by Peter Brune
Presumably, there were two benefits in having a British battalion in each Indian brigade: the obvious advantage of it being well trained and well led, and therefore being a decisive influence on the fighting quality of that formation; and second, its potential as a tool of training for its two fellow battalions. Wigmore’s point is therefore relevant, since the three British battalions stationed on Singapore Island could have fulfilled both needs for those three Indian brigades.
Any resemblance between the 4th and 5th Divisions of the Indian Army which fought with distinction in the Middle East during the period 1940–41, coupled with the sterling service of the Indian Army’s contribution to the British 14th Army’s fighting in Burma later in the war, and elements of the same army in Malaya during late 1941 and early 1942, was near impossible to discern.
The Official British Historian offers the term ‘milking’ as the reason for the demise of the Indian Army during the Malayan Campaign. The term refers to the mechanism used by the British to expand the Indian Army. ‘Milking’ involved the transfer of regular and experienced officers and other ranks to newly established units. It was widespread and occurred even after some had arrived in Malaya. In order to understand the severity of this ‘milking’ process, it is well worth examining some of the unique qualities of the Indian Army structure.
The other ranks of the prewar Indian Army were drawn from less than five per cent of the population; had strong ties to the Punjab Province; were often recruited from the same families and villages as existing soldiers; were recruited at a young age, with the result that the army and unit became their home; and were concentrated in companies by their particular race, religion, caste, dietary peculiarities and other cultural similarities.37 An Indian infantry battalion’s junior leadership relied upon two types of officers, named jemadars and subedars. Each held a Viceroy’s Commission. Alan Warren, in Singapore 1942:
VCOs were Indians promoted from the ranks, usually after at least ten years’ service. These men were junior to all officers with King’s or Indian commissions, but wore the same rank insignia as lieutenants and captains. Jemadars commanded platoons, and a subedar was the senior VCO in a company. The senior VCO in a battalion was the subedar-major. VCOs were the principal link between the army’s mostly British officers and the sepoys [other ranks] . . .
One shortcoming of the VCO system was that, without the western education that British and Indian officers took for granted, even the most talented VCO was to some extent isolated from his superiors by culture, language and some aspects of training.38
The Indian Army’s senior battalion officers—around twelve to sixteen—held a King’s Commission. They were British apart from a small number of Indians who had graduated from Sandhurst (from 1919) and from Dehra Dun from 1932.
The ‘milking’ process involved a removal and reposting of a number of these junior and senior officers to other units of a rapidly expanding Indian Army. In fact the term ‘milking’ rather understates the severity of the process. ‘Gutting’ would seem a far more apt term. It is at the company and platoon level where basic training and leadership impacts most. To ‘gut’ at a battalion level such junior, and to an extent, senior level commanders is to retard the training process both in terms of quality and time—and there was not much time available. So severe was this process that by the outbreak of war many Indian battalions had failed to reach a satisfactory level of unit training, let alone brigade and divisional training. A further problem was the basic quality and diversity of the newly arriving recruits. Kirby in The War Against Japan:
What mechanisation meant to the Indian Army will be apparent when it is realized that the first thing many a recruit had to do was to discard his mother tongue or provincial dialect and learn Urdu—the language in which all instruction was imparted. Then, after basic training, he had to become proficient in a number of new and complicated weapons. To teach all this to a man who on joining was often completely illiterate, and then expect him in addition to learn to drive and maintain a heavy mechanical vehicle was asking a lot.39
Similar problems faced the Indian Army’s ability to enhance both the quantity and quality of its signals, artillery, technical corps and schools of instruction. There was only one answer to the problem: time. The raw product, as stated using the examples of the Middle East and later Burma, was more than satisfactory. But given the time between their arrival in Malaya—and the prior and ongoing ‘gutting’ of their formations—to their deployment in action, the task was beyond them. And III Corps under Heath was to be the vanguard of the defence of Malaya.
During the interwar period, the majority of British Army units serving in the Far East garrison had been stationed in India and Singapore. In comparison with garrison service elsewhere in the Empire, it was not a bad life—especially for officers. In terms of social standing, British officers serving in Singapore and Malaya could look to a similar existence to English businessmen, planters and civil service personnel. This lifestyle included an impressive purchasing power for their wage; membership of exclusive clubs and hotels; impressive sporting facilities; and, for a minimum outlay, a seemingly endless supply of servants. In blunt terms, it was a leisurely paced, privileged and sheltered life. And periodic leave back to Britain tended to diminish the isolation of prolonged tropical service.
While the other ranks were denied access to such exclusive clubs and bars, they too enjoyed a lifestyle better than at home or, for that matter, than elsewhere in the British Empire. Alan Warren, in Singapore 1942:
Life was unhurried but the army had evolved a routine to fill in the day that commenced early in the morning. There were endless parades for any number of reasons . . . Men still wore a pith helmet (sun helmet or sola topi) that had been part of a soldier’s equipment in the tropics since Victorian times. The hottest hours of the day were spent indoors in large, airy barracks with only limited privacy. . . .
