundred yards or so from where we had left it. But I was so fed up by this time that I decided to follow the line straight through the station, and trust to luck, wondering how the other parties had fared and hoping for their sakes that they had avoided the mangrove swamp.
Just before reaching the station we came across a group of men, huddled together on the embankment. The constant murmurs of ‘by the fook’ identified them – more easily than the ‘Lambeth Walk’ – as a party led by one of the sergeants. They had simply walked straight down the railway line, seen no enemy at the station and passed through. After waiting for a couple of hours they had decided that they would return to where they had started in the hope of meeting up again with the rest of us. I decided that I would follow their example and led the enlarged party back down the line, through the station. After only a few minutes I heard our recognition signal being whistled and Frank and Ronald and their groups emerged from the trackside undergrowth. I was the only one to have encountered the swamp – much to Frank’s amusement, my chagrin, and my little group’s annoyance. They most certainly did not appreciate my local knowledge!
No one had seen any sign of the Japs or railway staff, but we did see the sidin
gs full of trucks, all of which should have been destroyed or immobilised. We decided that our few grenades would not be sufficient for the job so, again, discretion being the better part of valour, we passed on by down the main track.
A mile or two further on the railway and main road ran within only a few yards of each other, for a distance of some two miles. We were about halfway along this section when we heard the sound of approaching vehicles and the whole countryside was lit up. We just had time to throw ourselves into the ditch which ran between the railway and the road, and for Frank to shout for everyone to keep their head down and their face towards the ground – confident that he would not have been heard by the enemy above their engine noise. A long convoy of trucks, armoured cars and tanks passed, heading south. I could not resist raising my head from time to time to make mental notes of its strength and composition. I was astonished at the quantity of our own vehicles, which had obviously been abandoned, as well as the number of enemy tanks. I counted at least 350 trucks, staff cars, tanks and armoured cars and concluded that I was seeing at least a brigade on the move.
It seemed quite uncanny to be lying within only a few feet of so many of the enemy. My only real fear was that the convoy might come to a halt for some reason and the troops debus. Nothing could have saved us from detection, and we would most probably have been shot on sight as they would not have had the time or the inclination to take and interrogate prisoners of war. But our luck was in, the vehicles disappeared into the distance, and silence returned.
As we set off down the track again it began to rain. I, as usual, was in the lead. We had not gone far when I spotted some men approaching from the south. Again we tumbled into the track side ditch expecting to be fired at by Japs alerted by the sound of slithering and splashing. But all we heard was ‘by the fook’ and soon recognised the missing group led by the second sergeant. They had pressed on southwards until spying two Jap sentries at a level crossing gate a mile or so ahead. We all felt that we had had enough of cross-country marches in the dark and so decided to continue down the line keeping an eye open for these Japs which, if seen, we would overpower – in retrospect a naive hope because, of course, they were armed and would probably have had reinforcements nearby.
