by Ellie Dean
Sarah opened her eyes, surprised to find she was still in the manor house garden, for the sights and sounds of her escape from Singapore had been so vivid. There had been so much fear as she and Jane had clung to one another in the hold of that ship, not only for their lives, but for their parents and Philip, who they’d left behind.
It had been a miracle that Jock had managed to get their mother and baby brother on board the very last ship to leave Singapore, and although she was now living on the other side of the world, at least they knew she was safe. But there had been no word since of Jock or Philip, and the rumours coming out of that part of the world made it hard to believe that either of them could have survived.
Now all she had were fading photographs which had been taken in happier times and in a very different world – so remote from her present reality that it was difficult to comprehend.
Sarah’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t had her lunch. She checked her watch, noted she had another ten minutes before the canteen closed and drew her mother’s letter from her trouser pocket. It was quite a thick letter considering she’d received several over the past few days, but perhaps it contained more photographs.
She tore it open eagerly and began to read. But by the time she’d got halfway down the first page, she could barely make out the words through her tears.
21
Burma
Jim, Ernie and Big Bert had calculated that this was their forty-fifth day behind enemy lines, but at least they were on the move and not under siege like the men who were pinned down in India, trying to drive the Japs from the Kohima to Imphal Road which they’d blocked following their withdrawal from the Kohima Ridge – a siege that had lasted weeks.
Their commanding officer had explained that the fighting was continuing fiercely in the area, for it was vital that the enormous supply dumps and railheads at Dimapur were defended. Should it fall to the Japanese, it would be disastrous for the Allies, and a huge bonus to the Japs who, it was reported, were desperate for supplies now the Allies had bombed their stores of rice and made it almost impossible for anything to be flown in. Consequently, General Slim had called for reinforcements to form a rearguard, clear the road and mop up any Japanese who were retreating back into Burma.
Jim tried to ignore the swarms of flies and mosquitoes as he eased the straps of his backpack to a more comfortable position on his shoulders and cursed the monsoon rains which had turned the earth to a quagmire and soaked him to the skin. He wouldn’t have minded if the rain was cold – in fact, he would have welcomed it – but it was warm, and doing very little to alleviate the dreadful heat and humidity that rose sharply along with the number of noisome insects the minute the sun came out.
Jim and the rest of the column had encountered the enemy many times during the past few days, but they’d managed to get rid of them and carry on with very little delay, and, thankfully, few casualties. Like his fellow soldiers, Jim felt a certain pride in the fact they could come across the enemy unexpectedly during the night, kill them and continue their march without losing cohesion or discipline – it made them feel they could achieve anything.
The terrain they were travelling over now was nothing short of hellish. They’d crossed gorges and mountains, climbed cliffs and fought their way through dense jungle and forests of lethal bamboo which bore steel-strong barbs of up to ten inches long that could rip through flesh and have your eyes out in a split second of carelessness. At the same time they’d been involved in skirmishes with the enemy who would appear as if from nowhere, and had to be dealt with before they could move on.
The quiet order to halt came down the line, and everyone drew breath and eased their aching backs while they waited to be told what to do next. The Gurkhas, Jim noticed, were hardly sweating, and looked as fresh as they always did as, in pairs, they carried the enormous Bren guns between them on their shoulders, their sturdy bodies wreathed in ammunition belts.
Jim mopped his brow with his filthy handkerchief and eased the straps once again, wondering if he had time to roll a smoke. But within minutes, the long column began to move, and as he reached the edge of the jungle, he finally saw what the hold-up had been.
The cluster of Burmese villages was small, but surrounded by large paddy fields and cut off from the jungle by a road. Armed and ready for the surprise enemy attack which they expected to come from the village, the men were crossing the road into the paddy fields. About a third of the column had reached the paddy and another third were still crossing the road. Jim and his platoon waited for the order to go, but as they were about to step out of the camouflage of the jungle they heard the unmistakable drone of enemy Zeros.
There were ten of them and they were coming from the north, flying quite low, and clearly patrolling the road.