Yet, in small ways, junior servicemen enjoyed a social status higher than they might have enjoyed in Britain. Native staff were employed for menial tasks . . . Off duty men could visit cinemas, bars, amusement parks, dance halls and the red light districts.40
British units in Malaya and Singapore also suffered from a ‘milking’ of experienced officers and NCOs to Britain and the Middle East. Further, these officers were often not replaced, and to compound the problem there was not an adequate supply of trained reinforcements ‘accustomed to the climatic conditions in Malaya’.41
And Percival had further challenges. The first was the size and quality of his Malaya Command HQ. Although the size of the army in Malaya and Singapore had increased since 1939, the Command HQ had not. Further, the standard of its work was inevitably poor, since promotions and the transfer of officers to the Middle East and Britain had impacted upon the level of experience found in it. Instead of such personnel being replaced by officers who had recent service in these theatres, Malaya Command was forced to fill its vacancies by promotion from within its own ranks. Kirby has also cited the differing rates of pay between the Indian, British and Australian formations as an impediment towards the transfer of suitable officers from one formation to another.42 Kirby has claimed that:
. . . there was no training directorate with a senior and experienced officer in charge; instead, training was in the hands of a comparatively junior officer of the staff duties department, which was already heavily overloaded . . .
Moreover, the newly raised Indian formations reached Malaya only partially trained, and neither these formations nor the British battalions from China nor the Australian formations had had any experience or training in warfare in close country almost entirely covered by trees and jungle.43
Further, while schools and training centres had been established in the Middle East, no such training infrastructure existed in Malaya—a further barrier to systematic, effective training. Training was therefore left to individual brigade and unit commanders, the standard of which was going to vary.
Ki
rby draws a similar conclusion about the intelligence branch at Malaya Command HQ. ‘This was in the hands of one second-grade and one third-grade staff officer who, because of their rank, had no direct access to Percival.’44 It should be recognised that Percival had two easy choices with regards to these officers: either replace them, or promote them so that they at least had access to him!
It is blatantly obvious that in terms of strategy, Malaya HQ Staff, the available equipment and the quantity and quality of personnel allotted, the task of holding Singapore and Malaya was always going to be extremely difficult. When General Percival’s biographer, Clifford Kinvig, claims that Percival was a scapegoat for these multitude of sins committed both in London and Singapore, he is essentially right. Percival’s difficulties were diverse. However, it is also true that the pages of history bear ample testimony to commanders having to operate with such disadvantages. One of the great tests of command, therefore, is surely how any given commander confronts his challenges—how he either delays his eventual defeat, or perhaps, how he may triumph against adversity.
Percival’s first problem was how best to conform to the existing RAF-dominated plan for the defence of Malaya and Singapore. His second was how best to train and then utilise his army in the field if, and when, the army became the prime weapon for the defence of Malaya and Singapore. And this eventuality must surely have been clear to him given the naval period before relief and the extreme shortfall of aircraft numbers in Malaya and Singapore at the time.
The Japanese had occupied southern Indo-China in September 1940. This brought their bombers within range of both Malaya and Singapore Island. Any Japanese advance staged down the Malay Peninsula would necessitate the capture of airfields in southern Siam (Thailand) and northern Malaya. The British were well aware that such Siamese fields existed at Singora and Patani and at Kota Bharu and Gong Kedah in northern Malaya. But it was the acquisition of Singora and Patani that posed the greatest threat. If these were captured, the Japanese would be in a position to advance along two roads—the Patani–Kroh road and the Singora–Alor Star–Kuala Kangsar road—which would have two critical consequences. The first would jeopardise the defence of Kedah and Perlis, which were the main rice production areas of Malaya; and the second, and more serious consequence, was the fact that any defending force in the area ran the risk of envelopment.
To counter this potential Japanese thrust, first General Bond and later Brooke-Popham advocated a crossing of the Siamese border to capture Singora and Patani. They also stated that additional troops would be needed to mount the operation. When Percival replaced Bond, the operation was examined again. Percival changed the plan to enable it to be undertaken without additional troops. The 11th Indian Division would now have one of two tasks: either a movement into Siam to capture Singora (code-named Matador), or the defence of the Alor Star airfield. Given that the existing resources did not enable an operation against Patani as well as Singora, Percival now advocated the occupation of a position on the Kroh Road called the Ledge. Located around 40 kilometres inside the Siamese border, the Ledge was a portion of the road which had been cut through a steep ridge. The force designated to occupy the Ledge was to be codenamed Krohcol.
In the end, Matador and Krohcol suffered from severe political and military handicaps. Both operations involved a violation of Siamese territory. At the time, British policy in the Far East was to avoid war with Japan. Should Matador and Krohcol be undertaken before a Japanese landing at Singora, the British would be seen as violating Siamese neutrality, and just as importantly, such an act of aggression might affect the attitude of the Americans. The Japanese must be seen to be making the first move.
