by Peter Brune
By employing the tactic of skirting the Indo-Chinese coast southwards, and later sailing back on a north-west course into the Gulf of Siam, the Japanese hoped that if detected, the British might reason that they were headed for Bangkok. But their chief hope in avoiding discovery lay with the north-east monsoon and its ‘chiefly fine mornings, rainy afternoons and clear nights, with intermittent, unpredictable and violent storms and bad visibility, particularly over the sea’.9 Any seaborne assault is aided by low cloud cover and the above weather conditions while its convoys are concentrated, before moving to their objectives. Lieutenant-Colonel Tsuji, sailing on the Ryujo Maru, recorded that: ‘During the day, everyone from the Army Commander to the private soldiers was tense in the clear weather. Never had I wished so earnestly for heavy rain as I did then.’10
Those very conditions had hindered British reconnaissance sorties—the monsoonal rains had grounded all aircraft at Kota Bharu and other airfields in northern Malaya on 4 and 5 December. But the next day a flight of three Hudsons of No. 1 Squadron RAAF left Kota Bharu at 10.30 am to patrol the western area of the South China Sea. Just after midday, a Hudson commanded by Flight Lieutenant John Ramshaw identified three 10 000-ton transports and a covering cruiser around 290 kilometres east of Kota Bharu and sailing due west. A short time later Ramshaw sighted the main convoy. His crew counted one battleship, five cruisers, seven destroyers and 22 transports at around 425 kilometres from Kota Bharu and steaming due west. When the Hudson was seen by the convoy, the Kamikawa Maru catapulted a float plane, which prompted Ramshaw to seek cloud cover. At about 12.45 pm, the crew of a second Hudson commanded by Flight Lieutenant Jim Emerton also spotted the convoy, but their assessment was two cruisers, ten destroyers and 21 transports. Ramshaw and Emerton signalled Singapore and the former then requested permission to shadow it, which was refused, on the basis that both Hudsons were at the limit of their range. The two crews would later claim that one or both Hudsons could have maintained contact with the convoy until relieved, as they had enough fuel for a further three hours.11
These events caused some understandable uncertainty in Singapore. Had the two sightings identified two separate convoys or one? As the convoy sighted by Ramshaw was heading in a north-westerly direction into the Gulf of Siam, was the possible second convoy following it? Were the Japanese landings to be at Thailand or at Kota Bharu or both, or were they a feint designed to entice the British to start the war?
At 4.20 pm another Hudson commanded by Flight Lieutenant Patrick Smith took off from Kota Bharu with orders to relocate and then shadow the enemy convoy. It failed to make contact. Meanwhile, in order to deliver a potential strike, seven Vildebeestes of No. 36 Squadron RAF were armed with torpedoes and flown to Gong Kedah (not far from Kota Bharu). After the first degree of readiness was ordered, a Catalina from No. 205 Squadron RAF was despatched from Singapore to undertake a night search. When no information came from the first Catalina, a second left Singapore at 2.00 am under the command of an Australian, Flying Officer Patrick Bedell.
Early on Sunday 7 December, amidst early fog, rain and low cloud, two more Catalinas took off from Singapore and three Hudsons from No. 1 Squadron RAAF from Kota Bharu. The poor weather caused the early return of two of the Hudsons and the third failed to report a sighting. At around 8.20 am, Bedell’s Catalina was detected by a Japanese float plane from the Kamikawa Maru. After avoiding this threat by turning to the west, Bedell was discovered by a flight of five ‘Nate’ Japanese Army fighters. His aircraft was shot down and its crew lost, while the first Catalina was also presumed downed.12 Sailing aboard the Ryujo Maru, General Yamashita received news of Bedell’s fate. From his perspective, the early detection of the convoy whilst travelling towards ‘Point G’ was tolerable, but as his Chief Staff Officer, Colonel Tsuji would later write: ‘Everyone subconsciously held his breath. The discovery of the convoy sailing to the north-west we could bear with patience, but from 2 o’clock in the afternoon our change of course . . . must be concealed even from the gods.’13
But at around 3.45 pm on 7 December more up-to-date news reached Singapore. A Hudson of No. 8 Squadron sighted a Japanese merchant ship steaming south ‘with a large number of men on deck in khaki’.14 Two Hudsons of No. 1 Squadron immediately took off to search to the north of this sighting, and just on darkness Flight Lieutenant Douglas’s Hudson found four ships heading due south about 95 kilometres north of Patani near the end of the Kra Isthmus. He estimated the enemy shipping as three transports escorted by a cruiser. At 5.50 pm, the second Hudson piloted by Flight Lieutenant Lockward signalled identification of a cruiser—actually a destroyer—and a motor ship around 180 kilometres from Kota Bharu.