Every man, mule and horse froze where they were and not one head was lifted to see what the enemy planes were doing, knowing that a white face or movement of any sort could be spotted and they’d be wiped out in a single run by those Zeros.
There was muttering behind him as the sound of the engines died and they began to move forward. It was late afternoon and the rain had started again, pounding down on them as they crossed the road and began to follow their commanding officer through the paddy fields towards where they would split up and form smaller ambush platoons.
They reached the point where they would stay for the night, and almost before they’d had time to draw breath, snatch a mouthful of K-rations or a drink of water, the sappers were ordered to dig in. ‘Here we go again,’ moaned Ernie.
‘The faster we dig, the quicker we can eat,’ encouraged Jim, the rain battering down on his hat. ‘Come on, mate, we’re all dog-tired, so don’t waste your breath, because you’ll be getting no sympathy from anyone.’
They caught a small Japanese convoy that night, their anti-tank guns setting the leading truck on fire, the machine guns and grenades finishing the job at close range, and marking up over forty of the enemy killed.
On the second night when they’d been ordered to withdraw and move a few miles north, they had rather more to do. They mopped up a weak enemy battalion and a platoon of Japanese who’d been coming down the road before they were the target of a surprise and frankly insane attack by a Japanese company.
Jim and his men had watched in disbelief as the Japs had come at them across open paddy fields, bayonets fixed but without supporting fire. The machine guns made short work of them, but it was a shock to discover that they had no ammunition in their rifles. It seemed that rather than suffer the ignominy of surrendering, they preferred to die with their so-called ‘honour’ intact.
With the Zeros constantly buzzing overhead on patrol and to protect the Jap convoys using the road, the USAAF were called in to get rid of them. Which they did swiftly and efficiently before destroying a huge store of rice which intelligence had spotted several miles away hidden in a deserted Burmese village.
Jim and his platoon had dug in on the rugged slopes of a hill where kanyin trees overshadowed the teaks. They cleared the lesser growth to form clean lines which gave them a good view of the road beneath them, then took it in turns to sleep and eat. Jim had been dreaming about Peggy and Beach View when he woke for no apparent reason and automatically reached for the carbine resting between his knees.
He was instantly alert, listening for any sound that might have been the cause of his waking so abruptly, but there was no bird call, enemy rustle or animal snuffling – not even the snores and breathing of the men around him. He could see the bulk of Big Bert on watch at his machine gun, and the huddled figures of the Gurkhas lying in wait with their Brens while the other men slept in a rough circle behind them. Looking down the hill he could see the deeper shadows of massed men, mules and horses at rest within the hollows and defiles of the terrain and the long, empty road running through the valley.
Jim realised it was the silence that had woken him – a silence which was like nothing he’d experienced before coming
to Burma, and seemed to hold a special quality. He relaxed and looked up through the kanyin trees which stood two hundred feet high, their vast upper branches forming broad, leafy canopies that were smothered in red and white flowers.
It was like being in nature’s cathedral, he thought, with the long, straight trunks forming the walls and aisles, the canopies the roof, above which sailed a full, orange moon. He lay there watching the way the leaves and blossoms of the kanyin trees formed beautiful patterns against the moon, and how a pale mist was rising from the valley to drift up the slope and silently fill the aisles between the trees and entwine its way along the trunks. It was at moments like this he could forget his reason for being here, and just revel in the wonder of nature’s mysterious beauty.
Dawn came and cast a pearly light over everything, chasing away the mist and bringing with it the distinctive tenor bell call of the Sambhur stag, one of the red deer which roamed wild through Burma and India.
When Jim and the others had first heard it, they’d taken it to be the Japs conducting their usual ploy of using bird calls to signal to one another, but one of the officers had put them straight, even going so far as to quote a poem by Kipling about the deer.
Neither Jim nor Ernie had heard of Kipling, and thought poetry was something that only officers and women would appreciate, but they’d been quite impressed by this one, and Jim had written to Peggy to tell her to look it up in the library.
