Memories of the Malayan Police
Edited by Brian Stewart CMG, MCS
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In memory of all those gallant young men in the Royal
Malayan Police who risked, and sometimes gave, their lives
during the Emergency.
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Foreward
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More used to reviewing rather than fore wording books, the
first thing to say, in either capacity, is that for me this is utterly
engaging. Academic reviewers often sniff at volumes of
essays or conference proceedings - 'uneven quality' etc. - but
academic reviewers seldom live dangerously. Nor do they
always know how it feels. This is real. The body of evidence
compared to the bones or structure of scholarly argument.
Some of it is delightfully inconsequential: but so is quite a lot
of family history. Some of it only lifts a corner of the curtain -
for example, on Nicol Gray - although far enough. for
inference and to modify opinions, even if one is still looking
for the full Monty. At the highest-level one wonders why no
one mentions Arthur Young nor, for that matter Langworthy,
Jenkin or Madoc. But this, again, reveals the historian's
predisposition to believe that change comes from the top
rather than from the bottom.
For me and for anyone else who may still need convincing,
the overwhelming importance of what happened at the bottom
is hereinafter revealed. Yes, it was fortuitous that as soon as
the Mandate in Palestine ended, the Emergency in Malaya
began. But how kampong Malays and British police
lieutenants bonded to produce the indispensable security for
the rubber estates and just how much work went into creating
a special constabulary from nothing is certainly something that
has hardly been taken into account, at least by me.
One knows that for every soldier who was killed, two
policemen died. Not a lot of people, however, would know
how fraught the situation was at the beginning and that police
lieutenants could be killed within days of arrival without firing
a shot. And there are few who have known the eventual, awful
and terminal silence of ambush as well as the mayhem and
fury when it begins. These are the unaffected and understated
accounts of those who were at the sharp end. There is some
very fine writing. If I were to mention one or two pieces, they
would be those on 'Q' operations: because the authors had more space for their narrative; and because they had me dry-mouthed
with fear and excitement. Also, for the historian, the
revelation that half of the remnants of an Armed Work Force -
admittedly down to four in September 1956 - were women
and that a woman State Committee Member in Negri
Sembilan had another female comrade as her second in
command.
Elsewhere there is humour, pathos, and a glorious piece of
near libel on visitors from Westminster. There is the
unaffected charm of the animal stories and snippets, a
reminder not to bounce your Sten gun on the ground and so
many changing pictures, shapes and colours as to produce a
genuine, old-fashioned kaleidoscope.
Presumably this is what Brian Stewart had in mind: but it is
astonishing, nevertheless. At an age when he might reasonably
have put on his carpet slippers, to have sought out and
compiled these fust-hand testimonies has given us a
monument to the Royal Malayan Police. Many of the
experiences were shared. Each of these accounts is unique. I
hope it is not too sentimental to see it as a remarkable family
history; and I am honoured that Brian has asked me to write
this foreword. May I, in turn, honour the achievements, the
bravery, and the steadfastness of those who served, and
especially those who died.
Anthony Short
Crathie, Aberdeenshire
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Preface
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Many books have been written about the war which erupted in
Malaya in 1948 and was known, for legal reasons, as an
'Emergency'. There have been histories, accounts by authors
and journalists, academics, soldiers and by former police
officers, such as Dato Mohd Pilus Yusoh, Dato' J. J. Raj
(Im.), Dato' Seri Yuan Yuet Leng, Mr Leong Chee Woh, Mr
R Thambapillay and Roy Follows, Leon Comber and the late
John Slimming. But none of these authors took as a central
theme the role and performance of the police in that bitterly
fought war, nor did they deliberately attempt, as this book
does, to record the voices of the junior police officers who
fought in what General Templer was quick to recognise as a
'Subalterns' war.
Thomas Grey, the 18th Century poet, said, "Any fool can
write a valuable book if he will only tell us what he heard and
saw with veracity." I have tried to follow Grey's precepts.
The book is not only intended to record the voices of the
subalterns and, where possible, of their men, but also to pay
tribute to the many policemen who sacrificed their lives in the
fight for freedom, and to all the gallant men who fought
alongside them during the campaign. In 1952, the worst year
for police casualties, 350 police, of all ranks, races and
branches, lost their lives in action. We salute their memory.
When I suggested this book, I captioned my proposal
Operation Sharp End, a phrase chosen to emphasise that my
central objective was to record memories of junior officers
who bore the brunt of the fight on the ground. Of course, some
of those junior officers, who survived and continued their
police career in Malaysia, finished up as distinguished senior
officers, but it is their memories as juniors, not their later
reflections, which appear in this book.
In the course of preparation I received a lot of material,
which was not all about battles, ambushes, patrols and
operations, and tales of derring-do in the face of the enemy.
The book, therefore, has stories of events 'behind the lines' and 'off duty', even of ghosts and magic.
Although most of the text was specially written for
Operation Sharp End some of it consists of extracts taken
with the permission of the authors, from articles and books'
which they have already published.
I hope that the book may occasionally cast some new light
on the complicated events of those far off days, but that is
certainly not its central purpose. The army and the police both
performed magnificently, fighting side-by-side in many cases.
But whereas some of the voices of the soldiers who
participated in the fight have been recorded in regimental
hIstones, there has been no equivalent literature recording the
police voices, and so this book was born of a wish to e;sure
that police voices could also be 'heard'.
!though I never had the honour of serving in the Royal
Malaysia Police, I did spend the best part of twenty years
working WIth them as a Malayan Civil Service officer a
diplomat and, finally, for four years as Director of the Rubber
Growers Association, where I was in charge of 2,500 auxiliary
policemen (APs) guarding the estates. I have, as a result, a lot
of friends in the police force, and a very high regard for their
serVIce.
When, after fifty years or so, I returned to Scotland and
was invited to join the RMPFOA it occurred to me that there
was probably sufficient material available to form the basis for
a book of reminiscences and anecdotes by people who had
served during the Emergency. The Association agreed.
Of course, we have started Operation Sharp End very late,
but better late than never; we owe it to the families and
descendants of all those who served in the Emergency to
ensure that the overviews should be complemented by more
individual memories and anecdotes.
There is seldom a mention of the voices in the field in the
books written by senior officers, whose books therefore give
little flavour of the realities of action. A typical military
example might be, "The advance ran into heavy resistance and
It took several hours to drive the enemy out of their positions."
But this passage does not tell us that the subaltern
commanding the leading platoon and the platoon sergeant
were both killed in the battle, that the platoon suffered fifty
percent casualties from well-sited machine-guns, or how a
corporal rallied the survivors and mounted a second attack,
skilfully using mortar smoke to conceal his movements and,
finally, leading a bayonet charge to dislodge the enemy. Nor
does such a history tell us that the corporal won a Military
Medal. And we know nothing of the thoughts of the men
engaged in the battle; and how they overcame fear of death
and wounds. In short, the two-line summary tells us nothing
about the human dimension.for the sort of book we are
attempting here. In the 1960s a British farmer, visiting the war
graves of Flanders, was so moved by the thought of the
carnage at the Battle of the Somme that he pulled together the
memories of survivors of all ranks. I found a moving quotation
from this book:
The Tyneside Scottish were advancing across the
moonscape of No Man's Land toward the German trenches, where,
despite the heaviest bombardment of all time, the Germans were still in
fighting trim, and the bullets from their machine-guns were mowing
down the advancing infantry. In one company only a subaltern, a
platoon sergeant and a private reached the objective. The private
recalled, "We had started out as a Company of over a hundred men, but
now there were only three of us; the lieutenant looked round and said;
"God, God Where are the rest of the Company?"
There are many obvious objections to this type of history;
memories are selective, and fade and play tricks. The
contributors are self-selecting: many people who have a story
to tell will not tell it. During my efforts to collect stories from
the survivors of a battle in 1944, I once asked a Jock (Scottish
soldier) to tell me what he remembered of a twelve-hour battle
when his platoon was constantly on the move, carrying
ammunition and the wounded to and from the front line. All I
could drag out of him was, "Och! I suppose it was pretty
rough." But although it is sometimes like drawing teeth trying
to extract memories, I believe the effort is worthwhile, and I
hope that the collection that follows will find merit with
readers who want to know what sort of men were leading the
police at the Sharp End during the Emergency, and what they
thought about.
In August 2001, having received a large number of
manuscripts as a result of our original appeal for anecdotes,
and scoured the libraries for relevant material, I visited
Malaysia to seek further material. I knew the visit would be
fun since the Malaysians are probably the most friendly and
welcoming people in the world. But I did not anticipate the
astonishing kindness, helpfulness, and encouragement with
which Michael Thompson, who kindly accompanied me, and
were received.
My hosts, Datuk and Datin Moggie, gave us the run of
their comfortable home, and the use of a car and driver.
Former Inspector General of Police (IGP), Tun Hanif, invited
a vast gathering of former friends and colleagues, exministers,
retired generals, and highly decorated police
officers, to launch our 'Seminar', and provided us with an
office where we could conduct our discussions.
The younger generations in Britain have been brainwashed
into believing that our colonial history was shameful, and
Whitehall always tended to assume that we would be persona
non grata if we ever showed our faces in our former
territories. It is a pity that none of them have experienced the
reality: not just politeness, but full-blooded cooperation, warm
friendship and mutual respect.
Whatever else the Seminar accomplished, it gave me
confidence that my Malaysian friends approved of Operation
Sharp End.
Readers coming to this book at the beginning of the 21s1
Century may find. our fear of the Communist Revolution
bizarre. But in 1948 the threat seemed real enough. We had, at
crippling cost, just won a war against Hitler to stop him
dominating the world, and now the Soviet Union was
sprawling over Eastern Europe and half of Germany, and
boasting that Communism would bury capitalism. It is easy now to see that the giant had feet of clay, but at the time the
size of the bear, his victories over Hitler's best troops, and his
belligerence, could not easily be ignored. Meanwhile in Asia,
Mao Tsetung was thrashing the Chinese Nationalists; the
French in Vietnam were finding it increasingly hard to contain
the Vietcong, and Sukamo, having forced the Dutch out of the
Netherlands East Indies, had allied himself with Communist
China. You did not have to be a professional cold war warrior
to conclude that Communism posed a serious threat.
At a time when all round the world terrorism continues to
defy civilised societies, it will be noted that in Malaya we
defeated a strong terrorist force relying more on intelligence
than on weaponry, and on brains as much as on courage.
I hope that readers will share some of the pleasure that I
have derived from this project. It is an exercise in nostalgia for
all of us who were involved but also, I hope, a contribution to
an understanding of the young men who were plunged in at
the deep end, often with minimum or even no training, and
achieved near miracles in the face of a determined, jungle-trained
and experienced enemy.
I salute them. They did wonders!
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Introduction
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The Malaya of 1948, which was about to be plunged into a
bloody war, was a peninsula slightly smaller in area than
England and Wales. It had a population of nearly 6 million of
whom about 3 million were Malays, overwhelmingly
traditional and monarchists who respected their rulers, the
Sultans. They were' also devout Muslims. The Chinese
community of about 2.25 million were mostly recent
immigrants and, for the most part, atheists: apolitical and
conscious perhaps of their good fortune in having settled in
Malaya and left their tormented motherland behind. If they
were in some respects second -class citizens, this had certainly
not prevented their prospering in their new home. The Indians,
a much smaller minority, were also for the most part contented
with their lot, which was certainly better for most of them than
it was for the relatives and friends they had left behind in
India. Some, however, had been infected with anti-British
sentiments during the Japanese occupation.
Malaya was a plural, not an integrated, society. No one
pretended that all the races were the same, but the bangsa, for
the most part, tolerated each other's different cultures and
beliefs. Inevitably there was some resentment at the growing
economic power of the immigrants, who now represented half
the population, but tolerance, not pogrom, was the norm in
Malayan society.
The Malay Peninsula stretches for about 550 miles: from
Thailand in the north to Singapore in the south. It is lapped on
the east by the South China Sea and on the west by the 'Straits
of Malacca. Mountains running down the centre divide the
east with its stretches of golden beaches and agricultural and
fishing economy from the west with its tin mines and
plantations. In 1948 there were main roads running from north
to south on both sides of the peninsula, the main railway line
ran from Thailand to Singapore, through KL, the Federal
capital.
A Department of Information leaflet of the time described
The backbone of mountains, the highest over 7000 ft, is
covered in primary and secondary evergreen jungle.
One fifth of the country consists of rubber estates, tin
mines, rice fields, towns and villages: four fifths is
trackless forest and undergrowth so dense that a man is
invisible at twenty-five yards. The average noon
temperature is 90° and there is torrential rain almost
every day.
The primary jungle can be spectacularly beautiful with tree
trunks hundreds of feet high, standing like the pillars of some
great cathedral, its roof a green canopy of leaves and ferns.
The secondary jungle however is quite another matter.
Scrubby belukar, a tangle of bushes, saplings, thorny plants,
tough creepers and sturdy bamboo, combine to create a nearly
impenetrable barrier requiring heavy work with a parang
(short bladed sword) to force a path. Torrential rains and the
accompanying humidity rot equipment and uniform, which
then rubs the skin off in the tenderest parts of the body.
Leeches search assiduously for an opening in boots or clothes
that allow them to get at the victim's blood, while mosquitoes,
ants and midges seek his flesh. It was this trackless forest that
made up eighty per cent of the country and was the scene of
most operations.
Constitutionally Malaya had, since the 19th Century, been a
loose association of Malay States, ruled by Malay monarchs
but accepting protection and advice from Britain, linked
through the British connection to the three Straits Settlements:
Malacca, Penang and Singapore.
The normal tranquillity of the political scene had been
disturbed after the war by a misguided Colonial Office attempt
to replace. the loose pre-war association of Federated and
Unfederated States with a centralised system under a new
constitution, The Malayan Union (MU) was designed not only
to centralise and tidy up but also to improve the constitutional position of the immigrants. Although the Rulers reluctantly
agreed to accept the new constitution, it was not long before
the Malays began to protest publicly. London retreated and by
early 1948 a new Federal constitution, which took fuller
account of Malay sensitivities, had been agreed. Perhaps
someone had taken heed of the Malay proverb, Sisat di ujong
jalan, balek ka pangkal jalan: 'If you lose your way, go back
to the beginning of the road'. Malaya reverted to its normal
decorous mode in which political discussion tended not to take
place in riotous assembly. The immigrant interest in legal
rights was much weaker at grass roots level than Britain's
metropolitan reformers had imagined. This was hardly
surprising since they had emigrated to Malaya for economic,
not for political, reasons.
Communist ideas had been circulating in Malaya since the
1920s. In 1939, adopting the Moscow line, the Malayan
Communist Party (MCP) had opposed the war against
Germany and fomented strikes to damage the war effort. The
Party line was, of course, changed when Hitler invaded the
Soviet Union and the Malayan Communists joined the British
in a temporary alliance against the Japanese invaders.
After the Japanese surrender the MCP claimed that it had
been responsible for the defeat of the Japanese, a claim that
many believed. The MCP then returned to its subversive ways,
flexing its muscles through domination of organisations such
as the Trade Unions, the China Democratic Youth League,
Chinese schools and the Chinese press, all of which formed
part of what they called a United Front. But their subversive
activities were not limited to propaganda and industrial action:
their henchmen were using torture and murder.
Although there was a small Malay element in the MCP,
and also a small Indian element, the MCP was in essence a
Chinese party drawing the vast majority of its members from
Chinese immigrant families of relatively recent arrival, and
educated, if at all, in Chinese language schools. Such people
had minimal interest in integration into their host society,
unlike the long resident Chinese, such as the Straits Chinese, who had learnt Malay and English, and saw themselves as
Malayans.
The MCP had been encouraged to revive their wartime
dreams of taking over Malaya by the triumph of the Soviet
Union in Europe and, even more, by the dramatic victories of
Mao Tsetung in China where, despite massive US aid to
President Chiang Kai Shek and his party, the Communists
were winning.
In early 1948 the Central Committee of the MCP directed
that plans should be made to launch a countrywide armed
insurrection. At this time, although the country had not fully
recovered from the ravages of war, the economy was
developing well. There was a strong demand for Malaya's
staple exports, rubber and tin, and in Malaya's benign
environment even the poorest could find food, clothing and
materials to build a simple shelter. There were no starving
masses, no armies of hungry, angry, dispossessed peasants, or
downtrodden, unemployed proletariat festering in city slums,
to exploit. By almost any standard, Malaya was a fortunate
country. The people, whatever their race, were for the most
part content with their lot and there was little of the political
tension, which had characterised the relations between the
metropolitan power and the local politicians in India during
the last years of the Raj.
The MCP, however, was determined to turn this tolerant
and relatively successful society into a People's Republic,
persuading the population to cooperate, if necessary by
intimidation, torture and murder.
It is difficult to understand why the MCP should have
thought that tolerant, prosperous Malaya was ripe for
revolution. The situation could hardly have been more
different from that in China where decades of civil war,
vicious corruption and runaway inflation under the
maladministration of the Kuomintang (KMT) had persuaded
the vast majority of the Chinese, regardless of their political
views, that any other government, whatever its political label,
must be an improvement on the KMT. It might have occurred to men less ideologically blinkered than the MCP leadership
that the population of a reasonably contented and prosperous
country was unlikely to rally enthusiastically to a call to
revolution. Even if there were significant numbers of Chinese
malcontents or of Chinese who could be brought to heel by
intimidation, how could they possibly have arrived at the
conclusion that a significant number of Malays would support
a movement designed to convert Malaya from its traditional
monarchic and Islamic society into a Communist republic
dominated by atheist Chinese immigrants?
The MCP's strategic assessments were as bizarre as
Stalin's confident assessment in 1941 that Hitler would not
attack Russia, and Hitler's equally confident assessment that
defeating Russia would be as easy as 'pushing down a rotten
door'.
It might, however, be argued that the MCP had some
grounds for their assumption that Britain would not have the
stomach for a fight. They had, after all, witnessed the Japanese
victory in Malaya and noted Britain's departure from India,
Burma (Myanmar), and Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and the Dutch and
French inability to restore their authority in Indonesia and
Vietnam.
Former CTs, including Chin Peng, have said that the
decision to go to war was forced upon the MCP by the
defection of Loi Tak, the previous Secretary-General, and his
unmasking as a man who had spied in turn for the French,
British and Japanese intelligence services. The morale of the
Communists had plummeted and drastic action was required to
restore it.
The MCP were, perhaps, also victims of their own
propaganda which proclaimed that, whereas a British Army of
100,000 had been totally defeated by a Japanese invasion force
of 30,000, the Malayan People's Anti-Japanese Army
(MPAJA) only a few thousand strong had remained in action
throughout the war, and so one MPAJA soldier was worth ten
Japanese (and by extension many more British soldiers).
But, however wrong-headed the MCP may have been in their strategic assessments, they were right in their tactical
appreciation that hit and run attacks mounted throughout the
Peninsula at a time and place of their own choosing, would be
difficult to counter. They fought on the principles laid down
by Chairman Mao: never attacking unless they had numerical
and tactical advantage, and melting back into the jungle before
an effective counter-attack could be mounted.
The jungle presented a difficult environment for military
operations. During the Japanese occupation of Malaya,
Colonel Tsuji of the Japanese Army recorded his dim view of
the jungle: "The men covered in leeches and everywhere
venomous snakes ready to strike. During the day an inferno of
heat and at night the men were chilled to the bone." The jungle
had provided the British Special Forces and their temporary
allies, the MPAJA, with an excellent base for guerrilla
operations and now, once again, it was providing the Chinese
Communists with an excellent guerrilla base.
I have found no description of life in the jungle written by
a Communist Terrorist (CT); but Colonel Spencer Chapman
(who commanded Force 136 in Malaya during the war) gives a
fascinating account of life in a CT jungle camp, which adds a
dimension to the descriptions in the following. stories of
attacks on CT camps. The drill, leadership and efficiency of
the Communists varied tremendously. At the extreme end of
the scale were the ruthless and efficient professionals of the
'traitor killing' camps, highly trained and well-armed, and
tasked to eliminate anyone who was suspected of supplying
intelligence to the enemy.
By 1948 the CTs had constructed large, semi-permanent,
jungle camps, well-camouflaged, and only approachable along
cleverly designed tracks, which were skilfully booby-trapped
and guarded by sentries. With six years' experience behind
them, many of the CTs were experts in jungle warfare and
their jungle craft was often superb.
Colonel Spencer Chapman called his book The Jungle is
Neutral, but that neutrality gave advantages to those who
understood the jungle and were acclimatised to it. In 1948 the CTs were jungle-trained and acclimatised: the Security Forces
(SF) were not.
Most of the CT armoury consisted of weapons and
ammunition that had been air-dropped in generous quantities
to Force 136 in the last months of the war. The MPAJA had
gone through the motions of handing in some weapons while,
in fact, caching most of their military stores for future use.
The CTs had absorbed all too well what their British
officers had taught them about the importance of cultivating
friendly relations with the aborigines in order to have their
help for Intelligence and logistic support. The CTs had already
set up a group known as ASAL for this purpose: while the SF
had to start from scratch to build up their relationship with the
Orang Asli (the original people). But probably the CTs
greatest advantage over the SF was their freedom to choose
target, place and time for their attacks. So in 1948 the CTs had
a field day and the SF, particularly the police, suffered heavy
casualties.
At the beginning of the Emergency there were several
thousand CTs under arms in the jungle. Against this force,
many of them with jungle warfare experience, the police had
only about 8,000 men, who had not been trained as a
paramilitary force. The army mustered many thousands more
but they too were not trained for jungle warfare. In these
circumstances it says a lot for the grit and determination of all
the youngsters serving in the police and army that they
managed to hold the line.
Before the Emergency the senior echelons of government,
although frequently meeting to discuss 'the threat', had never
clearly identified a threat of imminent armed insurrection.
