Malayan Spymaster

by Boris Hembry

  In July, while Jean was still at home, I attended a dinner at the Dog, KL, for former members of Force 136, other branches of SOE, and similar clandestine organisations. I was invited in my dual capacity as an early member of SOE (101 STS was a forerunner of Force 136) and head of Malayan Country Section, .ISLD. Sir Gerald Templer, the high commissioner, who had served in Military Intelligence and SOE during the war, attended as guest of honour. I travelled down to KL by car the day before, and stayed with Jack and Joyce Brown. Jack had been in SOE, based in Australia. I spent the morning of the dinner with Claude Fenner and Jock Campbell at the Dog discussing the arrangements over several beers – talking is thirsty work – before returning to the Browns’ for lunch and a lie off.

  General Templer was met at the door by Claude and John Davis and escorted to the top table, and introduced to those of us privileged to be seated there. He had evidently been well briefed as, when shaking my hand, he said, ‘Ah, Hembry. Sungei Siput. Where it all began, wasn’t it?’ He gave an excellent speech, causing amusement by finishing by saying that this ‘get together’ was a good way to find out where everyone was in case we were ever wanted again. Audrey Sherwood, the wife of a Kedah planter, was also at the dinner. She had been a Force 136 secretary in Colombo where we had had a nodding acquaintance. After the dinner some of us decided to go along to the Lake Club to dance and I suggested to Audrey that she might like to accompany me. When she agreed I asked Jack to please arrange for my car – in fact, his Rolls Royce – to be brought around to the door, where, having first held the rear door open for Audrey and me to get in, he got into the front with the syce. Seated thus we drove in some style to the Lake Club. I never ascertained whether Audrey realised that it was all a charade, or whether she thought that Guthrie planters were paid very much more than those in other companies.

  It was good to be reunited with so many friends, some not seen since 1945, with whom one had so many experiences in common.

  I flew down to Singapore to meet Jean off the plane, and held a welcome-back lunch party at the Tanglin Club. The next day we boarded the Carthage for the short overnight sea trip back to Penang to arrive off Georgetown at about noon. I thought that Jean would enjoy it, and that it would help her get rid of her jet lag (although the term had yet to be invented, as there were only a few jet airliners flying in those days the principle was the same). We took a taxi to the E&O, for a late lunch and a shower, and then were driven back to KMS where Jean had a boisterous welcome from Pedro and Greta, and life resumed its uneventful passage – until Pedro’s near-fatal mishap.

  Christmas was spent with Reid Tweedie at Boa Fee, his seaside bungalow at Batu Feringgi, together with the Brittains and other friends. We were also planning our next local leave, and had decided to go further afield than the usual hill stations in Malaya. We chose Hong Kong.

  We sailed from Penang in the Carthage in February 1955, down to Singapore, arriving the next day, once again enjoying the marvellous trip through the islands. We spent the day visiting friends, lunched at the Singapore Cricket Club, overlooking the Padang, dined with the Coopers at the Tanglin Club, before returning on board in time for the midnight sailing. It was a completely different ship after Singapore. Until then, even allowing for those passengers who had disembarked at Penang, the ship appeared full. After Singapore there were fewer than 100, and barely 20 in first class, where the stewards outnumbered their guests. This was luxury indeed. We dined at the captain’s table.

  The four days in Hong Kong were spent sightseeing during the day, and wining and dining during the night. We slept aboard the ship. We were taken up to the border with Communist China, in the New Territories, by Gurkha officers whom we had met in Sungei Patani. I remember remarking that from where we stood there was nothing but alien territory all the way to Norway, about a third of the way round the world. We hired a car and drove all the way round Victoria Island, calling in at Repulse Bay for lunch, and one of the famous floating fish restaurants at Aberdeen for dinner. We took the funicular railway to the Peak, window shopped, and generally behaved like tourists visiting the Far East for the first time. On our last night we threw a party on board for all our Gurkha friends, some 20 in all, and others whose names I have unfortunately now forgotten.