He nudged the others awake and took his turn at the machine gun while a small cooking fire was lit and the billy boiled for tea. Having eaten their breakfast, they moved on to find out what lay on the other side of the hill, which intelligence had told them was more heavily timbered, and covered in jungle undergrowth.
The Japs came from nowhere, almost catching them off guard. Machine guns rattled off bullets and Bren guns roared as grenades exploded and the earth shook. Jim hit the ground and squirmed for cover behind a tree to fire back at the shifting shadows through the thick undergrowth.
He was distracted by movement beside him, and saw Big Bert climbing a nearby tree, a Bren gun on his back as if it weighed nothing. Perched up there he must have had an excellent view of the enemy position, for he began to shout directions to the men beneath him as to where to fire.
Jim followed his directions, admiring his courage, but thinking he must be insane to do such a thing. Catching sight of several Japanese moving to flank the tree, he shouted, ‘Look out, Bert, they’re coming left and right!’
‘Yeah, I seen ’em,’ he shouted back, opening fire and dispatching them all before killing off a couple more he’d spotted in the trees to his right. He clambered down, cursing the fact he’d run out of ammo, then grabbed a fresh magazine from a startled Gurkha and shinned back up the tree like a monkey, shooting the gun as he went.
Jim was occupied in exchanging fire with a couple of Japs when he caught a glimpse of two young Gurkhas running out to flank so they could see the enemy more clearly and follow Bert’s orders. One was in charge of the Bren, the other the loaded magazine, which he’d slap into the gun the minute the other shouted change.
Jim had seen them practising this manoeuvre many times, but he didn’t have the chance to watch, for a Japanese machine gun had opened up, the bullets thudding all around him as he repeatedly fired back and lobbed off a few grenades – but it was difficult to see his target in the shifting shadows of the jungle, and despite all his efforts, the machine gun was still in action. There was only one option open to him. Get nearer and finish the bastard off.
Jim edged away from the tree and began to crawl towards the enemy machine gun, the bullets of which were zipping all round him. He felt the sting of the bullet as it scored a burning path across his cheek and through his earlobe. It hurt like hell, but he shook his head, ignored the warm trickle of blood he could feel running down his neck and continued to crawl closer to the machine-gunner, his thumb firmly pressed down on the pin of the primed grenade.
Bert and the Gurkhas were still keeping the Japs busy, and Jim had to flatten himself to the ground as someone from his platoon lobbed a grenade, missed the true target by a country mile and nearly blew him to smithereens.
He lay there cursing, his face buried in mud and muck as everything exploded around him. He felt clods of earth and bits of tree land on him, and when he judged it safe enough, he rolled to one side, burrowed beneath the undergrowth surrounding a tree and saw he was within feet of the enemy gunner.
He took his thumb off the grenade and lobbed it, hit the deck and covered his head with his hands as once again bits of Jap and jungle splattered down on him.
With a grunt of disgust, he knocked away the severed foot that was still wearing a boot, and aimed his carbine at a Jap he’d spotted a few feet away, and who was lining him up in his sights. He pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened, so he quickly rolled away and sank deeper into the undergrowth, the enemy fire following him too closely for comfort. ‘Tree two o’clock,’ he yelled above the rattle of gunfire and the boom of the Brens.
Jim wrestled with the carbine, but it was jammed solid, the barrel too hot to handle. He heard the strangled cry and thud of the Jap’s body as it hit the ground following a barrage of fire, but he was too busy fighting to free his gun to take much notice.
He cursed the gun, cursed his luck and the blasted Japs, who were still firing at him. Just how many of the bastards were there?
He glanced up and saw the Ghurkha on the Bren take a burst of enemy fire in his face and neck. The youth rolled away from his gun, his hand coming up in death to signal the other man to take over. Which he did immediately.
He continued to fight the blasted gun, and had just got it clear when something heavy fell on him and sent him sprawling. He found himself on his back staring into a very dead and chewed-up enemy face. He shoved him off, smeared the blood and gore from his own face, spat to clear his mouth and crawled away to join in the fire-fight.
