by Frank McLynn
Such were the preconditions for the war that eventually broke out in December 1941, in circumstances too well known to require retelling. Not only was Burma not a primary target in the establishment of the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere, it might have been left un-invaded but for the war in China. Closing the Burma Road, which ran from Rangoon to the Chinese border and was thus a primary artery for supplying Chiang in Chungking, soon became a strategic imperative. Thus the Japanese were inveigled into an unnecessary invasion of Burma simply because the hotheads in Tokyo could not leave China well alone. Japan’s policy in China meant conflict not just with the Chinese but with the USA and the USSR as well; it was always a state version of hara-kiri. The ‘southerners’ were right: there should have been exclusive concentration on the Co-Prosperity Sphere in South-East Asia. By pursuing the northern and southern strategies simultaneously, Japan got itself into a situation for which ‘overstretch’ seems a euphemism. Not even Hitler ended up, as Japan did, fighting the United States, the British Empire, China and the Soviet Union simultaneously. But why were the British in Burma in the first place? As in India, they had acquired the country piecemeal, not quite in a fit of absence of mind, but by getting sucked into a succession of wars – the third and last was against King Thibaw in Upper Burma in 1885. Incorporated into the British Empire, Burma enjoyed a limited level of self-government from 1932 and was fully separated from the administration of India in 1937. After 1937 the country even had three ‘prime ministers’ (all strongly circumscribed in power by the British overlords), Ba Maw, U Pu and U Saw, all figures who wanted independence and were thus a running sore for the British government.13 When Churchill as prime minister refused to promise dominion status for Burma in return for fighting the Japanese in the event of an invasion, U Saw made overtures to Tokyo and was promptly interned. The year 1940 indeed saw something of an epidemic of anti-British conspiracies, and the ultra-nationalists like Aung San got out of Burma and made their way to Tokyo, though Ba Maw told his Japanese contacts that the country was not ready for a general insurrection. It was simply the culmination of a decade of riots, civil disobedience and anti-British turmoil; there was even a serious strike by students at the University of Rangoon in 1936.14 Europeans did not enjoy their postings to Burma. George Orwell, who served in the police there, confessed that his dearest wish was to stick a bayonet in the guts of some canting Buddhist monk.15 Touring Burma in 1939, H.G. Wells met a party of Burmese nationalists and tried to interest them in his ideas for world government. He found them unpleasant, negative and peevish. When Wells suggested that Burma should help China against the Japanese invasion, he got a dusty answer from his interlocutor. Wells related: ‘He cared no more for the freedom of the Chinese than he cared for the future of an ant-hill in Patagonia.’16
The British had only themselves to blame. In contrast to the excesses of US economic imperialism – all expatriated profits but no spending on government or administration – they built roads, hospitals and irrigation schemes while trying to educate the locals. Yet in the main they acted like naked exploiters. Their aim was to buy cheap in Asia and sell dear in Europe. They knew nothing of the language, culture or folklore and rarely met the ‘natives’. In Burma purely for the money, they were guilty of racism, arrogance, aloofness and greed.17 Burma was rich in rice, timber, oil and minerals, with particularly valuable oil wells at Yenangyaung and a wolfram mine at Mauchi in the Karen hills that produced one third of the world’s wolfram. Yet few of the country’s 17 million inhabitants saw any benefits from this. After 1914, foreign capitalists began to rationalise the Burmese economy on a superefficient basis. Between 1914 and 1942 British investment in the country tripled – in oil, timber, mining and rubber.18 Tens of thousands of entrepreneurs turned rice-growing into an agribusiness in place of the old subsistence farming, but nearly all the landowners were incomers from India. Meanwhile some 300,000 Chinese immigrants cornered most of the middleman and middle-class occupations, especially in medicine and dentistry. The result was that traditional society began to disintegrate, social mobility for the locals was entirely downwards and the crime rate augmented.19 Increasingly the hated Indians became the targets for violent race riots, especially in Lower Burma, where there was a particularly serious outbreak in 1930–31.20 The British played their old game of divide and rule. Out of the country’s 17 million population, only 10 million were ethnic Burmans. There were also four million Karens, two million Shans and hill tribesmen like the Kachins, Nagas, Mons and Chins; between these and the Burmans the state of relations rarely advanced beyond animosity. There was particularly bad blood between the Burmans and the Karens, dating from the last Burma war. When King Thibaw’s defeated troops turned to dacoitry (banditry) after the war, it took 30,000 troops five years to suppress them, and instrumental in bringing the defiant ones under the British yoke were the Karens.21 In 1939, the armed forces in Burma contained only 472 Burmans as against 3,197 Karens, Chins and Kachins. The reason was clear: the British did not trust the Burmans and considered that in a war with the Japanese, the old Shan states and the hill peoples would be loyal to the Raj while central Burma was likely to be treacherous.22 The Burmans meanwhile were alienated on at least four different grounds. They could not share the dominant values and ethos of their political masters because of their Buddhism; they loathed the Chinese and the pro-British minorities; they entertained murderous feelings for the Indians; and they had an unquenchable desire for independence. The Japanese, it seemed, might be pushing at an open door.
