by Ellie Dean
Ron closed his eyes as he sent a silent prayer to whichever god might be listening to keep an eye on his boy as well as Brendon and Martin and all the other boys who were risking their lives – and to bring them safely home.
21
Burma
It was Christmas morning, although it didn’t feel at all like it to Jim Reilly, who had his rifle cocked and ready at his side, the pistol tucked into his belt, safety catch off, whilst he drove the American army jeep at speed along the barely discernible jungle track.
Despite the debilitating heat and humidity, and the very real danger they were all in, Jim was actually enjoying himself. The jeep was a new toy that had been airlifted in by the Yanks and was a joy to handle, with its four-wheel drive, high and low gear ratio and the capability to negotiate tree roots, rivers and large rocks. He roared with laughter as the suspension sent him and his three heavily armed passengers at least a foot in the air every time it bounced and rocked its way between the trees.
Major General Orde Wingate’s 77 Brigade had been in Burma since February 1943 – although the families of the men were not aware of that because of the high security surrounding their long-range-penetration mission, in which Japanese communications were cut, railroads and bridges blown up, road convoys ambushed and isolated Jap posts attacked. The badge they proudly wore on their sleeves and caps depicted a lion-headed dragon – what the Burmese called a chinthe – which in the Buddhist religion was the only living thing permitted to use force to guard their sacred Buddhist pagodas. Through mispronunciation, the word chinthe had been changed to chindit and taken on by the brigade.
The Japs had reacted to the incursion and finally trapped the force in the great bend of the Shweli River. It had been a terrible defeat, forcing the remnants of the brigade to work their way back to India in parties of all sizes, from single men to whole columns. Refusing to be bowed by this failure, and with Churchill’s wholehearted support, Wingate had regrouped, and re-recruited, and Jim and his mate Ernie had become part of the hugely increased new penetration force in October. They were now at least fifty miles into enemy territory, which was why all four men were heavily armed and fully alert for the slightest evidence of the Japs as they headed further and further into the jungle to retrieve a broken-down army truck.
The heat was stifling in the deep valley, the steamy damp of the jungle emitting a stinking miasma as monkeys screeched and chattered in the trees, and the sweat made their salt-encrusted uniforms stick unpleasantly to their skin. Jim had been hoping they could have caught the plane out to HQ for a proper slap-up Christmas dinner and a chance to swim and relax, but despite all his efforts to blag their way onto the plane, there’d been no spare seats due to his blasted CO changing his mind, and this last-minute emergency call-out had put paid to all his carefully laid plans.
‘What I wouldn’t give for a nice cold English winter,’ he said, swinging the jeep around tree roots and forcing it through the tangled undergrowth, the springs complaining as it landed with a thump after a particularly hairy bounce which made them all cling on tight.
‘I’d prefer a cold beer,’ said Ernie, ‘so step on it, Jim, so we can get back to camp before the others drink the place dry.’
‘To be sure I’m going as fast as I can,’ he replied, ‘but if we break the axle in this lot we could be stuck out here for days – and I certainly don’t fancy walking back.’
He glanced across at his pal, Ernie, who was looking with disfavour at their surroundings through the sights of his Thompson sub-machine gun. They’d been friends since schooldays, and it had been quite by chance that they’d been called up at the same time and were sent to the same training barracks. They’d managed to stick together through thick and thin, bellyache and bouts of malaria – and because they were both gifted with an eye to the main chance, they had, until recently, had a fairly cushy number.
And then Wingate had brought their regiment into his vast and, some would say, unwieldy force – to be trained hard in jungle warfare. The weeks of carrying heavy backpacks along narrow tracks, up and down mountains and over rushing rivers in the almost unbearable heat had toughened Jim, made him strong, stripped him of the excess weight he’d gained back home, and given him a sense of pride in what he was doing and in the men who suffered alongside him. They were a lean, mean fighting machine, and with Wingate as their leader, he had no doubt that the Japs would soon be routed.
He thought of the letters he’d written to Peggy and his father, which had necessarily given very little real detail of where he was and what he was doing, but he wondered how his Peggy would react when she finally learned that he’d parachuted out of planes, slept wrapped in a single blanket beneath the great canopy of the jungle, and marched for hours carrying kit, gun and rations, the water canister dangling from his belt untouched until his throat cracked and his tongue felt like a wad of leather in his mouth. It was all a far cry from the cushy life of a projectionist in a small seaside town, who was regarded as a bit of a ‘jack-the-lad’ who could lay his hands on most things for a price.
His thoughts were broken by Ernie’s grumpy voice. ‘Remind me who thought it would be a lark to see some action,’ he said. ‘I was quite happy and settled in India with servants and baths and decent food.’
Jim grinned. ‘Ach, to be sure, Ernie, the pay’s much better now we’ve got promotion, and you said you wanted to see the world.’
Ernie grimaced. ‘Not this bit of it I didn’t,’ he grumbled.
‘Aye, well, there’s not much we can do about it, me old son. We’re in the army, and that’s where we’ll stay until this shout’s over, so stop moaning and make the best of it.’
Ernie fidgeted in the seat and adjusted his khaki shorts which had ridden up. ‘Bloody leather seats,’ he moaned. ‘Burn your backside and make you sweat even more. We should have liberated some of the upholstery from those abandoned cars at the dump. I can’t believe the Burmese just left them all smashed up like that when the Japs invaded.’
‘Yeah, it was a shame, but logical. They didn’t want the Japs using them. I was hoping to find something we could fix up so we could swank about, but life’s full of disappointments, so we’ll have to lump it.’
Jim concentrated hard as he took the jeep down a steep slope and carefully steered it across a swiftly flowing stream. ‘I wonder if there are wild pigs out here,’ he mused. ‘A bit of tasty pork and crackling would go down a treat.’
‘I expect they wouldn’t mind some of that back home,’ said Ernie, rolling a cigarette with one hand as he kept his Thompson steady with the other. ‘I don’t know about your Peggy, but my Maureen wrote from her mum’s in Guildford that she’d be lucky to get hold of a chicken this year, what with the rationing getting even stricter, and the price of everything soaring.’
‘I wouldn’t mind betting me father’s sorting something special out,’ said Jim, changing down a gear and pressing his foot on the accelerator to send the jeep roaring up the steep bank. ‘You know what he’s like, Ern. Never could resist a bit of poaching around Christmastime.’
They continued through the steamy jungle in silence, Jim’s thoughts returning to his darling Peggy and the oasis of home that was Beach View. The time difference meant it was barely four in the morning there, so she’d still be in bed and asleep, the house decorated and prepared for Christmas Day, and little Daisy perhaps dreaming of Santa. Peggy’s last letter had said she was expecting quite a crowd, and that Daisy was getting very excited now she was old enough to really enjoy Christmas and the hullabaloo that went with it.
He felt a deep pang of sorrow as he thought of his youngest. She’d turned two at the beginning of December – another birthday he’d missed – along with all the other special occasions. His two boys were shooting up like weeds down in Somerset, his granddaughters were growing up without him and his two older girls, Anne and Cissy, had become independent young women who were earning their own money and managing very well on their own.
&
nbsp; It was a sobering thought to realise the younger ones would be strangers to him once this blasted war was over – and although he longed to be home with them all, he was rather dreading the return, for nothing would ever be the same again. He glanced at Ernie and over his shoulder to Big Bert, who sat grim-faced next to young Alfie in the back seat. Both men shared his concern, for although Bert didn’t have kids and was an experienced career soldier, his wife was having far too good a time at home with all those Yanks pouring into London, and Jim knew it worried the man. As for Ernie, his Maureen was working in a munitions factory in Bradford, earning a good wage and clearly relishing her independence now their two kids had been evacuated to Wales.
The crack of rifle-fire made him start and he almost lost control of the steering wheel.
‘Japs at two o’clock,’ shouted Big Bert, leaning his brawny bulk out of the jeep, and sending off a volley of machine-gun fire into the jungle.
More shots zinged past the jeep and Ernie and the lads in the back were returning fire. As the echoes rang through the jungle and birds took flight, Jim put his foot down and sent the jeep careering away from where the snipers were hiding. The bastards were known to sit up in the trees for days waiting for someone to shoot, and Jim had no plans to die that day.
The sweat was streaming down his face and stinging his eyes as several bullets hit the side of the jeep and twanged and zipped far too close to his ear. He took a zig-zag path through the trees as his mates kept shooting and lobbed off several grenades.
The enemy return-fire rocked the jeep and Jim had to cling on to the steering wheel as the vehicle swayed and lurched and bounced over the rough terrain, and they were showered with the debris from the blasts. Batting away bits of tree and clods of moss, he got the windscreen wipers to clear away the mud and muck so he could see where he was going, and only just reacted in time to avoid driving straight into the trunk of a giant teak tree.
‘Got ’em,’ said Ernie with grim satisfaction as the shooting stopped and the jungle returned to the usual sounds of monkeys’ calls and the harsh cries of the brightly coloured birds.
Jim gritted his teeth, his knuckles showing white as he continued to grip the steering wheel and kept his foot on the accelerator. ‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ he muttered. ‘There could be more, and we’ve a way to go yet.’
Ernie nodded and turned round to Big Bert and young Alfie. ‘Everybody all right?’
‘Yeah – and a Happy Christmas to you too, mate,’ came Alfie’s laconic reply, followed by his usual boyish grin. The young recruit had joined them a week before, and Big Bert had taken him under his wing.
Jim smiled as the tension eased somewhat. He hated the heat, the humidity and this bloody jungle, but his mates were a good bunch, and he’d do his very best to get them all safely back to camp for the dubious pleasure of bully beef and tinned peas for their Christmas dinner – but at least the beer would be plentiful, and after that little skirmish, he could certainly drink his share.
It was almost noon, the hottest part of the day, when they finally reached the abandoned truck, which had come under fire and rolled down the steep bank of a swiftly flowing river to land on its roof. The injured men had been rescued by a nearby Allied patrol and brought back to camp the day before.
Jim brought the jeep to a halt a fair distance away and as the engine ticked and cooled, they sat sweltering in the heat to survey the scene, all too aware that it could be highly dangerous. The Japs were notorious for turning abandoned vehicles into booby traps, or lying in wait within the darkness of the jungle to pick them off.
The jungle noises were almost lost in the rush of the water as it raced around boulders and tumbled down natural weirs formed by ridges of stone, and the profound, eerie shadows beneath the thick canopy of trees and vines made it impossible to spot anyone who might be hiding in there.
‘We can’t sit here all day,’ said Alfie, making to jump out of the jeep.
‘Watch what you’re doing,’ Big Bert warned sharply. ‘Remember your training and tread carefully.’
Jim hoisted a large loop of sturdy towing-rope over his shoulder, checked his pistol before shoving it back into the waistband of his khaki shorts, and grabbed his toolbox. ‘All of you keep your eyes peeled. If they are in there, they’ll’ve heard us coming some time ago and be waiting for us.’
They cocked their guns, eased the cartridge bandoliers over their shoulders and slowly moved away from the jeep, treading stealthily as they covered all four points, eyes open for tripwires and booby traps – or the slightest of movement within the jungle.
Jim’s nerves were stretched almost to breaking point as they neared the truck, and he could feel the tension building in the others as they warily slid down the bank into the cool, swirling shallows that threatened to knock them off balance, their heavy boots inching for steady purchase on the gravelled riverbed.
The truck was an American Chevrolet, and although the Japs had clearly emptied it of the supplies the men had fetched from the USAAF air-drop that had gone wide of the mark, it was an unwieldy, heavy vehicle to tow at the best of times. The fact it had turned turtle wouldn’t make their job any easier, for the river was buffeting it, making it heavier still with all the water rushing through it.
Jim forced his way through the shallows into deeper water, his pistol cocked and poised in his free hand as he approached the truck. At first glance he could see that the distributor and fan belt were smashed and the main axle had been sheared off when it had hit the large boulder poking up from the bank.
