F.CONSCRIPT

Conscript

Episode 3

by Pte. R.A.Harding

Chapter 4

Malaya – the Place

Cross the causeway from Singapore Island and you enter the Federation of Malaya. Now called West Malaysia, but in 1959 just plain Malaya. A land rich in natural minerals of tin, iron ore, bauxite, manganese, China clay, and even gold is mined. These are some of its main exports as well as the equally important products of rubber, palm oil, and timber. One can easily see why the Communists coveted the riches of this country.

The population, of which Malays only make up 22 per cent, is mostly Chinese with a small percentage of India and Pakistani making up the urban population. The Malays are mostly found in farming, working on their small plots of rice padi, and on the jungle fringe, the Aborigines.

Most of the land mass in on average 500 above sea level and the main range of mountains run like a spine from Thailand down to the Central Highlands, roughly halfway down the peninsula. The mountains are of limestone and in the north are thrown up in massive escarpments, called locally ‘Gunoogs’, water forcing through the limestone have formed caves in these escarpments and being thickly covered with jungle made an ideal hide out for the terrorists.

Rain fall is approx 100” per year, the wettest being 25 miles north-west of Ipoh in Perak where 200” per year has been recorded, to the driest, which is a point roughly 30 miles East of Kuala Kuala where only 65” falls in an average year.

The ‘seasons’ although there is no appreciable change in temperature as known in England, are however divided into wet and dry seasons according to the Monsoon winds. These come as the North-East Monsoon in November – March, then the first inter-monsoon dry period, from March until May. The second monsoon, the Southeast occurs from June – October and so on to the second inter-monsoon period from October – November. These may vary in length of wet or dryness as weather does in any other part of the Globe.

Jungle – from Hindi word – ‘Jan’gal’ extends over great areas from the swamps in Jahore to the border with Thailand and contains over 2,100 types of trees and over 8,000 flowering plants, the Hibiscus being a common variety found in most areas. Many are Epiphytes (plants living non-parasitically upon others).

Animals include the tiger, elephant, the seledang (a wild ox), the Sumatran rhino, wild pig, tapir, the Pelandok (or mouse deer) and at least one bear! I speak from experience as will be seen later!

Reptiles include the crocodile (fish-eating type around the coastal swamps) the monitor lizard, turtle, king cobra, krite, ora bamboo snake and many smaller snakes. Other ‘nasties’ found are poisonous centipedes, scorpions, leeches (bull and smaller type), hornets, ants, spiders and mosquitoes.

In 1960 roughly 60 per cent of Malaya was primary rainforest and despite the reputation that jungle is impenetrable this is to the contrary. The huge trees form a canopy some 200 feet above the jungle floor blocking out any sunlight, thus little grows and travel is quite easy. Secondary jungle however, cleared of large trees by logging is another matter. The coarse scrub and grasses soon become rampant when the sunlight allows them to flourish. River edges too are more thickly vegetated than further in, due to the passage of the river allowing in some sunlight.

Chapter 5

Training at the Tin City

11th November 1959

We crossed the Causeway from Singapore into the Federation and arrived at Kota Tinggi Jungle Warfare School near Jahore Bahru (JB). It was set on the side of a hill with a main road running along through the camp, and the usual corrugated huts set in stepped rows up the hillside. Ours, as per usual were the furthest from the Cookhouses and AKC (Cinema). The Cookhouses were primitive to say the least for the unfortunates who had to try to produce some semblance of a meal on wood burning stoves. These just seem to produce an acrid smoke that refused to rise any distance from ground level and the Cooks lived in a semi-permanent fog. I only have to smell wood smoke even now and I think of the Tin City, as it became known as later.

We ate out of Mess tins and were advised to take plenty of salt as so much was sweated out of the body in these early days. I would shake it on like you would sugar on your cornflakes, it was like brine, but I think it did the trick. So much for the experts these days saying too much salt is bad for your health – it did us no harm.

It was here that most of us engaged the services of Daz. The boot-boy to make beds and clean kit and boots. He appeared one day and offered to look after us for two dollars each per week (today about 25p!) But if he looked after twenty that was forty dollars a week and a fortune to them. He was a tall Indian and devout Moslem and would pray many times drying the day. He got the name of Daz as his only garment, a pair of shorts, were striped like the old Daz soap flake packet. O’Connell was our thinker-upper of nicknames and he gave this one to Daz, he had one for most people – some of them unrepeatable!

For once the mattresses were brand new, not somebody else’s stained misfortune, brand new Dunlopillow and we had a ‘Box’s Soldier’ for our kit. So things were looking up a bit although the social side of things looked a little bleak, only the NAAFI, Char-wallahs, and the AKC. Not that we would have much time for other pursuits, but time for that when we returned to Nee Soon on the 28th. To give a little idea how bad the social side was, someone suggested after tea one evening of the first week, ‘coming up to the other hill, the Sherwoods are Beating Retreat’. Normally we wouldn’t have been seen dead watching anything like this unless it was official, but being nothing else in view, we took a stroll up there.

The Sherwood Foresters Regiment lived up on the other hill and had a large drill square set into the side of the hill. The light was just fading as the Last Post was sounded, and it did bring back a little bit of England. The Band and Drums were very good, we had to admit that, nearly as good as our own. John Wayne would have said, “I’d hate to have to live on the difference”, or something like that. What else the Sherwoods did for a living, I never quite knew.