Many commentators have cited 'failure of intelligence' as a
prime cause of the government's difficulties. But the
documents available suggest that the faults were, by no means,
all on the side of the intelligence professionals. The collectors
and assessors of intelligence failed to produce a clear picture
of the nature of the threat. But their customers the senior
officials and military chiefs, contributed to the problem. They grumbled loudly but took no steps to cure the weaknesses of
the intelligence machine.
In any case, it is nonsense to charge the intelligence
community with failure to uncover the Communist plan for
insurrection, since in June 1948 the details of the plan had yet
to be agreed by the Central Committee of the MCP. The
increasing violence that led the government to declare 'war'
was the work of rank and file CTs who had jumped the gun.
The following report by a group of former senior MCP cadres,
quoted by Dato Seri Yuan, makes this point clear.
The original plan of the Central Committee was to have
ample time for its preparations before launching the
armed struggle. It was triggered off prematurely by the
inflated psychology of increased resistance it had
stimulated in the working masses against the authorities
as part of these preparations. Above all the
accompanying over excessive emotions of anger and
violence which had built up in a number of their cadres
who had knowledge of an impending armed struggle,
rendered them less willing to tolerate suppressive legal
measures imposed and disruptive action by the
government. Once issued with weapons they ignored
Central Committee instructions. Although they did not
attack government forces they went for European
planters, police agents and running dogs.
The police were at the centre of the war. They had to travel on
country roads throughout Malaya in constant danger of
ambush and without benefit of armoured vehicles. They and
their men suffered heavy casualties as they went about their
duties.
In December 1955 Tengku Abdul Rahman, Chief Minister
of the newly elected Alliance Government and Head of the
United Malay National Organisation (UMNO), accompanied
by Sir Tan Chenglock, President of the Malayan Chinese
Association (MCA) and David Marshall, Chief Minister of Singapore, went to Baling to meet Chin Peng in the hope of
persuading the Communists to give up the armed struggle. But
Chin Peng refused the amnesty terms, insisting that the MCP
must be allowed to operate as a legal party, and stalked back
into the jungle. Although more and more CTs were
surrendering and collaborating with the police, the MCP
leadership remained obdurate and a year after Merdeka they
were still at war, although by now their army had been
reduced to less than one thousand, more than half of whom
were lurking in Thailand. The Emergency did not end
officially until 1960.
The core of this book is the memories of the youngsters of
many races, usually plunged in at the deep end with minimal
training. It was these Subalterns, Assistant Superintendents of
Police, Inspectors, and Police Lieutenants who held the fort in
the countryside in the darkest days, and moved rapidly and
successfully onto the offensive. The morale of the Subalterns
and their men remained high despite the dangers and
discomforts of their lives.
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No Surrender
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Gallant Last Stand at Bukit Kepong
by Dato' J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
This is the story of how thirteen Malay policemen, supported
magnificently by their wives, made a stand against
overwhelming odds holding the enemy off for several hours
and how, finally, the exasperated CTs showed their usual
barbarity and threw men, women and children, some still
alive, into the burning remains of the police station.
JJ, as his friends know him, finished his career as a Senior
Assistant Commissioner (SAC). Tun Hanif Omar a former
IGP, writing a foreword to JJ's 'The War Years and After',
commended the book as an important contribution to the
written history of Malaysia.
JJ, the local Officer Commanding Police District (OCPD)
at the time, tells the story.
Bukit Kepong was a small village in Johore, up the Muar
River, and three and a half hours journey by track and river
from Pagoh, my OCPD HQ. I had visited the village the day
before the onslaught and Sergeant Jamil's last words to me
had been, "Don't worry Tuan OCPD" and a Malay proverb,
which translates as 'Better white bones than white eyes' or
loosely translated means 'Death before dishonour'. Sergeant
Jarnil lived up to his words, firing his Bren light machine-gun
with great effect until he was killed.
The CT assault commenced about 0400 hours; the
attacking force of 180 were from the 4th Independent
Company of the Malayan and Races Liberation Army
(MRLA) and, no doubt, their commanders rallied them with
propaganda about liberating the masses and called them
soldiers, but terrorism not soldiering was their trade.
Enche Ali Mustapha, the Penghulu (headman), was a
dynamic leader who had persuaded the people of his area to
rally behind the government and many of his men had joined the AP. The police station was a traditional wooden building
perched three feet above the ground on concrete stilts. The
defences included trenches and sandbags, but the penmeter
fence consisted of only one strand of barbed wire. The police
family quarters and the Penghulu's office were within the
perimeter.
Sergeant Jamil had thirteen regular polIce and three APs
under his command in the village and three manne polIce
manning the boat at the nearby jetty. There was no radio link
to Pagoh so the first objective of the CTs was to kill the
marine police and destroy their boat in order to cut the river
link to Pagoh.
On the afternoon of February 22 1950 when I had left for
Pagoh, I did not know that the CTs were assembled behind a
nearby hilL At 0400 hours the CTs moved forward and
prepared for a set piece attack. The plan of attack was in four
stages: first deal with the marine police and their boat; second,
enter the police station by stealth, silence the sentry and
capture the police constables (PCs); third, raise the
Communist flag and declare the village a 'liberated area';
fourth, attack the police on the flanks so as to guard against a
counter attack by the APs guarding the Penghulu's office.
The assault squads began to move forward at 0550 hours
but were spotted and, when they failed to respond to
challenge, the police sentries opened fire with their shotguns
and killed two of the attacking force. The police then took up
their defensive positions and the battle started in earnest: it
lasted for about four hours until everyone in the defending
force had been killed or seriously wounded.
The small defending force, despite the odds against them,
kept up an effective fire and their wives picked up their rifles
and continued to fire when their husbands were no longer able
to use their weapons.
After several hours a Malay CT called on the police to
surrender. When some of the women and their children came
out of their quarters they were ordered to go back and
persuade their husbands to give up the battle. The sergeant and his men shouted their defiance, but eventually the CTs.
prevailed by sheer weight of numbers and the police were
forced out of the police station when the CTs set it alight with
petrol bombs. Those who managed to escape from the burning
building were shot and any wounded were thrown into the
flames by the triumphant CTs.
One marine policeman, who could have escaped, remained
with his boat until he too was killed.
As soon as news of the attack reached Pagoh I set off
immediately through the jungle with a rescue force of ten men
from the jungle squad and some Seaforth Highlanders, and
forced marched to the village by. The scene was horrible; a
burning police station, dead policemen everywhere, women
and children who had survived were wailing and crying.
Fortunately, the discipline of the police was such that any
thoughts of reprisals against the local Chinese were quickly
overcome.
This was as gallant a defence as any in history; the garrison
had many opportunities to surrender, and the fact that their
families were under fire as well added to their plight. In 1976
the lOP visited Bukit Kepong to preside over a ceremony of
remembrance and rearrangement of the gravestones and the
burial ground of the heroes of Bukit Kepong.
The following is a verbatim statement by a CT who took part
in the Bukit Kepong attack. The statement reflects the
magnificent heroism of the Malay policemen and their
families, the brutality of the CTs and the overwhelming odds
against the defence.
Statement by CUING MOl CUAI aged 43 years
Member of the 4th Independent Company MRLA
I was a member of the gang that attacked Bukit Kepong
Police Station on 23 February 1950. We chose this station as
the target because it was isolated, it had no radio contact with
other stations and we wanted to strengthen our prestige in that area.
There were 200 men in our gang and we knew that only
twenty Malays manned the police station.
We encircled the station at 0400 hours. We chose that time
because we thought the sentries would be asleep. At exactly
0430 hours the bugle sounded and our attack started. We fired
on the station from all sides. We immediately received a heavy
barrage of return fire. I was in the party attacking the front of
the station and I could see the policemen taking defensive
positions. They had divided into two sections. One section
manned the defences under the station using two Bren guns
and the other section manned defence posts in the charge room
above. A few men, I don't know how many, defended the
married quarters at the rear of the station. Most of our
armament was automatic weapons but some of us were armed
with rifles and grenades. The greatest resistance to our attack
was coming from underneath the station where the Bren guns
were. We concentrated our attack there and, after about one
hour, it was silenced. We then received orders to charge the
front of the station. This we did with fixed bayonets but the
gunfire was so intense that we withdrew to reform for another
attack. In that attack we lost two killed and several wounded.
We then called on the police to surrender promising them
no harm if they did so. They refused and increased their
resistance. In the meantime, some of my comrades had been
attempting to break in at the rear of the police compound but
they had been met by stiff resistance and suffered several
casualties.
When daylight came we were able to see the damage
better. I could see dead policemen lying under the station. The
one in charge, Sergeant Jamil, was slumped over one of the
Bren guns. We received orders to charge and we did so, time
after time, but we were still unsuccessful, so we withdrew and
again called on the station to surrender but again they refused.
Our leader was getting impatient and so he ordered us to
attack the married quarters, which was the weakest part of the
defence. They could not defend that properly and we were able to break through the defences. One of the police wives
tried to run to the station but my comrades caught her. They
asked her to walk to the station and call on the men to
surrender. She refused and she told my comrades that there
were only two people left alive in the married quarters, a
policeman's wife and daughter. My comrades shot the wife
they had caught and called upon the one in the quarters to
surrender. She refused and shouted that both she and her
daughter preferred to die. So my comrades set fire to the
married quarters and burnt both of them alive. Then they
threw the body of the other wife into the blazing building.
There was a boat moored at the rear of the station and a
marine policeman defended that until he was killed. He could
have escaped but didn't.
We had got into the compound and now charged both front
and rear. We got within grenade range and threw several
grenades into the charge room. Then my comrades set fire to
the rear of the station. A group of several policemen came
charging out of the front firing their weapons. Some of them
had their clothes on fire. their wives also came out and, as we
shot their husbands, the wives picked up their guns and
continued to fire at us. We were able to shoot them all and
throw them into the burning building. They were not all dead
when they were thrown. Just as we were leaving, we found a
small boy under a bunker and my comrades threw him into the
fire as well.
The attack took us five hours.
The Defence of Kea Farm
by Yuen Yuet Leng
Dato Seri fuan fuet Leng finished his distinguished career as
a SAC, but his book 'Operation Ginger' describes his view of
the Emergency when he was a Special Branch Officer (SBO)
in Perak.
Tun Hanif Omar's foreword to the book, commending the
author and his contribution to history, remarks: "Cooperation amongst the government forces did not come naturally, given
the propensity for one-upmanship - but there was an
unconditional acceptance of the police role and in particular
SE which never let them down. "
"In preparation for the Baling Talks (1955), the MCP made a
major effort to demoralise the Home Guard (HG) in an effort
to strengthen their negotiating position. The Cf attack on Kea
Farm was part of this effort.
The gallant SF resistance ranks with the Last Stand at
Bukit Kepong in the great tradition of the Malay Mata Mata's
courage and determination in the face of vastly superior
numbers and deserves a lasting memorial.
In June 1955 the MCP, after a Central Committee decision,
made overtures to the government for peace talks on an
assumed basis of equality. This was contrary to the realities of
the security situation and the strong position held by a new
and elected Malayan Government, which had pledged to offer
an amnesty to the Communists in order to end the shooting
war. As a prelude to the on-coming talks and to strengthen
their hand, a number of major incidents were carried out,
notably in Johore and Perak.
In Perak, Kea Farm New Village, five miles from Tanah
Rata in the Cameron Highlands, was attacked and occupied for
two hours on the night of 31 sI October 1955 by about 100
terrorists. CTs were mainly from 27th Section and 25129
Section of 31 sI Independent Platoon who normally operated in
10th MCP and 7th MCP Districts respectively. Overpowering
the local HG command post a terrorist party, guided by the
HG platoon commander (under duress), proceeded to an
identified house where they murdered HG Chow Yip Shin, a
vegetable farmer aged 41. Chow was stabbed twice in his
throat and again in the chest. Other terrorists collected 35 HG
weapons and 612 rounds of ammunition in a house-to-house
search, and raided the village shops.
All this occurred without a shot being fired and then
another group of terrorists surrounded the police station and penetrated into the compound. They opened fire when the
police commanded by a corporal refused to surrender. The
police returned fire and one constable, ignoring the terrorist
fire, dashed out of the station to start the standby generator
outside in order to operate wireless equipment, as electricity
and telephone lines had been cut off by the CTs, and was
captured. Soon after Constable Omar bin Mat, shooting from
under the elevated police station, was hit and died. The
terrorists reached the station building and splashing kerosene
oil under the building, attempted to set it on fire but without
much success due to the rain earlier. However, Constable Abu
bin Sipes, who with PC Omar had been engaging the terrorists
from a trench, had to make a run from the heat of the flames
and was also captured. The three remaining police personnel
withdrew from the bullet-ridden station to a bund behind
which they continued to engage the terrorists. One of them, PC
Osman bin Kassim, managed to sneak away in the dark and
ran two miles to the nearest Gurkha camp to gi ve the alarm.
When he returned, the terrorists had already withdrawn,
regrouped and moved off with their spoils.
Government reaction to the incident was fast. The previous
'Shout before your shoot,' order to SFs in connection with the
amnesty offer was rescinded, and a number of the 186 'safe
areas' in the country provided for terrorists intending to
surrender were also abolished. The Kea Farm follow-up found
the Cfs camp at the edge of the local safe area and also
confirmed that terrorists had actually passed through the safe
area in order to reach the village."
A George Medal for a SC
by Wan Amran
Three Special Constables (SCs) were awarded medals for
gallantry in an action in Sungei (river) Siput, which spoke
volumes for their courage and for their training and, indeed,
marksmanship. Wan Amran was awarded a George Medal
(GM) and his two companion SCs were awarded Colonial Police Medals (CPM) for gallantry. This stirring account is a
reminder of how much brave work was done by SCs, APs and
even HGs, all temporary not regular members of the SF.
Wan Amran's laconic description of the incident is as
follows:-
I was one of a patrol of eight SCs moving through a rubber
estate when we were fired on. The first burst killed four of us
and wounded two more. I, Mat Din bin Urnai and Musa bin
Kamis, threw ourselves down and lay quiet on the ground
while the firing continued for about ten minutes. Then the
bandits shouted, "Those of you who are alive surrender and
we will not harm you." We did not stir. A minute later I heard
a rustling sound to the rear, and turning round saw a bandit
coming towards me. He fired at me and a shot grazed my
shoulder. I fired back and killed him.
The bandits then opened fire again and all three of us
returned fire. Next, two bandits left their positions, which had
sandbags around them, and tried to capture the Bren gun off
our leading man who had just been killed. I fired at the first
man and killed him. The second bandit ran away.
Then two bandits emerged on the right and moved towards
two of our wounded comrades in order to seize their weapons.
I fired again and one bandit fell dead. All the time Musa and
Mat Din gave me covering fire from their positions in front
and behind me. Musa had fired 50 rounds, Mat Din 70 and I
20 by the time the bandits retreated.
The SCs had stood off four assaults by a CT ambush party
numbering over 30 who were armed with Brens, carbines,
Stens and rifles.
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The Recruits
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To Malaya by Constellation
by
Snodgrass
The late 'Snodgrass', whom I had the pleasure of knowing
over many years, was a most distinguished officer who rose to
the top of the Colonial Police. Since he chose to use a pen
name when he was alive, I have maintained his anonymity.
Many of his old colleagues will recognise his ebullient
character and sense of humour.
The Colonial OffIce telegram was curt but clear.
If you are still interested in joining the RMP report to
Hounslow Barracks, London, next Sunday.
Next Sunday was 12th September 1948.
My previous correspondence with the Secretary of State
for the Colonies had been in 1942 when as a schoolboy I had
attended an address by a former pupil on his career in the
Malayan Straits Settlement Police, from which he retired as
the Chief Police Officer (CPO) of Singapore. He had
impressed my schoolboy mind so much so that, there and then,
I penned a letter to the Secretary of State saying that I would
much appreciate an appointment in the RMP when I left
school. I received a most courteous reply, "Sir!" it said (I was
suitably impressed), "The Secretary of State has directed me to
inform you that your request has been noted. Unfortunately,
Malaya is temporarily under the administration of the Japanese
Government, but when this situation has been rectifIed, we
will consider your application." I was impressed again when
the squiggle at the foot of the letter begged to remain my most
obedient servant.
The telegram was a surprise. Some five years after the
polite official letter to the schoolboy, I had called at the
Colonial Office during my National Service demobilisation leave, only to be stopped at the doorway by the
commissionaire and informed, in no uncertain terms, that there
was a waiting list of some six years for appointment to the
RMP. And now, a couple of months later, here was this hasty
communication which didn't even beg to be my servant _
obedient or otherwise. I did not realise until later that a State
of Emergency had been declared in the Federation of Malaya.
The whole country was in turmoil as guerrilla terrorists of the
MCP were in open revolt and wreaking mayhem and murder,
and the high commissioner had been killed in an aircraft
accident. No wonder reinforcements were being sought.
Part of Hounslow Barracks had been loaned to the Colonial
Office as transit accommodation for police reinforcements
being flown out to the troubled territory.
"Gentlemen, thank you for turning up so promptly," said
the dapper civil servant in the gloomy, colourless assembly
room in the old Victorian barracks. "We haven't much time to
give you information as you are flying out tomorrow at dawn
by BOAC from Heathrow. I am assured that you will be fully
briefed when you land in Singapore."
After a desperately uncomfortable night (a straw palliasse
on a metal strip bed does not induce sleep), at dawn next
morning it was somewhat of a relief to board an army truck for
the airport. All of us had been issued with travel vouchers,
which addressed each one as "Sergeant". "Mighty quick
promotion," one of the travellers observed, "Maybe we'll be
inspectors before we arrive."
A BOAC official mustered us into one of the sheds, which
had over its door a pretentious sign - DEPARTURE
LOUNGE. He announced that we would be boarding a
chartered Constellation aircraft 'shortly' and, in the meantime,
we should make ourselves comfortable. The only comforts
that could be seen were some metal folding chairs and a
couple of backless benches. Two tedious hours later, after
several paper cups of weak coffee obtained from an ancient
machine, which bore the faded letters NAAFI, we were
directed to pick up our luggage and move out to our plane. "Oh! By the way," said a uniformed official, "I suppose you
all have passports?" Some of us hadn't but with boisterous
shouts of "Of Course!" we were led on to the tarmac and a
half-mile trudge to an aircraft that obviously had many air
miles under its fuselage.
One after the other, three of the piston engines roared into
life causing the rivets in the cabin fuselage to quiver and rattle.
The propeller of the last engine churned and groaned but no
way was the engine going to fire. All back to the Departure
Lounge. Three hours later we were back on board. We held
our breath as the fourth propeller started to rotate. This time,
the engine not only did fire- it went on fire! Back to
Hounslow Barracks and another spartan night with the
military. At least the meals were plentiful.
Another dawn start in pouring rain. Whilst we were being
marshalled, it was discovered that two of our number were
missing. Much confabulation concluded that yesterday's
experience had persuaded the two absentees that life in the
RMP was not for them. Or could it have been that the form of
transport to Singapore had changed their minds?
With revving engines and clattering rivets, we lumbered on
to the runway and, with a deafening combination of full power
piston engines and cheers from the relieved passengers, the
Constellation took off, climbed through the rain clouds and set
its nose towards the rising sun."
By Deckchair to Malaya
by
Gus Fletcher
Gus Fletcher moved from the RMP into diplomacy where his
outstanding gifts as a linguist and human relations skills
continued to stand him in excellent stead.
Gus told me that after the war, which he missed by a
whisker, a glamorous poster attracted him on his local railway
station, showing smart officers on horses and motorcycles,
inviting recruits to join the Palestine Police Force. When the
British Mandate ended he was still looking for adventure.
In the summer of 1948 I was casting about as to what to do
next following my premature return to the UK from Palestine,
the police force there having been disbanded. I saw in a
Sunday newspaper that Malaya needed five hundred exPalestine
policemen to deal with a 'Communist uprising'. I
was not entirely sure where Malaya was, nor what constituted
a Communist uprising, but wrote to the Crown Agents for the
Colonies for further information.
In short order I found myself in Hounslow Barracks. There
were about 40 of us, all ex-Palestine police, our ages ranging
from old men of 40 to young squirts like me, 19 years old.
After a couple of nights in barracks we climbed into our
aircraft. Where the seats had been were two strips of canvas
for bottoms, with two more strips for backs. These were in
pairs, and so cunningly designed that when you sat down your
neighbour soared upwards; when he got up you sank towards
the floor. This was at first mildly diverting, but after fifty-odd
hours much of the fun had gone out of it.
A few rows in front of me was Col W N Gray, our
erstwhile IGP in Palestine who was in black jacket, pinstripe
trousers, waistcoat and bowler hat. As our aluminium tube
lumbered eastwards to ever hotter regions, and as we climbed
back after each landing into an increasingly oven-like
atmosphere, our Commissioner divested himself of his outer
garments one by one; eventually - I think by the time we were
in Basra - being reduced to trousers and vest, with his braces
over his vest. For reasons unknown, however (and it was the
subject of much speculation), he kept his bowler on in the
aircraft. But each time we landed, when he led the way off the
plane, he was once more the picture of sartorial correctness.
And onwards, ever onwards, we flew, our yo-yoing canvas
seat straps now, it felt, leaving their imprints permanently on
our posteriors. And, blessed relief, Singapore finally slid under
our wings and we were released from our fifty-hour torment. It
was late (I think about 01000 hours) and the warm, damp air
enveloped us as we trudged our way to transport that took us to the Nee Soon Barracks where we were told that we could
sleep until 0600 hours. As it was 0300 hours by then this did
not seem a generous offer.
