‘I’d explain who we were and they’d nod, though I don’t think they really understood until I said we came from Padawan and mentioned someone they knew there because that was the centre of their world. Then we’d talk about the: weather, what stage the “padi” had reached, how many coconut palms they had,, what were their specialities such as pineapples or cucumbers which were rare luxuries. After that we’d get onto sickness and they’d be quick to tell us of their complaints; toothache was common, and so were septic cuts as they had no conception of hygiene but rubbed tobacco into wounds. We did all we could for them.
‘At last I’d tell them we’d come because the Indonesians might cause trouble and we wanted to help them. They were already apprehensive enough of the Indonesians to have curtailed their cross-border traffic, and that was a pity so I encouraged them to start again and tell us what we so badly needed to know: all about the local people, topography, and of course the least sign of Indonesian soldiers. I’d ask them what they’d do if the Indonesians attacked, and perhaps because there was little they could do but run into the jungle they promised to tell us all they discovered. This they did and a steady stream of reports flowed in, sometimes by runner and often by people coming to Padawan on their ordinary business.’
In only one village were the people inscrutable, a Chinese one where the Dyaks’ rubber was traded for other goods. It is not that the Chinese are naturally inscrutable, far from it; their sense of fun and zest for life are normally as well developed as anyone’s, but here there were distinctly cagey overtones. The Land Dyaks murmured incomprehensibly, ‘puttisup’, as though the place harboured an infectious disease and should be avoided. They were not far wrong, for their meaning when finally divined was Party SUPP, Sarawak United People’s Party which was the legal front organization for the clandestine communists; and here, as everywhere, even among people who could have no understanding of what communism meant, they had managed to make themselves unpopular.
Sarawak geography ends with Cape Datu jutting north into the China Sea with the border running along its spine. It being obviously important, Edwardes extracted his Sergeant-Major, Lawrence Smith, from Bareo and sent him there to reconnoitre. Smith went there expecting to live rough, but found instead s Chinese millionaire and dined sumptuously on delicate bird’s nest soup, fragrantly scented tea and all that went between them, accompanied by five-star Cognac. Intimacy was slow to blossom, however, because his host thought Smith must be a government inspector sent to investigate his fleet of motor-junks in which he imported rubber from round the point in Indonesia and then distributed it to the world without wasting time and money on customs formalities. The barrier between the two men was swept aside, however, when Smith perceived that here was the chance to go a little further; indeed, the Hereford Clock advocated crossing ‘that glimmering sea’ as a proper way for a pilgrim. He accompanied his host on a voyage which, with its bracing air, good living and stimulating company, Smith found a memorable experience. He also discovered that no Indonesian military activity was in train on that part of the coast.
Having sent in his patrols, Edwardes went in himself, by himself, and walked the better part of that 900-mile frontier; coming out only when he reached the uninhabited areas and then going straight in again. Only brisk walking would cover the distances, so he took no pack; just his Armalite, water bottle, emergency kit, and sardines – because he liked them unashamedly though the tins added weight – but otherwise relying for sustenance, succour and survival on the tribes along his way. He proved that he was justified in doing so by surviving alone the perils of the jungle, such as elephants, swarming bees, falling branches or sprained ankles; snakes too, even for him, because they must not be allowed to take the initiative. ‘The trouble with being alone is you can’t guard yourself against man or animal; two are all right. You have to become like an animal yourself, very, very alert; I slept in a little hidey-hole because that was less obvious than a basha.’
There was no strain in this, just piquancy; he slept well and enjoyed himself thoroughly whether sitting snugly between the buttresses of a big tree watching the animal life or being entertained in the longhouses. Though unannounced, his coming was never a surprise, indicating that his approach had been stealthily observed, which might have been disquieting had he given any concern to the watchers being headhunters by immemorial custom.