Training started in earnest on turning us into jungle-fighters and we constantly practised being attacked from ambush and how to go to ground and counter that attack. How to over-run a Terrorist Hide-out and knock out any resistance. Being ambushed whilst travelling in trucks, we spent hours jumping in and out of trucks, whilst the sergeant bellowed, “Too slow, far too slow, you’d all be dead before you got your feet on the ground, do it again, and bloody quicker this time. I want you to hit that ground and go to cover faster that you’ve ever done anything in your life, else we’ll have the Bren up and anyone who doesn’t get their arse down quick, will get the bugger shot at!”

There was a jungle range where snap targets were pulled up on wires as you advanced through the undergrowth. They would pop up everywhere, front, side, even from above and behind, and set among them would be ‘friends’ so you had to be sure it was the enemy before you fired. We got good at this at the end and it produced friendly rivalry so that we asked for the targets to be only visible a split second before they dropped, to make it a little harder. We learnt how to build shelters using one, two or three ponchos depending on how many men were together. This was only for a one-night stop, later we all bought hammocks with side-slits to take poles, and this was the normal basha (jungle hut) we used later on Operations.

Tracking – how to follow the enemy by searching for clues of his passing, a bent over twig, leaves recently disturbed, a solitary footprint. Later we even practised doing this over bare rock where the enemy might have walked so as not to leave any clues. They would show us the remains of a small fire supposedly used by the enemy and we had to say how many days old the ash was – one day, two days, a week, since the enemy were there. The same applied to a cut in a piece of wood where the enemy had perhaps sliced back a piece to enlarge a path. It might be self praise, but as a country born fellow this was second, a country man will notice more about him that the town dweller will. He is also more at home in woods, the playground of his youth, and will tend to tread more softly and move more stealthily. Most of the country boys in the Regiment ended up as Lead Scouts after this training for his simple reason – I was pleased to be one of them. When we got to Ipoh later Lead Scouts would carry Remington shotguns instead of rifles. This scatter weapon was a proved jungle weapon, the Scout usually spots the enemy first and has possibly only about four seconds to do maximum damage before the enemy scatters. The safety of the patrol relies on his quick reaction; if he fails he usually pays the ultimate penalty. The other import man is the ‘Tail-end Charlie’, attacks can occur after a patrol has passed an ambush position set by the enemy, then the onus is upon him. We, in the Mortar Platoon usually ended up doing a new thing first then doing it as a Demo for the rest of the Company. One day we had to set ourselves up in camouflaged positions in the jungle, the Company sat about 30 yards away, had to try to pick out the figures. Unbeknown to them (or so we thought) we had devised the ultimate ‘sting in the tail’ also hidden were others really covered. I. For my sins was in a hole, completely covered in leaves, with just a peephole and I was less than ten yards, from where they were sitting! Later they walked up to look at the area where they were trying to spot people to see if they’d missed any. The idea being they would advance over us and when passed we would emerge and put the wind up them with a few blanks. I’m sure they’d seen us, although they didn’t say so, as I had to endure people treading right on me as they trampled over. I felt like the escaped prisoner in the hayloft as the German prods his bayonet dangerously close to him and he daren’t cry out. Needless to say, some hadn’t seen us and it goes to prove you only see what you are intended to see; the bigger danger is right under your nose. The Terrorists often tried this trick and it was well that we were learning to counter his every move.

Thursday 19th November 1959 Exercise Baptism

Now they thought we knew enough to get by, we would try ONE WHOLE NIGHT in the jungle. For this we were issued one British Troops 24 hour pack. Mk III./British Troops 24hr Pack (L) Mk III Phase XContents as follows: -

Breakfast: Staple contents: Rolled oats, tea, sugar, tinned milk.
Variety beans & bacon, beans & sausage, kipper snack, frankfurters.
.

Snack: Raisins, chocolate, Mars Bar, barley sugar, Oxo cube, tea & sugar (two brews).
.

Main Meal: Staple contents: Rice (enriched) jam, biscuits, tea & sugar, curry powder.Variety. Steak, peas & onions, Irish stew, Steak & Vegetables, Braised Steak, jam or cheese.
.

Sundries: Tube milk, salt, chewing gum, toilet paper and paludrine tablets..

Cooking

Breakfast: Porridge: Fill small half mess tin with water to middle of bottom studs. Boil, add oats, stir until cooked, add sugar & milk, and time 7 mins.

Variety Meals for Breakfast

Put contents in large half Mess tin and heat for about 7 mins. The Kipper snack can be heated in its tin, which must be opened first..

Thus directed the instruction sheet enclosed in the box, who could not possibly produce a worthy meal when it was all set out for you. The only word I could add after living over 120 jungle days on the stuff is – monotony. Later we did try to vary our diet by air-drops of fresh meat, bread, potatoes, tins of spaghetti, etc but visions of T bone steaks with chips and all the trimmings would haunt us during the months that followed. A good meal in pleasant surroundings ranked as high as a good woman on the list of priorities when we did get to civilisation. But this came later; when we saw our first 24-hour pack it looked very nice, little mini tin of condensed milk, mini pot of jam. The steak tins were all Swift brand, product of Australia, (probably very old Kangaroo!) The bacon and beans were either Elizabeth Lazenbys’, or RTC brand. The chewing gum was that Novo rubbish, none of your Rigleys Spearmint here. To cook this we had stuff called Hexamine, a substance like firelighters, it was wonderful stuff and a small square roughly 1 ½” square would cook a whole meal on a little metal folding stove big enough to take one Mess tin. There were always plenty of these little stoves so we would have two or even three going to cook a meal.

Conscripts

Episode 4

by Pte. R.A.Harding

Chapter 6

Exercise Baptism

We left the Tin City on Thursday 19th November by truck and journeyed a few miles to a piece of ‘practise jungle’ for this one-night try out. Having arrived and got just inside there was a halt, sit down and wait. This lapsed into an hour and nobody seemed to know what was happening. It had rained quite a bit and the jungle floor was very slippery and when we did move off, some of it was down hill and pretty soon most were going base over apex unless you held onto a convenient tree.

They eventually settled on a spot as it was getting late in the afternoon and this was no better; the whole area was a morass of mud. It was on a side hill too so not very level for building purposes. We all set to, chopping down poles for building, mostly getting in each other’s way or nearly coming to blows when two people wanted the same sapling. Only 20 minutes was allowed for chopping, it was reasoned that if the Terrorist in reality were in your vicinity the noise wouldn’t be prolonged enough to fix where you were. As we hadn’t got our hammocks yet, I, my mate Les, and a Corporal in charge of us, Corporal Denny, combined forces to build a hovel on the ground with the three waterproof groundsheets. We joined two together to make the roof, spread over a centre pole and two uprights, and used the third to put on the ground first on which we put our sleeping blankets and our supplies. Although cramped for three it did just about serve the purpose and we were quite pleased with the results. A shantytown of rough constructions had sprung up around us, some of them looking a little frail.

The stream wasn’t much and I was just looking a bit dubious at its leaf cover surface and wondering what horrors lurked in it’s murky depths when down comes Tomkinson our Dog-handler. He’d been in the same room as myself in Square bashing days so I knew him. He’d done more jungle time than us as the Dog-handlers had come on the Advance Party, so he was an ‘old hand’. “Don’t like the look of that Tom”. I said, “Never know what’s in there”. Tom always took everything in his stride, another easygoing countryman who I’d never known to ‘flap’. “Buckshee (everything was ‘Buckshee’ out there) he said, and plunged in still wearing his jungle boots, but nothing else. Scooping away the leaves like someone starting to swim standing up, he proceeded to wash his upper half. One or two others ventured down and also a Sergeant on the prowl. To two he said, “Where’s your rifles?” “Back there Serg.” “Well get ‘em, you go nowhere without them, not even a crap.” “Next one I see without as part of his arm twenty-four hours a day while we are in here, will be on a bloody fizzer.” (Charge) “You remember that if you don’t anything else about this lark, it may save your life one day.”

Hard – necessary, this was training; it would have to become second nature, automatic. Like keeping it clean even if you were dirty, IT got cleaned first. Like he said – it could save your life.

The night fell quickly when it did come, no real twilight, nearly as quick as snapping off a light. We sat under the hovel and had our first attempt at making a meal of these mouth-watering ingredients of the 24-hour pack. One saw to the ‘main course’, one the ‘sweet’ rice, with plenty of ham, sugar, and condensed milk, and the third – the brew-up, so dear to the heart of every soldier. It didn’t do down too bad and we left the washing up till the morning. Just laid back in the dark, smoking and talking in whispers, another strict jungle rule – no noise whatsoever, at night even the smallest sound can be heard at some distance.

Once the boring beetles have stopped, just after sunset, there is a quiet descends on the jungle like nowhere else on earth, the absolute darkness caused by the tree canopy seems to hug this stillness even more, it gives one feeling of going blind and deaf at the same time. With experience comes the art of seeing with the ears rather than the eyes as the deafness goes and your ears become acute, you hear sounds you’ve never been able to pick up before. But later that first night we heard plenty of sound as ill constructed, hastily built abodes couldn’t take the weight of their occupants, the snap and tearing of wood, a dull thud as somebody found themselves on the deck with - “Oh fuck it!” loud enough for a half Jahore to hear. An illicit torch would be seen wavering about and a voice in authority from somewhere in the darkness would whisper hoarsely – “Put that fuckin’ light out whoever it is.” “It’s fell down, Serg.” “Well leave the bloody thing, sleep on the deck.” We were glad we’d not bothered with hammocks for just a one night stand and were quite cosy in the hovel. That is, until it started to rain heavily in the wee small hours. At first it was just the drips off the edge of the groundsheet, later it was the small river running down the hill that invaded us. We eventually diverted most of it by digging or scraping a small channel with our parangs, but it was wet and uncomfortable and we gave up all pretence of sleep eventually and sat huddled with our blankets and the one groundsheet draped over our heads.

Before it was light we’d had our breakfast of porridge (cooked according to the printed instructions) followed by some frankfurters and hard-tack biscuits, and a welcome brew-up. It was still raining by morning and the whole area was like a quagmire, change the uniform a bit, it might have been the Somme all over again. Everybody was wet through and fed-up with the whole thing, even the powers that be seemed to have tired of it, and soon set about breaking it up and moving out.

Sgt Conboy was in a hurry and consulting his map, set the bearing on his compass for the most direct route to the road. Grabbing me by the shoulder and lining me up, he held his arm straight out and said, “Right Harding, straight through there and don’t deviate one degree either way.” We hit the road 40 minutes later right on the spot we had entered the day before. Luck? Some, but I pride myself on being one of those people that can walk in a straight line, even when, as we did, you go round obstacles in your way. I somehow can always pick up the point the other side and continue in a straight line. Knack, or just some instinct like the homing pigeon has. Maybe in a desert it might be different when tales are told of people walking in complete circles, here you had an aiming point by imagining it was a series of poles you can stay on a given bearing. A lot is knack and as we did most of our work later on compass bearings it was good practice. The Exercise hadn’t been a great success everybody agreed on that, we’d broken many of the rules and completely bypassed others. It hadn’t been a good site to build a textbook base-camp and the weather hadn’t helped.

