Malayan Spymaster

by Boris Hembry

  We owed our lives to the intensive fitness training we had undergone, to Bob De Vries, whom none would have blamed if he had left us to our fate, who disregarded Admiralty regulations by bringing his boat closer inshore than the 10-fathom mark (the depth a submarine must have to submerge), and to Jap impetuosity.

  The submarine gathered speed and headed out into deep waters, diesel engines roaring.

  After a meal we had a brief discussion about the events of the evening and then all collapsed into the empty bunks and slept soundly for a solid six hours. I suggested that, in view of the obvious continuing animosity of the Atjehnese towards the Dutch, we should all say that we were British. I knew from my days on Gajah Muntah 12 years previously that the locals held the British in high regard. But the Dutch would have none of it.

  The next day we cruised along the coast at periscope depth looking for likely landing places, all the time keeping a look out for enemy aircraft. Our story of using seaplanes might have fooled the natives but would not fool the Japanese. Their air patrols would certainly have spotted any Allied vessel getting close enough to Sumatra to launch and retrieve a seaplane. We eventually identified a beach that looked suitable and a nearby village, and that evening launched another two rubber dinghies, and paddled ashore. This time, though, Scheepens very sensibly decided that, once we had landed, one of the Dutchmen would rope the dinghies together and paddle out to sea and remain a few hundred yards off shore until given the signal to return to pick us up.

  The village was smaller than that of the previous evening. When we were satisfied that it was free of Japanese we entered and found the village headman and villagers extremely friendly – but then so were those the previous night. We told them that no one was to leave the village under fear of death, and this time the interrogations were carried out by Scheepens and Laurie whilst the rest of us patrolled the village and surrounding areas. At about 11 we heard the sound of a motor vehicle. The headman got very agitated and said it was the Jap patrol that had arrived during the day to warn that Dutch troops were likely to visit them, in which case the villagers had to tell them, the Japanese, immediately. It seemed that the Japs were going to all the villages along that stretch of coast, following the previous night’s episode, warning about the retribution the villagers could expect if the presence of these Dutchmen was not reported at once.

  We beat a hasty retreat, but not before telling the headman of the dire consequences that would befall his village if anyone should betray us. I do not suppose it would have taken him long to realise that we could only be bluffing whereas the Japs were most certainly not. We had landed about a mile from the village and had kept to the plantations instead of the beach, so the going was slower and more tiring. All the time the sound of the lorry was getting closer and we could see the lights through the palm trees, mercifully going in the opposite direction to ourselves. By this time Laurie was beginning to feel his age and was some 20 yards behind. Leaving the others to go ahead I waited until he caught up. He was staggering and groaning and gasped that he had ‘had it’. I said, ‘Balls! Give me your Sten,’ slung it over my shoulder, and dragged him along. The others were now out of sight, so I decided that we would make much quicker progress by taking to the beach. I soon spotted them ahead clambering into the dinghies, Scheepens calling for us to hurry. I got very angry and said, ‘You might have waited, you bastards!’ Laurie by this time was almost out on his feet and I had difficulty in holding him up let alone dragging him to the boats some 10 yards out. To make things easier for me I unslung my Sten and flung it into the nearest dinghy. Unfortunately it missed, and disappeared under the waves. I was past caring. Scheepens waded over and helped lift Laurie into the dinghy and we were soon on board the submarine again.

  We had gathered much useful information from our second sortie about where the larger Japanese forces were concentrated throughout western Atjeh, how many vehicles were to be seen along the roads, the presence of armoured equipment and, as important, we were able to make sketches from the descriptions supplied to us of Japanese unit insignia. We then made our plans for the third and final sortie. Going through all the notes that Laurie and Scheepens had compiled we were able to decide what needed explanation or further enquiries or confirmation.