‘I can’t do anything to it here,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re going to have to tow it out.’
There was a general groan as the others kept watch, but Jim ignored it and went to hitch the heavy steel towing hook into the solid ring beneath the front bumper. As he bent to peer through the swirling froth of water for sight of the ring, he saw something that made his heart skip a beat before it began to race.
‘Okay, lads, back off,’ he warned sharply. ‘And watch where you put your feet. It’s been rigged to blow, and there’s a tripwire somewhere under the water.’
They backed off, each booted foot carefully seeking purchase on the rough, slippery riverbed as they kept their guns aimed into the jungle and their eyes peeled for the invisible wire lying in wait beneath the foaming water.
Jim and Ernie had almost reached the bank when the explosion knocked them from their feet, the force of it punching them in the back and sending them flying into oblivion.
Jim had no idea how long he’d been out, but when he opened his eyes, he had to blink several times before they came back into focus. His ears were ringing, his nose and mouth were plugged with foul mud and his whole body felt bruised – but as he snorted and spat out the mud and his senses slowly returned he saw the fiercely burning truck and realised what had happened. His first thought was for the others.
‘Everyone all right?’ he asked urgently.
Ernie sat up, rubbed his head and grimaced as he hawked mud from his nose and mouth. ‘My head hurts,’ he groaned. ‘What the hell happened?’
Before Jim could reply there was a ragged cry from Big Bert. ‘Over here. Alfie’s down.’
They scrambled to their feet, no longer wary of snipers or ambush, but focused solely on their youngest comrade. One glance was enough for Jim to know that Alfie had left them, for he was lying like a ragdoll in the big man’s brawny arms, his neck at a strange angle, a shard of heavy metal embedded in what was left of his head. He was only just eighteen – a mere two years older than Jim’s Bob – but for Alfie, the war was over.
There was a lump in Jim’s throat, and his heart ached for the tragic waste of a young life. He fought to contain his emotions and not think about his own son who might yet be called up if this bloody war continued.
They were all silent as Bert carried the boy tenderly back to the jeep, where he continued to cradle him in his strong brown arms until they’d reached camp, his craggy face streaked u
nashamedly with tears.
22
Coombe Farm
‘That was a terrific lunch, Mrs Burnley,’ said Betty, pushing away her empty pudding bowl. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me today.’
Millicent Burnley was flushed from the heat of the range and rather too many glasses of home-made parsnip wine. ‘Thar be reet,’ she said, leaning back in her chair to give a sliver of meat to Nipper. ‘Can’t have you on you’m own Christmas Day.’
Carol smothered a smile and finished the delicious apple crumble which had been flavoured with cloves and served with thick cream straight from the dairy. Millicent had laid on a terrific lunch, with a large roasted goose, plenty of vegetables and beautiful roasted potatoes that were golden and crisp on the outside and fluffy inside. And it seemed that she’d taken to Betty, and had accepted that Nipper wasn’t so bad after all – but perhaps that was just the effect of the parsnip wine and normality would resume tomorrow.
All the girls were sated, and as Millicent and Jack slumped in their fireside chairs with a much trimmer and fitter Nipper at their feet, they cleared away the dishes and discussed what they’d do for the rest of the day. It was too cold and wet to go for a walk; the pub and nearest cinema were shut, and the beach down at Beeson was off limits.
‘Why don’t we play charades?’ suggested Carol.
‘Yeah, good idea,’ said Ida. ‘How about you, Mr and Mrs Burnley? Fancy a bit of a lark?’
‘I’m too full to move,’ said Millicent, ‘and by the look of him yonder, reckon he’ll be asleep afore too long. Best if you’m play your games in your billet.’
They fetched their coats, gloves and hats with great reluctance, for their billet would be cold and the fire had probably gone out by now. Carol whistled to Nipper, who decided deafness was the best way of keeping his place by the fire, so she tucked him under her arm and carried him outside where a bitter wind blew sharp sleet.