But one had to start somewhere and is best to have a few snags and the odd rollicking, at least you know how to deal with them better when they crop up again. In all things you learn by your mistakes.

Chapter 7

The Buluka March

21st November 1959

Saturday 6pm. We have just had a room and kit inspection, as some of the lads who don’t employ the boot-boy hadn’t washed the mud off their kit from the one night fiasco in the jungle – so we all suffered. But there wasn’t that much else to do so Saturday night had little meaning socially. Another week and we could enjoy ourselves in Singapore as we had been promised a 5-day stand-down. Promised being the operative word – no guarantee we’d get it. The old carrot under the donkey’s nose technique! Before leave however we had one final endurance test to do and from what we had heard, this was worse than any jungle – it was what was called the Baluca March.

Baluca is a fern similar to the English variety found growing on moors and scrub-land, only difference was that here it was over six feet tall! It was a vast area covering many square miles; a lot of it overgrown Pineapple groves. We would be dumped off the trucks in sections of about six men (no weapons this time) along the road and each section had to navigate a course through this stuff to finally emerge at a rubber Estate on the other side. Each sections converging on this one spot like spokes into the hub of a wheel. Three o’clock was the deadline for arriving, the trucks would leave then, anybody not making it by then had the option of walking back to Camp (several miles) or waiting for the truck which would go out for any stragglers in the morning. It was roughly 4½ miles to the estate and we had roughly 6 hours to do it. Apart from our water bottles and a haversack lunch of two sandwiches from the Cookhouse, this was all the food we had.

It was rough going, hot, and riddled with ants that gave a nasty bite as we disturbed them. You couldn’t see over it, there was always a solid wall of the stuff standing up in front. We did try rolling or falling backwards onto it, but very often there were old logs or thorns so we were very soon cut and bleeding. If we stopped the mosquitoes settled on us in swarms. It was energy sapping and although we started full of spirit the pace soon slowed to a crawl. Luckily we found a small hillock nearly devoid of the taller fern and from this slight elevation we could look around. The stuff seemed endless and in the direction we had to go – still a hell of a lot to get through.

We took a break to eat our meagre lunch washed down with ‘Adams Ale.’ While we were eating, someone casually remarked – “We’re a bit like the Wellawe Tribe?” I knew what was coming but a couple obviously hadn’t heard the story before. This curiosity aroused, one asked, “Who were they then?” Giving the storyteller the opening he needed. “The Wellawe Tribe”, he recited, “are very short, and live in an area like this only theirs is tall grass. They run about when they are out hunting and keep jumping in the air saying what was first thought to be ‘We’re the Wellawe’ but later explorers deduced it to be ‘Where the hell are we?’ See what I mean!” The unfortunates realised then they’d been ‘had’. “Ha, bloody had, know any more good ones like that?” But it made a laugh to keep the spirits up.

Pushing on further we ran into a wet patch, the whole way ahead was water under the Baluka, and there seemed no way around it. Only hope it doesn’t get any deeper, I thought, we were wet to well above the waist and as we stirred it up it stunk to high heaven. Legs were taking a beating with the beginnings of cramp coming on. Scratched, bitten, wet, torn clothes and the sun pending down all added up to one sorry looking crew. But eventually after a long fight by throwing ourselves bodily at the fern and letting the rest walk over, and doing this many times, the leading man suddenly said, “Sod it, that was sharp.” Closer examination of what he’d cut himself on, revealed barbed wire attached to an old fence post. Post? Wire? Push down the last high piece – rubber trees! We’d made it! We were the forth section out, with about 1 ½ hours to spare. We left promptly at 3pm the last section got hopelessly lost and it was dinnertime the next day before they arrived back at Tin City – dead beat, no food for 24 hrs, they looked terrible, but they still marched in, the spirit was still there.

Chapter 8

A Welcome Break

28th November 1959

Five days rest at last and only ourselves to please. Somehow it was nice to be back at Nee Soon again after the Tin City, there was more to do. We took the rickety, overcrowded bus full of jabbering Chinese into Singapore. Not knowing quite where to get off, we did this as soon as we thought we were somewhere near, and after walking some way we thought we were getting funny looks. We were only in one of the ‘Out of Bounds’ area near the New World Amusement Park! This was a ‘no go’ area between 7 o’clock in the evening and 7am. All Bars, Café’s etc were out of bounds in those areas at all times.

Eventually we got into the ‘friendly’ area and did a tour of the Bars. The beer wasn’t much good so we stuck to Rum n’ Coke. Later the more level-headed had to persuade the merry ones that it wasn’t a good idea to ‘get us a woman’ – we ought to be getting back!

A strange thing with service life is things you find you do, follow a well-worn pattern. Perhaps this is common of life in general but soldiers tend to need things in a certain order after he’s had a few drinks. Out here the usual was, if you didn’t have a woman, you did the next best thing, get a tattoo. I decided on the latter – I bet nearly all tattoos are on their owners now as a result of a few beers with the boys and something needed to finish an evening off. We were walking up to the Gate at Nee Soon Garrison and there was a nice little tattoo parlour. It was owned by Johnny Gurkha who was said to be one of the best and you could rely on his work not to go wrong – no dirty needles or your arm dropping off. After looking at the various designs I decided on a simple tiger head and after the rum I didn’t feel much of anything – just like someone drawing on your arm with a vibrating biro. Later is the worst time when it scabs up and gets itchy. There was a whole poster near the Guard Room of Tattoos that weren’t allowed as these belonged to Secret Chinese societies and you could end up with your throat cut if you were seen wearing their symbol. A lot of tattoos had various hidden and secret meanings, but a lot that were put on were very plain, just Mum & Dad, or Jean & Dave, depending on what your wife, sweetheart’s name was. I liked mine so much I later had a pair of crossed cookeries and the rising sun and palm trees. It is still very much there today and always will be as a constant reminder. The dates in the scrollwork are unreadable now but not forgotten. Tattoos then were mostly seen on Army or Navy personnel only, these days it is the world of the Punk and the skinhead. Times change.