  Again, as soon as it was light the next day we reconnoitred more beaches at periscope depth and chose one with a substantial village nearby. I thought that it might be large enough to hold a permanent Jap garrison and therefore to be avoided, but as we saw no signs of their presence it was decided that this was to be where we would abduct the Atjehnese: the larger the village the greater the choice. It was also decided that Laurie would not take part in this third landing. The landing and meeting with village headman and villagers went according to plan. We lay up outside the village to observe the situation and, judging the coast to be clear, went straight to the coffee shop and ordered drinks. We were told that the Jap patrol visited twice a day, as regularly as clockwork, at 10 in the morning and five in the evening. But, just in case, I was posted as lookout at the southern entrance and two Dutch guarded the northern. I spent much of the time chatting to a young girl and her younger brother. Apart from more useful information they told me that their older brother had been taken away by the Japanese the previous day for questioning as someone in the village had told them that he could speak another language that was not Dutch. The Kempeitai (Japanese secret police) thought that it could be English and that the unfortunate youth might therefore have something to do with the foreign spies who were in the area. It was English, but after a beating, they let him go.

  After talking for about an hour, during which Scheepens had decided which men he would take back with us, I was whistled in from my outpost. The men appeared just what we were looking for but both were extremely reluctant to accompany us. However, the muzzle of a Sten pressed hard in the back was sufficiently persuasive. In any case we would have made a show of kidnapping them, to protect their families, even if they had been keen to go with us.

  We called in the dinghies, climbed aboard, made the prisoners paddle to keep them out of mischief and got back to the O24 without further incidence. The Atjehnese quickly settled down to the strange life on board a submarine, and soon became willing collaborators and imparted much more useful information. After further questioning by intelligence officers when we got back to Colombo, they were given new identities (quite why this was necessary I cannot imagine), and were settled in a village near the Korps Insulinde camp. I saw them again a year later; they were barely recognisable. Very fat, complacent, and living with Sinhalese women at His Britannic Majesty’s expense.

  As soon as we were safely back on board and the dinghies deflated and stowed away, De Vries headed northwards in the hope of finding enemy shipping in the vicinity of Kotaraja, Sabang Island and the north end of the Strait of Malacca. I was pleased that the search yielded nothing worth expending torpedoes on, so after four days patrolling we headed for home. Once past the Nicobars we stayed on the surface and I enjoyed again the peace and quietness and coolness of the utterly beautiful tropical nights. We reverted to normal surface routine and everyone’s spirits brightened progressively the nearer we got to Colombo.

  Before being allowed into harbour the submarine had to be degaussed. The hour or two spent on this most essential operation was most irritating to those of us whose only idea was to get ashore, bathe, change and enjoy dinner at the Galle Face Hotel, if possible with female company. Scheepens always appeared with an endless supply of Service girls. I danced the night away on several occasions with Maria Goldman, the wife of my FMSVF colonel at the time of the Embodiment at Port Dickson, back in December 1941. A FANY (a member of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, the Princess Royal’s Volunteer Corps), she was now secretary to Lt Colonel Christopher Hudson, who commanded the combined Anglo-Dutch Force 136-Korps Insulinde wing of SOE, and told me it that it was not a happy partnership. I could understand why.

  After a few days recove
ring from our recent exertions and debriefings by several intelligence officers, Laurie and I departed by rail for Calcutta. Lt Cmdr De Vries was awarded a very well-deserved DSO, Scheepens and the other Dutch officers received Dutch awards. Laurie and I were given a bottle of Bols gin to consume on the rail journey.

  We were glad to get back to Calcutta and our comfortable flat, but had to produce more reports and to undergo yet more debriefings. I was amazed at the number of military intelligence officers who seemed to have little else to do except to compile reports. All this took a week, towards the end of which we were told that Colonel Leo Steveni, the ISLD Director, and a lieutenant colonel whose name I forget, were due in from Delhi to meet us. The meeting duly took place in Heath’s office – the same office from which we had previously been banned for security reasons – when the formation of the Malayan Country Section, ISLD was confirmed. Much to Laurie’s disappointment we were told that the head of Section would be an ex-Malayan police officer, whom I shall call Smith for convenience, with Laurie as his second-in-command. The unnamed lieutenant colonel and the ex-Malayan shared the same homosexual proclivities. It was neither the first nor the last time that I saw membership of the queers’ fraternity assist the second-rate up the promotion ladder. Incidentally, Heath, who was Laurie’s junior in Nestlé, very obviously derived great pleasure from having their positions reversed.