Brooke-Popham stated that he needed 36 hours’ notice from the British Government before the operations could be implemented. He also estimated that once permission to mount Matador and Krohcol had been given by London, at least a further 24 hours would be needed for the troops to arrive at these locations.
But the real flaws in these operations were military. Any British movement into Siam would involve detailed staff work to facilitate speed of movement for not only the infantry, but also for the material required by the engineers to combat Siamese demolition of roads and railways, and also to repair existing bridges. Further stores would be required for the needs of the defence of Singora. Time would be crucial. To add to the degree of difficulty, Siamese border guards, followed soon after by infantry, might well contest the advance.
Matador was an ill-conceived plan—ill-conceived because it defied the bounds of common sense as much as military prudence. Any plan which demands unrealistic political and time restraints, superb staff work and highly trained troops will fail dismally when those very prerequisites for success are so obviously lacking.
In his book, The Chain Of Disaster (1971), Kirby examines these very issues, and then goes on to offer a possible alternative plan for the defence of Malaya and Singapore. A vital part of Kirby’s analysis is based on the evidence provided by a new character who now enters our story.
Brigadier Ivan Simson arrived at Singapore on 5 August 1941 as the new Chief Engineer Malaya Command. His qualifications for his post were impressive. He had spent three years at the War Office (1937–39) and one (1940) at the Ministry of Supply ‘after the Master General of the Ordnance and his Branches moved from the War Office to the Ministry of Supply’.45 Simson’s subsequent training and knowledge for his posting to Singapore are well worth quoting.
In both places I served under the Director of Mechanisation as Assistant Director of Engineering with continuous and close liaison with the Staff Duties and Military Training branches at the War Office on the engineering requirements of the Army. This also involved frequent visits to establishments of the Royal Engineers and Signals Board (as it was then called). The R.E.S.B. had specialist research and development staff for the complete modernisation of all R.E. equipment and the techniques and training necessary for using such new equipment in the field. This covered railway, road, and personnel bridges of all types, floating and rigid (including the Bailey Bridge); water supply; petrol storage; demolitions and new demolition explosives; camouflage; obstacles against enemy tank and infantry landings from the sea and their advance on land; ‘disappearing pill boxes’ to protect airfields etc. against paratroops and plane landings; searchlights and sound locators (and radar which was being developed there); barbed wire of various sorts; booby traps . . . etc.; and how best to deal with similar enemy items when we were attacking. In fact the engineering equipment of the army was being brought up-to-date after intensive troop trials.46
To complement his theoretical knowledge, Simson had subsequently spent ‘about five months in 1941’47 as Deputy Chief Engineer (Operations) at the Headquarters of Scottish Command, working on the installation of ‘many such items [identified above] on airfields and seaward attack against tank and infantry landings—and advance on land if they got established ashore’.48
It is of little surprise that Simson was told he had been selected as the new Chief Engineer Malaya Command because of his ‘up-to-date knowledge and experience in the development and installation of modern defences’.49 His orders were simple: he was to bring the defences of Malaya and Singapore up to date ‘specifically against possible beachlandings and against tank and air attack’.50
Simson claims that he was warned of two problems that were to confront him: that friction had existed between the Chief Engineer’s Office and Malaya Command HQ; and that an officer in the Works Service of the Engineer’s Department had recently been convicted of malpractice. To compound this situation, he was not issued with written orders to place before Percival on arrival, but instead was assured that the Chief of the Imperial General Staff would forward a letter to Percival explaining Simson’s role and his suitability for the task. No such document was ever forthcoming.
Simson received a correct but indifferent welcome from General Percival and his BGS Brigadier Torrance. ‘I at once became conscious
of an indefinable restraint on their part—as if they never trusted the Chief Engineer or his staff.’51 And he could only ponder the reasons for their extraordinary behaviour. Perhaps, he thought, it was ‘partly because of strained relations prior to my arrival—and partly because they—already adverse to any defences—suspected that I was bluffing about my instructions from the War Office to modernise and extend defence works’.52
We have noted the close relationship between Percival and the Chief of the Imperial General Staff, General Dill. Percival could so easily have cabled Dill and sought a clarification of Simson’s role(s). He appears to have not done so.
After a lengthy reconnaissance of the defences in Singapore and Malaya, Simson sought an interview with Percival in mid-October 1941. He claimed that the meeting ran through ‘the entire morning’ and that Torrance was ‘present most of the time’.53 Before offering his plans, Simson made three key observations. The first concerned the labour required to build the fortifications. He stated that all fortifications approved by Percival could be built by civil labour or by contract, and that all works could be readily supervised by Royal Engineer officers and NCOs, who were trained in such work. Simson added the obvious point that such work should begin immediately, since the tasks would become far harder after the outbreak of hostilities. His second point concerned the required materials for the defences. Simson:
