Malayan Spymaster

by Boris Hembry

  We stayed in Bagan Siapiapi for two days. On the third evening we were taken by motorboat southwards to Benkalis, arriving there at about midnight. By this time my fever had returned and I was immediately taken off to hospital. Frank and Ronald joined a group of Malayan Volunteer Air Force officers who had been evacuated from Singapore, while the soldiers were taken to a military camp. I never saw any of them again, but 20 years later, at a drinks party in Bishopsbourne, we met the sister of the Argyll officer. He had got away from Sumatra to India and survived the war.

  I had recovered sufficiently after two days to be allowed to rejoin my friends. After a few days gathering strength and writing our report on the events of the last four weeks, we began to think about getting back to Singapore. It was now the first week of February and the latest news was that the British Army had withdrawn over the causeway, which was then blown – and with it any hope of saving Singapore. Together with the road and rail link, the island’s water supply from Johore was carried in a large mains pipe on the causeway. The enemy was now only a matter of 1,200 yards from Singapore, and could be seen strutting about the streets and jetties of Johore Bahru.

  Despite the depressing news we were determined to get back to Singapore as soon as possible in order, amongst other things, to submit our report on our operation to the intelligence officers. In retrospect our determination in this respect was the height of stupidity. Our report would be out of date, the failure of our operation quite academic, and our usefulness on the condemned island minimal. To be fair, I think that we all realised this at the time, but we felt that we had a duty to try to make the report, not only confirm the negative results of our operation, but to find out what had happened to Spencer Chapman and his party and, perhaps above all, to ensure that any future operations would be better planned and equipped.

  A Dane named W.O. Grut, a planter from the Telok Anson area and a pilot with the Malaya Volunteer Air Force, had a Tiger Moth and flew every second day to Singapore, returning the following day, usually with a government official as passenger. Grut agreed to fly each of us back to Singapore, starting with Frank. I was to be the last, to give me another few days to recover.

  We had gone over the report that Frank was to make. It was a surprisingly full one, as it was quite remarkable how much we had recorded – Japanese unit insignia, numbers of tanks and troop carriers, the morale of the civilian population, the (lack of) demolition of road and rail bridges, rolling stock, estate and tin mines – all of which might have been valuable if it had not been too late. We all agreed that ‘Operation Balls-up’ had achieved next to nothing in the five weeks that we had been on active service, except, perhaps, the rescue of seven British servicemen who would live to fight another day.

  Frank duly departed, followed by Ronald two days later, and then it was my turn.

  Before take-off Grut warned me that the Japs had greatly increased their air activity, now that Singapore was under siege. The Tiger Moth’s maximum speed was under 100 mph and the flight took about two hours. We flew at a height of 500 feet, on a beautiful tropical morning, under a cloudless blue sky. The straits and islands around Singapore looked so peaceful. Suddenly there was a whistle on the voice tube and I looked behind me to see Grut pointing at a Zero fighter diving down on us. It over-shot us, banked round in a wide circle and flew straight back towards us. I braced myself for the bullets, when it suddenly turned away and disappeared. Grut tapped me on the shoulder and raised his thumb. When we landed on Singapore Race Course he explained that the Jap had been unable to throttle back sufficiently to be able to shoot at us. I was glad to be back on the ground. Grut had a parachute. I had not.

  Having landed I had to decide where I was to report. It seemed strange not to have to take cover every time one heard a vehicle. Soldiers were everywhere. But it depressed me to see how far morale had dropped. Even that of the Lancashire lads whom we had shepherded for over a month in far more trying circumstances, and, it goes without saying, the Scots’, had been much higher. But, of course, we had not been on the receiving end of a constant barrage of bombs and shells. I hitched a lift into Singapore, having decided that I should report to Headquarters Malaya Command at Fort Canning. I walked up the hill and was directed to Army Intelligence where the very first officer to whom I spoke knew all about me, having debriefed both Frank and Ronald. After questioning he took me to see the Corps Commander Lieutenant General Sir Lewis Heath, at corps headquarters somewhere behind the Raffles Hotel. ‘Piggy’ Heath, who had a withered hand from a First World War wound, had distinguished himself in East Africa, but had been handed a hopeless task in Malaya. He was most affable, said that he had studied Frank’s report, asked a few questions, and congratulated me on a first-class effort, after which the intelligence officer put a car at my disposal with instructions to report for further orders to a Captain Morgan at the Cathay Building. He was known as ‘Careful Morgan’. His initials were F.L.