By 0800 hours we were each in possession of Sten guns,
three magazines, ninety rounds of ammunition, ex-Indian
Army khaki shirts, shorts, slacks, a camp bed of astounding
complexity and other impedimenta. Then on to the day train to
KL. I remember scarcely anything of that steamy, rattling
journey. Like the rest, I dozed through the long, hot, sticky
day.
On the platform at KL we found our commissioner
awaiting us. Consulting his notes, he told us we were all going
to the State of Pahang, where CT attacks were widespread and
where general mayhem prevailed. We would be billeted upon
rubber estate managers in pairs - an older man with a younger
one. I don't remember how we paired off; it was rather like
waiting on the playing field to be picked by opposing team
captains. My 'old' partner was aged 25 or so and had served
through the recent war. Gray wished us well and hoped to visit
us on our rubber estates before too long.
A Planter is 'Volunteered' to be a Police Officer
by
J A L Carter
J A L Carter was born in Malaya, son of a rubber planter, and
served in the Navy in World War Il. After taking a degree in
tropical agriculture, he had barely started work as an
Assistant Manager on an estate in Johore when the
Emergency began.
"On 3 July 1948 I was sent for by 'Bottle' Hargreaves, the
Officer Supervising Police Circle (OSPC) in Johore Bahru,
and was told that he intended to 'conscript' me into the police
as.I had proficiency in small arms and that I would be
'employed' VOLUNTARILY (!) to train SCs.
My protest that I had just fought one war and was now a
peace-loving civilian was dismissed; but, as a sop to my feelings, I was told that I would carry the rank of Assistant
Superintendent of Police (ASP), without emolument!
That cheered me up a bit and I went to work on some super
young Malays from surrounding kampongs (villages), training
them to defend rubber plantations.
The following year my planting job took me up country to
Paloh. Leonard Knight, who at that time was CPO Johore, sent
for me. The MU had become the Federation of Malaya; I had
lost my commission but, if I wished to continue to serve, I
could do so as an Inspector. I cheerfully accepted!
Amongst the thousands of men who served as Colonial
Police Officers over the years, I am, as far as I know, the only
officer who was 'bust' because of a change in the constitution
and name of the land in which he not only lived, but had been
born.
I enjoyed my service with the RMP, although nothing very
spectacular happened during my time. I was attacked at night
m my bungalow a couple of times, and had the sad duty of
picking up the bodies of both A H Girdler and G B Folliott
OSPC Kluang, when they were ambushed in April 1950 on the
Yong Peng to Paloh Road."
From Banker to Jungle Wallah
by
A Cochrane-Dyet
Alastair's pieces are a reminder of how, between jungle
patrols and police duties, the subalterns still found time to
play.
When did it all start? I thought I should settle for a steady job
and secured a position as a management trainee with the
British Bank of Iran and the Middle East. After eighteen
months I felt this was not really my cup of tea and cast about
for something more active. I discovered that the Colonial
Office was looking for people to join the Colonial Police. I
applied and got a formidable application form that required
various references including a Certificate of Equitation.
I had to attend two interviews after which I was told that
my application had been successful and that, because of my
previous maritime experience, I was being considered for
appointment to British Honduras Police Marine Division, but I
would first of all have to pass a police training course. Then I
was told that the British Honduras posting was cancelled and I
would be considered for Malaya. I was then instructed to
report to the Colonial Office before joining the trainees who
would be going to No.3 District Police Training Centre in
Staffordshire.
The London Resident Director of the Bank gave me an exit
interview: I thanked him for my training but added that I felt I
was not cut out for a banking career. He agreed.
The training course was the UK Constable basic training
lasting for thirteen weeks after which we 'Colonials' attended
the Metropolitan Police Training Centre at Hendon. We learnt
evidence, law, and procedures, and received instruction at the
Detective Training School. Finally we were attached to the
Metropolitan Police, a County Force and a Borough Force.
From Heathrow we flew to Rangoon, the scheduled night
stop. We decided to go for a walk after dinner. Somehow we
became involved in a Burmese wedding, which was quite a
party. Eventually we found ourselves back at the Strand Hotel
and so to bed. We seemed no sooner to have gone to sleep
when there was a banging on our door and someone telling us
that the bus to the airport was waiting. So we arrived at
Singapore and, finally, the great day came for our journey to
KL.
We were issued with a.38 pistol and six rounds just in case
of trouble on the train. We noted that our fellow passengers
were carrying all sorts of firearms, which seemed more serious
than our revolvers. We finally arrived at Police HQ and were
taken to a one-month course at Fraser's Hill, to introduce us to
the Malay language, local law and criminal procedure. On this
course there was an officer from a police jungle company, and
I was curious to learn how this fitted in. Our training course in
the UK naturally had made no mention of such matters. I was advised to ask Police HQ. The answer to my query was, "Under no circumstances will Mr Cochrane-Dyet be posted to
a jungle company in the first instance." On the completion of
the course a telephone call instructed me to report to Police
HQ jungle companies, where I was told I was posted to No.16
Jungle Company at Titi-Gantong, Grik."
Dato Pilus Joins Up
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
Dato Pilus was born in Kampong Sungkak near Kuala Pilis in
1917. His autobiography is written with a light touch, but in it
his seriousness of purpose, devotion to duty, patriotism and
dedication shine forth: and so too his devotion to and pride in
his family. However, he clearly was not a 'Yes' man. He
joined the police in 1935, retired when the Japanese occupied
Malaya but rejoined the police, taking the view that his duty
was to maintain law and order. His book reflects the mutual
respect and affection that, for the most part, existed between
the Orang Puteh and their Asian colleagues. Sadly, this happy
relationship is seldom reflected in post-colonial
commentaries: it is not fashionable to record the truth in these
matters. We did respect each other, although of course the
rules of the day gave the top jobs to the colonial visitors.
Dato Mohammed Pilus is almost certainly the only Royal
Malayan Police Officer to have been ambushed by both the
MPAJA and the MRLA.
Dato Mohammed Pilus served in the RMP from 1935 to
1971, rising from constable to SAC. Tun Hanif applauds his
book, 'A Policeman's Story', and describes it as 'An important
contribution to Malayan history.'"
I appeared before the CPO, a slightly portly Englishman: I
lIked him instinctively. He told me to report to Bluff Road
"Any time you wish," smiled, and wished me good luck.
I travelled to KL by train: so far Allah had guided every
step I had made, and on New Year's Day I met the redoubtable Commandant of the Depot, who produced the
recruitment forms and on January 4 I reported to the Depot.
The day was full: Reveille before 0600 hours, drills and
parades until. 0900 hours, curry lunch and classroom work,
then more parade ground drill until we became expert. I feel a
glow of pride whenever I see our police team parading
overseas. Once deductions had been made, the pay was very
small. It was a tough regime and some recruits from better off
families bailed out, paying three months salary to discharge
their obligations.
When, on graduation I was posted. to Perak, the
Commandant briefed me that the Perak people were proud and
unpredictable: they did not take kindly to police authority and
had once bundled a policeman into a sack and thrown him into
the river.
I duly reported for duty to Parit, part of the Kuala Kangsar
police District. Sergeant Major Ismail was Officer in Charge
(OC) Station. Raw as I was, I could not help feeling that there
was not much active police work to be done in Parit. The only
theft was of a bicycle, and that case was passed to the
corporal."
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In At The Deep End
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New Boy in Kuala Lipis
by
D L Brent
David, who was brought up in Penang until the Japanese war,
was commissioned into the Northamptonshire Regiment and
served in Trieste. We have never met but we have one common
experience: we both suffered at Officer Cadet Training Unit
(OCTU) under the formidable but most admirable Regimental
Sergeant Major (RSM) Copp of the Coldstream Guards.
David's expertise as a marksman and weapons expert stood
him in good stead when he joined the police in 1952 as an
ASP. He has been a most enthusiastic supporter of Operation
Sharp End.
David Brent's description of the somewhat daunting range
of duties, which he was required to carry out as a newly
minted police officer, will perhaps surprise Britons of the 21"
Century. The list represents the typical challenges faced by
youngsters setting off in their first posting in the Colonial
Service. We arrived young, probably with only military
experience behind us, and almost certainly without first-hand
knowledge of the territory. Even without a full-scale
Emergency to cope with, the responsibility was considerable.
But, like military service, it was an experience that stood the
survivors in good stead for life. We learnt on the job,
supported generously by our Malayan colleagues.
And the job usually gave a great deal of what, in modern
management speak, is known as 'job satisfaction', which we
all remember with pleasure fifty years on.
My first posting in Malaya was to Kuala Lipis under Wallace
Kinloch, the OCPD, a broad-accented Scotsman and fIne
officer, who had been with the Scots Guards and then the
Hong Kong Police at the time of the Japanese attack. Kuala
Lipis was one of the largest police districts in Malaya, almost
geographically dead centre of the country; it was the
administrative town of Pahang and housed all the government
head offices.
Wallace Kinloch acquired a tiger cub, which he kept at his
home near the railway track on the edge of the township. It
was quite a placid and friendly animal but I understand that it
made a mess of anything it could get hold of and chew, which
included table and chair legs, shoes and carpets. As it grew
bigger and more destructive and less tractable, Wallace found
a home for it at the Edinburgh Zoo.
I relished my first experiences in crime investigations,
mUltiple administrative duties, Chandu raids, road blocks and
searches, jungle patrols, police station inspections and pay
days, setting up beat patrol systems, liaison with SB for
special operations, liaison with military units, ceremonial
parades, night duty offIcer, vehicle and boat maintenance, up-river journeys by boat to far-flung police stations and posts, inspections of rubber estate security systems and personnel,
liaison with rubber estate managers, liaison with Penghulus,
Ketua Kampongs (headmen of the kampongs), personnel
management, and so on.
A Cadet ASP's First Patrol
by
P H Wright-Nooth
In late 1948 I resigned my commission in the Royal Tank
Regiment and was appointed to Malaya as a police cadet. I
soon found myself in the hurly-burly of Campbell Road Pohce
Station as Assistant OCPD KL North. Tim Hatton, exGurkhas,
was OCPD. He spent most of his time running a
ferocious looking jungle squad and hunting for 'bandits' (as
we then called the CTs) in the jungles north of KL and left the
policing side of things to me. This was quite a lot for an
inexperienced twenty-one year old to take on, but I was quite
happy to do it and learn as much as I could about being a
policeman.
Tim's jungle squad had to be seen to be believed, It
consisted of about thirty Malay and Indian policemen dressed
in jungle green and armed to the teeth, brandishing rifles,
Stens and Brens with hand grenades stuck ID theIT belts. Every
now and then one of his section leaders, a large and imposing
Sikh sergeant, would march into the offIce which. Tim and I
shared, give a butt salute on his Sten gun, receIve instructions
from Tim, shout "Sahib!" and march out. Then chaos ensued
as Tim and the jungle squad poured into their vehicles that
went roaring out of the station compound.
"Would you like to go on an ambush?" asked Tim one day.
Enthused by his squad's arrivals and departures I saId, of
course I would. But then I learned that I would not be going
with the jungle squad but in charge of a party of Chinese
detectives.
So, at 1600 hours on a hot, humid afternoon we got into a
black, wooden-sided police truck and headed north towards the Batu Caves through what seemed like an endless series of
Malay kampongs standing amidst coconut trees. Lorries pulled
over to let us pass, their cargo giving us those varied smells
that added a touch of mystery and excitement to the country.
How clearly one recalls them: durian (fruit with a penetrating
smell); Chinese cooking; the humid air; and in this case the
unmistakable whiff of tightly packed sheets of rubber. We
passed a tin dredge, which looked like some metal monster
floating in the lake it had created, then came to the vast,
towering exotic limestone rocky outcrop of Batu Caves; two
miles round, five hundred feet high and covered in jungle
growth that was home to birds and monkeys. In the caves on
its northern face a small gang of CTs had their base.
their role was to collect food from the Chinese squatters
who lived round the edge of the rock and hills and take it to
the gangs deep in the jungle. Our role was to ambush one of
their jungle supply routes. We drove along a narrow bumpy
track with high grass on either side, to the northern end of the
outcrop. It was getting dark by now. The occupants of the
occasional squatter hut peered at us then, realising who we
were, withdrew inside their homes. Ducks quacked, dogs
barked and open latrines stank. We passed through a small
village and came to the edge of a rice field where we stopped.
The ambush party got out of the truck and I followed.
Imagine now a bunch of squat Chinese detectives dressed in
an assortment of civilian clothes, many wearing hats of
different shapes, grinning at me with gold-filled teeth. This
was my ambush party. They were armed with a variety of
weapons and nonchalantly brandished their pistols, submachine-
guns and rifles. I only hoped they knew how to use
them because, young and inexperienced as I was, my life was
in their hands.
In the gathering darkness we set out at a brisk pace along
the side of the rice.field. It was flooded and I kept slipping off
the edge into the water and floundering back out to find my
feet again, trying to keep up with my more agile companions.
Rice field followed rice field then, in the distance, loomed the
edge of the jungle. It was quite dark now but there was the
light of a full moon by which we followed a path leading into
the ominous blackness ahead. With the moonlight glinting on
the path, together with the shadows of the trees and
undergrowth, this was my introduction to the jungle that I was
to get to know so well. The path rose upward along the side of
a ridge, crossed over the top and wound downwards again. We
were still walking at a very rapid pace and it was much darker
now as the moonlight failed to penetrate the canopy of trees
above. I stumbled along following the figure of the detective
in front of me, and keeping on the path with great difficulty.
Not a word was said by any of my companions, all was
deathly silence, not a sound coming from the gloom on either
side of me.
After we had been walking for about an hour, we suddenly
stopped and the detectives disappeared into the undergrowth to
the right of the path. One remained with me and explained in
Malay that this was the best place for the ambush. I followed
him off the path and up the side of a steep hill, near the top of
which we crouched down among some bushes. The jungle
trees had slightly thinned here and enough moonlight
penetrated to light up the area around us. At the bottom of the
hill was the path bending away to the left so that we were
looking directly along it. Visibility was about twenty yards,
after which it was darkness again. I looked around and saw
other shadowy figures squatting in the undergrowth gazing,
like me, towards the path.
We seemed to sit in the darkness for ages. All was silent
except for the occasional cracking of a twig as one or other of
my companions moved slightly. I had time to think about the
situation: I was miles away from anywhere, in the middle of
the Malayan jungle with no precise idea of my location, sitting
among a bunch of Chinese detectives about whom I knew very
little. Suppose I got lost, how would I get back to civilisation?
Suddenly I was woken from my thoughts, as all hell broke
loose on either side of me. My companions started firing their
various weapons in the direction of the path. The flashes of their guns lit the darkness and bullets whistled over my head:
it was getting rather dangerous, especially as the firing was
uncontrolled. I strained my eyes but could see nothing at all on
the path. What were they shooting at? I decided to take control
and in my excitement shouted, "Stop shooting you silly
bastards! '
This seemed to have a magical effect. The shooting
finished and I could now see shadowy fIgures standing up in
the Jungle around me and waving their firearms in the
direction of the path. I crept forward with one of my
companions. Suddenly, he jumped onto the path and
triumphantly held aloft a battered old trilby hat. The other
detectives emerged from the undergrowth and gathered on the
path. I managed to find out from their excited chatter what had
happened. Three armed men had been seen creeping stealthily
along the path. Someone had fired too soon and they had
dIsappeared. This, I learned, was the way it was in the jungle:
contacts and then, perhaps, nothing.
Tim was there to greet us on our return. "Bad luck you
mIssed them," he said. "Quite honestly, I didn't see a bloody
thing," I replied.
Apprentice Patrol Leader CID
by
M Engel
Michael, although commissioned into the Duke of Cornwall's
Light Infantry, was too tall and was transferred to the Royal
Engineers after service in Sudan, Egypt and Greece.
After demobilisation and a spell as a Territorial Officer in
the Artillery, Michael Engel set off to join the RMP.
When we arrived in Singapore we were invited to join the
local Force. Shock! Horror! We were keen as mustard, some
might say pathologically stupid, and we certainly had not
come all this way to enjoy the bright lights of Singapore. So
we agreed to draw lots and two dispirited comrades were left
behind to their fate in Singapore. No doubt they were destined
to enjoy a long career and steady promotion.
Opening my sealed orders on my second day in Malaya, I
discovered that I was to be known as a Patrol Leader Criminal
Investigation Department. I arrived in Sungei Patani and
reported to the OC CID, Bill Luscombe from Sydney,
Australia: a man of few words, mostly pejorative. He
introduced me to a group of fIerce looking Chinese and said,
"These are your men." Later, it transpired that some of tllem
were police detectives, while others were former members of
the wartime MPAJA. The next day I was invited to go into the
depths of darkest Kedah in order to look for what had been
described to me as up to 250 armed CTs. The 8th Regiment
MRLA was on the move with the intention of creating
mayhem in South Kedah and North Perak.
After only two days in the country I was unable to speak
Malay, still less Tamil or any Chinese language, and
anticipated a communications problem. I was relieved to hear
that two experienced European sergeants would accompany
me. Both were ex-Palestine policemen.
We arrived on the south bank of the Sungei Muda, which
was wide and fast flowing. I held an '0 Group' with the two
sergeants and sent one upstream with about five men to select
a suitable ambush position, and the other downstream with a
similar number of men. I took the central position with five
men. Each of us was equipped with a US .300 carbine
(useless) and a Browning 9mm pistol (better). We also had
three Bren guns (excellent), one in each group. Apart from
shouting we had no means of communication. I had seen all
those films about the war in Burma and the Pacific and so I
thought that I knew instinctively what had to be done. I can
remember my order quite clearly, even after all these years.
"Hold your fire until their rubber boats reach the middle of
the river. Aim for the boats and we will take prisoners." The
two sergeants looked at me in silence for some minutes.
"These guys use bamboo rafts," said one sergeant quietly.
In the end there was no contact with the enemy. We packed
up and got back to Sungei Patani, evil-smelling, tired, hungry
and knackered, I reported to Bill Luscombe and told him that
we had not seen any CTs; he looked up and said, "I hope you
are better at tennis."
On another occasion I was on a fighting patrol with the
same two European sergeants. We were wandering around in
Central Kedah looking for a CT camp. We were a long way
from human habitation when suddenly a Chinese boy came
dashing along the track towards us. One of the sergeants
grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and in one swift
movement drew his pistol and held it against the boy's head.
Turning to me he screamed, "Shall I shoot the ******, Sir?" I
ordered him to release the boy and the sergeant, very unhappy
with my decision, said that the boy was almost certainly a CT
courier. Fifteen minutes later we walked into a well-organised
ambush."
CT Heads and Other Matters
by
M Engel
In 1949 a combined police/military operation was mounted in
the Gunong Bongsu Forest Reserve on the Kedah/Perak
border. The object was to kill or capture all CTs in the area. This was in the early days when people talked about
'cordoning off' large tracts of country, including dense jungle.
Three Battalions, two British and one Malay Regiment,
constituted the cordon. The killing ground was bombed and
strafed by the RAF, shelled by a field battery and subjected to
sporadic shelling and machine-gunning by armoured vehicles
from a Lancer Regiment.
When the dust and smoke settled I found that I was in
charge of the one and only police unit instructed to follow up
the bombardment. The unit consisted of about fifty men,
drawn from different parts of Kedah, mostly Malays, some
Sikhs and Punjabi Mussulmen. They had never worked as a
team and some of them had never been involved in this type of
operation before. We started off and passed through the
cordon. After about an hour and still in open country, I spotted
mist or smoke rising above the treetops on a hill feature. Some
of the men thought it was mist, but I was sure it was smoke
from a cooking fire. We made our way towards the hill, the
patrol strung out in single file. They were making a hell of a
lot of noise, so I ordered a halt. After choosing one of the
Malays, a Sikh and a Punjabi Musselman, I told the others to
go back towards the start line and wait. The four of us moved
forward very slowly and continued uphill, where we found an
occupied camp. We shot and killed one CT and recovered a
weapon and documents.
It was a hot day and by now we were tired and hungry. We
discussed the problem of recovering the body of the dead CT
and, after a show of hands, opted for a simple solution. We
rejoined the main body of the patrol and made our way back to
the start line, where a major in the Malay Regiment told me he
had heard firing. When I told him we had killed a CT, he
wanted to know what we had done with the body, so I opened
my pack, allowing a severed head and two hands to roll out
onto the ground in front of him. He became very excited and
got on the radio to his brigadier who stormed up, red-faced
and furious. Apparently, our friends from Nepal had been
upsetting everyone by doing this sort of thing and it had now become a court martial offence. In the end, I was ordered to go
back and recover the rest of the CT and the various bits and
pieces were taken to Kulim Police Station, where the usual
photographs were taken, 'pour encourager les autres'.
None of the detectives had received any training in jungle
craft and, as most of my time in the army had been spent in
desert country, I was not well equipped to take charge. All
wore black shirts, with black shorts or long trousers, and trilby
hats, always worn inclined to the right. The style of headgear
was probably copied from actors seen in countless American
B pictures shown nightly at the Cattle Shed, an affectionate
name for the open-air cinema in the Lucky World Amusement
Park. The first real shock came when I realised that this was
what they wore on patrol: jungle green uniforms were
unknown. So I made do with khaki shirts and trousers from
army days, until I bought a bottle of green Quink and dyed my
clothing. The result was not too bad, more glittery emerald
than dull jungle green, except that when I stripped off to wash,
revealing myself in verdant glory, it tended to frighten Cookie,
a man of nervous disposition. Nobody had a proper water
bottle, so the men carried beer bottles hung from the waist
with string. There were no jungle boots, so we all wore
Chinese basketball boots. Mine were red, because I couldn't
find a size 11 in blue or black.
In an ineffectual effort to keep the leeches at bay, I wore a
pair of spats, which Bill Luscombe had liberated from a US
Marine during his army service. Lacking any decent kit, we
were, as you would suppose, armed to the teeth, with.300 US
carbines, 9mm pistols,.38 revolvers, and hand grenades. I
thought the US carbine was a useless weapon and always
wondered whether some clerical officer in Crown Agents had
done a crafty deal with an American deserter in connection
with a job lot of time-expired weapons. We travelled in soft-skinned,
open, Chevrolet troop carriers and I used to sit at the
back, lulled to sleep by the exhaust fumes.
After we started operating, reports started coming in,
mostly from planters, about an armed Chinese gang led by a red-haired European. As I was dark-haired, it just shows that
you can never rely on the evidence of an eye witness.
Memories of a 'Shock Trooper'
by
P A Collin
Like many police officers Sandy had been an officer in the
Armed Forces during World War 1I. His first civilian job after
the war took him to Singapore as a shipping agent, but the
Emergency gave him the chance to join the police and thus
fulfil a long-standing ambition.
About fifteen of us turned up for an interview in KL, all of us
either still in the armed forces or, like me, employed by local
companies. We had all held commissions in the British Army
and had experience of the East and spoke an Asian language.
The interview stays clear in my memory. The interviewing
officers told us that if we were accepted it would be as 'shock
troops ' in the war against the Communists: the bumph and
routine work would be left to the older generation. All fifteen
of us were accepted and asked to report as soon as possible for
duty. We were urgently required to fIll gaps on the ground.
I was immediately posted as OCPD Balik Pulau, the
district at the back of Penang Island. It was a small township
to the west of the considerable range of hills that ran down the
centre of the Island. The CTs were using this jungle ridge for a
training ground and our attempts to sweep them out were
unsuccessful.
I had barely settled in, blessed with the services of a very
knowledgeable chief clerk to coach me on procedure, when
one morning I heard a shot and went to investigate. I found my
detective sergeant slumped over a table in a coffee shop; an
unknown person had shot him in the back of the head at point
blank range. This was a serious loss; the murdered man was an
'old sweat' who knew everyone in the village. A few weeks
later another shot rang out, this time I found my detective
corporal in the same position in the coffee shop, again a victim of a shot in the back of the head by an unidentified assassin.
About this time I was given a Picardy Alsatian dog whose
mother had seen service in North Africa. 'Zipper' soon won
over the hearts of the Malay policemen and proved to be a
most excellent scout. He not only led the patrol, but also
trotted back from time to time to check up that all was well to
the rear, and never allowed himself to be distracted by the
barking curs in the villages.
I was reminded a few years ago of a visit by the CPO who
asked me about a recent sudden death in my patch, "Was the
outcome Coroner's proceedings etc.?" I looked him blandly in
the eye and said, "I buried it, Sir." At the time I had no
understanding of the requirements of the law and presumed
that I had to bury the corpse so that I could get on with the job
in hand. I say that now in mitigation and without a blush. I had
been hired as a 'shock trooper'. As an anti-ambush drill I used
to subject my Mata Matas to the rather terrifying exercise of
leaping off trucks moving at about twenty miles per hour. The
technique was to leap, head forward, and land squatting,
virtually upright on terra firma, to avoid hitting the head on the
ground or the tailboard."
From Court Clerk to Police Field Force
by
Ahmad bin Abdul Hamid
I went to the same school as Tan Seri Amin in Kedah; when I
started work as a Court Clerk a Malay lnspector persuaded me
to go to KL for an interview and, so to speak, 'shanghaied' me
into the police. My interview with Mr McNamara at the Depot
was perfunctory: I was enrolled immediately.
After basic training I was posted to Kuala Krai as an
Investigating Officer, but my first job was not to investigate
but to lead twelve APs into the jungle in pursuit of a CT gang.
I barely had time to confirm that they knew how to fire their
weapons before we set off in hot pursuit towards the Thai
border. It was an unenviable situation: I had no radio and my
sergeant was the only man in the patrol with experience of action or indeed any operational experience.
As we moved along the track we found what my serge ant
identified as traces of the CTs, including the marks made by
their bodies and weapons where they had established a
rearguard position. In view of our inexperience and lack of
training, it was probably a very good thing that the CT
rearguard had pulled out before we got there, otherwise the
light machine-gun, which the CTs had positioned to cover the
track, would almost certainly have caused us heavy casualties.
We followed the CT trail up to the Thai border, but failed
to catch up with them and ret urned to base un-bloodied and
un-triumphant.
I was soon detailed to take another patrol out in hot pursuit
of an even larger CT party, but the OCPD decided that, in
view of the inexperience of my squad and myself, the job
should be given to a more experienced squad, and I was
allotted a less exacting task.
Once again my patrol made no contact. The other patrol,
which had taken over my original task, lost an officer and four
men. Later I learn t from an SEP that he had spotted our patrol
but, since he was on his way to surrender, he had not wished
to start a firefight.
We did a lot of training. We practised silent movements,
spacing, crawling, holding weapons, maintaining silence, the
use of hand signals and subjected the students to plent y of live
firing over their heads, grenade explosives, and the sound of
thunder flashe s clos e at hand. We accustomed the men to a
non-smoking regime, and the general discomforts of the jungle
life.
I finished my jungle work in command of seven battalions
of the Police Field Force (PFF).
Midnight Sortie
by
A J V Fletcher
After a long, hot journey by road we fetched up in Mentakab
in the early evening, to be greeted by the OCPD, Peter Machin-Cook, and his assistant, Gerry GilL We must have
presented a pretty ghastly spectacle and probably smelt. We
had been on the move for three days and nights and were still
in the clothes we had travelled in. We spent the night on our
camp beds in the OCPD's house, because the Rest House was
full of planters and their families who had been burnt out of
their bungalows. We emerged from the two bathrooms,
grappled with our fiendishly sharp-edged steel camp beds
(several of us receiving our first light wounds of the campaign
in the process) and, eyes fixed on a large tray of tall, bedewed
glasses of ice-cold whisky-sodas, waited for the last of our
comrades to appear.
Before we could raise our glasses, the field telephone rang.
Another estate had been attacked, Peter told us; he and Gerry
were off to deal with it. "You chaps have your drink and get
your heads down," he said, "You're all-in." Some gung-ho
clowns among us immediately insisted on going with the
party. Not wanting to be killed so soon after my arrival, I
would have kicked their ankles and enjoined silence had I
been within reach. There were also fourteen whiskies awaiting
our attention. In our white shirts and light-coloured slacks
making a superb target for the enemy, we were soon bumping
along a laterite road towards the distant glow in the sky of a
burning rubber estate.
We arrived at a scene of some animation. The CTs were
retreating, but still firing as they melted away through the
rubber trees. The stout-hearted Malay SCs, ill-armed for the
most part with single-barrelled 12-bore shotguns, were
returning their fire (as did some of us) and their spirited
defence had resulted in one very dead CT. But a Chinese
foreman had been murdered and the smokehouse, full of sheet
rubber, was spectacularly ablaze, as were the labourers' lines
and the office. There was not much we could do.
It was about 0200 hours when we arrived back at the
bungalow. The servants had long since cleared the tray of
whiskies away, and we agreed that bed was the thing. Alas, it
was not to be: as we prepared for sleep another attack on another estate took place and off we went again. This time, the
CTs were gone by the time we arrived. We got back to our
camp beds at around 0400 hours. We slept!"
From Detective to Commander
by
Mohd. Kassim bin Abdul Aziz
Inche Kassim started the Emergency as a detective in the
Malayan Security Service (MSSj, and by 1969 was in
command of13 Platoons of the PFF.
My first squad consisted of a sergeant and twelve SCs; the
smallest was no higher than his rifle, which he learnt to fire
from the hip. By the mid-1950s, I was commanding a special
operations squad consisting of SEPs.
The most famous case in which I was involved was the
investigation and prosecution of Watts, an estate manager
who, based on the evidence of Tamil and other SEPs, was
accused of 'consorting with the enemy'. Watts was discharged
but not acquitted.
I remember some of the CTs most brutal actions,
particularly on ambush, when they butchered and stripped
naked some British soldiers whose unit (KOYLI) had been
causing them grave inconvenience. I also remember two
foolhardy planters who paid the ultimate penalty when they
went squirrel shooting.
The Tuan Mat Salleh (expatriate officers) who trained,
guided and disciplined us did a good job, but they were also a
source of friendly amusement and given funny names. One
OCPD, whose name was Legat, was nicknamed Lekas (the
swift) because of the speed with which he left his District
every weekend. And then there was Tuan ShitShit, so called
because he had once fallen in a hole full of human excrement.
Out of the Frying Pan into the fire
by
B Collins
The analogous Malay proverb is more colourful:
Terlepas dari mulut buaya
Mamsok ke dalam mulut harimau.
Which translates as:
Freed from the mouth of the crocodile
Enter mouth of the tiger.
Barry Collins. a 2/Lt in the Royal Signals, was talent-spotted
by the CPO Penang and persuaded by him to join the police.
I was posted as a 2ILt to Malaya in May 1948.
The CPO Penang asked me when I was due for release
from the army if I would be interested in joining the police, as
there was an urgent need for signals officers in view of the
worsening security situation posed. by the rising Communist
threat. In fact, the travelling exhibition, in which I was
involved, was terminated that day due to the declaration of the
Emergency following an ambush of a bus and subsequent
death of a number of passengers in Perlis. Ten days later I
collected my police uniform as an AS resplendent with two
silver pips, and the next morning departed by air in a Dakota
en route to Kota Bahru in Kelantan.
In those days road links to the east coast were rudimentary
to say the least, and involved many river crossings by ferry
with only two flights a week from KL. The airfield at
Pengkalan Chepa was a grass runway. A Mata Mata from
Contingent HQ met me and drove me the five miles to Kota
Bahru where I reported to the CPO, met me. After a short and
somewhat perfunctory welcome, I was told that I would be
proceeding immediately to Kuala Krai to organise the defence
of this small town as a group of CTs were said to be coming down river to attack the settlement. However, when I told the
CPO that I had been informed that I would be setting up a
police wireless communications network, he changed his
orders and I was told to work in Contingent HQ to set up this
network. To my surprise, however, my days of army
involvement were not over, as the CPO then ordered me to
take charge of the small group of men in the Malay Regiment
left guarding Pengkalan Chepa in the absence of the
Commanding Officer (CO) who, with his company, had been
sent on operations. I found myself in charge of this small
group including a senior sergeant major. Although my
memories of these events are now very dim, I do have a
recollection of some disciplinary problems concerning some
missing stores. I began to wonder if I had jumped from the
frying pan into the fire!
In due course, after chasing the CTs out of Kelantan, the
Malay Regiment Company (MRC) returned to base, and I then
left the camp and was assigned bachelor quarters in Kota
Bahru where I remained for nearly two years, until the expiry
of my contract of service.
Shortly after this period, Len Cullen, the CPO, and his
wife, whom, I remember with affection for their kindness to
their junior officers, was replaced by PHD (Paddy) Jackson.
If my memory is correct, Len Cullen was somewhat
disillusioned over the appointment of the new Commissioner
of Police, Colonel Gray, and the many changes being made to
the established order, and this may have resulted in his
departure. Shortly before the end of my contract, a further
change of CPO occurred with the appointment of (Charles?)
Dobrey.
One of my earliest memories of my time with the service
was the occasion of the crash of a RAF Dakota on operations
in the Batu Melintang area. A party of RAF officers, including
the Chaplin General, arrived in Kota Bahru to visit the site,
which was in a very remote area. I was ordered to escort this
party, having never been in the jungle beforehand. To the RAF
party my obvious lack of experience on an expedition, which took four days to reach the site, must have been somewhat
daunting. We travelled in two prahus, over the upper reaches
of the Kelantan river, camping on sandbanks or other clearings
each night: this in an area where it was known that the CTs
were operating. What a vulnerable target we presented to the
CTs had they but known this! Having organised the rations for
the party, which included a quantity of tinned peaches! When
an airdrop of additional supplies was made, I was appalled to
find dozens of tins of peaches! To this day, I still dislike
tinned peaches!
The police post at Batu Melintang was an important
location, as it was close to the track used by the CTs from
Thailand into Kelantan and Perak. It was decided to set up an
ambush up one of the hills in the area, which involved a trek
of some three hours from the police post and having an
ambush party of five or six police in situ for two or three days
at a time. Each junior officer was assigned the job of OC and,
in turn, I arrived at Batu Melintang Police Post for a one month
stint. I shall always remember my dismay on arriving in
the area, as the only non-Malay member of the squad, seeing
my colleagues leave by boat knowing that I would not see
another expatriate for a month, with all the uncertainties of the
operation facing me. The ambush section was relieved every
three days, and I usually accompanied the change of section to
ensure that the ambush situation was satisfactory, and to deal
with any other matters affecting the section on duty. In fact, no
CTs were 'apprehended at this ambush, possibly due to their
information on our whereabouts! It was a lonely and tense
time but my fluency in the Malay language improved beyond
compare.
My last year in the service saw my transfer to CID and SB,
working for David Yates, a charming man whom I greatly
respected for both his knowledge and his kindness. I shall
always picture him with a cigarette in his mouth - a real chainsmoker.
The OCPD Kota Bahru was John Lawrence and my
immediate colleagues were John Snakey, Peter Penn and Roy
Petch. Wan Ibrahim bin Wan Isa, became a good friend and I shall always be indebted to him for his advice and guidance in
learning about the customs of the area.
My stay in Kelantan was immensely enriched through the
friendship of two prominent members of the Royal Family the
Tengku Makota who later became Sultan, and Tengku
Kelana D'Raja their generosity in welcoming me to their
homes and teaching me the finer points of Malay etiquette ,
particularly the Kelantan adat, was an enormous privilege.
The District Officer (DO) in Kota Bahru was Peter Coates, his
wife, Olga, worked with me in the Police Signals Section, as a
cypher clerk.
It was with great sadness, and with considerable
misgivings, that I decided to return home at the conclusion of
my contract in June 1950. In fact, I was offered a career with
the Royal Dutch/Shell Group and was shortly afterward s
assigned to the oilfield in Seria, Brunei, as a trainee Personnel
Officer.
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Training
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At the beginning of the Emergency most of the CTs had the
advantage of experience of jungle warfare and of training as a
result of their wartime service in the MPAJA.
But the police force and the army were not jungle-train ed.
The rapid improvisation of defence forces and offensive
measures were greatly aided, however, by the fact that so
many of the expatriates had recently left the British Army. The
new intake of police officers and planters had nearly all been
officers in the British Army and thus at least knew how to
handle firearms and to command troops.
This accumulated military experience was not something
that the MCP had factored into their plan s to launch a
terrorist campaign, and the rapid reaction of civilians, must
have caused the CTs some surprise.
Bags of Bull
by
Dato' J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
Dato' Raj, who joined the police in 1947 and finished asa
Deputy Commissioner, saw a lot of the training process.
Initiation in the Depot was, indeed, a culture shock. On the
second day we were marched onto the parade ground, shirtless
and with a pair of baggy shorts and army boots. There were
over a hundred recruits on the parade ground at various stages
of training and in overall command was the Chief Drill
Instructor, Chegu Panjang, my childhood friend. Tall with an
imposing figure and a thunderous voice, he struck fear into
everyone. I felt that as an old friend there would be
concessions for me. But for Chegu when on parade there was
no such thing as friend or foe, senior or junior officer,
everyone was equal in his eyes. He yelled at anyone making
the slightest mistake and my friends and I had to do many
punishment drills till we improved. Chegu Panjang was a
perfectionist; he accepted no nonsense from any quarter. Off
parade he was a perfect gentleman.
During my training period, the MCP had a strong hold on
the labour unions, unleashed considerable strikes, many of
which were militant in nature. The problems were
countrywide, and the police were hard-pressed and short of
manpower. There were times when the shortage of manpower
was so severe that many of us, still training in the Depot, were
sent to rubber estates to quell disturbances.
As OCPD Pagoh, I remember visiting an estate where a
burly Scots manager, with previous military experience, took
on the job of training his raw APs. It was a comic sight to see
the manager, handgun in holster and carbine over his shoulder,
playing the part of DriII Sergeant.
The APs did their best to respond to his English
commands, but they did not understand him, so some marched
forward, others backwards, some turned right and others left. I
was able to help.
Training has been an important part of the police force ever
since its inception in Penang on March 25, 1807. There was
much in common between training in the military and in the
police, since the original British officers were from the British
Army. Before World War IT, there was no national police
force, but different police forces: Straits Settlements,
Federated Malay States Police, and Un-Federated Malay
States Police. However, training was more or less similar and
based on the common iron discipline. All police trainees were
given thorough training in the use of firearms. During
musketry lessons, trainees were trained to strip and reassemble
Bren guns, Sten guns, pump guns, etc. They were
trained to shoot to kill, or be killed, on operations.
Parades were daily and rigorous, particularly marching and
drill. These were in the mornings, followed by classroom
studies in law, as well as Malay language lessons, followed by
musketry. The rapid expansion programme caused problems in
leadership, training, organisation, management and
communications. The strength of the police force rose from
9,422 police officers and 2,087 civilian staff in 1947, to
76,000 regular police, and 80,000 APs making a total of
156,000 at the height of the Emergency!
The problem of recruiting such a colossal number was
great, but the task of training them was as daunting. We had
recruits who had never worn boots. The parade commands
were in English, and the men had no idea of the language. It
was an uphill task. Almost all were Malays and they learnt
quickly and willingly. The same scenario was repeated in
police training schools all over Malaya. The British Police
Sergeants, later Known as P/Lts, did a marvellous job in the
training and moulding of the SCs and the APs.
After training I was posted to a Sub-Depot at Tanjong
Rambutan, which was next door to the government hospital
for mentally retarded persons. The training took place near the
patients who were locked up in large, airy, rooms with wire
netting. Mentally retarded they may have been, but they soon
picked up most of the commands - right, left - right, quick-march and all the swear words used by the drill instructors.
Night and day the 'loonies' yelled out the drill commands
and the swear words, and whenever I passed by I received
smart salutes from them, some completely naked. I returned
the salutes meticulously. Having lived with the 'loonies' for
two years, I am not sure whether part of their idiosyncrasies
have not rubbed off on me!"
The Depot
by
Leong Chee Woh
Like ff, Mr Leong started as a recruit at the Depot and
finished up as a senior police officer.
It was very tough at the Depot. I remember my first meal
garnished with ant s, smelly fish, food barely fit for dogs. The
coffee tasted as if the cook had been using the Commandant's
socks!
Our barracks was as basic as any building could be. Every
morning a bugler woke us at 0600 hours. Then we drilled
breakfasted, and drilled again with musketry training until
lunch. The hardest part was the sessions on law and language
in the afternoon, when we were physically too tired to
concentrate easily. The day ended at 2045 hours. Then we
took turns at Guard Duty.
On Saturdays barracks and kit were inspected, and if any
blemish was found, we were severely punished.
The recruits were of all shapes and sizes, of various races.
Only two out of our Squad of 52 failed.
The squad was divided into two sections. Mine was under a
Sikh, ferocious on parade. but pleasant when we met for a beer
at the weekend. The other section was under a Malay so fierce
that he was known as 'Tiger'.
The training was designed to produce strong and resilient
officer s, and most of the trainees enjoyed the camaraderie,
which contributed to esprit de corps in the future.
Some Very Special Constables
by
A J V Fletcher
"My first post as a P/Lt was at Mentri Estate, about twenty
miles from Mentakab. The Manager, Ian Davidson, had
endured a pretty frightful couple of month s under siege from
marauding CTs and was delighted to have his 'Palestinians' ,
both for the company we provided and for the training of the
estate's SCs.
We had three other estate s to defend, each with its
complement of thirty SCs. We had to cope with shortages of
arms, amunition and transport. To begin with we had
shotguns for the SCs (one between two), but later we had an
issue of the old and reliable SMLE.303 rifle. Ammunition,
however, was limi ted to five rounds per man, and was also of
great age and often misfired. The dates on the rim of the
rounds were mostly '34, '36 and '37 and, after a dozen years
or so in the humidity of Malaya, it was an agreeable surprise
when they fired, As for transport, we had none; sometimes we
walked for five miles or more to our other estates, or
sometimes hitched rides on the latex tankers.
To begin with our SCs never had an opportunity to fire
their shotguns and rifles, except during CT attacks that were
launched usually at night. After much insistence, we obtained
ten rounds per man for training purposes and, despite misfires
and hang-fires, this proved a great morale raiser.
The SCs were almos t all young Malay lads from kampongs
in the area. An exception was a Chine se-owned estate that was
four or five miles away from our base on Mentri where the
thirty SCs were Kwongsai Chinese. These were, to a man,
rabidly pro-Nationalist and anti-Communist. They tended to
be large, tough fellow s who, to our untutored eyes, all looked
alike. They also shared between them only a very small
number of surnames, and were related by marriage or 'clan'
for good meas ure; even their given names, in Romanised
form, were similar. Finally, just to ensure that we were driven
to madness when trying to work out shifts, all of them (being good Chinese entrepreneurs) in addition to their SC duties,
were also tapping rubber.
Several attempts to organise these celestials resulted only
in ever greater confusion until finally, at the gentle suggestion
of the manager (himself a Kwongsai), we promoted to
corporal the largest and most thuggish of the lot who, in short
order, had three shifts up and running and posted on the duty
roster board (in Chinese characters which we could not read).
All was well.
One minor handicap of these Kwongsai lay in their
inability to close one eye when firing their rifles. We made eye
patches which did the trick (although making them look even
more sinister) and eventually some, but not all, learned the
knack of closing the left eye."
A DIY Battle School
by
J A S Edington
John Edington was one of the many young men in Malaya
who, having been in the British Army, found his military
experience highly relevant during the Emergency. And, like
many other planters, he welcomed the arrival of the P/Lts
from Palestine to take over the training and leadership of the
SCs recruited to guard the estates.