I’d just had dinner one day when Buzz caught me up and said, “Hey Digger, fancy a beer in the Naafi before we head back?” Wondering what the catch was I agreed, I didn’t go around with Buzz all that much, although at one time he was nearly my brother-in-law. We both came from the same village, I’d known him all my life, and had courted his sister for a time. This didn’t last long after I had to go into the Army, not that I bore him or her any animosity. I wasn’t the first to get a ‘Dear John’ nor would I be the last. The ‘fall-out’ rate in any National Service bunch is usually high during the first few months, very few lasted the distance. Buzz had signed on and had been in two years or so when I joined, we came from the same place, were in the same platoon, but he had his mates, and I mine, so I knew this was important and he had something on his mind.

Buzz got the beers in and ‘crashed the ash round’, we lit up and leaned back in our chairs, just enjoying these little niceties, after the hectic life of a few days ago. Time to relax, to talk of old times at home, better times spent in a good old English pub. The juke-box was playing ’16 candles’ by the Crests or the Royal Teens or some such group of that era, it had a real ‘cry in your beer’ touch to it and brought back to us the old days. ‘Three Stars’ by Ruby Wright was another; the nostalgia was creeping up on us with each fresh pair of bottles.

“I gotta letter from my old lady, she thought it best I know”, he finally said. “Know what?” “X is going round with a yank, she’s got rid of the kid, she hadn’t got the guts to tell me herself.” Buzz had an idea X was ‘in the club’ before we left England and was hoping it could lead to a trip home to get married. One never quite knows what to say in situations like this, apart from what people usually say – that they’re sorry, or perhaps it was for the best. The same old recurring problem trying to be solved with the time honoured method – drink to forget, wake up and remember, it doesn’t go away it will be there till time gently erases it and you get up off the floor and start living again. But nobody wants to hear this, pity, they like to hear, but it won’t help. You usually find they don’t really care that strongly, they only want it because it is no longer there. But we are all the same we can always advise other people but wouldn’t like the advice if we were in their position. It won’t help any but have a few more beers anyway, for old times sake if nothing else. It was a good beer-up, took a few bottles back to the hut and made an afternoon of it. I seem to recall finishing up in the swimming pool still clothed and I don’t usually do that so I expect we had a good time! We made the most of the break, till the money all too quickly ran out. No matter, not much to spend it on at the Tin City with a 5 day exercise coming up, followed by another, and all this to complete before the 19th Dec when we would be moving up to Ipoh in Perak.

Conscript

Group 59-01. The bad times and the good times

by Pte R.A. Harding

Foreword

We are extinct; there are no National Servicemen now.Today we have a modern Army made up of people who of their own accord have chosen (sp) the Army as part of their life.We had no choice, we had to go or suffer stronger consequences.Young people today have more strength of conviction, were there National Service today the prison would never hold them.

We did it because nobody questioned it, or thought too deeply about what it could entail us to do in the event of War. We were needed, but not wanted, the Army had no time for us, we were the part timers, the hired help, misfits.We came from all walks of life from Bank-clerks to Farm workers, taken at a time of life when life was just shaping, apprentices who would loose two years of their indenture, people like myself who went at 2I-just coming onto a full wage, young couples just married and saving to get their life together.Bitter, resentful who could blame us, it was the worse possible time to be plucked from your life, and forced into something you had no desire to do.

I fully admit, I wasn’t a good soldier, I hated it and my mind didn’t give its full attention to the job, possibly why I found it hard.For this reason I make little reference to the first ten months of my service, this time being spent in England.Too many books have been written on the rigors of ‘Square Bashing’ that one more would serve no purpose.The intention was to write the story of NS Group 59-01 as seen by myself and remembered by the letters I wrote home and from memory of other times.

As the title suggests it is a story of ‘the bad times and the good times’ and despite all there were some very memorable times, some of the best of my younger life. This account is dedicated to all members of Group 59-01 who shared the experience with me.To all officers and men of the 1st Battalion of the 3rd East Anglian Regiment in Malaya in 1960.Finally in tribute to all other Regiments who served during the Malayan Emergency 1948-1960.To them, who fought and died bravely in a war, which wasn’t a war.They did the job so well it left nothing for us to do; the credit belonged to them and them alone.

Episode One

by Pte R.A. Harding

A time of leaving

It was a beautiful early autumn day, with just a hint of the passing of warmer days, as I stood on the deck of the SS Oxfordshire in Southampton Dock. It was the 13th October 1959 and the 1st Battalion of the 3rd East Anglian Regiment was embarked on the Oxfordshire – destination Singapore. A time of leaving, the sad time, the saying of good-byes, a last kiss to loved ones, and the choked, ‘hurry home safely’.

It had not been an easy 10 months.Since joining up on that bitterly cold day of January 8th 1959. I would be the first to admit I wasn’t a good soldier.I was an awkward sod; most country people are when you remove them from the easy-going slow pace of the farming community.Like most I got a ‘Dear John’, a romance that hadn’t lasted after call-up.This unsettled me and I couldn’t concentrate and it wasn’t until this time of leaving that I was beginning to fit in.Even so, leaving England, home and family was still a wrench, alien to all of us NS men.To the ‘old sweats’, the Regular Soldiers with years of service under their belt, it was just another posting abroad.