At midnight on 7 December 1941, the situation still seemed unclear to Air Headquarters: reconnaissance sorties which had located Japanese convoys on the 6th had failed to re-establish contact the following day; further operations had been either hampered by the poor weather conditions, or, when ships had been sighted, the limited visibility had caused varied intelligence; and it had been late evening on the 7th before four ships steaming south had been seen off Singora. By this time, the RAF’s ability to contest enemy landings at Kota Bharu consisted of eleven Hudsons of No. 1 Squadron RAAF and two Buffaloes of 243 Squadron fully armed and prepared for offensive operations, while seven torpedo-armed Vildebeestes remained at Gong Kedah. Should the order be given for ‘Matador’ to be undertaken, the north Malayan airfield of Sungei Patani with its twelve Buffaloes of 21 Squadron RAAF and twelve Blenheims of 27 Squadron RAF were to support General Heath’s III Indian Corps. At the outbreak of hostilities, there were—between Singapore Island and Northern Malaya—some 164 first-line British aircraft and around 88 in reserve. The Japanese were ready to deploy around 560 aircraft of which about 180 were fighters.15 (The vastly differing quality of the protagonists’ aircraft and pilots has been discussed.)
The Commander-in-Chief Far East, Sir Robert Brooke-Popham, had been walking on a politico–military tightrope for months. During October 1941, when intelligence sources were indicating that the Japanese were training troops in jungle warfare on the island of Hainan, that landing craft were being built in Shanghai, that shipping was being assembled in Japanese-occupied ports and that they were building airfields in southern Indo-China, Brooke-Popham had clung to the conviction that they were intent upon joining the Germans in their war upon Russia. The Japanese activities in Indo-China and their jungle training initiatives at Hainan ought to have made him sternly question this belief—even if the British War Office shared his views. Events in November 1941 should have further eroded his theory: Japanese shipping was being sent south; the landing craft constructed at Shanghai had also headed southward; and, most significantly, Japanese aircraft strength in Indo-China had increased markedly.
But Brooke-Popham did in fact react to this intelligence. On 21 November, he pressed the Chiefs of Staff for a clarification of the circumstances in which he might launch Matador, reminding them that the potential for its success hinged upon the arrival of British troops at Singora in Siam before an enemy landing. Time was the key. In the interim, he ordered General Percival to bring his army formations to the second state of readiness, and deployed a number of air force units to positions further north. Brooke-Popham would have drawn little confidence or comfort from the Chiefs of Staff ’s ambivalent reply four days later. Kirby has recorded that:
They instructed him that, as soon as any situation arose which in his opinion was likely to lead to ‘Matador’, he should make preparations to launch the operation without delay should he be ordered to do so. The War Cabinet’s decision should reach Singapore within thirty-six hours of the receipt of a report that the Japanese were on the move.16
Of course Brooke-Popham would ‘launch the operation without delay’, but how was he to interpret ‘a report that the Japanese were on the move’ as a basis for notifying the War Cabinet? Was Matador to be launched as soon as there was a Japanese fleet presence in the Gulf of Siam?
An increasingly anxious Brooke-Popham reminded the Chiefs of Staff yet again on 27 November that Matador must have fair warning. The enemy could, he warned, stage a landing on the Kra Isthmus within 36 hours of its embarkation from Saigon. Under these circumstances, given the same time span needed by London to make its decision, and then relay it to him, the Japanese would have already landed—Matador would have thus become redundant.
Events now moved quickly. On 1 December, Brooke-Popham was informed that the Americans had been asked to commit armed support if the British contested a Japanese incursion on the Kra Isthmus. The following day, he received notification that the pro-Japanese faction of the Siamese Government had suggested to the Japanese that they invade Malaya at Kota Bharu, which would cause the British to enter Siam, and should that occur, it would declare war upon Britain. Two days later, Brooke-Popham intimated to the Chiefs of Staff that such a contingency would make the desire for the avoidance of war with Japan unnecessary, as he believed that an attack upon Kota Bharu would occur simultaneously with an assault upon Singora. Should this happen, he requested the authority to implement Matador.