John had only arrived in Malaya in May 1948. Kulai Yong
Estate was in South Johore: notorious bandit country. His tale
illustrates admirably the enthusiasm and initiative with which
the planters took up the cudgels against the CTs. The Bob
Graver who participated in John's DIY Battle School later
won a GM when he chased and killed four CTs who had
attempted to ambush him.
Even before the Emergency there had been considerable
disturbing activity around the estate with unnerving comings
and goings at night of sinister people. We had no arms, and
were very relieved when a Gurkha platoon came to camp on
the estate. We were less pleased when the next day our Chinese (Hainanese) cooks disappeared without warning,
never to be seen again.
Bob Graver and Jock Sutherland, two ex-Palestine Police
Sergeants, were sent to help and soon all three of us were hard
at work training the young Malay SCs who had been recruited,
mostly from local kampongs.
I had already worked with the OCPD Kulai, Inche Yusuf
bin Yanus, who, knowing that I had been an officer in the
British Army, asked me to train his men in the use of the Bren
gun with which he had been newly supplied after the CTs had
attacked the local police station.
We set to with enthusiasm on the training task of which I
had plenty of experience from army days, training National
Servicemen. Drill, barrack room inspections, field craft and
weapon training became the order of the day. We dug
trenches in which the SCs stood to at dawn and dusk, the
times when the CTs were most likely to attack. All this added
interest to my work as a planter.
But, although our young Malay recruits became ever more
proficient in their paramilitary duties, they had never
experienced enemy fire, and we agreed. that their trammg
would not be complete until they had experienced the sound of
live rounds cracking overhead. So we worked out a battle
inoculation exercise. The plan was that I and Jock Sutherland
would set up a Bren gun on a ridge above the estate and open
fire, in Battle School-style, on a fixed line above the heads of a
three section fighting patrol of SCs led by Sergeant Graver.
The patrol was to be spread out in battle formation, each
section in single file, advancing along both Sides of the road
beneath us.
On D-Day I had some difficulty in finding a suitable spot
on the ridge from which to find a clear field of fire for my
Bren, so eventually decided to site the gun about five yards
forward of the crest. Meanwhile Sergeant Graver's fighting
patrol was advancing blissfully unaware that they were about
to receive battle inoculation.
When Bob and his leading section appeared, I opened up with seve.ral bursts from my Bren. Immediately, to my
consternation, our well-trained SCs dropped to the £round
took up firing positions facing towards me and started to
return fire. their bullets hit the ground uncomfortably close to
me as I scrambled back to safety behind the crest,
accompanIed by the familiar sound of bullets cracking around
me.
Sergeant Graver blew his whistle, ordered a cease-fire, and
explained that the live ammunition, which had passed over
their heads, was part of an exercise, not part of a CT attack.
Although. I realised that I had made an error of judgement
when I sited my Bren on the forward slope, I was delighted
WIth the textbook performance that had been put on by our
SCs. Perhaps the state of efficiency of our SCs was the reason
why the CTs never attempted a set piece attack on Kulai
Yong; they preferred to indulge in cowardly ambushes against
moving vehicles where they could be sure that they
outnumbered their prey.
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Defending the Estates
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An Honorary Inspector Defends His Estate
by
C J Frazier
Jay Frazier, having left the Indian Army in July 1948, joined
Harrison and Crosfield as an assistant manager on Prang
Besar Estate, Klang. These. were notorious Bad Lands, within
the operational area of Liew Konkim (the bearded one), and
Jay's estate was an obvious CT target, since it included a
research centre, with an international reputation, which
cloned rubber seeds for world-wide distribution. He was
appointed an Honorary Inspector.
This account of a Terang Bulan (bright moon) attack on
Prang Besar Estate captures the atmosphere of the times,
when planters had to become soldiers again to beat off the
CTs and train and lead the SCs.
The estate was some distance from the town, with a laterite
road connecting factory, labour lines and managers'
bungalows. For some curious reason, the CTs never cut the
telephone wire that linked us to the outside world. The
encircling rubber trees were between fifty and one hundred
yards away from the buildings and strung with barbed wire
between the nearest trees to form a serviceable perimeter
fence. On the laterite road and round the managers' houses
and the factory, there were gates and sand-filled 45-gallon
drums to provide strong points. At night the perimeter fence
and the strong points were illuminated.
The resident estate labour force was Tamil; the guards, also
resident, were Malay and Tami!. There were also some Malays
working in the research station. Our relations with all of them
were friendly. The remainder of the workforce, however, was
Chinese Contract labour that was trucked in daily. There was
little doubt that there were Min Yuen - Communist spies -
amongst them and their work gave them a perfect opportunity
to spy out the land and report on our habits and defences. The Chinese made no secret of their hostility to us. Whenever we
visited areas where they were at work, they would bang loudly
on their latex collection pails as soon as they saw us, so that
our whereabouts on the estate was always known. This was
unnerving but kept us on our toes.
The nature of our duties, constantly visitina the working
areas of the plantations, made us easy targets for the CTs.
Having attended the dawn muster of tappers, and returned to
the bungalow for breakfast, we would set out on foot or by
Jeep, on our tours of inspection. Although we had escorts, we
were very vulnerable. We hoped that the Tamils were
sufficiently well-disposed to warn us of any CT presence, but
had no delusions that the Chinese contract force were on our
side. The best we could do to make life more difficult for the
enemy was to carefully vary routes and timings.
The estate weaponry was a quartermaster's nightmare.
Understandably, the regular police got priority when modern
weapons became available, and we had to make do with
whatever Harrisons had been able to buy on the commercial
market. Our weapons included small parangs and single-barrelled
shotguns for the guards, and ancient.455 Webleys
for the management, but very little ammunition. There were
also strange weapons such as Lanchesters and Reissing guns.
Eventually we got some Colt.45 revolvers. I was fortunate: I
had my own private Colt.
The police too were outgunned since we were facing an
enemy which, as the MPAJA, had been generously sup;lied
WIth arms. and ammunition by the British Army. They had
cached their weapons after the war and now brought them into
use for their 'armed struggle'. Things looked up when the
police sergeants arrived. We were issued with.303 rifles and
Sten guns and I was appointed an Honorary Inspector, and
thus had authority to train and discipline our guards.
MeanwhIle we strengthened our defences, putting shards of
glass at the bottom of the drainage ditches which, following
the contours of the hills, had been dug to prevent erosion.
My favourite escort was a TamiI, rumoured to have been a member of the Japanese Army. Whatever the truth of that
matter, he was respected by the other Tamils. It helped that we
both spoke fluent Urdu and he was good company.
We tried to make sure that we were back inside the
perimeter before 'Stand To' at dusk; that was the most.
dangerous hour. Nights were disturbed by false alarms;
sentries loosing off shots at fireflies, wrongly identified as a
CT having a smoke, or at wild boar rooting about near the
perimeter, and identified as a section of CTs forming up for an
assault. But once we had 'Stood To' we could not stand down
again until dawn, since we could not be absolutely certain that
there was nothing sinister behind the apparent false alarm, so
we lost a lot of sleep. The CTs soon cottoned on to the idea
that they could cause us a sleepless night at little cost to
themselves by arranging 'jitter' parties, which would fire a
few rounds from somewhere near the perimeter and then
depart having brought us all out of bed for the night.
Outside the estate, driving on the road to Klang or KL was
a hazardous business; we had the choice of driving alone and
fast, hoping that there would be no tree across the road, or
waiting until a convoy could be organised.
The first, long-expected, attack came at dusk just before
Christmas. There was a full moon to light up the scene and the
SCs fired a near perfect volley at the CT targets, who were
illuminated by the bright moonlight as they formed up outside
the perimeter of the Manager's bungalow. Then all
deteriorated into wild firing and chaos. I regrouped with my
guards at the Manager's bungalow where we were able to
move around in comparative safety behind the bullet-proof
barricades, which we had built up to waist height, around the
house. We moved about calming the SCs while our
imperturbable hostess, Mrs Wright, dispensed coffee and tea.
The CTs did not press their attack and, eventually, the firing
died down. We stayed on the alert until dawn.
There had been no casualties on our side, but when we
looked around outside we found plenty of bullets in the house
and in the surrounding trees. We also found traces of blood in the ditches where the CTs had dived for cover when we fired
our first volley, and landed painfully in our broken glass trap.
The CTs returned to the attack two nights later. This time,
having been taught a painful lesson when they attacked during
Stand To, they attacked after Stand Down, penetrated the
perimeter fence and broke through between the houses and
offIce and into the factory. Once again firing was wild and
confused, and again we grouped our guard force in the
Manager's bungalow. We decided to mount a counteroffensive.
The plan was to use our armoured lorry to charge
through the CT position on the laterite road, where they had
positioned themselves between the offices and us, and to chase
them out of the factory. Our counter-attack went according to
plan; we took the lorry charging through the CT party with the
SCs firing at will at weapon flashes or movement. When we
reached the factory we debussed and hunted the CTs out. After
that the CTs never came back."
Estate War Diary
(August-December 1948)
by
C J Frazier
The extracts below are from a diary of events. They provide a
vivid picture of action on a rubber estate in the early days of
the Emergency.
Both before and after 17 August many lights were seen at
night. As a result of these lights, a Fighting Patrol was formed
and led by Mr Frazier to investigate and to eliminate
prowlers, and to reinforce any threatened position.
17th August, Tuesday
At 2100 hours an unknown Chinese was seen to approach Mr
Wright's bungalow. On being challenged by the sentry on that
particular point, he vanished. The alarm was sounded and
action stations manned. The Fighting Patrol was detailed to
search the area into which the man had disappeared, but drew
a blank. Mr Wright then took the patrol by Jeep to the office, soon after they left a sentry saw another Chinese and opened
fire. The shots were not returned. Mr Wright's party was
reinforced and they returned without mishap. The patrol was
sent to comb the suspected area, while it was still out the
sentries at Dr Chittenden's bungalow, hearing movements
from another direction, opened fire. The patrol was, therefore,
sent to that area but again found nothing. On their return the
order was given to stand down.
At 0500 hours the next morning, the guards at the
Assistant's bungalow opened fire on two Chinese whom they
had watched approach to within twenty-five yards. All the
guards stood to until dawn.
29th August, Sunday
At 1800 hours Messrs. Gray and Frazier, while returning from
B.I2 in the former's car, saw a strange Chinese standing in the
rubber. On seeing the car, he assumed a belligerent attitude
and reached for his hip pocket as if for a pistol. Messrs Gray
and Frazier drew up, but the Chinese turned and ran as the two
got out of the car. He did not stop when called upon but fled ,
using the cover of the rubber trees to great advantage. He was
then fired at as he zigzagged between the trees and an attempt
was made to cut him off before he reached the cover of the
Lalang (very sharp, stiff grass) and jungle areas. At this time
two Jeeps full of SCs arrived and the area was searched. Two
Tamil labourers, who were trapping pigs on the boundary.
reported that they had seen a Chinese carrying a pistol in his
hand and moving awkwardly, as if wounded.
As Messrs Gray and Frazier returned they were stopped by
one of the two Tamil pig trappers, who said that he had seen a
large bundle lying in a drain in B.11. They proceeded to the
spot and collected this bundle, which proved to be Communist
documents. These were handed over to the police the next day.
30th August, Monday
At 0400 hours the sergeant on his rounds was informed on
reaching the factory that lights had been seen coming down the hill from Block 8. He sounded the alarm and ordered the
guards to stand to and open fire as they came within range.
Three men were seen and fired upon. They were heard running
away. The patrol was sent out on hearing the alarm.
31st August, Tuesday
Since during the last three nights lights have been seen
ascending the path outside the Tower Gate, the Fighting Patrol
took up an ambush position at 0200 hours. In spite of waiting
for three hours, no lights were seen on this night.
2nd September, Thursday
It was decided to check up on the Chinese labourers occupying
the lines, since it was suspected that they were harbouring
Communists at night. At 2230 hours, two parties under Messrs
Gray and Frazier were sent to investigate. Only those
authorised were present.
3rd September, Friday
At 0300 hours, a sentry at the factory fired at four men who
did not stop when challenged. The men scattered and, as they
withdrew, fired back. The patrol was again sent out but the
enemy had withdrawn.
Report on a Night Attack
15th December 1948
1920 hours. SC Sidek, sentry on duty at Dr
Chittenden's bungalow, saw the light of a torch moving in the
lower germinating beds, he immediately blew his whistle. Mr
Wright, at the sound of the alarm, contacted all posts by
Telemaster and Or Chittenden reported what had been seen
and requested reinforcements if possible. Mr Wright
immediately sent both Sergeant Abdullah and SC Indris.
1930 hours. Or Chittenden 's bungalow and the factory
were fired on, this was at once returned by the SCs. Cpl Raja
Yussin, in charge of the factory, rushed to the point of the main attack and opened up with his Lanchester. Mr Frazier,
hearing the heavy firing withdrew with his men, in accordance
with instructions, to Mr Wright's bungalow where he formed
his patrol ready to move off. The firing was very heavy
indeed. Or Chittenden being attacked by rifle and Sten, the.
factory by rifle, Sten and carbine and the Manager's bungalow
by rifle. Simultaneously Mr Corray's bungalow was fired on,
where three men were seen and shot at by the guards. This
attack lasted for 15 to 20 minutes of concentrated fire. During
this attack the Cpl contacted Mr Wright, who was operating
the Telemaster, and asked for the patrol and more ammunition.
Mr Wright ordered Mr Frazier and his men to go to the
factory by armoured lorry. As the patrol left, heavy firing
could still be heard from both Or Chittenden's bungalow and
the factory. As the lorry reached the road, it came under fire
from insurgents behind Or Chittenden's bungalow. A man was
seen to run across the road; SCs Samiappen and Raman and
Mr Frazier fired at him. The lorry was hit. At this time figures
were seen running towards Mr Gray's bungalow and were shot
at by Mr Wright's guards. Reaching the gate at the factory, the
lorry stopped and failed to start, the patrol finished the last few
yards to the factory at the run, accompanied by the driver, SC
Simat. Mr Frazier handed over the 9mm ammunition to Cpl
Raja and despatched SC Mohamed Noor around the perimeter
to ascertain the number of casualties and amount of rifle and
shotgun ammunition required. The patrol then searched the
houses between the main drying shed and the roads. At this
point all firing ceased and the area was cleared without
contacting the enemy. The patrol took up defensive positions
and listened.
During the lull in the firing, Or Chittenden and his guards made their way across to Mr Wright's bungalow, and took up
their positions along the perimeter.
2030 hours. Mr Frazier, having reported to Mr Wright that
there were no casualties, and the number of rounds required ,
was told to return and collect them for distribution. It was
obvious that the factory had been surrounded, but the arrival of the patrol had caused the enemy to withdraw. The lorry was
hand-cranked by SC Simat who was covered by the patrol.
The patrol boarded the lorry and returned to Mr Wright where
they de bus sed and manned the perimeter while Mr Frazier
collected the ammunition.
2040 hours. The enemy again attacked the factory with
heavy fire; Cpl Raja who returned fire and kept them outside
the perimeter beat this off, however.
2045 hours. The enemy again opened fire on Mr Wright's
bungalow and the lower factory, this was returned by the
defenders. Messrs Wright, Chittenden, Gray and Frazier, each
commanding a sector of Mr Wright's perimeter, controlled
and directed the fire. From Mr Corray's part, Mr Osman saw
the flash of a rifle firing on the factory from the water tank on
the hill in B.8. He ran forward up the hill and fired on this man
who immediately changed his target to that of Mr Corray's
house, from where the guards engaged him.
At this point it was obvious that both the factory and Mr
Wright's bungalow were encircled and, but for the glare from
the floodlights which dazzled the attackers, far greater damage
would have been done on the Manager's bungalow. The firing
continued until 2100 hours when lorries could be heard
approaching, the fire gradually slackened and died down, there
was a sudden burst from the pumping station as figures were
seen running across the nursery.
The police arrived and despatched a platoon of Grenadier
Guards to comb the area around the factory, while they
combed the area around the Manager's bungalow and the
pumping station.
2120 hours. The patrol supplied the factory with the
required ammunition and returned for more.
2140 hours. The Grenadiers returned certifying that the
area was clear.
2210 hours. The patrol supplied Mr Corray's post with
ammunition.
2215 hours. The police and military left for Galloway
Estate.
2223 hours. The patrol supplied the factory again and then
the pumping. station, returned, and the order to 'stand down'
was given.
Mr Wright was in continuous touch with the police until the
time of their arrival. Concluding it can be stated that the attack
was completely thrown off balance by the fact that it came
during the dusk 'stand to' period, and that lights had been seen
as they were getting into position, and the general alarm could
sounded. Thus they were forced to attack before all the
parties had reached their assault positions. The urgent need for
hand grenades, searchlights and more wire has been brought
out and, in our opinion, they are considered absolutely
necessary. The estimated strength of the attackers was 40 men.
The Attack on 17th December 1948
2115 hours. Two pistol shots were heard from the vicinity of
the tank above the factory, this was obviously the signal for
the attack, because the factory, the Manager's bungalow, Dr
Chittenden's bungalow and the pumping station were
simultaneously fired on. The attackers this time did not make
use of automatic weapons, using only rifles and pistols. The
SCs on all posts rushed to their 'stand to' trenches and
emplacements and returned the fire.
Messrs Gray and Frazier and their men withdrew to Mr
Wright's bungalow where they took up their defence
positions. A report came from Cpl Raja that.the enemy were
through the wire into the factory. Mr Wright, fearing an
ambush did not send out the patrol under Mr Frazier.
Mr Wright immediately contacted the police. The firing
continued around all the posts.
2130 hours. The firing slackened and stopped. Dr
Chittenden took this opportunity to evacuate to Mr Wright's
bungalow; positions were taken up to cover Dr Chittenden's
arrival. Dr Chittenden arrived and firing broke out agam and
continued for the next hour, the heaviest coming from the pumping station. The firing died down and stopped altogether.
Eventually, the police arrived, combed the area and reported
that all was clear. The 'stand down' was then given.
This attack was better organised, but a much smaller force
(had been) used. All four points had been attacked
simultaneously at a given signal, at the factory they had
actually breached the wire, but had been beaten off by the
terrific fire of Cpl Raja's Lanchester.
Estate Life
by
A J V Fletcher
When I returned to Mentakab District life followed the
normal pattern of training, setting up defences and one-day
jungle patrols. It was now November 1948, and w.e found
ourselves adapting pretty well to our Malayan life. Our
knowledge of the Malay language was increasing rapidly: it
had to because our SCs were, almost to a man, monoglot
Malay speakers.
The CTs shot at us in the bungalow on some nights, but no
large-scale attack was mounted, and our two Scottish
managers, through changing timetable and route, using armed
SC escorts, and with a bit of luck, remained unscathed. When
the firing started, the drill was to dive to the floor where one
could kill the generator-driven room lights and switch on the
security lights. We would then crawl out to the verandah, take
up positions behind bales of ribbed-smoked sheet rubber,
about three feet cube and totally bullet-proof, and fire back at
the flashes of the CT weapons, using.303 rifles.
One night as we were dining, our SC guard called out that
a light was moving among the rubber trees about 200 yards
away. There was a 100% night curfew on the estate, so I fired
six or seven rounds at the light, which suddenly went out. The
next day, to my horror, we found that an elderly Tamil
labourer had been seriously wounded. He had been breaking
the curfew to collect some stored Samsu (illicitly distilled
liquor ) from a cache in preparation for his daughter's wedding
celebrations the following day. We got the old chap into Mentakab Hospital where he was treated and eventually made
a full recovery. I made sure that he was not charged with
breaking the curfew, and when he returned to the estate he sent
a basket of fruit to me by way of thanks.
Then one day I developed a stomachache. It rapidly
became worse and by evening I was being sick at frequent
intervals and I became delirious. We had a field telephone; it
had a handle which one cranked to get through to Mentakab.
The call was made but Mentakab told the Manager that
nothing could be done until dawn, for to travel at night, except
in armoured vehicles which we did not have, was highly
dangerous, not to say suicidal. At first light two rail jeeps
would be sent. These were jeeps that had been fitted with
railway wheels and, as the railway line passed through the
estate, it was a practical and fast means of emergency
transport.
The Manager sent for the estate 'dresser', who diagnosed
appendicitis and suggested that a wise old man in the labour
lines (in those days they were called 'coolie lines ') might be
able to help. The old man was brought up to the bungalow. He
was a Tamil with white hair and an abundance of white
stubble on his chin, and spoke no English. He produced a
bottle and poured the contents into my palm (held firmly by
the Manager and company, for I understand that I was
writhing around on the bed). "When his hand is dry, the pain
will ease," the old chap said, "and he will sleep." And so,
miraculously, it did, and I slept the remaining couple of hours
or so until the rail jeeps arrived to take me to Mentakab.
The Mentakab Hospital was basic; I was their first
European patient, and for several hours I lay on a mattress on
the floor. The Indian doctor was decidedly squiffy, puffing a
black cheroot and supported on each side by hefty hospital
orderlies. A course of penicillin was ordered, a shot in the
buttocks every four hours for 48 hours. Slowly the pain and
the temperature subsided and after a week, although tender, I
was allowed to return to Karmen Estate. I never found out
what was in that old Tamil's bottle.
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Ambushed by CTs
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This collection is a reminder of the constant danger of ambush
faced by the police and, indeed, anyone required to travel
around the winding, hilly, jungle-fringed country roads of
Malaya.
The CTs had every advantage: choice of site, target, time,
was their prerogative and after a lethal fusillade from Bren
guns, accompanied by a shower of grenades, the CT party
would melt away into the jungle before a counter-attack could
be mounted. However vigilant and mentally prepared the
traveller might be the odds were heavily in favour of the CTs.
The first story is not of ambush by CTs but by their wartime
predecessors the MPAJA.