Out of consideration for his hosts and his own comfort, though heedless of lepto-spirosis, he plunged fully clothed into the last river before arrival to wash off the worst of the stench and filth; and on stepping, dripping, out of the jungle he would find that all was prepared for his reception. The ladies took his clothes to dry them, leaving him in a state of near nature, but that only conformed to the fashion; ‘tapai’ appeared, or it might be ‘tuak’, ‘borak’ – different longhouses, different brews, but there was never a shortage – girls were presented, drums throbbed, the aroma of roasting mouse-deer excited the palate, and the party began. Great were the rewards of enterprise, a little hardship, and of being British. Only once in the entire Odyssey was there an undercurrent of reserve to the hospitality and, sure enough, communists had been at work.
When Edwardes met his SAS patrols, he was fully briefed on their areas, and adding his own observations returned knowing the whole frontier better than any other individual. Viewing it with the eye of a soldier, he could both inform and advise General Walker, and the General was impressed.
As in ancient times this modern Arcadia was not to be left in pastoral isolation, and in January 1963 the Indonesian Foreign Minister said: ‘We cannot but adopt a policy of confrontation because Malaysia is the accomplice of neo-colonial forces pursuing a policy hostile to Indonesia.’ He used the jargon of the aggressor in which anyone who defends himself is hostile. Similarly, at international conferences convened to resolve the issue sensibly and peacefully, he was pleased to cooperate just as long as Indonesia was given everything she wanted. She was encouraged by news that the Malaysian idea was slow in taking shape, the intended members being wary of Malay aggrandisement at their expense, and was hopeful that judicious pressure might abort the half-formed foetus.
General Walker became aware that Indonesian troops in Borneo were moving towards the frontier and that the CCO were active and well prepared for operations. His commander-in-chief in Singapore, however, worried that the Vietnam war might get out of control and spill over into the rest of Southeast Asia, ordered Walker and his headquarters back to be ready for the next crisis wherever it might break. But even as the latter was making his reluctant farewells, on 12 April 1963 a platoon of Indonesians attacked the police station at Tebedu in 1 Troop’s area in the First Division of Sarawak and clarified minds wonderfully.
One unfortunate policeman was killed, two were wounded and the armoury was ransacked, the raid being clearly intended to test British reaction. If we were to vacillate, morale throughout the territories would surely plummet, the CCO would be encouraged to rise and Malaysia would be still-born; but we stood firm, to the relish of General Walker and his troops, now hastily reinforced, who feared only that the war would fizzle out before it had properly started. So began a colonial campaign in which the element of possession was totally absent. True, we stood to gain from the area’s continuing stability, but we should also be doing a service to international peace and, above all, discharging our trust to our dependant peoples. Wars, even small ones, are costly in lives and treasure, and in the devious field of international politics this one was an uncommonly honourable exercise.
Satisfying as it would be to relate that the SAS knew all about the Tebedu raid before it happened and then frustrated it, that was not the case, but for good reasons. First, Tebedu was only two miles from the border so the scope for early warning was negligible. Secondly, it had a road whereby the Queen’s Royal Irish Hussars could quickly arrive in their armoured cars, which they did, so it had to take a low priority in the attenuated SAS coverage.
What then h
ad ‘A’ Squadron achieved as they prepared to hand over to ‘D’, apart from enjoying themselves? Where they had been able to go they had built up encyclopedic knowledge of the border country and secured the people’s active cooperation. Great tracts remained to be explored and many villages to be won over, but there was an immediate and impressive pay-off of which the contribution of Ray England’s patrol was typical. He was able to make the following reports from information passed to him by his Land Dyaks.
‘1301 April 1963
Inhabitants of Sidut and Gun have been ordered to clear and improve tracks between them and clear camp sites for 100 soldiers each who are expected shortly.
‘15th April
Headman was stopped by Indonesian soldiers on his way to Entakong and his shotgun confiscated. 70 soldiers are based there, dressed in jungle-green uniforms with automatic weapons, and spend much time patrolling. A Land Dyak border-crosser met an Indonesian Land Dyak near Kapala Pasang who said there were 20 soldiers there. 100 Indonesian soldiers have now moved into both Sidut and Gun where their camps are precisely located. 100 soldiers are also stationed at Sekajang and Suroh.1
‘17th April
3 men from Gun killed some Indonesian soldiers who had been pillaging and have been arrested by the Indonesian District Officer.’