On 5 December 1941, the Commander-in-Chief received a much more intelligible reply to his repeated requests—and a welcome one. The Americans, he was told, had finally made a commitment. Kirby has stated that Matador was:
. . . conditional on the Japanese attacking British territory, or the Netherlands East Indies, or on ‘Matador’ being undertaken either to forestall a Japanese landing on the Isthmus of Kra or as a reply to a violation of any other part of Siamese territory. Accordingly with the approval of the War Cabinet they told him that he could order ‘Matador’ without reference to Whitehall, should the Japanese violate any part of Siam, or if there were good information that a Japanese expedition was advancing with the apparent intention of landing on the Isthmus of Kra.17
From 5 December—for two critical days—having been granted the independence to make a defining Matador decision, which he had repeatedly pleaded for, Brooke-Popham vacillated. On receipt of the telegram, his Chief of Staff reportedly stated that: ‘They’ve made you personally responsible for declaring war upon Japan.’18 Brooke-Popham would later state that ‘I considered it my duty to be scrupulously careful in acting on the telegram of the 5th of December.’19 The intelligence gathered and passed on to him on 6 December should have been the signal to instigate Matador. 6 December was the day—the day to move decisively. Given the time needed to move his troops into Thailand, any decision after that day would prove too late. But as Kirby has stated, Brooke-Popham demurred and ‘took counsel of his fears’.20 He signalled his recent intelligence to Admiral Phillips, who had flown to Manila to confer with Admiral Hart and General Douglas MacArthur.
Brooke-Popham’s ‘fears’ must have been heightened on 7 December by an emphatic appeal from the British Siam Ambassador, Sir Josiah Crosby, not to violate Siamese sovereignty. Crosby maintained that Siam would remain pro-British provided the Japanese made the first move. His plea should have fallen on deaf ears. The whole concept of the British defence of Malaya lay on the assumption that the RAF would deliver a mauling of the Japanese at sea or at their landing points, and that, any enemy landings at Singora and Patani would be contested at Singora itself, and at the Ledge. In the military sense, Siamese blessings—or condemnation—meant little if the Japanese attacked first and gained their beachheads. It remains the contention of this work, however, that Matador was a poor plan because it did not allow for the below-standard training of the troops chosen to implement it; that the time factor between reconnaissance in the north-east monsoon and the arrival of a force at those places was always contingent upon an early and therefore bold decision; and, finally, that the logistical considerations and support for the exercise were beyond the capabilities of Malaya Command. But the real tragedy lay in the fact that Brooke-Popham placed Percival in a tactical halfway house. Percival had totally rejected Simson’s sensible suggestions for set-piece defences at defiles right down the Malay Peninsula, and most importantly, a major defence line across the vital ground of southern Johore; he had—with Percival’s concurrence—placed his faith in Matador; but when the crunch came and a brave, resolute decision was required, Brooke-Popham quite simply lacked the intestinal fortitude to take it. It had now come to pass that neither option would be enacted: there was to be no Matador, nor an in-depth set-piece defence of the peninsula or of a principal line in Johore.
Percival had regarded the cable from London on 5 December giving Brooke-Popham freedom to order Matador as ‘news of the first importance’. So vital was this information that he ‘decided to go to Kuala Lumpur the following day . . . to discuss it with Heath’.21 At around 3.15 pm, Percival received a message that two convoys had been sighted, and, looking at a map with his corps commander, came to the obvious conclusion that if the Japanese maintained their course, Singora must be their landing point. He wrote that: ‘. . . after all it seemed, we had got the news in time and should be able to put Matador into operation’.22 General Heath immediately ordered the first degree of readiness for his III Indian Corps, and believing that Matador was about to be staged, further ordered Major-General Murray Lyon and his 11th Indian Division to be ready to move at short notice. Percival returned by plane to Singapore that night. Ever the gentleman and always understated, Percival, in his The War in Malaya, made the point that given the numbers of Japanese ships sighted he was ‘a little surprised to find that Matador had not been ordered’.23 The next few days were to be full of surprises—the ‘bull’ was about to instigate a war and run riot before the arrival of a feeble ‘Matador’. We have outlined the air reconnaissance of 7 December and Brooke-Popham and Percival’s agreement at around 10.30 pm to again not order the operation. By then it was too late.