I watched a tugboat nose it’s way into the side of the larger sister, it’s bow protected by old motor tyres, it gently pushed the monster towards the dock to give a little slack on the mooring lines.One by one these final links with the land were severed and slowly Oxfordshire began to move, as the tugs moved her out into the Solent.The band played and the assembled parties of relatives and friends waved a final farewell, it would be a long time before they would be united again.

The Battalion had only returned from Germany in March 1959, and had only stayed in England long enough to receive its new Colours.The Battalion was formed by merging the Essex Regiment and the Beds & Herts Regiments. My own Group, 59-01 was mostly National Servicemen, but some Regulars, had been posted to the Battalion in March 1959. I was posted to the Mortar Platoon of Support Company with three other NS men – Les Tricker, Al Chittock (Chick) and Vince Collins (Colly). Those later became my closest friends throughout our two-year service.Posted with us was a Regular by the name of Etherington, commonly known as ‘Rabbit’ – because of his looks, not his habits!

The Battalion had a job to do in Malaya that was very new to them – this would entail retraining in Jungle Warfare when we got there, a very different role from European Theatre warfare they had left in Germany. This would be classed as ‘Active Service’ – not a war, although Malaya had been in a ‘State of Emergency’ since 1948. I was a schoolboy then, but dimly recall on the radio that Lincoln Bombers had been in action bombing the Malayan jungle and terrorists were attacking the Rubber Plantations. I little realised then that it would still be going 12 years later and I would become part of the final months that finally saw an end to it.

It was growing dark as we later stood on deck for Life Boat Drill and we watched England gradually slipping away in the fading light.Soon this great boat would take us out into the seas.It would be our home for the next 23 days; every minute she was taking us further away. Few felt like eating that first night, either through not being in the mood to have any appetite, or due to the first uneasy stirrings of seasickness.We were of the land, very few had been to sea before, the mere mention of anything like fat pork would produce a mad scramble for the ‘heads’ (toilets).

Having got through the infamous Bay of Biscay we were getting our sea legs and people began to perk up a bit.By the 16th we arrived at Gibraltar and went ashore for a few hours.There wasn’t much to see in the narrow, winding streets and we eventually settled for a meal in a small café.Typical of the British abroad we settled for egg & chips, instead of sampling the more exotic dishes! The weather had been pleasant so far but once in to the Med it was decidedly warmer, so goodbye to warmer clothes we wouldn’t want now for a very long time.Down on the troop-deck it was stuffy with so many sleeping in a confined space that we spent most time up on deck only going down when we had to.

Port Said was reached by the 21st October and the ‘bum-boats’ came around selling their wares.They would throw up a line with a basket attached, which they would send the trinkets up in.If you wanted to buy you were supposed to send the money down. It was like trying to trade with someone up at a fifth storey window!Mostly the goods were kept and the line and basket thrown back down.We had to duck in a hurry as a Coke bottle smashed close to the porthole, thrown by the infuriated trader.Some did come on deck to trade and here again we led them a dance.Whilst others at the front kept them busy asking questions, the goods were passed through the crowd to the read, and then disappeared!I don’t think they sold much, but lost quite a lot in trying!

After the slow journey through the Suez Canal, we entered the Red Sea and found what it was like to be hot, really hot, uncomfortably hot, day and night, awake or asleep, with no respite from it.We took to sleeping up on top-deck; it was too much to bear on the confined troop-deck.

Aden was reached on the 26th October, it was just as my brother had said it was – dust and two blades of grass!Terrible posting, the 2nd Battalion was based here peace keeping between the constantly warring tribesmen. Steamer Point was the only place worth going to get something cool and a swim. I was glad to see it was netted to keep the sharks out. Shortly after Aden we met the ‘Empire Fowey’ homeward bound, full of troops.As we passed briefly within hailing distance we all booed and said nice things like ‘lucky bastards, hope you freeze ya’ bollocks off!’ Possibly some were from the Loyal Regiment who we would be eventually taking over from at Ipoh, Malaya.

The Indian Ocean – days of steaming without sight of land.How much water there was, it was endless. Hot, the steady throb of the ship ploughing ever onwards, it knew there was land somewhere beyond that sea, but we doubted it, the sea went on forever.So we drank, it was only a shilling a glass (5p). The steward would just stand about two-dozen glasses on the counted and run a hose from glass to glass the stuff seemed endless although we did our best to drink the ship dry.This led to fights and as we were a full Battalion and others only Drafts joining their units it was no contest – we always won.

The Captain wasn’t pleased and turning the tannoy off to all other parts of the ship, he addressed the East Anglicans saying ‘in all my days I’ve never had to carry a shower as unruly as this Battalion, you are a disgrace’.The day before we reached Colombo, the last day of October, and just 19 days out of England, a tragedy struck and we were to bury one of our own at sea. A tragic accident during Fire Drill and an East Anglian soldier was trapped by the watertight doors as the doors slammed shut. Disgrace, and now tragedy – it wasn’t a very good start.

After Colombo, the final run to Singapore.The night before we reached there we ran into the biggest electric storm I hope I shall never see the like of again.No rain, dry and hot the air pressed down around you it was hard to breathe, the lightning was incessant, the thunderclaps overlapped.It hung about us the entire night and we gave up trying to sleep and went up on top deck to watch it in all its fury.I’d heard of St Elmo’s fire but never ever believed it could be like this.

In the morning it had finally gone inland leaving in it’s wake debris of trees floating out into the Malacca Straits as we steamed down towards Singapore.Palm trees appeared on the coast and Chinese fishing Junks off shore. Nearly there now, journey’s end, we had arrived, the big adventure was about to begin.

