by Boris Hembry
After the trial dive, we resurfaced and resumed the routine life on board a submarine in these waters. Nights on the conning tower observing the stars were interspersed with at least two hours a day of further instruction for my agents, going through the dos and don’ts, trying to get into their skulls that if they gave themselves away they would most certainly be tortured and executed. I had no conviction that the operation would succeed for, quite apart from anything else, and as I had considered from the start, the two men were not what I would call agent material. This did not diminish their personal courage in any way, but was hardly fair on them if they were not the kind of people to keep, in modern parlance, a low profile. I issued them with both British Straits dollars and forged Japanese occupation currencies, and identity papers, also forged, and went through the plans to establish cells in Penang, Province Wellesley and northern Perak for the umpteenth time.
We had one brief panic. We were on the surface when the ASDIC picked up an object travelling towards us at great speed. It was too late to take avoiding action so we braced ourselves for the torpedo to strike. In the minute or so wait Collett swept the area with the ASDIC but could find no trace of another submarine or ship. Then suddenly the object veered away and disappeared. The only explanation was that we had picked up a shark or whale. The heads were in constant use during the next quarter of an hour.
To the uninitiated, use of the heads in a submarine is complicated, and fraught with danger to the user. Whereas a surface ship has no difficulties in disposing of sewage, it is an entirely different matter for a submarine. The heads are adjacent to the control room and when submerged permission must be obtained from the officer-of-the-watch before they are ‘blown’. The officer will raise the periscope and have a quick look round to make sure that there are no enemy ships or aircraft in sight and then, in answer to the request ‘Permission to blow the heads, Sir?’ will reply, ‘Permission granted.’ The process is complicated and involves operating several knobs in the correct sequence. Failure to do this results in the entire contents of the system being blown back in the face of the unfortunate operator, whose job it is then to clear up the foul mess. When enemy ships or aircraft are about the heads cannot be blown in any circumstance as the contents, when reaching the surface, would be an instant giveaway of the submarine’s position. Of course, Nature being what she is, it is when the submarine is in danger that one is in most need of the heads, so the situation within the submarine can be better imagined than described.
We arrived off Penang at about midday. Collett and I spent the rest of the daylight hours with our eyes glued to the periscope surveying likely beaches for a landing, and eventually settled for one that looked suitable. We surfaced as soon as it was dark and, while I gave the agents their final briefing and the dinghies were brought out on deck and inflated, Collett took the Tactician in as close as he dared. At about 10 we launched the dinghies and the two Tamils pushed off towards the coast. We waited for a couple of hours, saw no SOS signals, so withdrew into deeper water and started our routine patrol.
Just before dawn we dived and slowly entered the northern approaches to Penang Roads. Through the periscope I could see the ferries plying between the island and Butterworth, just as they had done in peacetime, although the majority of the passengers were in khaki, as were most of the vehicles. We spotted the masts of quite a few warships which were tied up to the wharves. The sight of the Runnymede, the E&O and the Cricket Club brought back many memories of happier times. We lay off Penang for a day or so, after which, seeing no worthwhile target, left to patrol the channel around Langkawi Island, to the north. Again we saw nothing worth expending torpedoes on, so after about a week we returned to Colombo and eventually drew up alongside Adamant.
Early in December 1943 I set off again in Tactician in the hope of finding my two agents as arranged, sitting on a junk off Langkawi Island. I was not optimistic. In addition, Tactician had two other tasks: to land three of SOE’s Siamese agents on a beach south of Victoria Point, and to carry out a normal submarine patrol in the area. The SOE conducting officer was Captain Simon Reid. A man straight out of a Boy’s Own adventure story, he was tall, very thin, bearded and, when on operations, armed with every kind of side arm and knife imaginable. He was also great fun, a fund of stories, but did not believe in wasting water on washing. Even when we met for dinner at the Galle Face on the first night of our return from an ‘op’, he had neither washed nor changed. I think he brushed his long hair, occasionally. He was a brilliant linguist, and although he had no experience of Siam and the Siamese, applied himself to learning the language and was fluent in a matter of weeks.
Before we sailed Simon and I were summoned to meet Admiral Sir James Somerville, the naval commander-in-chief. He questioned us closely about the forthcoming operations and expressed himself most forcibly about his dislike of clandestine organisations and the risks that they put on his ships and crews. Shades of Captain Ionides. I was beginning to wonder whose side some people in the Royal Navy were on. It was obvious that quite a few of them would have preferred to be allowed to get on and fight their own war, with their own priorities and in their own time, without ‘interference’ from anyone else, particularly ‘brown jobs’. When I later reported this interview to Heath he went to some length to criticise me for even discussing the op with the Admiral, as we were SIS and not part of the military establishment, and the Admiral had no ‘right to know’. I found Heath’s comments irksome in the extreme, and totally unrealistic, and told him so. I asked why, then, did I go around with three pips on my shoulder if I were not to all intents and purposes in the military. And was he suggesting that junior army captains take issue with full admirals – especially if we wanted to use their submarines? I was later to learn that many senior officers of all three Services questioned whether the results achieved by clandestine operations justified the extra risks to ships and submarines and, later, aircraft, and the removal of personnel, from their mainstream forces. I must admit that the longer I was involved in clandestine operations the greater the sympathy I had with this view.