  Before seeing Morgan I ran in to Harry Foston and two other Guthrie planters in the foyer of the building. Harry had a bottle of gin on him so we had a couple of ‘sharpeners’ and swapped our stories. My first question of Morgan was as to the whereabouts of Frank and Ronald. He said that they had already been given their new task and that I had been detailed for something quite different. I was most incensed and demanded to be allowed to accompany them. Morgan pointed out that this was impossible as they were due to depart at dusk. He explained that they were to join up with Richard Broome and John Davis to try to rescue a lot of our troops who had been cut off in the Batu Pahat area and to organise their evacuation by sea to Sumatra. The whole scheme seemed pretty cock-eyed to me, but, nevertheless, I still wanted to join them. John Davis, who was to win the DSO for his exploits with Force 136, told me many years later what had happened on this operation. (See Appendix B)

  Morgan told me to get down to a wharf near the Singapore Cricket Club where I would find Frank and Ronald loading stores on to their boat, and to use his car. I soon found my friends and after boisterous greetings we repaired to the SCC pavilion for several gins. Frank said that he had asked for me to be in his party but as it was considered doubtful that the Tiger Moth service from Sumatra could be sustained for another day someone else had been selected. He said that I had an equally important task, requiring someone with war experience and a knowledge of Malay. Something about organising another escape route, and that Morgan would give me my orders. So we said our farewells. Their fate could have been mine.

  Escape (Mid-February 1942 – Mid-March 1942)

  On the way back to Morgan whom should I bump into but Reid Tweedie; we had both jumped into the same monsoon drain as shelter during an air raid. He was sharing a flat nearby with a couple of other doctors. We arranged to meet later that day. He had left Kamuning with two cases of whisky, a few clothes and a treasured Persian rug which he did not want to lose. Reid slept on this rug during the three and a half years he was in the Sime Road and Changi prisons and returned with it to Kamuning in March 1946. He sold the rug to me for $50. It is under my feet as I write.

  Morgan told me to take the rest of the day off and to report back early the next day. I decided to go down to Raffles Place to see whom I could find at Guthrie’s. The office had been hit, it is said, by the very first bomb to have dropped on Singapore. They were now in temporary premises in one of the banks’ buildings. There I found Bertie Essen, an old friend from Penang, who told me how he had been able to book a passage for Jean and John on the Kramer, bound for Tanjong Priok, the port for Batavia, with the intention of travelling on to Australia. This was good news and the relief was tremendous, and called for a celebratory gin or two. We were interrupted by another air raid and took shelter in the bank’s strong room, surrounded by stacks of dollar notes and security boxes. I wondered what would happen to the boxes’ contents.

  Bertie told me that all upcountry bank accounts had been transferred to Singapore, so I was able to arrange for all our money to be transferred to th
e Bank of New South Wales in Perth, Western Australia, as I was sure that Jean would try to reach there. Bertie also told me that as the estates fell into enemy hands all staff, European and Asian, had been automatically dismissed by Guthrie’s. Thus my salary had stopped in the middle of January.

  On my way to the bank I met another old friend, Len Ogier, who told me that he had seen John and Jean board the Kramer, and that she had given him our brand new Austin in which she had driven down from Kamuning. I went back to the Patterson & Symon’s chummery, where he was staying, to collect it. Len also told me that Charles Martine was staying in the Borneo Company mess. I immediately drove there, ignoring the air raid as it appeared to be concentrated somewhere up Bukit Timah Road, and found Charles and several others of my acquaintance. It was agreed that I should join them for the duration, although it was obvious that this would not be long. Food was in short supply, but whisky was not, so the mess boys were kept busy supplying us with stengahs until the early hours.