Conscript

Episode 2

by Pte R.A. Harding

Chapter 2

An Outline of the Emergency

At this juncture it might be well to roughly outline what had gone before as a guide to the reader.As we had come late into the game it was like seeing the very end of a movie and little idea what the rest of the story was about.

To do this we have to go right back to the time that Malaya was overthrown and occupied by the Japs in World War II.To get the Japs out of the jungles the British enlisted the help of the Malayan People’s Army who were skilled and well-versed jungle fighters. Help us, says the British Government and after the War we’ll see you are all right.Run the place yourselves?Yes certainly.

It was the old con trick tried in 1941 on a new theme of ‘an acre of land for every man’ and ‘a land fit for heroes’ in which the men marched home to the Dole queue and a Depression.Jam tomorrow, never jam today.

The Government welched on the deal and it was little wonder the MPA were sore about it.So they helped to set up the Malayan Communist Party and hit out politically by a series of strikes, riots, and other disruptive measures. Later they struck at the Rubber Plantations and the tin-mines with murder, intimidation and terror among the workers.

By 1948 the Legislative Council decided that s stand much be made to get the situation under control again, but Sir Edward Gent, President of the Council and High Commissioner of the Federation, was still inclined to play the whole thing low key and saw little need for a full inquiry.

The attacks continued and public feeling ran high, the Planters demanded protection and so a state of Emergency was declared in Singapore on June 4th, 1948 and in the Federation on the 17th June. Before it was finished 11,000 lives were lost – more men than was killed in the entire Boer War. There is no need for further military reinforcements said the British Government when 12 Battalions were engaged – later 25 Battalions were fighting plus a Malay Para-Military Police force of 9,000 men later extending to 67,000 men and a ‘Home Guard’ of 350,000 men.

The Communist Terrorists (or CT as they became known) had no shortage of recruits, many sufferers of the ‘raw deal’ the British had handed them.Most were from the Malayan Peoples Army and had great stores of munitions and guns still stashed away in jungle hiding places since the fight with the Japs.They knew the jungle well and could fall back to well-defended camps deep in the jungle and well out of reach of the Police.

Sir Edward Gent was killed in July 1948 in a mid-air collision over London airport.His successor was Sir Henry Gurney who had been Chief Secretary in Palestine.He was in office three years until killed by Terrorist Ambush at a place called Frasers Hill, in October 1951.General Templar was then appointed as High Commissioner as well as Director of Operations so he had complete control and able to direct from a military as well as political angle.

Lt Gen Sir Harold Briggs had been Director up to Templar taking control and brought about legislation to control the many squatters on the jungle fringes.These squatters were often collaborators with the CT and also supplied them with food. Regulation 17D of the ‘Briggs Plan’ allowed these squatters to be re-housed well away from the CT in new villages.

Briggs plan was to separate the CT from any supplies of food and from sources of information.Some suspects were even deported back to China.‘Central Cooking’ was also introduced in which the entire village was fed communally and so had no food to either give, or have taken from them by the CT Jenderam, a well known haunt of the CT was raised from the ground. Eventually it was hoped to discourage the CT enough to keep them away from the estates and penned up in the jungle, later they would go in and destroy them.

For this Briggs had brought in Major Michael Calvert, one of Wingate’s famous Chindits and Calvert created the Malayan Scouts.These were highly skilled jungle fighters used to living off the jungle.The Medics at the time said it was impossible for British soldiers to live in jungle conditions for weeks at a time.They were proved wrong and found the British soldier can adapt to anything once acclimatised.

1951 was one of the crisis years but the CT were taking losses – 1,401 in that year, 1,535 in 1952 and 1,404 in 1953.

The Police were more organised and devised a system of ringing the Estates about once every hour.If they got no reply in was odds on the line was cut and the estate in question was under attack.Planters taught their workers to use guns to defend their properties, and the windows in cars were replaced with steel plate with small slits to see out and fire through, as they were often ambushed on the roads.

Troops too were still using open trucks and soon after Sir Henry Gurney was murdered two trucks of Royal West Kents were ambushed and II were killed, also 3 Iban Trackers were killed.It was thought armored protection would make the men less safety minded.

More troops were needed and even the Guards Brigade took their turn – the Scots Guards, the Grenadiers, and the Coldstreams saw duty here.

By 1955 the Communists sent a letter to negotiate and the top Red Leaders came out of the jungle for talks at Bailing.Top man was Chin Peng of the MCP Chan Tien, a top jungle guerrilla since 1942, and Rashid Maideen.Chin Peng was still at large, and probably in Thailand at the end of the Emergency in 1960.Also at large right to the end were Wu Tien Wang, a propaganda expert, and two lady terrorists – Ng Sui Oi and Eng Meng Ching, both fully versed in jungle tactics and both handy with a gun.

Talks however solved nothing and the war continued but gradually the CT yielded ground and were forced further and further north till by the final years only suspected pockets were left between Ipoh and the Thai border.Final losses of security forces were 1,865 Officers & men killed, and 2,560 wounded.A total of 6,710 guerrillas were killed, 2,820 wounded and 3,980either surrendered or were captured.Civilian casualties were 2,473 known killed, and 810 believed murdered after abduction.These impressive figures still didn’t class this as a war – and one wonders how many more had to die or how many more years it would have dragged on before it ever was.Did Parliament take a firm hand to stop Communism or was it the fear of what would happen to the price of rubber and tin if they were Communist controlled? World markets affect Stock Market prices and the vested interest was there, more than the loss of life factor.