Naturally, in the real world phenomena interpenetrate so that there can be no hard and fast distinction between the ‘political’ and the ‘physical’. Military operations were profoundly affected by the monsoon, which falls from mid-March to mid-October and generates 200 inches of rainfall annually in the Arakan. The meld between the political and the physical can also be appreciated immediately when one correlates geography with ethnicity. Burma is striated by four great rivers, which all run roughly north–south: the Chindwin, marking the border with India; the Sittang, running along the frontier with Siam (Thailand); the Salween, which rises in China and is effectively the border with that country; and the great Irrawaddy, 1,300 miles long, which links northern Burma with the sea and is navigable as far as Bhamo, 800 miles of its length. Riverine Burma provides one geographical dimension, but another is altitude, linked to climatic zones. A country sharply differentiated into jungle, plains and hills, Burma has many upland regions at 3,000 feet, while the peaks ascend to 8,000 feet in the Chin hills and 12,000 in the so-called Naga hills (really mountains) on the Indian border. Apart from the Karens, whose heartland is the Irrawaddy delta, the highlands boasted all the pro-British minorities so loathed by the majority Burmans. The Kachins, in the most north-easterly corner of the country, have always fascinated anthropologists, while the Shan were of historical importance, as they provided most of the military manpower for the pre-colonial Burmese armies.23 The differing altitudes in Burma are part of what makes it a paradise for rhododendrons, for different varieties grow in the tropical regions (up to 5,000 feet), the subtropical (5,000–9,000), the temperate (9,000–10,500) and the alpine (above 10,500); above 9,000 feet, apart from scrub, bamboo and rhododendron largely have the field to themselves.24 Burma, with 7,000 species of flora, including 1,200 tree species, has always been a Shangri-La for botanists. Teak, acacia, bamboo, ironwood, mangrove, betel palm, Michelia champaca and coconut – with oak and pine in the north – are the most commonly encountered varieties, but one botanist found all the following in a single forest: oak, chestnut, maple, rhododendron, birch, cherry, laurel and magnolia, plus genera known only to botanists or enthusiasts such as Sorbus, Rhodoleia, Illicium, Eriobotrya, Daphniphyllum, Schima, Zanthoxylum, Helicia, Bucklandia, [Eriobotrya] Acacia julibrissin (a rare genus containg just one species), Millingtonia hortensis and Manglietia caveania.25
Soldiers serving in Burma in 1942–45 tended to be more interested in the 300 mammal species
. Apart from elephants, tigers and leopards, found in all regions, there were the fauna encountered almost exclusively in Upper Burma – rhinoceroses, wild buffalo, wild boar, deer, antelope, tapirs, monkeys, gibbons and flying foxes. It was only those among the officer classes who had the leisure and financial surplus for ornithology who took an interest in the 1,000 species of birds.26 Even so, it is remarkable that the fauna of Burma plays such a small part in the memoirs, reminiscences, anecdotes and autobiographies of those who fought here. As the first biographer of General Orde Wingate (of whom we shall hear much more) commented: ‘In reading of 77 Brigade, or of events in Burma in 1944, one may be surprised at how little mention there is of perils from jungle animals in this country containing elephants, rhinoceros, tigers, panthers, leopards and snakes in abundance.’27 Even the mentions there are tend to subsist at the level of imagination rather than reality, as witness this statement from a secret agent undergoing jungle training in Ceylon: ‘Every tree, every creeper, every leaf had its message. We could interpret jungle sounds; we could identify jungle smells. We developed the quivering awareness of the beasts and the reptiles of the jungle, for were we not sharing this tangled luxuriance with wild elephants, rhinoceroses, man-eating tigers, buffaloes, deer, monkeys, cobras, chameleons and hamadryads twelve to fifteen feet long?’28 The relative absence of wild-animal stories in the autobiographical literature can be explained in various ways. There was in some officers’ messes the feeling that to mention the jungle and its inhabitants was somehow infra dig, not quite the thing for a gentleman.29 Then there is the obvious consideration that many animals dangerous to man tend to give him a wide berth even in peacetime conditions; with the blast of war, the stutter of machine guns and the din of exploding bombs and napalm around the advancing armies, it can well be imagined that an even greater distance was kept. Visitors to Burma