  I was to be the number three in the organisation and general dogsbody. Again, I made it clear that I expected to have a say in the organisation of the Section, its staffing, training and planning, as I had more operational experience than the three others put together, in spite of being the most junior in rank. My life, and that of any agents that I commanded, must not be placed at risk by amateurs; by this time, rightly or wrongly, I was beginning to think of myself as reasonably professional. This attitude of mine did not go down well with my seniors, although the Director did somewhat half-heartedly agree with me and suggested to the others that my views should be sought.

  But I did wonder why the SIS would wish to get involved with such an organisation as ISLD, other than simple empire building. I was meeting Force 136 people on almost a daily basis and it occurred to me that there was little that ISLD could do that Force 136 could not or did not. ISLD’s remit was to be solely involved in gathering intelligence. Although Force 136’s was to cause general mayhem and to prepare guerrillas to assist our eventual invasion and recapture of Malaya and the other countries in which they operated, in so doing they could not help but gather much useful intelligence, so in my view there was unnecessary duplication. But mine not to reason why …

  My first job was to recruit European officers, not only for active service in Malaya, but also for training, briefing and debriefing, and as conducting officers. The Asian agents were to be recruited from Chungking, Madras Province and other southern Indian states. By devious means many Chinese Malayans had found their way to Chungking and several score proved willing to return to Malaya. These were invariably supporters of Chiang Kai-Shek, as the Communists had taken to the jungle. Of all the men recruited for service in Malaya there was only one who gave us trouble. I tried my best to have him shot, but the powers-that-be would only sanction imprisonment for the duration.

  The recruiting of the European element was easy – here the ‘old boy net’ worked to our advantage. Most of the ex-Malayans arriving in Calcutta had passed through Maurice Yates’s hands so we could trace those who were not already in Force 136 and take our pick. My job was then to find suitable training areas, far from the madding crowd, and with separate accommodation for each party. They had to be kept apart for security reasons. Here once more Maurice was useful. Through him I met a partner of McLeods, the large Calcutta trading house that also owned several tea estates in the Dooars. Most of the younger European tea planters had joined the Forces, leaving many bungalows empty. Smith and I went on a tour of inspection and judged them to be ideal for our purposes. There were sufficient available to permit the training of four parties, and accommodation and office space for the instructors.

  Training consisted of lectures on security, how to set up meetings with other agents, how to recruit agents, so-called invisible writing, communications, briefings as to the kind of information we were looking for, the establishment of safe houses, recognition signals, making contact with known sympathisers, even how to resist torture from the Kempeitai in the event of capture – a forlorn hope, so I immediately deleted it from the curriculum as a waste of time.

  Poison capsules were issued to all our agents and conducting officers, but I am unaware of anyone actually taking them on an operation. I flushed mine down the lavatory.

  Potential agents were soon forthcoming. The first batch consisted of two Tamils and three Siamese. I messed with the Siamese, two of whom were members of the Royal Family and all three were charming and sophisticated men with English public school and university education. The Indians were of the babu (clerks) class, so there was no doubt why I chose to live with the Siamese. This was a mistake, only rectified when I took the Indians to Ceylon for their training in sea craft. Left alone at night they caused trouble with the females on the tea garden. I did not blame them, but it led to numerous complaints from the managers, not to mention the estate menfolk. As they were not members of the armed forces I could not confine them to barracks. There was little I could do but to ask them to be discreet. One of them also developed an excessive liking for the demon drink. I began to wonder just how successful the proposed operation was likely to be, especially as, contrary to my stipulation, I had no part in its planning. That had been done by Heath, Smith and Laurie Brittain whilst I had been involved upcountry. I had further misgivings when I learned that I was to be the conducting officer, to get them to a beach on Penang Island and to endeavour to retrieve them from a Chinese junk near Langkawi Island, off the coast of Kedah, four weeks later. I voiced my opinion that these two men were not suitable, but was overruled.