At around midnight on 8 December 1941, three Japanese troop transports carrying 7 550 troops of the 42nd Infantry Regiment and their support units left the main convoy and, sailing on a south-eastern course in pitching seas, headed towards Pitani.
At 2.00 am the main Japanese convoy carrying the 25th Army’s forward operational HQ and its 5th Division—less the Patani detachment and the 21st Regiment—and numbering around 13 500 troops dropped anchor opposite Singora beach. The first intimation the Japanese had as to the accuracy of their arrival was the intermittent flashing of Singora’s lighthouse. Lieutenant-Colonel Tsuji remembered that: ‘The seas were at least three metres high—possibly higher. In peacetime manoeuvres men would not have been exposed to the danger of transhipment in such circumstances. It seemed that the boats would be swamped as they lay alongside.’ And then later: ‘In the dim moonlight the launching of the boats had somehow proved easier than had been thought possible. Soon the next signal light appeared. “Commence transhipment.”’24
Tsuji landed at 4.00 am. Siamese resistance ended within a matter of hours. Although Ambassador Crosby’s plea for a Japanese instigation of hostilities in Siam had come to pass, it would prove a most empty and costly concession.
Further down the coast at the market town of Patani, the Japanese 5th Division’s 42nd Infantry Regiment (with artillery and engineers in support) landed at dawn on 8 December. Lieutenant-Colonel Tsuji would later write that:
. . . the men of the detachment began to disembark on the beach at Patani, from which they had to drive the Thai Army, which resisted strongly . . .
Once ashore it was found that the roads were bad and the mountains precipitous. Progress was slow, for determined resistance had to be broken down. The results of this assault were however remarkable; it drove a powerful wedge into the enemy’s flank and made the operations on the main front much easier.25
Despite this initial stiff resistance, the Japanese operation was a resounding success, and the Patani airfield was captured quite quickly.
Thirty minutes prior to Tsuji’s landing at Singora, radar at Mersing and then Changi identified planes at a range of about 220 kilometres from Singapore Town. This gave a thirty-minute wa
rning to the city. The three services reacted to the warning, but Singapore’s lights were still glowing as nine Japanese bombers, flying at 12 000 feet, made a pass over the city to draw anti-aircraft fire away from eight others that bombed the town from about 5000 feet.26 ‘Little or no damage’ was done during an attack on Seletar airfield, while three of No. 34 Squadron’s Blenheim bombers on Tengah were damaged and the runway cratered.27 Three Buffalo fighters, ready to engage the Japanese, were denied permission to take off for fear of friendly anti-aircraft fire.28 Around 200 civilian casualties were caused by the bombing of Raffles Place and Chinatown, of which around 60 were fatalities.
There is some conjecture as to why Singapore Town was not blacked out during the raid. Two theories are offered. The first is that the Air Raid Precautions HQ was not manned, while the second states that this HQ was indeed manned, but that the head warden—the only person with the key—had gone out to a late-night movie. Thompson, in his The Battle for Singapore, seems to offer credible evidence as to the latter theory.29 Brooke-Popham would claim in his postwar despatch that the absence of a blackout had little bearing on the Japanese bombing of Singapore owing to a full moon that night which assisted the Japanese pilots’ identification of both the coast and town. The reader is left to ponder the political and military reaction had a head warden failed in his duty, or an Air Raid Precautions HQ been unmanned, during air raids over London or Coventry. The truth is that the civil authorities in Singapore—and the military—were still, on 8 December 1941, doing their ‘la-di-da’. The next morning, the authorities in Singapore reacted to the bombing by rounding up and interning all Japanese civilians in Malaya and Singapore. Two days later, Duff Cooper assumed the lofty title of Resident Minister for Far Eastern Affairs, which had as its brief, political advice for military commanders; the settling of emergency matters on the spot; the power under emergency circumstances to authorise departmental heads to spend monies without permission from London; and lastly, to preside over the War Council.