frequently comment (complain) that although the numbers of tigers are large, they are rarely seen.30 J.H. (‘Elephant Bill’) Williams, who knew Burmese wildlife better than most, thought that in the 1920s and 1930s there were ‘too many’ tigers and leopards in the jungle.31 Studies done during the Vietnam War of 1965–75 tend to indicate that in conditions of jungle war, tiger populations tend to become even larger, as there are so many dead bodies to feed on. Yet sightings in the war zone remained rare. One of Wingate’s men did have an unexpected encounter while relieving himself in the jungles of Saugur while the Chindits were training there. He bolted at high speed and told his boss about the experience. Wingate rounded on him: ‘Why did you run away? Don’t you know that when you find yourself face to face with a tiger, all you have to do is to stare him out.’32 It was fortunate indeed that the man did not put Wingate’s daft theory to the test.
The animal the troops saw most of in their campaigning was the elephant, invaluable for carrying heavy loads, rolling logs and other onerous duties. At the start of the Burma war it was estimated that there were about 20,000 domestic elephants and 6,000 wild ones, though the wartime mortality of the domestic ones was terrific, and by the end of hostilities only 2,500 were left alive.33 J.H. Williams listed many of the attributes that made this behemoth so useful. Apart from snakebite, it had nothing to fear from other creatures, for not even a crocodile or a tiger could make any impression on an adult tusker. Even though the occasional elephant did succumb to the venom of a snake, they were unfazed by the reptiles and seemed unconcerned if they appeared.34 The one animal the elephants disliked intensely was the dog, but the canine irritant in turn was reduced by the huge dog mortality, as they fell victim to tigers, bears, snakes and, especially, leopards, whose favourite food they were. Also disliked by elephants were ponies and mules. Mules were indispensable, but ponies were rapidly phased out, not just because of the elephant hostility but also because they became the prey of preference for tigers.35 The other wild creature the troops saw most of was the Burmese rock python, a huge constrictor, usually in the 17–23 foot range (though even larger ones have been recorded). Python became one of the favourite dishes of Wingate’s Chindits when they were living off the land in the jungle. The snakes seemed ubiquitous, and on one occasion Wingate was addressing his officers in the mess hall when one slithered in at the back; inevitably, the Bible-punching Wingate immediately used the incident as an excuse to digress on to the story of Adam and Eve and the serpent.36 Large groups of soldiers treated pythons with justifiable disdain, although a one-on-one encounter would not have been so pleasant. ‘Elephant Bill’ Williams told a story about an acquaintance who tried to adopt a 17-foot Burmese rock python as a pet but then got a nasty shock when the pet tried to constrict the owner.37 This is in line with other lore about these serpents. The psychologist C.G. Jung claimed that zoology had taught him one thing: rapport with all animals is possible except with reptiles. He cited the case of a man who reared a python and used to feed it by hand until one day, without warning, the constrictor wrapped itself round him and nearly killed him; it loosened its coils only when hacked to death by the man’s friend.38
When it came to poisonous snakes, no one could afford to be so insouciant as men habitually were around pythons. Although fewer than 200 of the roughly 2,500 kinds of snakes in the world are dangerous to man, unfortunately many of them are found in Burma, which, for a country its size, has probably the largest concentration of venomous serpents in the world, except perhaps for Tanzania.39 An estimated 10,000 people a year still die of snakebite in the modern Myanmar. An early survey by a colonial civil servant contains some particularly interesting statistics. In 1902 in Burma official records showed just 73 people killed by dangerous mammals, but 1,123 by snakes. A census of cattle revealed that 4,194 had been killed by tigers, 1,386 by leopards, 28 by wolves and six by bears but 4,986 by serpents – which meant that more cattle had succumbed to snakes in Burma than in all the rest of India (Burma was then administered as part of India).40 The most spectacular of the elapid snakes was the hamadryad or king cobra, the largest venomous snake in the world, which can attain a length of 18 feet. Usually the king cobra avoids contact with humans but sometimes it is drawn into villages in pursuit of its favourite prey, the rat snake. Elephant Bill Williams told a story of