  We sailed just before lunch, which we missed because we wished to stand on the deck and watch Hong Kong disappear from sight; the last to recede from view was the Peak. The return voyage to Singapore was as enjoyable and calm as the outward leg, and we arrived back having experienced quite the most enjoyable and restful local leave in my 26 years in the East.

  In May our thoughts began turning towards another home leave, and Guthrie’s booked a passage for us on the new Blue Funnel Company cargo/ passenger liner Patroclus for early September. The ship was relatively fast, had large staterooms, and a reputation for good food.

  Life proceeded very much as before, and I was looking forward to another tour on KMS before retirement in 1960, when I would have done exactly 30 years in Malaya. At the age of 50,I would still be young enough, or so I thought, to obtain a reasonable job in England. With the help of my efficient and loyal staff I was firmly in the saddle and enjoying a quiet canter home. The estate prospered, my replantings were proceeding at a pace, as was the refurbishment of staff and labour quarters. Not quite a case of ‘God was in his heaven ...’, but all seemed well. The Emergency, still raging in many other areas of the country, seemed miles away, and one was only aware that the fight was still going on from newspaper reports.

  We had a strike on one of the divisions on Bukit Lembu. The trouble arose over the alleged unfair behaviour of the divisional clerk. I settled the strike with the help of the local trades union official, a moderate-minded Indian who volunteered to get everyone back to work if I would discipline the clerk. I persuaded him to let me do this informally, so that the man would not be required to lose too much face with his fellow staff, but nevertheless I docked his salary because he had been stupid and had cost the company a day’s production. I refused to permit the tappers any overtime to make up for their loss of income from their strike.

  I would have been happy to leave Menon John in charge of the estate during my leave, but Guthrie’s thought otherwise, and brought up an experienced senior assistant from one of their estates in Negri Sembilan, whom I had not met before, but who had a good reputation. We arranged for a dog-loving planter in the neighbourhood to look after Pedro and Greta for the six months we were to be away.

  During the last few weeks before departure we were entertained with several ‘farewell’ parties, as was the custom in Malaya. I was also busy on the estate tying up a few loose ends. Jean spent much time packing, as we had decided to take as many of our chattels home with us as possible this time – premonition? – leaving only the barest of necessities for the last agreement starting six months later. This was made easier by the availability of rubber chests, similar in size and shape to tea chests, and ideal for house moving. I think, also, that we had decided that, when we finally left Malaya, we would return to England via Australia and New Zealand and across the Pacific, and so would not want a lot of barang to have to move from ship to ship. Nor did we want our possessions to arrive in England and merely be dumped in a godown to await our arrival some months later.

  I forbade a party to be given by the estate labour force as, after all, we were only going on leave, not into retirement. When the day came, we bade au revoir to our charming Indian mother-and-daughter bungalow staff, Rosa and Mary, and lastly a sad and tearful parting from Pedro and Greta, whom we delivered to their temporary home, with promises to see them again in the not so distant future. To this day I remember the disconsolate look on Pedro’s face. I suspect he knew it was goodbye for ever.

  We waved our farewells to many estate workers who, knowing the day of our departure, stood at the roadside waving back. Leaving the estate and out on to the main road, we drove through the beautiful padi fields, the same route that I had first travelled 25
years before. We lunched at the Penang Club, handed over the car keys to the local Jaguar agent at the quayside, and boarded the Patroclus. That evening we were joined for dinner on board by Uncle Hannay, the last of our friends to say goodbye to us.

  The ship sailed in the early hours, and we went on deck just in time to see the top of Kedah Peak disappearing into the haze. We then returned to the saloon, without a backward glance, to eat a hearty breakfast and to plan the day ahead, blissfully unaware that we had seen the last of Malaya, my home for 25 years, and Jean’s for 20, and our beloved dogs. Our emotions would have been entirely different if we had known the truth then. On reflection, we were very glad that we were spared that knowledge, although, years later, Jean confessed that she had known in her heart that we would not be returning, and had cried herself to sleep on that first night after sailing, long after I had passed out, in realisation of the fact.