We underwent the usual routine, keeping to the surface until the Nicobars and then diving by day and surfacing at night. As was now my habit, I spent as much time as I could on the conning tower, taking in the wondrous sights of the stars, feeling the cool breezes and thinking of more peaceful times with Jean and John. After a week we reached the coast of Siam and, following the usual reconnaissance, Simon Reid off-loaded his agents and we watched them paddle away towards the shore. Collett then moved down to the area of Langkawi and we commenced our patrolling, inspecting all likely looking junks through the periscope, hoping to see the pre-arranged signal from my Tamils. We did this for three days without seeing their sign, so Collett and I agreed that they would not be coming. On the fourth day we surfaced and I had a dinghy inflated so that I and a member of the crew who had volunteered to come with me paddled across to a very surprised and somewhat frightened Chinese crew aboard a junk. Meanwhile the submarine submerged, to cruise around waiting for my signal to surface again to pick us up. Having hitherto always been inside one at the time, or not nearly so near, I was unaware of the tremendous noise, all the hissing and blowing, that went on when a submarine submerged and surfaced.
The Chinese junk skipper was very forthcoming with information about the Japanese in Penang. He also told me that the Germans were using very large submarines to transport rubber, that there was one such U-boat loading in Penang harbour at that very moment, and that they had a naval contingent billeted at the Runnymede Hotel. I gained important information regarding the permitted movements of civilians, and I relieved two of the crew of their identity cards. They were, of course, most concerned, but I told them that they should report the cards lost overboard. I spent well over two hours talking to the skipper and added a great deal to our meagre knowledge of the Japanese occupation. It was he who gave me the idea for my next major submarine operation when he told me the way the Ja
p shipping, bound from Singapore to Rangoon, would sail in convoy between Langkawi and the mainland.
Having gained all the information that I thought I could, I signalled to Collett and within minutes the Tactician surfaced about 50 yards away and we were hurriedly dragged aboard. We dived immediately and took one last look at the junks in the vicinity to see whether my two Tamils were about, but seeing no recognition signal we circled Langkawi Island, surveying the coastline for likely landing places and hideouts. I was beginning to formulate a plan to establish some form of presence on the island.
In spite of the present setback, I could see that Langkawi was ideally situated for at least two of our purposes: a naval observation post, to monitor the enemy shipping en route between Singapore or Penang and Rangoon, and an assembly point for agents going in and out of the mainland. I felt sure that we could recruit sufficient Chinese junk crews willing to co-operate to provide the ferrying to and from various points up and down the coast, especially as we would be paying very well for their services. I was aware that Force 136 had made several unsuccessful attempts to pick up agents sent in earlier. Too much had been left to chance and to the skills of the agents which, at that stage, were not great. This reflected on us, the clandestine organisations, as we were to a great extent still feeling our way. Although both ISLD and Force 136 were extensions of well-established organisations in Europe and the Middle East, the conditions in which we operated were entirely different. For example, no European could pass himself off as a native of the area in the way that one could in Europe and the Mediterranean countries. So we were forced to operate through third parties.
I discussed my ideas with Tony Collett on the return trip to Trincomalee, to where the submarine depot ship had now moved, and he could see no problems from the naval point of view. In fact he became quite enthusiastic and promised to use what influence he had with Captain S.
Heath had flown down from Calcutta and was on Adamant to meet me when we berthed, hoping that I would be able to report a successful operation. In those early days, although I was unaware of it at the time, there was considerable and, at times, most acrimonious rivalry between ISLD and Force 136. Heath was most anxious to succeed where Force 136 had failed. But I had long before realised that those early operations had little chance of success, because of bad planning, poor agent material, and an almost complete ignorance of the current situation in Malaya under the Japanese. In retrospect I can see that both these main clandestine units had about a year of endeavour with little or no success, followed by a year of almost complete success.
Heath and I spent Christmas Eve 1943 at the Galle Face Hotel, and flew back to Calcutta on Christmas Day. A postmortem on the entire operation was held at which it was concluded that our two Tamil agents had fallen into enemy hands. I felt that there was an equal chance that they had merely gone to ground for the duration, opting for quietness and safety, but did not say so. In fact I was maligning them.
When I returned to Malaya in September 1945,I made a point of meeting all the agents that ISLD had put into place, including my two Indian friends. It seems that the first few days on Penang Island had gone smoothly, but they had come under suspicion during the ferry crossing to the mainland. At Butterworth they had separated, having arranged to meet up again somewhere in Kedah, en route for our RV off Langkawi Island. However, one, the alcoholic inclined, was picked up soon afterwards and, after a fairly savage questioning and beating by the Kempeitai, was incarcerated in Taiping Gaol. The other, the womaniser, evaded capture and penetrated as far south as Sungei Siput where he made himself known to Fernandez, the Kamuning Estate dresser. He was able to tell Fernandez that I was still alive and would expect him to give all reasonable assistance to any of my agents that came his way. In the event Fernandez proved most reliable and, although he was not formally an ISLD agent, I was able to reward him for services rendered when I got back to Kamuning. Needless to say, I was very glad that my two Tamils survived the war, paid them their arrears in pay and flew them back to Madras.