  The following morning, I reported again to Morgan. The battle for Singapore had begun. The Japanese had crossed over the strait from Johore and the city was now under continual bombardment from their guns. At night the sky was ablaze with exploding shells and the fires from burning buildings. The sound of machine-gun fire was constant. Now and again we heard the thunderous explosions from naval guns. The oil storage tanks were blazing and covering everywhere with oily soot. Despite everything, there was no sign of panic, even though in our hearts we knew that the end was near.

  At my meeting with Morgan and another SOE officer, Basil Goodfellow, I was ordered to take a lorry out to the army central stores depot near the Ford factory on Bukit Timah Road and load it with tinned food, water cans and a quantity of plastic explosive (what this last was for I never found out), and then to drive it to the harbour opposite the Padang, where I would find a Sergeant Lamb on board a small coastal steamer. The stores were to be put on board and Morgan, Goodfellow and two naval reserve officers would join us and we were to set sail the next day for Sumatra. The plan was to plot and provision an escape route along the islands between Singapore and Sumatra.

  I collected the lorry and drove out to the depot where, to my surprise, I found Walter Northcote-Green and another friend from Ipoh, Bunny Byers, secretary to the Perak Racing Association. The lorry was quickly loaded up, although the water cans were empty, the mains to that area of the island having been blown up. Walter was very interested in what I was doing. I hesitated before telling him, because it was meant to be secret, but decided that there was no point in my establishing an escape route if was so secret that no one would benefit. To anyone with a modicum of intelligence it was obvious that Singapore would fall in a matter of days and it was the duty of everyone to escape if at all possible. While chatting over a beer I noticed several Bren guns stacked in a corner. Walter let me take one and, together with several full magazines, I carried it all the way to Colombo. I said my farewell to Walter with a heavy heart, uncertain that I would ever see my old friend again.

  I drove back to the Borneo Company mess and, finding the water there still flowing, filled all the water cans. I then parked the lorry under the verandah and joined Charles and the others for the first stengah of the evening. We had a very cheery evening, in spite of the air raids and the shelling. Although several shells landed in the compound, none hit the house. It was not until morning, when I saw the shell holes in the garden and the direct hit on a nearby house, that I remembered the high explosives in the lorry parked immediately below where we had been enjoying ourselves.

  I told Charles what I was doing and did my best to persuade him to accompany me, but without success. There was no military reason for him to be in Singapore. Sarawak had been evacuated whilst Charles had been in Singapore on Borneo Company business and to collect his elder daughter Virginia from her school in Cameron Highlands. His wife Pat had trekked through the jungle from Kuching to Pontianak, on the south-west coast of Borneo, with their younger daughter Patty, aged three: an epic journey of courage and endurance. They had flown by seaplane to Batavia, to where Charles, unable to return to Sarawak, had managed to fly with Virginia. Satisfied that his family would get off to Australia he had then flown back to Singapore, driven by, in my view, a mistaken sense of duty, only to be ‘put in the bag’ with so many other of my friends.

  Immediately after breakfast and farewells I drove down to the harbour in the lorry, followed by Charles’ syce driving my Austin. I made contact with Sergeant Lamb who, it transpired, was the brother of a planter I had known in Kedah.

  Lamb and I spent several hours transferring the stores from lorry to sampan to ship, which was anchored about 50 yards from the jetty. At about noon the air raid warning sirens sounded and we saw at least 50 enemy bombers immediately overhead. We took cover behind a wall and watched as they showered the harbour and anchorage with bombs, hitting many ships and lighters, setting fire and sinking most. Our little ship was totally unscathed.