  The ship and the voyage were all that we expected. Our stateroom was spacious, there was air conditioning throughout the passenger area, we had pleasant companions, the food was good, the booze cheap, and the ship’s officers and crew efficient and polite. We called at Colombo, Bombay, Aden, Suez, Port Said, and finally docked in Liverpool – my point of departure for Malaya over 25 years before – another omen, perhaps, but still unrecognised, at least by me. This voyage had taken 18 days; the first 28.

  We decided to base ourselves in Eastbourne, as Jean’s mother had moved to a private hotel there and mine was in a hotel nearby, whilst she was deciding where to live. My mother had been living in South Africa for some years and had only returned to England recently. I made my usual visits to Guthrie’s in London, and attended a KMS board meeting at which my future plans for the estate were discussed. Dan Wright had been appointed to the board, and soon after the meeting he and I took ourselves off to the Beguinnot for lunch which, as can be imagined, lasted several hours. I declined his invitation to go on to Merrie’s Club, off Portman Square, even though I knew it was much frequented by submariners past and present.

  One day, returning by train to Eastbourne from London, we were joined in our compartment quite by chance by a woman whom Jean recognised as Brenda Blades, a friend whose parents had lived near Jean’s in Hornchurch, although her married name was now Warnant. In those days the train steward could be summoned from the dining car to take orders for drinks, so we had a round or two. During the conversation Brenda enquired whether we would stay in England, given the chance. Without much thought I said, somewhat flippantly, ‘Yes, if I could find a job paying a thousand a year,’ and thought no more about it. It must be remembered, in 1956 a salary of £1,000 a year was considered handsome.

  A few weeks later Brenda telephoned to ask whether I had been serious when I said that I would stay in England for an annual salary of £1,000. I said no, but why do you ask? She replied that she was secretary of the Rotary International Club, in Portman Square, London, and that the general manager there had just been dismissed and the committee were looking for a replacement. The job paid 1,000 a year, a first-class mews flat nearby went with it, and one was permitted free meals in the Club. This put me on a spot. I discussed it with several family and friends and most seemed to be against such a move, my brother Bill particularly so. But I decided that nothing would be lost if I met the committee. I was interviewed and shown round both the clubhouse and the flat. The former was a magnificent building, with all the facilities of a first-class London gentleman’s club except, as I was to find out later, its membership, and a drawing room ceiling painted by Angelica Kaufman, which was a showpiece. The flat was spacious and conveniently close.

  I was in two minds. I arranged to see Sir John Hay, and, to my surprise, he was most definitely opposed to my taking the job, to my taking early retirement from Malaya. He pointed out in almost vehement terms that in Malaya I was known and respected throughout the country, whereas in London the opposite was so. In Malaya I was at the top of my profession, whereas in London I would be at the bottom. He also said that, quite apart from the difference in salary levels, in his opinion I was unsuited to the pettiness of the ‘rat race’ in England.

  My meeting with Sir John should have been decisive. Alas, it was not. I sat at a desk in the East India Club smoking room and wrote down the pros and cons. So far as I can remember the pros for my taking the London job were: my health was dicey and I felt fitter in a cooler climate and where, presumably, there were more and better heart specialists; it would be easier to get a job at the age of 46 than 50 ; the proposed salary and benefits were adequate to live on and, together with my savings and Planters’ Provident Fund, we would be moderately well off; Jean and I both had widowed mothers, now well into their 70s, living in England; Jean was finding the heat and humidity of Malaya increasingly debilitating; most of our oldest and dearest friends from Malaya had either already retired or would soon do so; the position at the Rotary Club was open now and could not be held indefinitely; and, finally, John was at the threshold of his adult life and we felt that we should be able to see something of him.