Chapter 3

First Days in the Fed

Trucks took us from the Dock to Ne-Soon Transit Camp some ten miles out of Singapore.Our first views of this foreign land showed that it was exactly as we imagined it would be, Palm trees, thick scrub in places, rice paddy, dark skinned people riding vastly overloaded bicycles, beat-up looking trucks and grass, greener than we had ever seen.The smells of incense, durian fruit, tapioca and a curious smell that is one and all of them mixed in together – the smell of the East.

Ne-Soon was a huge Garrison housing many units – RASC 13th/18th Hussars and the Ghurkhas. This was one of their main ‘boot camps’ and if we had ever thought ‘square bashing’ in England was rough it was nothing compared to what a Ghurkha did before he could call himself a warrior.They came in as mere children and their training lasted a lot longer than ours.They never seem to be off duty, even going to meals, as we saw later, they marched, arm swinging, with the other folded behind their back clutching knife, fork, spoon and mug.They marched everywhere and when they weren’t doing this they were working on their kit.They were immaculate always, if they weren’t they were out – dishonoured, and plenty more ready for the chance to serve.

On arrival the Company’s dispersed to their various ‘lines’.Ours, as per usual seemed to be the furthest walk from showers, cookhouse, NAAFI.The huts constructed of corrugated steel, with ‘windows’ of the same material.These were only shut to keep the rain out, which, when it did rain, it fell down.We only had the bed with mattress, pillow, one sheet, and the mosquito net hung at the head.There were no lockers, so we lived out of the kitbag, which was not very handy, everything you needed always seemed to be at the bottom, and the whole lot had to come out each time you needed anything!

‘Look’, somebody said, ‘up there – lizards, ugh!I’m not sleeping with those bloody things over the top of me’.We later found out these were harmless and did us a great service in the number of midgets, mosquitoes, etc that they disposed of.They hardly every left the inside of the roof, and lived permanently upside-down.

Rabbit Etherington came in looking very smart in bulled up boots, starched shorts you could cut yourself on, but covered in rather raw looking spots – mosquito bites.Rabbit arrived some weeks ahead with the advance party, so was about to shoot us a line as the ‘experienced veteran’ in all matters about this new life.

“What Ho Rabbit, you’re looking smart.”

“Well you have to be here, the bull is terrible.”Little did we realise then that he’d had a boot-boy and a Dhobi Waller (laundry) to thank for his most un-Rabbit like appearance.

“Seen any snakes yet? Been in any jungle?”

Having got a captive audience Rabbit was making the best of it.

“Yea, hundreds, make sure you shake your boots well, scorpions you know, snakes, place is crawling with ‘em, killed one just the other day, Cobra bought it off a Ghurkha, it ain’t ‘alf sharp.”

“Jungle? Well not much yet, but you’ll find out soon enough when we get to JB (Jahore Bahru) next week.Leeches in there, bloke told me a big bull leech can suck a pint out of you.Well, see ya later, going over the NAAFI now.”

The next few days were spent getting acclimatised and despite the close, steamy atmosphere, and the constant night chorus of cicadas and crickets, I slept well under the mosquito net.I had always hated leaving the bed warmth on cold morning; here there was none of that shivery feeling before you huddle into clothes. Here you stepped out, pulled on shorts, shoved your feet into flip-flops and wandered off to the shower, no discomfort at all.You were dressed for the day.

We were issued new kit comprising of a green webbing 44-pattern belt, which had a row of eyelets along the bottom edge for hooking on other equipment.An aluminium water-bottle, with cup attached, in a webbing carrier, a long straight jungle knife in a webbing sheath, sharpening stone (for the use of) two green webbing pouches, a 44 Pat. small pack, a green sweat rag, and a pair of green jungle-boots with open lacing type clips.These had gripped rubber soles, green canvas uppers, and were knee length.This is great we thought, no bullshit here, no blanco, just give it a scrub – finished.

Everything was hung on the belt, pouches, water bottle, knife, nothing above the waist as in the old type ‘skeleton order’ of crossed straps with pouches on your chest, everything hung below the waist leaving the top free for action.Later as we ‘acquired’ more kit on airdrops it was not unusual to see men (myself included) boasting two water bottles and two or tree ouches round the waist, plus perhaps another sheath knife, or your holster slung low like a gun fighter.The jungle hat, at first worn as prescribed with brim down in the floppy, neck and eye-shading position, was later turned up at the sides and secured across the top with plaited parachute cord. This gave the wearer a certain swash-buckling appearance a cross between John Wayne and Robin Hood and his Merry Men.These hats, which had the rectangular purple and yellow flash of the Pompadours on the side, were taken away to have a yellow recognition band sown on the reverse side.The idea being that we only turned the hat having reached the jungle to the yellow band side out, at other times the other side out was worn.This way the CT wouldn’t know what our recognition colour was and copy it.Lots of patrols in previous years had been shot up by bogus ‘friends’.

As a little softening up march they took us over some rough countryside near the camp.It wasn’t real jungle, just overgrown cultivated ground, but it was thick scrub in which the heat was intense, and was full of ants, mosquitoes and other creepy-crawlies, but it gave us a small taste of what was to come.We came back soaked in sweat, so little effort was needed to produce so much; as yet we hadn’t the stamina to produce a maximum effort.This would eventually come naturally as we got body and brain to adapt themselves to working in the higher temperatures.

We were only here six days till the 11th Nov 1959 when we left for the Jungle Warfare School at Kota Tinggi, Jahore Bahru.Six weeks would turn us into jungle fighters, but it would be the toughest six weeks of our two years service.