Ambushed by the MPAJA and by CTs
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
Less than a quarter of the police recruited by the Japanese
were trained policemen. Most were fit only for beat duty; they
were certainly not trained for search and rescue operations.
One day in December 1944, I was ordered to bring twelve
constables and a sergeant major to escort three Japanese
officers to Panching, where the police station had been
attacked by the MPAJA. Our party squeezed into an old five
ton lorry which we had commandeered; the Japanese officers
in the cab, the sergeant major and I sitting on the sideboards.
one Malay with an automatic weapon, lying on the roof of the
cab, and the rest of the constables in the back. We set off
along a dirt track, and then along a road running between river
and rubber trees. No one said much; each had his own
thoughts about what lay ahead.
About a mile from the village, the silence was broken by
two bursts of automatic tire. The sergeant major and I jumped
down,took cover under the lorry, and tried to locate the source
of the gunfire. The Japanese jumped down too. Suddenly the
firing stopped. An eerie silence ensued and then I felt something wet and sticky soaking into my uniform. It was
blood, trickling through the floorboards. The only sounds to be
heard were the sobbing of one of the Japanese, the reproaches
of his superior officer telling him to behave like a man, and
the groans of the injured constables above me. I awaited the
MPAJA's attack, determined to make them pay a heavy price
for their devilry, but there was none.
After some time I crawled out from under the lorry, my
men's blood sticking to my skin like red sweat. I found six of
them had been killed. As I looked at their limp bodies, I
thought of their families, and felt a pain in my heart greater
than any the men could have felt when the bullets smashed
into their bodies.
Later, when reviewing the circumstances of the ambush, I
concluded that probably only one man had opened fire on us,
aiming, with his automatic weapon, at the centre of the lorry,
and that he had run off as soon as he had emptied his
magazine.
There were several MPAJA raids in Pahang, and they
always used hit and run tactics. I concluded that they were not
ten feet tall!
Saved by the Bell
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
Having served in both the British and the Indian Army, I
missed the esprit de corps and so applied for the RMP, and
was appointed a PILt. My first posting was to Dunlop's
Ladang Geddes Estate in Bahau, Negri Sembilan. It was the
largest estate in Malaya, a showpiece with its own polIce
station and 84 miles of private estate roads. However, most of
the estate roads were on the perimeter of the estate and the
Lalang and secondary jungle that lay outside the perimeter,
were infested with CTs.
One day I was on the steps of the station talking to the
crew of an armoured personnel carrier (APC) that was about to
set off to escort a convoy of lorries carrying rice. The convoy was going to a village nearby that was well known to harbour
many Communist supporters, possibly volunteers but more
probably conscripts. I was mulling over the situation and had
just decided that I should accompany the convoy, when I
heard the telephone ring and then saw the Station Sergeant
coming out. He reported that Tuan OS PC was on the
telephone and wanted to speak to me, so I signalled to the
convoy to start without me. I went into the office and picked
up the telephone to talk to the OS Pc. Suddenly, while I was
still on the telephone, the air was rent with the sound of rifle
fire and the explosion of grenades.
I rushed back to my quarters, which I shared with Major
MacDonald of the Gurkhas, collected an escort and dashed off
to investigate. When I arrived on the scene I found that the
APC had been grenaded, killing the five men on board and the
driver had been hurled out of the door, doused in petrol and
torched.
It was a sad business bringing the bodies of these brave
policemen back to the Bahru Police Station compound where
they had been living with their families. And it is a tragic
memory, which will remain with me all my days.
Ambush of a Police Armoured Column
by
P J D Guest
I am indebted to Peter Guest's son, Ken, for stories from his
father's unpublished journals. Ken, an ex-marine and a media
man, presented me with a complete set of his father's journals.
Kampong Banggor reported that they had found a booby trap
on the path leading to the village. At 2345 news was received
that a police squad heading south in two armoured vehicles,
had been ambushed at the 77.5 mile. I gathered a squad and
we drove down to the police post. The casualties were worse
than the first report: there was one constable killed and six
injured out of twelve men in the convoy party.
I took some men up onto the bank on the right hand side of the road. There I found a row of shallow trenches had been
dug and concealed with foliage. The CT who set the ambush
knew what he was doing. It had been well sited. At the end of
the straight stretch the road did a tight left turn, with the bank
following it around. Obviously, vehicles would have to slow
down to negotiate this tight bend. At this point were more
trenches, from which the CTs had looked both directly onto
and into the front of the approaching vehicles. Anybody diving
out to the left to get into the ditch was the object of enfilade
fire. I was able to unravel the sequence of events involved.
The CTs held their fire until just the right moment, when the
vehicles were closest to them and travelling at their slowest to
manage the sharp. bend. When the firing started, some of the
shots had plunged downwards into the armoured vehicles and
struck some of the men inside the open-topped armoured box
of one of the vehicles.
Watching this disaster unfolding, the second vehicle came
forward again and stopped on the verge alongside the one. in
the ditch. The armoured car also now came forward agam,
moving up the now clear road, and fired away with its Bren
gun along the bank from which the CTs were engaging them.
Under this covering fire, supported by some of their own men
firing over the side from inside the open top of their vehicle, the crew of the second vehicle swung their rear door open. At
the same time the rear doors of the first GMC were also swung
open. The survivors of the first vehicle now hopped out and in
through the rear door of the other vehicle. These, fortunately,
being at the rear of the vehicles, meant they were at least
partially sheltered from view from the bank in front of the
enfilade fire.
As a Bren gunner in the armoured car was busy firing from
the seat in the turret, there was a loud crack and he suddenly
jerked back with a startled gasp, letting the Bren gun go. The
driver looked across and saw that the gunner was clutching his
neck and that his hands were covered in blood as he had been
shot through the neck. He was still alive, although in some
distress and bleeding badly. With the gunner incapacitated, the driver went into reverse.
As a result of this incident police armoured vehicles were
modified, with a steel plate erected behind the driver and
extending the roof cover back a bit, so that the driver was in
his own armoured box and cut off from bouncing rounds.
Another result was a wave of volunteers at the station to
replace the casualties of the squad, which had a good record in
action against the CTs. Another result was that Corporal
Mohammad, the convoy commander, was awarded the CPM
for gallantry for his steady action.
One Cadet ASP Against 15 CTs
by
Peter Andrew
Sadly Peter Andrew died in 1963 so this account is not from
his pen but from the citation for his King's Police Medal for
gallantry. The account gives a vivid impression of how
courageously young police officers handled the 'incidents'
that they came across as they travelled unescorted through the
rural areas ofMalaya.
P R Andrew joined the RMP as a cadet ASP. In 1947 he was
sent to Klian Intan to take on the formidable gang of 'bandits'
who were terrorising the area, operating from a safe haven
across the border in Thailand. The gang had carried out
murders, kidnappings, robberies, and extortion.
On 17 June, a bandit gang of about twenty-five men armed
with Stens and pistols had just attacked a bus on the road to
Kroh, seriously wounding the driver. Andrew, accompanied in
his Jeep by a Sikh driver, drove round a corner to find himself
face-to-face with CTs, a crowd of passengers in the middle of
the road and, at the side of the road, the burnt-out bus. The
bandits opened fire; Andrew ordered his driver to drive on
and, as soon as they were clear of the crowd, jumped into a
roadside culvert while the driver carried on round the corner.
Andrew, who was only carrying a revolver and nine rounds
of ammunition, then opened fire on the bandits, with complete
disregard for his own safety. The bandits retaliated with heavy fire from short range but somehow none of their bullets hit
their mark. Andrew, despite his meagre supply of ammunition,
managed to disable two of the bandits as they began to close in
on him. His choice of target was made particularly difficult
because of the presence of the bus passengers scattered all
over the road, but his accurate shooting forced the bandits to
take cover.
When he had exhausted his ammunition, Andrew crawled
away under fire, along the culvert and round the corner. Since
he had no more ammunition he took to the jungle to continue
observation of the bandit gang. By the time a rescue patrol
arrived on the scene the bandits had withdrawn.
Ambushed Near Yong Peng
by
P A Collin
Around 0800 hours we set out from Kluang with a police
scout car behind us. We were travelling in the OSPC's car, a
large blue American saloon.
The OSPC was driving, Girdler. the Administrative Officer
(AO) sat next to him in the front seat, with Arshad, our Malay
office orderly, and me in the back. Arshad and I kept fairly
quiet, listening idly to the conversation of our elders and
betters in the front. It was a fine day, not too hot, with a clear
blue sky overhead.
I kept looking back to see that the scout car was keeping
station. It was.
After about 30 minutes we reached Yong Peng and, shortly
after passing through the village with the police station behind
its barbed wire, we turned right along the Paloh Road, which
ran through an area inhabited by pro-Communist Chinese
squatters, and then through an area of jungle that had been the
happy hunting ground of the CT Independent Platoon for some
time. In short, the road was unhealthy. Nevertheless, I started
to doze between watching the rather uninteresting squatter and
tapioca scenery flit by, and ruminating on the day's work that
lay ahead.
We were on our way to consider a large scheme for
resettlement in the Paloh area and, thereby, to deny the CTs
food, contacts and sources of recruitment. Monty Ormsby,
commanding the local Company of the 2/6 Gurkhas, pulled
alongside in his Jeep and we all got out and talked shop for
five minutes. There had been no contact with the CT Platoon
for some time, and we had been wondering where it would
strike next. We were soon to know.
Saying "Selamat lalan" (safe journey) to Monty, who was
on his way to Yong Peng, we continued northwards and
shortly entered jungle.
I lit another cigarette and agreed with the AO's suggestion
that it was a perfect day for a picnic, and weren't the CTs a
bloody nuisance.
We were now all wide-awake and kept our eyes on the
jungle, which lined both sides of the road. Somehow that day
it didn't look so dank and uninviting. Not that I minded the
jungle normally, when on foot, but it really can give you the
willies when travelling in a soft-skinned vehicle such as our
American saloon.
We sped along until the road started to climb and we
slowed up a trifle to take a right-hand bend. Then it happened.
A sharp report from somewhere to our right and front, and the
car lurched over to the right side of the road, ending up below
a four foot bank, which formed the inner curve of the bend.
Silence followed for a few brief seconds, and in those
seconds all four of us must have realised what had happened.
On the right our vision was completely blocked by the bank,
and supposedly the CTs were in position along the top. To the
front the road curved uphill to the right, so that the jungle was
facing us. To our left and on the far side of the road, the jungle
again reached to within a few feet of the tarmac.
For the first few brief seconds, however, we saw no one.
Then all hell broke loose, with fire coming at us from the
front, ;and down from the top of the bank. There appeared to be
no bandits along the left side of the road.
The OSPC had slumped forward, and Girdler had vanished from my view behind the front seat. I turned to Arshad who
was sitting to my right, I told him to open fire. He didn't
move: he must have bought it in the first burst of CT fire.
I flopped down on the floorboards as the CTs opened up
again, and the air became filled with cordite fumes and dust.
Looking up I noticed that the rear window had been shattered,
and suddenly in a fit of what I can only caU temper, I fired my
Browning Automatic through the roof. It was a compl.ete
waste of ammunition and energy. However, I was doing
something, and in a way helping to take my mind off our
plight.
"Can't you fire your Sten?" I yelled to Girdler.
"I've been hit in the arm, and can't cock the bloody thing,"
came the reply.
I wriggled and twisted myself into a position where I could
see Girdler through the 2-inch gap between the left-hand edge
of the front seat and the side doors.
The din was terrific and bullets continued to smash against
the car. Thanks be that it was a sturdily built model, or else we
should all have been playing harps after the first burst.
Girdler. who was crouched against the nearside front door
said, ''I'm 'going to make a run for it." "OK! Good Luck," I
shouted back, "I'll have a go after you." I saw Girdler open his
door slowly and immediately one or two Brens opened up
from in front, sending a hail of lead down the side of the
vehicle. We both waited, strange as it may seem, fairly calmly_
It all seemed so unreal and somehow death didn't seem at
hand at alL This sense of unreality was produced, I suspect, by
the fact that we had still seen nothing of the enemy.
The firing stopped, and Girdler suddenly flung open his
door and dashed outside with a "Here we go!" I was, as far as
I could tell, alone in the car with Arshad's body. Of the OSPC
Folliott, I had seen nothing since the first shot had been fired.
Of the scout car also I had heard and seen nothing. In fact, I
felt pretty lonely taking all in all. But I started to pluck up
courage to follow Girdler's example.
As I slowly opened the door the whine of the bullets just outside made me hurriedly close it again. Hell, I thought, is
thIS. the end of my innings? I must take a grip of myself. Once
agaIn I gently pushed the door open a few inches and saw the
welcoming green of the jungle on the far side of the road, only
about fifteen yards away. Fifteen yards, it looked more like a
mile to me.
Taking a deep breath and flinging open the door at the
same time, I sprinted across what seemed like an endless
su:etch of tarmac. All I could see ahead was the jungle, its
thIck green foliage waiting to engulf and protect me. I think
the CTs opened fire on me. They were only ten to fifteen yards
away as I left the car, so presumably they had a bash. I was
never a fast sprinter at school, but I think that I beat all known
world records that day, and I must have proved to be a very
fast movIng target. As I reached the jungle edge, after what
seemed an eternity, I took a flying leap and ended up beside a
large log, having passed through a thorny bush on the way.
Picking myself up, I flung off my green jacket and belt for
ease of movement. My pistol fell on the ground somewhere
but I did not pause to look for it. Not a very heroic and
disciplined thing to do, but it had jammed in the car and going
through that undergrowth I would need both hands. I was to
put it mildly, in a panic. One thing only was uppermost in my
mmd, escape, and the only hope that I had of getting away,
was to run lIke a deer away from those little bastards, wearing
their three star caps, khaki tunics and puttees.
I ran then as I have never run before. Stumbling through
the bush. and hanging branches, tearing myself on the thor;s,
and gaspIng for breath. Meanwhile, bugles sounded behind me
and whistles were blowing. Were they following me? I didn't
know. I kept on running away from the road and deeper and
deeper into the protection of the jungle. The words of Col
Spencer Chapman came to mind, "The jungle is neutral."
When I was completely out of breath, I stopped and good
old Mother Nature reminded me to ease myself, I stood there
contentedly watering the leafy floor. What a relief. The noise
that it made, in the stillness of that place, must have been as deafening to an observer as Victoria Falls to Livingstone,
when he first observed and listened to the giant cascade of
water.
Whether I had been running due west or southwest, I
hadn't the faintest idea, but one thing was certain. If I was to
get back to the road I must travel east so, trusting a bit to
instinct, I started to walk stealthily and pausing every minute
or so to listen for sounds of cracking branches or voices.
Slowly my confidence returned and with it my breath and
concentration.
I had seen nothing of either FolIiott or Girdler. What had
happened to them? Where were the Gurkhas? Had they heard
the firing? I must be careful I thought, when I reached the
road. If the CTs saw me I would certainly be a goner, if the
Gurkhas, then they might easily mistake me at a distance for a
CT and have a pot at me. Once again my spirits fell. Was I
going in the right direction? The sun by this time was nearly at
its zenith and I had become more that a little doubtful about
direction since I had calmed down and collected my thoughts.
Suddenly, ahead of me, I saw that the foliage was thinner
and, running forward, found the road. With a thankful prayer, I
dropped down in the ditch at the roadside and looked around.
The road was straight at this point, so I must have struck it a
good way south of the ambush. All that I had to do now was to
wait for a passing vehicle to take me into Yong Peng.
Five minutes later I heard the sound of a truck coming up
the road. Oh wonderful, it was Monty with his Gurkhas. I
rushed out into the road waving my hands and, with a squeal
of brakes the leading small troop carrier pulled up within a
few feet of me. Monty jumped out and gripped my hands. "It's
good to see you," he said, "come on, jump in. Evidently, the
police at Paloh heard the firing and came to your assistance.
They found Folliott and Girdler in the bush and both are. in a
bad way. They've been bayoneted with short Sten bayonets,
and are now on their way to Kluang. Your Orderly was burnt
inside the car and they seem to think that you are mati (dead)
somewhere in the bush. I'm bloody glad to see you're not.
With a thankful heart at seeing friends again, I climbed
inside the trooper and a grinning Gurkha handed me a rifle.
We sped along the road and a few minutes later arrived at
ambush corner. A number of men from the police jungle squad
were prowling around and there, by the bank, was the car, a
burnt out wreck.
With an intense feeling of having somehow let Arshad
down, I walked slowly over to the nearside door and looked
inside. There was nothing left of Arshad. I turned away
sickened and, as I did so, Monty came up beside me and gave
a smart salute. In my heart I thanked him. It was so typical of
the man. He had already won two Military Crosses (MCs) and,
though he said little, he had proved himself again and again to
be a very able commander, a fearless soldier and a reliable and
staunch friend. The Brigade of Gurkhas was, indeed, fortunate
to have the services of such a man.
The Gurkhas spread out and prepared to follow up on the
heels of the CTs. They had brought five days' rations with
them and, in a matter of minutes, had picked up the trail. I
turned once again to take a last look at the car and then got
into a police truck that had just arrived. As we left the scene,
some of the Malay Jungle Squad Constables, who were sitting
behind me, slapped me on the back and offered me cigarettes.
I knew them all pretty well. They were glad to see me and I
more than reciprocated their feelings. We said little, and I was
soon half asleep, my eyes were heavy and I suppose shock had
started.
When we arrived at Kluang Police Station, I reported my
return and then went straight to the hospital. Mrs (Eileen)
Folliott was there, putting a very brave face on it all. She had
heard from Y ong Peng of the ambush and had travelled right
up to the scene with a police party, and had torn up her
underclothes to use as bandages on her husband and Girdler.
She was a very brave woman.
I was allowed to see Girdler first and found him lying on
the operating table. He was conscious, and we talked Urdu to
each other for a few moments. I noticed three clean stab wounds in his chest and a bandage covered his abdomen.
"They got me in the guts as well," he explained, "and I can't
shit." I left him then, I couldn't say anything more. Words
stuck. I went in to Folliott and found him surrounded with
blood plasmas. His whole face was swathed with bandages.
We could not converse so I left and went straight to the Post
Office to send a telegram home. I remember its exact wording,
Bloody lucky - don't worry - writing - Sandy. I learnt later
that the Bren gun in the scout car had jammed and they had,
therefore, driven straight through the scene of ambush to
report and get help.
Postscript
I have always felt ashamed about the loss of my pistol, but at
the time, escape was my only objective. But my pistol was
found and returned to me.
Later, I was sitting at a dinner in Kluang with various Chinese
dignitaries and our SB hosts informed me that the chap sitting
opposite had been the CT Bren gunner in the ambush."
The CT version of this ambush was found later in a CT camp.
Our Army Killed The Enemy's AO, OSPC & A
Malay Sergeant, And Wounded The
Operations Officer And Recovered 6
firearms In Yong Peng Area.
by 3rd Regiment Correspondent
At about 10.05 on April 4, our unit of the 3rd Regiment Iaid an ambush.
at the 12th milestone of Paloh Road and resulted in wounding the
Operations Officer, and recovered 1 Stengun, 1 carbine, one. 32 pistol,
1 pistol and 2 revolvers. Apart from these 6 firearms captured there
were also more than 70 rounds of ammunition seized. One motor car
was set ablaze: one set of Parker pens, I wrist watch, I camera and
cash, about $30/- and Identity Cards and notebooks were confiscated.
The following is the story of the incident:
On 15th March the enemies collected the Security forces consisting of
200 to 300 men to Iaunch an attack at the three points namely: at the
9th milestone on Paloh Road, the Hylam Village and at the 5th milestone
on Ayer Hitam Road. The last day of screening and combing the areas
were carried on till the 19th March. Our army in mufti, acting on
accurate information received, Iaid an ambush at the12th milestone on
Paloh Road in spite of the continuous showers of rain. 10.05 a.m. a
streamlined motor car followed by an armoured car coming from Yong
Peng side came into sight. As the signal, firing a shot, was given, the
enemy's cars had already reached within 30 metres of our firing range.
A volley of light machine-gun and Tommy gun fire poured down on the
enemies. As a result of the firing the car in front over-turned on the side
of the road, the armoured car behind was afraid to put up a resistance
but only tried to escape out of our firing range. At this moment our
vanguards were ordered to rush forward in two directions - one party
gave chase to the two red-haired pigs, the OSPC and the Operations
Officer who, by now, had thrown off their weapons and ran for their
life. (Although the OSPC escaped he died later in Yong Peng). The other
party, which consisted mostly of our vanguards, swarmed to the side of
the car where the AO and a Malay Sergeant were shot dead. After a ten
minute engagement the battle eventually came to an end.
The enemy's reinforcements arrived at the spot of the incident and
began firing at random. All the people said that we had done a good
job!
A Lucky Police Lieutenant
by
P J D Guest
Although there were mountains of surplus equipment in
Europe at the end of World War II, when Peter arrived in
Malaya four years later there was a woeful shortage of arms,
ammunition and kit. He was so incensed that he wrote to his
MP to stir things up and, of course, was severely reprimanded
for not going through normal channels.
But, even if stores had been adequate, there would still
have been a huge problem of training, particularly of the rural
Malays, reared in peaceful kampongs, and now enthusiastic but totally inexperienced para-militaries.
The P/Lts were in the forefront of the battle and about one
in six lost their lives, since they stuck out like sore thumb s
amongst their Asian troops.
Peter got the following story from P/Lt Street while sharing
a ward in hospital. It is an example of the courage of newly
arrived P/Lts thrown in at the deep end. and of the brutality of
the CTs.
P/Lts Quinn and Street were posted to Kuala Selangor within
days of their arrival at Singapore. They reached the town of
Kuala Selangor without incident and spent the night there. The
following morning they were issued with weapons and given
their instructions. A Land Rover and an escort of four SCs
arrived from the rubber estate, which was to be their
destination, and they were sent on their way.