  In due course I handed over the running of the training school to my second-in-command and returned to Calcutta with the Siamese and my Tamils. The Siamese went off with their own Siam Country Section officers, leaving me to concentrate on my troublesome pair. They were in lodgings not far from our flat and, together with an expert in matters Japanese, we met every day in our garden to continue the training. This was mainly how to recognise Jap military badges and insignia, and documentation. One of their briefs was to return with Japanese-issued identity documents and movement passes. I thought the whole operation far too ambitious, considering our lack of experience in mounting such an operation and the poor quality of our agents. Whilst one had been to Malaya, the other had not and, as I knew from personal experience with the Madras Regiment, their Tamil bore little relationship to that language as spoken in Malaya. Again, my objections were overruled.

  Late in November 1943 the three of us flew down to Colombo in a Dakota, the first of many such flights I was to make over the next 18 months. ISLD had sent someone to Ceylon to look for a suitable training area and he had found an ideal place – an island with a lighthouse, about halfway between Colombo and Galle, uninhabited but for the two lighthouse keepers. No women and no alcohol – except my own closely guarded supply of whisky. The ferryman was employed continuously for the first two days shifting stores, rubber dinghies, equipment, food and a hundred and one other things that we needed to set up a base. We lived in the lighthouse storeroom. I arranged a daily delivery from the mainland of fresh vegetables, fish and fruit, and a newspaper.

  We spent a very happy and strenuous two weeks on our island. The training was almost entirely physical: swimming, cliff climbing, round-island runs, dinghy paddling and night beach landings. My aim was to make the agents so tired that their only thought would be to ‘bash the charpoy’. I also had the dinghies deflated every night and kept the pump by my side – I was taking no chances.

  One morning, when we were going for the first of our daily swims, we noticed a large black
heap on the beach on the mainland just opposite us. On closer inspection I saw it was a dead whale. It was very badly gashed so I surmised that it had probably been struck by a ship’s propeller or wounded by a depth charge. By midday the smell was bad enough; after two days it was indescribably awful, so much so that I began to think that we should find another camp. The stench permeated everywhere – our food, our clothes, and even my whisky. But after four days the kites and gulls had cleared the flesh and all that remained was the skeleton, and by the time we left the tide had washed away everything.

  Then one morning an officer from ISLD Headquarters in Calcutta arrived with our orders. We were to return to Colombo and embark on the T-class submarine HMS Tactician, under the command of Lt Cmdr Anthony Collett DSC, RN. The old submarine depot ship Plancius had been replaced by the Adamant, recently arrived from the Mediterranean. With it had come a squadron of T boats, commanded by men who had distinguished themselves in the North Atlantic and the Med, of which Tony Collett was one. The Captain S was Captain H. Ionides RN, a massive man, well over six feet tall, and broad in proportion. The wardroom was bright and cheerful and ISLD and Force 136 officers were always made welcome. Pink gins at tuppence a tot enabled one to enjoy many a half hour without breaking the bank. I renewed my friendship with Bob De Vries, whose boat came in off patrol as I arrived. We were to remain close until he left for the United States late in 1944.

  I was summoned to Captain Ionides’ cabin and introduced to Tony Collett. We went over the operational plan and I was advised, again, that at all times the safety of the submarine and crew, and the exigencies of the service – by which he meant that if a suitable target presented itself, they would not hesitate to attack it – took precedence over my operation. I did not think this fair, but kept my counsel. Captains on the army general list do not argue with captains RN. I then supervised the loading of our stores and went below and settled my two agents into their temporary quarters in the forward mess deck. I stood on the conning tower as we left harbour, observing the naval drills which had changed little since Nelson’s time.