If soldiers can win the hearts and minds of the people among whom they campaign the benefits can hardly be exaggerated, in logistics, communications and security as well as Intelligence. They are freed to concentrate on their own tasks and their morale, that battle-winning factor, is significantly raised; whereas the fate of the Indonesians at Gun neatly illustrates the consequences of failure.
If General Walker had been a little sceptical when the Squadron went into the jungle, he was quite the reverse when they came out: ‘I should like to congratulate you on your excellent performance. You have been deployed in your classic role over a 900-mile front to provide me with my eyes and ears. Above all the work of your signallers and medical orderlies has been quite outstanding and they have made a significant contribution both to our Intelligence sources and to our efforts to win the support and loyalty of the tribes. We have enjoyed having you with us and hope should the need arise that you will come back.’
They too wished nothing better. Indeed, Ray England was extracted from Padawan only with the greatest difficulty. Enchanted with the life, the country and the people, like Odysseus on Circe’s Isle he found he had acquired a corresponding aversion for western civilization, despite the strong calling of home.
1These Kalimantan villages were on the Upper Sekayan River opposite Padawan, but are not all shown on the maps.
CHAPTER 4
‘CONFRONTATION’
‘D’ Squadron’s First Tour, April to August 1963
‘A’ Squadron’s Second Tour, August to December 1963
‘D’ SQUADRON
Tebedu was the first of many hit-and-run incursions, and from then on confrontation was spelt with a capital ‘C’. General Walker’s reaction was prompt and uncompromising. Implemented by keen and efficient troops, it ensured that few incursions gained any success and most suffered casualties.
In the areas of greatest threat the British infantry began to be based in jungle forts close up to the border whence they patrolled constantly, ‘dominating the jungle’ as Walker had instructed them and assuming responsibility for the locals and border surveillance. Some of the SAS were thus released and set to train an irregular force, to be called the Border Scouts, from the best of the jungle people’s young men, using their uncanny skills to good effect and giving them an important role in their country’s defence. Volunteers flocked, and Major Tom Leask, commanding ‘D’ Squadron, found himself with a formidable task that almost exclusively occupied him and his men in the First and Second Divisions.
Frank Williams, now a mature veteran, was the Squadron Quartermaster-Sergeant, an unsought-after post – because it debarred him from operations – but a vital one. Patrols must be supplied instantly with what they needed, whether it was available or not. It was a job that demanded a keen sense of anticipation founded on long experience, constantly projecting the mind into those of the troops, and aggressive rapacity. But now, with the patrols established, he found himself motoring pleasantly up the river from Simanggang in the Second Division with the aim of recruiting a local unit of Border Scouts, but not quite knowing how to begin:
‘Ten years earlier in Malaya, we had Iban trackers. My three were Roh, Ejok and Jalan. We got on very well but they left in 1954 and I’d thought that was that; but would you believe it, there was Ejok coming the other way in a dugout, so I reversed engines, he back-paddled, and we had big talk on a sandbank. Then he plunged into the jungle, returned with Roh and Jalan, and the unit was founded.’
The initial training was thought afterwards to have been too formally military, yet basic discipline was essential if all were to work to a plan. The warriors had also to learn refinements such as not pointing their weapons at anyone except the enemy. One instructor remembers: ‘It was hairy, had to clout ’em a bit, needed a lot of patience. One guy thought he was invulnerable because he’d paid his witch-doctor 40 dollars for a good-luck charm; we put it on the target and blasted hell out of it and he was upset, wanted to claim his money back. But they were keen and fit and did very good info-gathering work on the border.’