Shortly after turning into the estate road, the party was
skilfully ambushed by a large group of CTs that included a
number of Tamil Indians. There was no escape. Quinn, who
was driving the Land Rover, was killed in the first burst of
fire, as were two or three of the escort. Street, who was sitting
alongside Quinn, was uninjured but covered in blood from his
dead companion, and leapt out and made a dash for cover. As
he did so, a bullet shattered his left kneecap and he collapsed
on the road. The shooting eventually stopped and the CTs
came out of concealment.
Street decided that his only chance was to play dead.
Hardly daring to breathe, he shut his eyes and hoped for the
best. His predicament was compounded by the fact that he was
face down on the ground and could not, therefore, see what
was happening. Having been in the country less than a week,
he spoke not a single word of Malay, Chinese or Tamil and
had no idea what the CTs were talking about.
A group of CTs approached him, talking among
themselves as they did so, and one, putting his foot under
Street's stomach, turned him over so that he was face upwards.
Obviously deciding that his shirt was too bloodstained to warrant removal, one of the CTs proceeded to cut off his
epaulettes, buttons and badges of rank, while administering the
odd kick or two.
A considerable amount of conversation went on between
the CTs, and although he could not understand a word, Street
guessed that they had some doubt as to whether he was dead.
Terrified at the prospect of what would follow if they found
out that he was alive, he breathed a silent prayer and
concentrated on proving that, if not exactly dead, he was
beyond all hope of recovery.
Then he heard the sound of a match being struck and a few
seconds later he felt an excruciating pain as one of the CTs
stubbed out a lighted cigarette on the bridge of his nose.
Somehow or other he managed not to flinch. The CTs then
picked up his body and deposited it with those of Quinn and
the four dead SCs on the back of the Land Rover, set it on fire,
and departed. Street managed to extricate himself from the
bodies on the Land Rover and fell onto the road beside the
vehicle, unable to move.
Some three hours later a police party, which had been sent
out from Kuala Selangor to investigate why his party had not
reported in at their destination, found him. He was taken to
Bangsa Hospital in KL where, after a number of unsuccessful
attempts to repair his knee, doctors amputated his lower left
leg.
Fatal Inexperience
by
J P Taylor
Jim Taylor was on leave, not yet searching assiduously for a
new job having just completed his contract with the Palestine
Police Force, when the Crown Agents invited him to join the
RMP. The formalities were completed with commendable
speed but a shortage of aircraft delayed his departure by three
weeks.
I arrived III Singapore III 1948 as a potential P/Lt but rankless, since the rank of P/Lt had yet to be gazetted. I was
posted to Perak almost immediately where I remember that all
was in a great state of confusion, and equipment was seriously
lacking.
An MCS officer assisted by a Scots doctor ran the local
jungle squad, but their 'kill' rate had not been impressive. I
took over their jungle squad.
I was issued with jungle green. The mismatch between my
6'2" frame and the garments made for a WRAC 5'4" was
bizarre, so I resorted to the local tailor.
We had Ford vehicles made in Singapore, which were
entirely unsuitable for fast operational debussing, and their
unsuitability must have contributed significantly to our
casualty rate, but the Singapore factory's tenders were, no
doubt, the most competitive, and that presumably was all the
Treasury knew about the matter.
I survived two road ambushes. The second was t.lJ.e fault of
my superior officer, who had no personal experience of paramilitary
operations against the CTs and insisted that we should
respond to some light CT fire that had been directed at one of
our police stations.
I suggested that there was no point in responding by taking
out a fighting patrol, since it was probable that the CTs had
opened fire to tempt a police patrol into a trap. The CT
shooting was certainly not part of a serious set piece attack on
the station. My comments were ignored and so we set off in
two vehicles with a motley collection of police. My superior
and the Bren gun were in the lead vehicle. Unfortunately, my
guess had been correct. It was a trap and halfway to the police
station the trap was sprung; my superior and his driver were
killed instantly and all the passengers in his vehicle were
wounded. Not a shot was fired from the lead vehicle and no
one fired from my vehicle except me. I was down to my last
four rounds when the CTs departed, carrying off with them all
the arms and ammunition from the lead vehicle. The tragedy
taught me an important lesson about the need to be forceful
when dealing with inexperienced officers, however senior.
Ambush at Chan Wing Estate
by
P W Giles
Paddy CUes served in the Royal Navy 1944-1946. He spent a
year at Jesus College, Oxford, before accepting tin
appointment as a Cadet ASP in the Royal Malayan Police at
the outset of the Emergency in 1948. Coming from a colonial
service background he had always intended pursuing that
career path, and considered himself fortunate to have had that
experience.
Late one afternoon on the way back to my base in Labis after
a rugby weekend in Singapore, I called in on Cha'ah Police
Station. The Charge Room Constable reported that everything
was allright but added, "I have just heard firing to the north
east Which lasted for several minutes." This sounded to me
like an incident somewhere around Bekok, an area that had
given us a great deal of trouble since the Emergency started
two years before. I told the constable to report the fIrinO" to
Labis and that I was on my way to the incident.
The Bekok road ran for eight miles out of Cha'ah before it
stopped at a dead end. There were several small rubber estates
along the road, all Chinese- owned, isolated and dominated by
the CTs. I suspected that Chan Wing was the estate involved
since it was the only one with a telephone line and the CTs
had developed a tactic of cutting telephones lines, in order to
lure. the police escort for the Post and Telecomms (P&T)
repaIr men into a carefully prepared ambush.
We, however, had learnt to minimise the CTs chances of
success by de-bussing some distance away from the incident
and moving in on foot. I parked my car some way from the
estate entrance and went in on foot through the rubber trees.
All was deathly quiet and there was no sign of movement.
Then I saw a large vehicle, which I identifIed as the police
three-tonner from Labis, slewed across the estate road. Next, I
found some police survivors lying prone on the ground. They
told me that, as the truck approached a defIle between two
high banks (an unmistakeable likely ambush point), the CTs had opened heavy and accurate fire from the top of the banks.
The scene in the police truck was awful; men, whom I had
known well, lying dead riddled with bullets, blood everywhere
and only one constable alive but badly wounded.
Five of the escort had managed to jump out of the lorry but
had been cut down by CT bullets; the driver and the NonCommissioned
OffIcer (NCO) sitting beside him had been
killed in their seats, probably in the first bursts of CT fire. The
police had minimal chance to return fire. The survivors
reported that the CTs had stripped the dead and wounded of
their arms and ammunition. The Gurkhas, who had arrived
about half-an-hour after the ambush, were now following up
the CT ambush party. I tended the wounded as best I could
using the fIeld dressings, which were carried by each man, and
identifIed the killed in action (KIA) This was a melancholy
task. I knew them well, not only as their OCPD but also in
jungle operations with them the previous year.
The total police casualty list was eight killed and seven
wounded, and the unfortunate P&T man had also been killed
in an incident that he probably considered to be no business of
his.
By now it was dusk with the curtain of night only minutes
away. Then we heard the welcome sound of the engines of the
rescue party: the police from Labis, the ambulance and a
Public Works Department (PWD) repair vehicle from
Segamat, thirty-eight miles away from the scene of the
ambush.
The Inspector who had been in charge of the District in my
absence was beside himself with remorse. I managed, with the
greatest diffIculty, to persuade him that his reaction had been
correct; the fault lay in the tactics of the Squad who had set
out to investigate the incident; they had not followed our
standard procedure for movement in suspect areas.
We never knew exactly how many CTs had been involved
in this catastrophe. Based on their observations of gun flashes
and movements, the survivors estimated that the CTs had
numbered between ten and fifteen.
Paddy Ciles commented further:
The escort party were regulars, mostly constables, including
several still on probation (less than 2 years service).
Like all newcomers to Jungle Squads they had been given
InstructIOn III various operational procedures, including anti-ambush
drill and debus routines. This was repeated at intervals
and when different types of vehicles were made available (i.e.
3-tonner, soft-skinned personnel carrier, etc.), but there were
no written or set down procedures on jungle squad duties at
this relatively early stage of the Emergency. The frequency of
training sessions was left to the discretion of district jungle
squad commanders and operations had to take priority over
training.
Although there was no drill book available, experience
should have urged the Squad to take the usual precautions in
the Chan Wing Estate area - probably the worst area in the
District. The junior NCOs in each squad, corporals, were
promoted from within the squad on merit and earned their
stripes. Perhaps it was a case of 'familiarity breeding
contempt'.
Most of us were on our first tour and trying to learn the
ropes on the job. I do not recall directives from contingent or
force level coming down the line. Later on training took on a
more organised and professional aspect.
My recollection of the swift changing events of that
disastrous day for the jungle squad - as related to me at the
time - is one of confusion. The Squad had been caught in a
well-executed ambush by CTs whose fIghting abilities had
been honed by a hardcore of ex-MPAJA fighters.
The CTs had moved fast to complete their two objectives _
capture all weapons and ammunition and get out fast. They
knew there would be a military follow-up and the knowledge
that a Gurkha battalion was currently operating in Labis/Segamat, would have spurred them on in their flight.
The survivors were in a state of shock when I got there,
some hardly aware what had hit them, one or two even oblivious of the fact that their weapons had been snatched. All
but one of the survivors had been wounded and they were
trying to cope. The one un wounded survivor had lost
consciousness - indeed, I thought he was dead until he came
to in front of me. If there was a saving grace, it was that the
CTs had not mutilated anyone.
Consider the mentality of young kampong-bred constables
transferring to this new aspect of police work. They were
volunteers attracted by the likelihood of excitement and
probably by the perceived glamour of being a jungle fIghter.
They soon came to realise it was not all action and heroics. A
lot of escort work came their way, nearly all of which was
repetitive with nothing much happening so that the senses
became dulled and lulled into the pitfalls of complacency.
Although the very best junior leaders will not let that mind-set
take root.
It is easy with hindsight to say the escort commander
should have debussed and moved tactically through the
rubber. Had he done so, there might not have been a
confrontation at all. Deprived of tactical advantage, the CTs
would probably have slunk off rather than fight on a level
playing fIeld.
The force eventually developed high standards of training
for PFF units. The watershed came about in late 1953/1954
when the previously independent Federal. Jungle Companies
(FJCs) were absorbed into a bigger unit, PFF, comprising
three or four companies. Overall command of these new units
was vested in SAC B, with more emphasis and personnel
dedicated to training. I had command of one FJC in Perak in
1953 until forced to leave after contracting scrub typhus. Thus,
I missed the advantages of the reorganisation but escaped the
loss of operational independence.
The PFF played an increasingly signifIcant role in
operations thereafter and I recall in 1964/1965 in Sarawak,
during Confrontation with Indonesia, a distinguished Gurkha
Brigade Commander, who went on to become a Major-General,
saying he considered the PFF company brought over from the mainland to be superior to one of the newer Royal
Malay Regiment battalions, then under his command. Praise
indeed from a soldier!
Ambush of an Elephant Column
by
P J D Guest
As the Malay proverb has it:-
Gajah sama gajah berjuang
Pelanduk mati di tengah.
When elephants fight the mouse deer
in between will be killed.
"In October 1950, I was told to lead a party of thirty-six men,
four gajah (elephants), and seven mahouts to Temenggor to
relieve and supply the garrison. Since there was only one track
that could take elephants, I decided to lead a six-man fast
patrol in parallel to the main party. I did not like the idea of
doing both the outward and return journeys on the same track: o
it was ao-ainst every principle we had been taught.
We set the gajah at Titi Gantong, five miles from Grik,
and set off at midday, the gajah moving almost silently. We
camped by the river. Next morning I took my six-man patrol
across the river: we moved at a smart pace up an old road. In
the late afternoon of D3, having started before dawn, we
arrived at the disused tin mine at the end of our dirt track,
having covered about twenty-five miles in a day and a half.
The gajah party arrived two days later.
On the way back from Temenggor I led the column with
my seven-man reconnaissance patrol, putting the gajah in the
centre, and a strong rear guard behind, hoping that if we ran
into trouble one part of the column would be able to launch an
effective counter attack.
At noon the silence was shattered by the noise of heavy
firing. I turned my patrol round, swinging to the right of the track in order to attack the CTs from the flank. Just before
entering the trees, I saw a startling sight: several men, some in
police jungle green, and some in CT uniform, were charging
down the hill together hotly pursued by an enraged gajah.
Police and CTs were so intermingled that, although I raised
my carbine, I did not dare pull the trigger. Then the CTs dived
away to the left and three police dashed down the track
shouting, somewhat unnecessarily, "Ambush!"
I continued up the flank, ordering my men to fire at will
and to ignore casualties, which we would pick up later. We
charged up the slope: fifty yards from the crest the first enemy
round whipped over our heads and we returned fire as we
continued to run up the hill. I yelled, "Keep going," focussed
only on the need to maintain our momentum and to reach that
crest: but we slowed down as the hill became steeper. Now we
were only Walking. "More noise," I yelled and the patrol
responded screaming for all they were worth. We reached the
crest, soaked with sweat, parched and gasping. I had barely
time to see below us a gajah lying on its side and some
policemen who had been caught in the first bursts of fire,
when we came under heavy fire again.
The policeman on my right was knocked over by a bullet in
his thigh. We took cover, and returned fire with everything we
had. Then, to my relief, I heard firing to our right where the
rearguard was, presumably, engaging the enemy. Our
ammunition was running low, so I ordered the Bren to fire
short bursts, and riflemen single shots only. But we were
facing a much stronger force and I realised that we would not
survive if we relied on passive defence. I asked for a volunteer
runner to go to the rear guard and tell them to launch a counter
attack on the right flank. I hoped that the CTs would thus be
convinced that we were more numerous than they had thought.
Meanwhile my section, grouped round our Bren gunner,
continued to harass the CTs across the saddle: then we heard
the rearguard open fire. The ruse worked and the CTs ran
away!
But it had been a bad day for us, seven policemen were dead and we had several wounded and a gajah lay by their
side. We had no radio, so I sent a volunteer runner down to
Grik with a short report; that we had been ambushed by
probably about three platoons of the MRLA.
This was no time for hanging about so, having hidden our
heavy equipment in the jungle; I set off to base, carrying our
wounded to Kampong Bersia. A second volunteer was
despatched to Grik in case the first runner had been captured;
although they had a dangerous job, I hoped runners would be
able to get by posing as civilians.
We waited overnight in Bersia, combining in a joint
defence force of my police and the kampong guards (the
kampong equivalent of the Home Guard of WWll) with their
shotguns.
At dawn the next day we saw a body of armed men coming
up the track; there were some tense moments until they were
identifIed as a party of Royal Marines. I went back with the
marines to the scene of the ambush. It was a sad sight, but we
were cheered up by the reappearance of a missing policeman,
who had passed out after being wounded but had managed to
hobble down the hill using home made crutches.
We inspected the CTs trenches and it looked as if we had
driven off a force three times larger than our own, despite the
advantages of prepared, welI-sited positioning, enabling them
to fire down upon us. It was a good thing that they did not
exploit their advantages with determination. I had only nine
rounds left by the end of the battIe.
I reflected that it was lucky for me that the CTs had held
their fire and allowed the front guard to pass through their
position and waited for the elephant section to come into their
sights.
Some months later we were interrogating an SEP in Grik.
He denied, of course, any involvement but told us that he had
heard about the ambush from the aborigines who had told him
that seven Chinese policemen had gone first, and passed
through the ambush without detecting it. When I corrected him
and said it was six Chinese and one European (me), his facial expression changed to astonishment and then rage. "If we had
known that we would have killed you! We thought you were
riding on a gajah." Then he remembered where he was and
readjusted his facial expression."
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Turning the Tables
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Revenge is Sweet
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
I had already noted the cowardice of the MP AJA, and their
brutality in the post-war 'Kangaroo' courts which they
established before the British Military Administration (BMA)
could fIll the gap left by the departing Japanese.
Immediately after the surrender, an MPAJA leader, Goh
Seng Peng, said to me, "Now you will see that we are not
against the Malays. You were very brave to see me: did I harm
you?" Now in 1948 the MPAJA had turned into the MCP, and
there was no doubt that they were the enemy.
The majority of the people living at the jungle fringes were
Chinese: there was a tendency to brand all rural Chinese as
Communist sympathisers. This was completely wrong, and
could lead to wrong policies.
One night in 1948, when I w.as driving back to my HQ at
Tronoh, accompanied by two detectives, we were ambushed
near Kampong Saya. The first burst of gunfire hit the car, and
one bullet struck my ankle and caused me to lose control. The
car immediately swerved off the road into a ditch, but we
managed somehow to scramble out and to take up firing
positions, to give us some sort of all round defence, ready to
fire on the CTs when they followed up their ambush. As we
waited, my ankle felt hot and my foot was sticky with blood,
but the attack never came. We peered into the darkness,
searching for moving fIgures, listening for sounds and waiting
for the sudden flash and noise of the enemy's guns, but there
was no sign of them; once again it seemed that, as at Panching,
the enemy did not have the stomach for a fIght. Hit and run tactics were the order of the day, and the first thing we saw
was the lights of a vehicle coming down the road. It was a
lorry that had been sent out by my Station Sergeant as soon as
he realised that we were overdue.
My wound was successfully treated in hospital and after a
few days I was released on sick leave. However, I decided that
investigating the crime was more important than leave, and
went straight back to duty. I was determined that the gang that
had attempted to murder us should be brought to book. I
immediately contacted a Chinese acquaintance, who was Hang
Kong (supervisor of a tin mine workforce) and, therefore, very
knowledgeable about the people in his area, and asked for his
help. He promised to try to discover who the perpetrators
were, and said that he suspected that they were a gang from
Pusing. A week later the Hang Kong brought me information
that the gang leader was a heavily built Chinese called Chen
Ngan, another member was Chen A'Pai, a short, boastful, not
very bright man with a limp, the rest were also Chinese, six
men and five girls, whose names he did not know. So there
had been a dozen of them that night, but they lacked the
courage to come out and finish us off.
Three days later, at about 1730 hours, I was still in the
office doing some paperwork, when a male Chinese face
appeared outside my window. He was about forty years old,
and asked in a low tone if he could see me for a moment. After
a quick observation of the man's expression and eyes, I felt
that he was genuine, and not likely to come in and try to kill
me. So I asked him in.
He blurted out that Chen Ngan and his gang who led the
ambush and tried to kill me at Kampung Sayap were, at that
very moment, in a house at Kampung Sayap. To remove any
doubt I might have had about ills sincerity, he offered to take
the police and me straight to the house!
Very quickly, I planned the raid. Leading a party of fifteen.
men and a platoon of KOYLI troops, I left the police station at
1900 hours; when we neared Kampung Sayap we left the three
transport vehicles some distance from the house. The plan was I would lead the police party with the informer, followed by
the men spread at three feet intervals, ready to smash into the
house from all sides.
By the time we got close to the door, the police and the
military had the house well surrounded. The door was half
open; I rushed in shooting in the direction of A'Pai to
disorientate him, without actually intending to hit him, since I
wanted him to face his fate in a court of law. The occupants of
the house were caught completely by surprise. They stood
with their hands up, sillvering with fright. A'Pai and two
others were caught inside the house, while others in other parts
of the house ran out through the back door, in order to escape
across to the other side of the mining pool.
However, the men from the KOYLI Regiment surrounded
the entire mining pool, so the CTs had to spend the night in the
water. We called out to them to get out, but they remained
silent in the pool. Our sergeant went to Pusing and returned
with twelve gallons of petrol, spread it on the water and set it
alight, to try to flush them out. It did not work. We had to wait
till morning, and managed to fish out three women.
The raid resulted in the arrest of four men and three
women, and the capture of one.303 rifle, two shot guns, two
revolvers and about fifty assorted rounds of bullets.
Epilogue to the Ambush:
A'Pai pleaded guilt to the charges of:-
(a) Kidnapping;
(b) Illegal possession of firearms; and
(c) Participating in the ambush and attempted
murder of the OCPD of Tronoh.
He was sentenced to death, and hanged.
2 The others all pleaded guilty to the charges of:-
(d) Illegal possession of firearms; and
(e) Participating in an ambush and attempted
murder of the OCPD of Tronoh.
All were sentenced to death, and hanged.
But Chen Ngan, the gang leader, had escaped our net and I
was determined to catch Chen before he did any more
mischief, and to show the public that, like the Mounties, 'We
got our man'.
I was brooding fruitlessly on the case and decided to visit
my OS PC to seek new leads. On the road to Batu Gajah,
escorted by my bodyguard, Mohd. Som, I decided to pay a
visit to an attractive mining kongsi (a building housing
Chinese workers) house, with well-manicured garden. After a
few paces, I saw a young male Chinese, tidily dressed and
walking confidently, as if he might be the Hang Kong of the
kongsi. The man greeted me with a nonchalant "Ada Baik
Ka?" ("Is all welI?"). I asked him if there was anyone in the
building, and he said that no miners had yet been recruited. By
this time Mohd. Som had caught up with me and whispered,
"That's him: Chen Ngan!"
I arrested him and at the police station he admitted that he
was, indeed, Chen, and had taken part in the ambush. He
pleaded guilty in court, and was sentenced to death and
hanged.
Thus the file on the Kampung Sayap Ambush was
satisfactorily closed.
A Trap in Kampong Bersia
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
"Ngah Lahamat, the Ketua of Bersia, a little village on the
route to Temenggor, was a friendly and cooperative man, with
a reputation as a fine, strong, athlete.