  The cons were: I was an unknown quantity in the United Kingdom; I had not worked in England before, so would be as new to the scene as the latest immigrant from the West Indies; we would be leaving Pedro and Greta behind, as two large dogs would be impossible in a small London flat with no garden (this weighed heavily on me); I was efficient at my job and could expect a reasonably large salary and commissions until retirement; I was young enough to reach the top again, if my health held up; by resigning at 46 I would miss out on most of the benefits of the new Guthrie pension scheme that had been in force for only three years; I would have a good chance of several estate directorships if I waited; John was now a grown man, in the army and likely to be posted abroad; and, finally, it would be a ‘step into the unknown’.

  So, against my better judgment, I made possibly the worst decision of my life and resigned from Guthrie’s.

  I loathed the new job from the very first day, missed the dogs terribly, and whilst being on call for 24 hours a day as manager of a rubber estate was perfectly acceptable, as a manager of what was little more than a working mens’ club in London it was not.

  What made the matter worse still was that we heard from Malaya that Pedro was pining away for us, and died not long afterwards, I suspect from a broken heart. And the irony of it was that, when I resigned from the Rotary Club, we moved down to our cottage in Suffolk, where there was ample room for both dogs in the large garden, only six weeks after they would have come out of quarantine if we had brought them home. I will have this on my conscience until I die.

  It is a fact that, ever since making the decision to leave Malaya I have lacked confidence in every subsequent decision concerning our personal life, welfare and finances.

  However, I did manage to carve out for myself two interesting and reasonably successful careers. First, by taking over the managership of a large apple orchard on the Essex-Suffolk border, and then, in 1962, by joining a firm of land agents and surveyors.

  Having answered an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph I was selected by Drivers Jonas & Company, in London – I think the oldest of such firms in the country, having been started in 1725 – as leader of one of their teams responsible for surveying routes and negotiating easements for a major oil pipeline being laid from Southampton to Liverpool, with branches off to Birmingham and Nottingham. The employment was to last for six months.

  I resigned from Drivers Jonas 17 years later, having worked well into my 70th year, the last seven years of which as their resident consultant land agent with the British Gas Corporation, responsible for negotiating the easements of the new North Sea gas mains network throughout the whole of South East England, including London. The very last job that I did was for the Channel Tunnel project, near Folkestone. But, even though it involved only a short journey from Canterbury, I felt it was too much for me.

  So, in a sense, my life story has turned full circle. I started out as a surveyor in 1928
, and finished as one in 1980.I am aware that had I stayed on in Malaya it is unlikely that this opportunity would have come my way, so perhaps I made the correct decision after all.

  My story, or at least as far as I intend to go, is ended. It has taken two years to complete, and is most certainly not for publication. I have been nearly drowned in the flood of memories and could have quite easily succumbed to prolonged bouts of nostalgia. I have omitted many anecdotes, some crude, some unrepeatable, mostly hilarious. There are also episodes from my time with the ISLD which I have not mentioned, which must remain secret (as the law requires), and are anyway best forgotten. No doubt a historian, many years in the future, will unearth some of the details from official documents, but neither I nor any of the other participants will be around to comment on their findings.

  I started these memoirs reluctantly, continued with some enthusiasm, and ended with relief. I hope that my family will consider my efforts worthwhile.

  Postscript

  At a ceremony held at the Soestdijk Palace, near Utrecht in Holland, in October 1983,I had the honour to be invested with the Netherlands Resistance Memorial Cross by HRH Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands, in the presence of Princess, formerly Queen, Juliana, for services to the Netherlands – my trip with Korps Insulinde to Atjeh in the Dutch submarine O24, back in 1943. John drove Jean and me over for a most enjoyable two days, which included a very moving wreath laying ceremony at the nearby Dutch Resistance Memorial, and a very jolly dinner hosted by members of the Dutch resistance organisation.

  The British end was organised by my old friend Bernard Hanauer who, as well as having taken part in Operation MATRIARCH, was responsible, with his very tough fitness training, for saving our lives.

  Appendix A: Non-appearance of Spencer Chapman at Tanjong Malim rendezvous