a colleague who was chased by a hamadryad and confessed he was sceptical about the story until two years later he himself was chased in the very same place; he concluded it must have been a breeding location for king cobras. Magwe was another place reported by British troops as one of their haunts.41 The only thing to be said in favour of the king cobra was that its diet was almost exclusively other snakes, including the ordinary cobra, so that its net effect was probably as a human ally. Far more dangerous than the fabled hamadryad were the ‘normal’ snakes, especially the monocled cobra and the Russell’s viper. John ‘Scarsdale Jack’ Newkirk, a flyer with the American Volunteer Group, found and killed a seven-foot cobra in his barracks one day. Even more feared was the Russell’s viper. This serpent had the peculiarity that the venom of the Burmese variety differed from that of the Thailand species, which in turn was different from the Indian and the Ceylonese variants. This made the preparation of an effective antitoxin and the provision of effective treatment fiendishly difficult.42 Yet even the dreaded Russell’s viper paled into a relative danger alongside the krait. No more than a foot long, the krait in all its species is supremely deadly; the banded variant is known as the ‘two step’ because that is as far as a man will walk after being bitten.43 The peculiar horror of the krait was that it could hide in the dust, in a man’s shoe or indeed in any unexpected nook anywhere; a red, yellow and black krait was found inside the radio set of a member of the 4th Royal West Kent Regiment.44 General William Slim, the military genius of the Burma campaign, had his own close encounter with this tiny nightmare in January 1945: ‘The Japanese had left behind a number of booby traps which were disconcerting, but my chief fright came from the snakes which abounded in the piles of rubble. They seemed specially partial to the vicinity of my war room which lacked a roof but had a good concrete floor. It was my pr
actice to visit the War Room every night before going to bed, to see the latest situation map. I had once when doing so nearly trodden on a krait, the most deadly of all small snakes.’45 The American general Joseph Stilwell was also troubled and wrote to his wife in July 1944: ‘The damn snakes are starting to appear. One got into the office and one tried to get into my tent. Now I look around before I put my bare feet on the floor and shake my shoes before I put them on.’46
The danger from snakes was real enough, but this does not seem to have been enough to satisfy some lurid imaginations. During the final stages of the campaign to take the Ramree islands, in February 1945, the British trapped about a thousand Japanese, cutting off their escape routes to the east. In a typical samurai decision, the commander decided not to surrender but to take his troops out by an unblocked route across ten miles of mangrove swamps. It was a nightmarish scenario because these swamps were essentially acres of thick and impenetrable forest, dark even in the daytime, just miles of deep black mud, infested with snakes, mosquitoes, scorpions and other malign insects. Nine hundred men went into the mangrove swamp, but many were already dying or wounded and most were suffering from malaria, dysentery or dehydration. Only about 500 emerged at the other side; the losses were about what one might have expected in such a situation. That was not good enough for the sensationalists and mythmakers, who concocted a wild and improbable story that except for 20 men taken prisoner by the British, all the others were killed by crocodiles.47 It is well known that the best way of telling a lie is to tell the truth, and the story has a certain specious plausibility, for the estuarine or saltwater crocodile, which can attain a length of 20 feet, is both a known man-eater and an opportunistic killer.48 Many who saw these great saurians basking on the banks of the Irrawaddy shuddered with horror, and the thought of death by crocodile is one of mankind’s abiding nightmares. The following purports to be an account of what happened on the night of 18 February 1945, as the Japanese troops hacked their way through the mangrove swamp: ‘That night was the most horrible that any member of the ML [motor launch] crews ever experienced. The scattered rifle shots in the pitch black swamp punctured by the screams of wounded men crushed in the jaws of huge reptiles, and the blurred worrying sound of spinning crocodiles made a cacophony of hell that has rarely been duplicated on earth. At dawn the vultures arrived to clean up what the crocodiles had left … Of about 1,000 Japanese soldiers that entered the swamps of Ramree, only about twenty were left alive.’49