  Having loaded the stores I went off in my car to report to Morgan, who told me that he, Basil Goodfellow and the RMNR officers would be boarding later that afternoon. I was irritated to be instructed, rather than asked, to take both his and Goodfellow’s personal kit back to the harbour, particularly as both had a lot more than me, including their two Dunlopillo mattresses, which I had to strap on to the roof. I saw no reason why I should be expected to provide a private taxi service, even as part of the war effort. I called in to the Singapore Cold Storage and bought some more tinned stores, I thought, in my naivety, for my own personal use. In the event they were shared with those who had had less foresight.

  When I got back to the ship Lamb and I made ourselves tiffin, after which we assumed our duties as stokers and built up a head of steam. We were then joined by the naval officers, looking very pukka in their newly dhobied uniforms, in marked contrast to us. Then, with Lamb’s help, and with great reluctance, I pushed my car off the jetty into deep water. Many of my friends, far brighter than I, obtained chits signed by officers stating that their cars had been commandeered by the military, and so in due course were compensated. I foolishly neglected to do this, so received no compensation. I could even have signed a chit myself.

  It was now 13 February. Towards evening Morgan and Goodfellow came aboard and we weighed anchor and set a course for the first of the islands. Blakang Mati and Pulau Bukum were ablaze from burning oil tanks, whether bombed by the enemy or blown up by ourselves, I am unsure. The whole ship was quickly covered with oily soot, which penetrated even down to the engine room. Lamb and I took turns to stoke the boiler. I was also the ship’s gunner, as I had the Bren gun and defied anyone even to touch it. In addition to the Europeans on board we had two Chinese; one to act as pilot and the other to help in the engine room. The old ship must have been all of 40 years old, with a wooden hull lined with tin plate. The lavatory consisted of two short planks jutting out aft from the ship, over the propeller, and with a handrail. One held on to this and squatted, and should there be a slight swell running the result was a most efficient bidet.

  When on deck I could see that we were only one of many ships and boats of all shapes and sizes heading away from Singapore. Avoiding other vessels became so difficult in the darkness that we came in close to an island and dropped anchor for the night. Looking back we could see the fires raging on Singapore. We got under way again as soon as it was sufficiently light to see and reached an island which was deemed suitable for the first dump. Lamb and I went ashore and I made contact with the headman who agreed to find a hiding place for the stores, to provide some villagers to help with the portering, and to offer assistance to future escapees. We then returned to the ship, loaded a sampan, rowed back to the beach, unloaded and carried the food and water into the nearby jungle, doing our best to hide the dump from immediate view. Then back to the ship and down into the engine room to raise a head of steam for the next move.

  We repeated this operation on five or six islands in th
e archipelago between Singapore and Sumatra, anchoring each night near land. In all this we received no help at all from Goodfellow or Morgan, which made me very angry and I said as much, in spite of being junior in rank, suggesting they lend a hand. But with no success. They always appeared to be deep in conference with the naval officers, or helping themselves to the tinned stores I had bought for myself in Singapore.

  The Japs continued to bomb and machine gun the escaping ships and many were sunk with terrible loss of life. The atrocities perpetrated on those unfortunate to have been on the Kuala and the Vyner Brooke, for instance, are sickening to read about even 45 years after the events. I have never been able to understand how the Japanese, by and large, have escaped the equally much-deserved opprobrium of the Germans. Perhaps it is ill-placed guilt for dropping the atom bombs. My own considered opinion is that it is a pity that only two were dropped on Japan.

  We attracted the attention of Jap bombers during our voyage, and had several narrow escapes from near misses. The sound of bombs exploding in the water was particularly frightening in the engine room. It was like a gigantic hammer blow against the ship’s hull. We stopped on numerous occasions to pick up survivors from less fortunate ships, whilst continuing with our job of dropping off stores on the various islands. We reached Djambi, on the east coast of Sumatra, on 17 February, to learn that Singapore had surrendered unconditionally at 1500 hours, on Sunday the 15th.