When it was over, Jim was astonished to discover it had lasted a mere fifteen minutes, for it had felt much longer than that. Big Bert had miraculously survived his heroics, and would probably be awarded a medal of some sort, while Ernie was complaining he’d sprained his wrist when he’d tripped over a tree branch and fallen into a shallow defile. The medic put a sling on the wrist and saw to the damage on Jim’s check and ear by slapping antiseptic on it which stung like hell for several minutes after.
Jim was aware that he’d been extremely lucky, but was a bit put out that his good looks had been marred by the loss of an earlobe – but then consoled himself by the thought that a battle scar might actually enhance his reputation amongst the ladies.
They counted the dead – thirty enemy, three of their own and five injured, but not seriously – and then hoisted their weapons and as one moved back into the jungle to face the next skirmish. They felt invincible – the knowledge they could encounter death at any moment making them even more determined to survive.
22
Peggy thanked Frank profusely for his and Lil’s kindness, giving him a kiss and a hug before she went indoors. They were such good people, and lovely friends to help her out like this, and she wondered what she could do by way of showing her appreciation.
She went into the house and up the steps to the kitchen. It felt like many hours since her sandwich lunch, and she was very ready for her tea – but first she would check on Daisy and make sure she was settled for the night.
‘Hello, Cordelia,’ she said, surprised to find her alone in the kitchen. ‘Has everyone deserted you this evening?’
‘I’ve had my dessert, thank you, dear. Ron’s rhubarb was delicious, but it could have really done with more sugar. Lil dropped some fish off, so I made a pie. And I don’t mind telling you, it’s one of my best.’
‘I’m sure the rhubarb was delicious and the pie wonderful as usual, but that wasn’t what I asked,’ said Peggy loudly, making winding signs for her to turn up her hearing aid. ‘Where is everyone?’
she asked once Cordelia had stopped fiddling with it.
‘I presume Ron’s at the Anchor – I’ve yet to see him today. Lil put Daisy to bed and I checked on her a few minutes ago and she’s asleep. Fran and Ivy are on their night shifts, and Rita’s gone off somewhere – probably to the fire station.’
Peggy frowned as she took off her scarf and coat. ‘But I thought she was expecting to see Peter Ryan this evening?’
Cordelia looked at Peggy over her glasses. ‘Rita got a letter from that rather cheeky Australian this morning. It appears he’s refused to stay grounded while all this hoo-ha is going on, and has joined the local squadron.’
Cordelia gave a little sigh. ‘She also got a letter from her father – a sort of farewell in case he doesn’t come back, which obviously upset her tremendously. I do wish he hadn’t done that, but I can understand why he felt the need.’
‘Poor little love,’ murmured Peggy. ‘She’s been through too much already, what with losing Matt. If anything happens to Jack, she’ll be inconsolable, for he’s all she’s got.’
‘She’s got you, Peggy,’ said Cordelia firmly. ‘You’ve filled the gap left by her mother and taken her under your wing since she was a little girl. All the while you’re by her side, she’ll never be alone.’
‘That’s sweet of you to say so, Cordelia,’ said Peggy, kissing her cheek. ‘But it doesn’t stop me worrying.’
She hurried off to check on Daisy, who was indeed fast asleep, clutching a knitted rabbit that Lil must have made for her. Peggy softly ran her fingers through the dark curls and kissed her lightly on the forehead, regretful that she’d spent so little time with her today and vowing she would devote the majority of the weekend to her.
Returning to the kitchen, she fetched her plate of food from the warming oven and sat down at the table. ‘Where’s Sarah?’ she asked before tucking into the delicious fish pie.
‘She came in briefly, pushed her supper around the plate without eating much of it, and went out again. There’s something on that girl’s mind, you mark my words. I tried to ask what was wrong, but she said it was nothing and not to worry about it. She was just tired.’ Cordelia sniffed. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute, but if she won’t share her troubles, what can I do?’