Shortly after my return to Calcutta Laurie Brittain assumed command of the Malayan Country Section, ISLD, and I was appointed second-in-command. I had spent very little time in Calcutta during the previous six months so I was surprised at the growth in the number of personnel employed by ISLD, both administrative and field staff. Laurie had several ideas as to how they could be employed and, usually over lunch in the New Club, would expound his theories and wax enthusiastic about his plans. These, mercifully, never saw the light of day. But over one of these lunches I unfolded my scheme involving Langkawi. Straight away Laurie put it up to Delhi, who approved it in principle, so we got down to detailed planning. I chose as my number two – it never occurred to anyone that I would not be in command – Captain John Llewellyn, a fluent Malay- and Dutch-speaking Welshman. The operation was given the code name MULLET.
In describing MULLET I have the advantage of having a copy of both the operational order and the submarine commander’s subsequent report before me.
The intention of MULLET was threefold:
1. To establish an ISLD transit camp on the north-west corner of the island of Langkawi.
2. To engage a junk or junks to carry agents between the island, where they would be dropped or picked up by submarine, and various destinations on the mainland of Malaya.
3. To establish a naval observation post on the island, in order to monitor Japanese shipping movements.
The party was to consist of myself, John Llewellyn, three Straits-born Chinese (one of whom was a radio operator), Able Seaman Denning RN, Corporal Johnson RM, and Corporal Flynn RM. With the exception of myself, whom I felt still retained a degree of fitness since training for the earlier Sumatra operation, and was in any case required in Calcutta for further planning meetings, the main party gathered at a specially established camp near Trincomalee and underwent intensive fitness training under the supervision of the Royal Marines. The lighthouse island camp was for agents only.
The departure date was set for 10 February 1944.
All personnel and stores were loaded on to the Tactician on the 9th, and we set sail late on the next day. We arrived in the vicinity of Langkawi on the 19th and just before dusk sighted a large junk becalmed west of the island. Llewellyn and I boarded it and, much to our disappointment, it soon became obvious that it would not suit us. It plied between Kantan, to the north, and Lumut, on the coast of Perak, to the south, with no intermediate stops; and the skipper and crew were so terrified of the Japs that no amount of bribe could get them to co-operate. Our orders stated that, in such eventuality, ‘the junk must be sunk and the crew removed in a manner to be decided upon by the submarine commander and the party leader’. When we returned to the submarine Collett and I agreed that any such action could sour our future relations with other junk skippers, alert the Japs, and bring additional hazards to our agents, so that, on the whole, it would be better to let them go. I did not think that our future plans would be compromised. Anyway, I had not been happy with that part of our orders and thought the matter should have been left entirely to my discretion. We decided to land the party on Langkawi on the following day, but as the landing party were preparing Collett received a signal from Trinco to patrol elsewhere immediately; the ‘exigencies of the Service’. The Tactician headed out into the Indian Ocean in search of prey, but after two days of seeing nothing we were ordered to resume our interrupted activities around Langkawi. It was now the evening of the 22nd; we were three days behind schedule. We launched our two folboats (folding boats) and inflatable recce boats over the side, loaded stores for the whole six days and, in the small hours of the morning, paddled away towards the island. Collett agreed to remain in the vicinity, but warned that he fully expected to be diverted away on another patrol. The lives of agents always seemed less important the higher the rank in the Royal Navy; whereas the ship and boat commanders were prepared to work wonders for us, bent the rules, and often turned a Nelsonian blind eye.
The landing was compromised from the start. There was no moon and the paddle-in took at least an hour longer than anticipated, with the result that it was dawn before we reached the selected beach. But misfortune had already struck, for we ran into a fishing fleet of a least 10 large sampans. They were all manned by Malays – who took not the slightest notice of us. It appeared as if they were accustomed to seeing strange-looking boats at 5.30 in the morning being paddled furiously by Chinese and Europeans. There was nothing that we could do except continue on our journey. It was past six when we landed and hauled up our boats across some 20 yards of white sandy beach to the cover of an overhanging rock. We all felt terribly compromised and very despondent. But as it would be several hours before the Malay fisherman could have got back to their village to discuss our presence with their headman, and probably an hour or so after that before they decided to report our presence to the Japanese, if in fact they had decided to, I decided to unload our stores and to move them some 50 yards further in from the beach where Llewellyn had found a cave in a cliff, screened from the sea by dense undergrowth. We then sat down under cover and ate breakfast.
I was faced with a grave decision. On the one hand my party was at stake; on the other the safety of the Tactician and its highly trained crew of 60 was of paramount importance. The Japs would realise that such a landing party could only have come from a submarine, and ships and aircraft would scour the area until it was sunk. I had no doubt in my mind that the whole operation had to be abandoned and that we should recall the Tactician and leave the vicinity as quickly as possible.