And that was their proper job. They were not soldiers but scouts. Within a few months their uniforms were discarded and with bare feet and shotguns they became ostensibly hunters again. They were also a great deal safer should they meet the enemy. Gradually the scheme spread through Sarawak and then Sabah. Before the end of ‘D’ Squadron’s tour, a few Border Scouts were added to each SAS patrol, thus enlarging the area it could cover and greatly improving communications. Finally, Border Scout training was turned over to the Gurkha Independent Parachute Company. Their commander, Major John Cross, had a wonderful touch with native peoples and spoke, it seemed, every language under the eastern sun.
Conferences and incursions took place concurrently, the Indonesians clearly trying to make the point that they could operate inside British territory at will and must eventually have their way. Nevertheless, an agreement was signed in July 1963 for Malaysia to be set up in September. Only Brunei chose not to join, preferring to remain a British Protectorate. She was economically viable with her oil revenues, but cooperated whole-heartedly in resisting Confrontation. Soekarno raged at the fait accompli, proclaiming that ‘Maphilindo’ was now formed and vowing that the New Emergent Forces would triumph over colonialism in some peculiarly Asian way; though Tunku Abdul Rahman of Malaya observed that if Soekarno did nothing at all the colonialists would leave quietly on Malaysia Day instead of waiting to frustrate whatever knavish tricks, he might try.
Then the Tunku was specific. Communism, he said, was a religion more destructive than imperialism (as he had good reason to know from Malaya’s own experience); its increasing power in Indonesia was the most alarming factor of all and he would resist it. Surprisingly, an agreement was reached whereby the United Nations would ascertain whether the Sabah and Sarawak peoples wished to join Malaysia, and such was Soekarno’s genius for confusing and misleading that it was generally believed he would be content with the findings even if contrary to his own wishes.
The Sultan of Brunei’s keen cooperation extended to lending a house of his own to the General and a haunted one to the SAS; the latter being where the Japanese equivalent of the Gestapo had conducted its unsavoury business, and its ghost a young girl foully done to death in bygone times. The Haunted House was admirable, for as well as providing space for operations room, communications centre and accommodation (with showers) for patrols returning from the jungle, it was shunned by the populace. That was good for security and helped to enhance the aura of mystery and invincibility with which the SAS found it tactically expedient to surround themselves. Even the ghost moved out when they moved in, an understandably prudent soul.
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Whenever Border Scouts were not being trained, patrols continued with the same aim as before, border surveillance, though with a much more wary eye on the Indonesians. They rarely spent a night in a village, but camped in the jungle to avoid compromise, never in the same place twice. Their rations were cached in places calculated to give them tactical flexibility in their main task of tracking incursions. But their daytime visits were very important; first for hearts and minds, in which the main element was medical aid with medical stores forming the bulk of their resupply demands; then there was information to be collected and reported, landing-points to be cleared, assistance to be given to the civil administration and police, especially Special Branch, an aircraft crash rescue service to be organized, and Domesday Book ever to be expanded. It was hard, physical and mental work.
Bob Turnbull, the strong and notably silent Sergeant-Major of ‘D’ Squadron, took a patrol to eastern Sabah where estuary country gives way to hills. Ian Thomson was included, and he had occasion to wish that his leader was a little more communicative with his accumulated jungle lore, which was legendary in the Regiment. On being instructed, by a gesture, to collect water from a stream below their stopping place, he found himself rubbing shoulders with a wild elephant engaged on the same errand. He was surprised on two counts; first, because someone had told him there were no elephants in Borneo, which was true only in their not being indigenous, but many imported working animals had been turned loose when the Japanese came; secondly, it usually is surprising to see one in the jungle, for despite its bulk it blends well with the background and what you think is a small tree that looks oddly like an elephant’s leg, turns out to be just that. Prompt action is then advisable; most creatures can detect and evade a blundering man long before he becomes dangerous, but an elephant’s sight and hearing are so poor that it may only sense him when he is within that critical distance where the instinctive response changes from flight to counterattack.
SAS: Secret War in South East Asia Page 8