One day he told me that 5 CTs had visited him three times
in the previous month. When I jokingly asked Ngah whether
he had thought of helping the enemy, his furious response
suggested that I had insulted him. I first considered setting up
a polIce ambush, but reluctantly concluded that the most
effective ploy was to involve Ngah personally. I suggested that
a man of his ability could easily capture any CT visitors, with
help from his friends, provided his team were brave enough. I felt a little guilty about thus exploiting Ngah's pride, but he
rose to the challenge. We agreed that he should:-
(a) Welcome the CTs;
(b) Ensure he always had assistants with him;
(c) Try to make friends with the CTs and drop titbits
of anti-government propaganda into his
conversation;
(d) When he judged the time was ripe, signal to his
team to capture the CTs; and
(e) As a last resort, if the CTs resisted, kill them.
Two weeks later Lahamat and his team carried out the plan,
but they hacked the CTs to death with their parangs.
Night March and Dawn Attack
by
J C Macnab
James Macnab started his service career as a trainee RAF
Engineer, but finding himself underemployed, switched to :he
Scots Guards with whom he did recruit training before bemg
commissioned into the Seaforth Highlanders. In 1946 he
served with them in Central lava during the 'troubles' of the
post-war period. He joined the police in 1948 where he found
himself, once again, working with the Seaforths who were, hke
him, stationed in Johore.
By April 1949, the police were still far from fully equipped
or trained for sustained jungle operations. Jungle green
uniforms were just beginning to appear in the Circle stores,
jungle training was minimal, and full time Jungle Squads had
yet to be formed: police forays into the jungle seldom lasted
longer than 24 hours.
My OSPC, Eric Freeborough, was an ex-soldier who had
been Commissioner of Police, Trengannu, in BMA times. He
had started some jungle training in Batu Pahat when we were
still calling the CTs 'bandits' and our operations 'raids'. On 1. April 1949, an informer reported that a small party of
bandIts had set up camp in some belukar on the jungle edo-e
adjoining the Sri Medan squatter area. He agreed to guide us
to the spot.
At the evening roll call, Eric selected a squad of ten rank
and file. At about midnight we set off by road in two vehicles.
We approached Sri Medan without lights and left the vehicles
parked with the drivers and two PCs to guard them. Guided by
the informer we moved through the squatter area. It was very
dark so progress was slow. Eventually we arrived at the jungle
edge, the informer indicated that the bandit camp was about
100 yards from us, and then faded into the night.
Eric had a small pencil torch with him and shinina it
carefully, shaded by his hat; he located the track into "'the
camp. We reckoned that we had about one-and-a-half hours
until dawn. I remember saying to Eric, "Why don't you try
and work your way round the back and I will try and flush
them out to you?" He replied, "No! You try and get round the
back and I will flush them out to you." He told me to go left
flanking. We agreed that I should try and keep about 100 yards
from where we reckoned the bandit camp would be.
I set off with four PCs. Eric had stressed the importance of
a sIlent approach, but those who have tried to move silently
through belukar in the dark, will know how difficult it is. We
made very slow progress. We were only about three quarters
of the way round when it started to get light. The belukar gave
way to a spur of lalang about sixty-to-seventy yards wide,
running over a slight rise to our left. We were about halfway
across the lalang when we heard a burst of automatic fire
about fifty yards to our right, followed immediately by the
explosion of a grenade and then a further burst and a few
single shots. The grenade threw debris and smoke above the
belukar pinpointing the exact location of the action for us. We
made our way in that direction at top speed, but Eric was dead,
lying face down at the edge of the camp, the rest of his party
were in defensive positions around him. The bandits had fled
leaving their packs and belongings behind in a small basha they had constructed. I left two or three PCs in the bandit
camp, took the rest and followed a track leading out of the
back of the camp, to primary jungle a short distance away. But
all bandit tracks were lost so I abandoned any further follow-up.
Eric had moved off before dawn and had managed to crawl
up to within ten yards of the camp, which was in a small
clearing, but as he raised himself up to throw a grenade, one of
the bandits saw him and fired a burst from his Thompson submachine-
gun. This hit Eric and killed him as he threw the
grenade, which exploded slightly off target and did no one any
harm. He was a brave officer who was liked and respected.
My abiding memory is returning to Batu Pahat and having
to break the news to his mother, who lived with him. The poor
lady was a widow, and had only one leg and moved on
crutches. It was an appalling blow for her.
With hindsight, I believe my left flanking manoeuvre was
probably doomed to failure. Eric and I obviously misjudged
the time it would take. Perhaps if we had had an extra half
hour it could have been successful, but it is doubtful. Had Eric
been a second faster with his grenade and the bandit a second
slower in spotting him, perhaps it could have been a different
story - who knows!
Butch Hitchman succeeded Eric as OSPC, and I became
his Operations Officer. A proper three section Circle Jungle
Squad was formed, trained and equipped. It gives me some
satisfaction that in the months that followed we managed to
account for two CTs killed and one captured.
Bloody Nose for a CT Food Party
by
P J D Guest
4th June 1951
We received information that the CTs would be picking up
food from a drop arranged at the I st mile Intan Road. We
obviously couldn't lay a close ambush and I decided we would
have to deploy around and close in, like a sliding noose. I reckoned on six units being involved.
I dashed up to the marines to borrow some 88 sets: we
needed radio to coordinate the attack.
I left the HQ with my ten man squad and P/Lt. 'Rusty'
Rudge. Rusty later became famous in Grik as the bloke who
said, "Don't shoot, they're ours!" a second before the
incoming volley confirmed they weren't!
Just as we began moving north, a figure about three
hundred yards away in the rubber was seen dashing away, the
leading scouts fired a couple of shots but missed the fleeing
figure.
I pressed on. We were moving through rubber but lots of it
was overgrown. We heard a bust of firing. Somebody had
obviously clashed with the CTs and, jUdging from the
direction, it sounded like Mohammed Pilus's squad. It was
fairly heavy fire, I guessed about platoon strength going
hammer and tongs.
I speeded up. As the prime contact had taken place so
early, I was feeling disappointed and assumed that the CTs
would have fled. I felt as if this operation was going to end as
most operations did: an inconclusive encounter with little to
show for it other than the sudden fright of contact and more
paperwork.
Suddenly, first one and then the second leading scout
flopped to the ground and one of them fired. I ran forward,
"Apa hal?" ("What's happened?), and one of the scouts
replied, "I've seen a Communist section." I peered through the
lalang but couldn't see anything. Then a couple of shots went
cracking overhead.
My first concern was to gain the high ground on the ridge
to prevent our being subjected to plunging fire. I called to the
section behind to cover us. and then led the two scouts in a
sprint for the higher ground. This provoked a further flurry of
shots, then the section under Rudge opened up.
We went to ground on the crest of the ridge and opened
fire. I shouted for the rest of the squad to close up. The column
came tearing up the slope (as they do when fired on!) running in a low crouch position. An unnatural and uncomfortable
posture but the prime concern is to make yourself small! I
ordered the lead section with Rudge to press on a few yards
beyond my own position. The firefight escalated. Then, as the
second section drew level, I ordered them to go to ground. I
now had the section in extended line with me in the middle.
We continued to try to engage the force to our front but,
since we could no longer see the enemy, I ordered the men to
fire Iow into the line of bushes. Return fire cracked overhead
or smacked into the rubber trees spraying bark over us and
spumes of latex out of the trunks of the trees as shots slammed
into them. We were lying in fairly open ground, and it seemed
to me we would have to move. I replaced my magazine,
shouted "Advance!" and we surged forward. I recall the
immense relief I felt as my whole squad, still firing, followed
me. I was urging them forward being very aware that we were
in completely open ground. I wanted to maintain the
momentum to carry the squad into the better cover afforded by
the bushes ahead, a move strongly resisted by the CTs.
As we headed for the bushes, it was a nasty surprise to see
two uniformed CTs jump up just in front. The image is clear to
this day. They were only twenty-five yards away, wearing
jungle green uniforms with brown puttees, and carrying large
packs. As they ran I was struck by their odd gait, a knees up
sort of stride, as though they were picking their feet up over
objects on the ground. I raised my carbine and took sight on
the middle of the back of the second man. I squeezed two
shots and knew both had hit him as I saw the dust jump from
his pack. But to my intense frustration, he just kept running! I
raised my sights and fired a third time. This time he went
down but I wasn't sure if he had just dived for cover. As we
pressed home the charge, a movement to my right, on the very
edge of my peripheral vision, caught my eye, a Chinese
looking straight at me, complete with peaked cap and red star.
He was no more than four yards from me. I swerved towards
him and fired from the hip. I just had time to squirt off three
shots and then was jumping over his prone body. My last shot, as I passed over him, was about a foot from his body, I yelled,
"Down!" I am sure they were as keen to hear the order, as I
was to give it.
As we lay there panting from the exertion and adrenal in of
the charge, I wondered how many CTs were in the cover of
the bushy area we had entered. I unhitched a 36 grenade and
lobbed it into the bushes shouting, "Grenade!" as a warning to
everyone to flatten onto the deck. The grenade went off with a
heck of a bang. I ordered another advance, this time a cautious
edging further into the bushes.
By now the firing had stopped and it seemed ghostly quiet.
I heard a comment to my right, looked across and there was
one of my chaps regarding a uniformed CT lying face down
and unmoving. The policeman muttered, mati. Then came
another voice, deeper in the bush. I made a quick head count,
which confirmed that it was not one of my men. I shouted out
to ask whom it was. If he was a die-hard Communist
wounded and cornered, he was potentially still ve;
dangerous. It was possible for him to lure us out only to open
fire or detonate a grenade in the hope of taking at least one of
us with him. I carried on a brief shouting match in which he
told me he was unarmed, as his comrades had taken his
weapon. I warned him against any trick and arranged for one
of my chaps to move into the left while I kept the dialogue
going. Rudge and I began to worm and wriggle our way
carefully in. I kept my carbine facing the sound of the CT's
voice. Finally, I caught sight of him.
He was lying on his back, with his head turned away from
me, towards the sound of my other chaps' voices. Signalling to
Rudge to keep down and cover me, I quietly stood up with my
carbine trained on his head and my eyes fixed on his hands.
He was Chinese with a thick mop of black hair and looked as
if he was in his early twenties, which made him about my own
age. I also noted that he was very well fed, suggesting he had
not been back in the field very long after R&R over the border
in Thailand.
Then I heard a burst of firing further down the road. The retreating CTs had gone south and clashed with our section
coming north. The CTs recoiled after a brief exchange of fire
and fled.
I kept the wounded CT covered while my chaps held down
his arms and stripped off his equipment. One of my chaps
bound up the nasty gunshot wound the man had sustained in
one knee. I was now hindered by the need to evacuate the
wounded CT.
I sat next to the prisoner and offered him a cigarette.
Surprised by this gentle reception the injured CT volunteered
that there had been eight of them, members of the Communist
12th Regiment of the MRLA that operated in Perak, and had a
well-earned reputation for being both professional and
ruthless.
On the way out one of my men called out that there was a
second dead Communist in the bushes. I opened up the packs
of the dead men. In one of the packs there was a tight roll of
oilcloth. When unwound it had two.300 bullets imbedded in
it, the same calibre as my Ml carbine. So, my two shots had
hit his pack but had been stopped in the rolled oilcloth. He had
been killed by a shot through the back of the head. We heard
later from SEPs that two others had been wounded but got
away.
We carried the wounded man down to the road on a
stretcher and also the two dead CTs, whom we had to bring
back in to be photographed for fries, in the hope of later
identification.
On arrival in Grik we found the P/Lts, having been alerted
by the radio report, had started celebrating in the Rest House!
They hadn't been there, but it was something to celebrate and
much Tiger beer was consumed.
A Nasty Surprise for CTs Near Kota Tinggi
by
S R Follows
Roy's credentials are well documented in the reviews of his
book, The Jungle Beat General Sir Peter de la Billiere
comments, "A tough book on the Malayan Emergency
Campaign. It tells the story with no holds barred: war as war
is. A compelling reminder of deep jungle operations."
His publisher described Roy as follows (no pun intended).
"In search of adventure, Ray joined the RMP at the height of a
bitter ten year campaign against CTs. He was 22 years of age
and had no experience of jungle warfare. Within a year he had
become the youngest ever commander of a jungle fort and
platoon operating deep within enemy controlled territory.
Reliant on uncertain intelligence, he led his platoon through a
series of offensive patrols and carried the war to the terrorists
on their own ground.
This book ranks with the best and toughest of recent
adventure and Special Air Service (SAS) stories."
"In March 1957 I was told to take a platoon into the swamps
of Kota Tinggi: an area I loathed, and search about 200 square
miles. We were to be away for about 21 days: I was amused
by the verbosity of the planners whose final sentence read,
"All CTs are to be captured or killed." Did they think we
would play cards with them?
Our last stretch into the swamps was by launch; through
the mangroves and the swamp stench, and then we waded
ashore through mud, and treacherous roots, anxious not to fall
over into the stinking water. We squelched on with leeches
worming their way onto our skin. By 1500 we were exhausted,
I found a dry spot, and the work of camp making began. Tea
was made from the swamp water, with milk out of a tube; the
grey liquid had a special flavour of long rotted leaves and
would not have been well received in a teashop.
JoJo brought my supper while I worked out the map
references of our position. We stood to at dusk, and by 1900 hours I was in my basha. The night noises started up: crickets,
cicadas, and frogs croaking.
Diary Entry
"At 0230 I was woken by a sentry: one of the
'new boys'. 'Tuan, I can hear sounds of movement outside the
camp." I was out of bed in a flash, carbine in hand.
"Over there Tuan!" I slipped off the safety catch. Was it a
tiger? Suddenly, a wild boar bounded off, grunting loudly.
''I'm sorry I woke you, Tuan, the men believe you are
without fear, they remember how you captured a CT when you
were carrying only a parang. Were you ever afraid Tuan?"
"I was shit scared," I said, "and if anybody ever tells you
different, he is a fool or a liar."
The next day's patrol was murder and one of the men was
straggling. Having warned him once, the second time I sent
the platoon ahead, grabbed him by the collar and said, "Get
moving!" and strode off. He stood there crying pitifully,
"Tuan Tolang!" ("Help Sir!"). After a bit he limped after me,
and I flung his weapon to him saying, "Next time I shall shoot
you!" We had no more trouble with him.
At our first halt we found a trail, which was not difficult to
follow because of broken branches. After very cautious
patrolling along the increasingly clear track, I spotted a basha
and gave the signal to crawl. Not a sound: we rushed the
target. The basha was part of a recently deserted camp.
Bugger!
I then planned to lay a trap for the CTs. I was carrying a
special present for them that the 'boffins' had designed. It was
doctored .303 ammunition. Anyone firing the ammunition
would find the Bren or rifle exploding in his face. "Not exactly
British," said the SBO, but we agreed that there was a war on.
My task was to position the doctored rounds in a CT camp for
the CTs to find and, hopefully, assume that the SF had left it
by mistake. I planted the ammo in a conspicuous place just
before we left the camp. My patrol did not know of the
existence of the doctored ammunition.
Several weeks later, a small patrol of village policemen walked into a CT ambush, but when the CTs opened fire their
Bren guns and rifles exploded. Some CTs were critically
injured and the rest fled, leaving the police patrol unharmed.
The low cost and efficiency of this 'nasty surprise' seemed to
me to compare favourably with many of our air strikes, which
laid waste large patches of jungle, and scared the locals, but
seldom hit a C.T."
Major Assault Against a CT Camp
by
L F Comber
After his police career Leon moved into academic circles via
the University of Hong Kong to Monash University.
The following account is a summary of Leon's original report
to GPO Selangor.
He remarks that, in fact, 8 CTs were killed in this highly
successful attack; it was one of the first major battles with a
CT unit after the beginning of the Emergency.
"In July 1948 intelligence from agents and from interrogation
of squatters, suggested that there was a CT camp, housing
about 50 CTs, in the vicinity of the 11 and a 1/2 milestone on the KL -
Klang Road. The CTs had built well-camouflaged bunkers in a
disused mine, amidst the undergrowth. They were well armed
and supplied with food and intelligence by the local squatters
who were controlled by the CTs.
We decided to surprise the CTs by moving our men in vans
painted to look like Electricity Department vehicles, which
were a common sight in the area as they went about their
business of maintaining the power lines.
The assault party, led by the OCPD (the writer), would
consist of the informer, four detectives and a Lieutenant and
20 soldiers from the Royal Artillery. The area would be
cordoned off to prevent CTs escaping, by about 500 police and
military.
At 0700 hours on 21 August, the assault party embussed in
the electricity van and drove to the 11 1/2 milestone and along a motorable track into the Pilmoor Estate for 2 1/2 miles. We
debussed hoping that we had achieved surprise. We had
moved forward in extended order, guided by the informer for
about 100 yards when we spotted a post occupied by three
Chinese. The assault party opened fire killing one CT and
wounding the other two. We moved on at speed assuming that
the post we had attacked was a lookout and the main camp
would be nearby. We then heard firing that suggested that the
bandits had made contact with our cordon and, immediately
after, we came under heavy fire from close range. After a stiff
battle six CTs were killed; the assault party had two casualties:
one killed, one wounded. We continued the sweep but found
no more CTs."
Nine Lives: Saving My Skin
by
R Cheah
Robert, an Inspector, was an experienced SEa who had shown
considerable courage and ability in various actions. It will be
observed that, unlike the CTs who never set up an ambush
unless they were sure that they had superior numbers, the
police took four men to ambush eight CTs.
In mid-1952 I was Assistant District Special Branch OffIcer
(ADSBO) in Raub where I had often worked in a team
consisting of the District Special Branch Officer (DSBO),
Military Intelligence Officer (MIO) and our Junior Civil
Liaison Officer. Our operation orders tended to be simple,
along the lines of "Get your target and play it by ear if the
situation changes."
One evening an agent informed me that eight CTs would
be making a food collection at dawn the next day from a latex
collection shed on a nearby estate. I knew the area well and
that the latex shed was overlooked by a belukar and Lalang covered
hillock, which would make a useful place for an
ambush party.
The DSBO (ASP Petch) decided that our usual four man team would be big enough to deal with the CT food party, and
after briefing we set off at 0200 hours, first in a vehicle and
finally on foot, to the hillock. By 0530 hours we were in
position. The DSBO and his party concealed themselves, lying
flat in the scrub on top of the hillock armed with Bren, Sten,
shotgun and grenades. I was twenty-five yards further along
the hill where the only cover was from rubber trees: my task
was to provide a look out and possibly a rear guard, should the
CTs decide to reconnoitre the hillock before starting their food
lift.
At 0630 hours I saw a lone CT approaching cautiously
along the track leading to the shed, then a few seconds later
six armed CTs following in single file. The scout halted and
signalled to take cover at the side of the track. The DSBO's
party opened fire and I lost sight of the leading scout who had
disappeared otI the track. I repositioned myself, waiting
anxiously to spot a target and looking out in case a CT might
decide to try and sneak up behind us. Sure enough the leading
scout did come up the hill. He was about thirty yards away
when I saw him, and his weapon was pointing towards me. I
raised my gun instinctively and snapped otI a shot as soon as I
had him in my sights. He tumbled down the hill and his body
finished up about ten feet from me. I did not need a second
shot: I had hit him in the chest and he was dead.
Mter a few minutes, when silence reigned, the DSBO
called out softly to ask if everyone was all right and having
received a satisfactory answer, asked me to discover if all was
clear. It was.
The main party were dispirited: although there were some
patches of blood along the track, the CT main party had made
good its escape. When the DSBO asked me why I had fired, I
pointed to the dead CT beside me and said, "To save my skin."
The DSBO said, "So we did get one after all: good show!"
We found the dead man's weaponry nearby: it was a single
barrelled shotgun and when the MIO examined the
unexploded round in the breech he discovered the mark of the
firing pin. The CT had pulled the trigger but the round had failed to explode. The MIO exclaimed, "My God Robert, you
really have nine lives."
Tiger Squads
by
Dato' J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
When I took over as OCPD in Pagoh, I received a
particularly warm welcome from the locals, who had been
without an OCPD for some time in a district which had been
badly harassed by the CTs. I decided to give. priority to
training in order to restore morale and to deploy Tiger Squads
(TSs) to counter the CTs hit and run attacks. My TS consisted
of a sergeant, corporal and eight men. It was an. exhIlarating
challenge training these men and leading them in a counter
offensive against the cowardly foe and highly satisfactory to
be able to pass on the training, which I had received at the
Depot, to Malay Constables, who proved apt pupils as well as
being tough and brave. But, of course, there were moments of
deep sadness when some young man, with whom I had Just
shared a meal, became a casualty.
We perfected a drill for responding to hit and run raids.
The TS, armed to the teeth, would career through the town,
horns blaring, in an impressive show of a uniformed armed
force hurrying to catch the retreating CTs. As.soon as we were
out of sight of the town, however, seven or eIght of the squad
would drop off the lorry, and move rapidly into the jungle to
outflank the retreating CT party and ambush the terrorists. By
this means, TS could achieve tactical surprise, since the CTs
tended to be relaxed on the way home, thinking that the only
danger they might face would be from the noisy police party
behind them. Our ambushes came as a nasty shock.
A Teenage Female CT
by
S R Follows
Diary Entry 8th February 1957
Section Leader Chang Ah Tien found himself alone,
and hunted. He decided to surrender and through his mother
arranged a rendezvous (RV) with SB and was soon in Johore
Bahru Police HQ, with bags to eat and lots of fags. Now
Chang had to earn his keep and was briefed to lead some of
his old comrades into our ambush. He had not been allowed to
clean up, in order to preserve his cover.
9th February
This morning we set up our ambush. It was stinking hot and
the mosquitoes were diabolical.
The briefing officer had kindly said that, unless there were
more than seven CTs, we must bring them back alive, not
shoot them.
My companion, Noel, and I decided that three was a more
appropriate number.
At 1400 hours, the agreed time, we heard a sound. We
waited, safety catches off, sprang out, all ready for death or
glory, and saw one small ragged CT (whom we disarmed and
captured easily).
Two days later we set out again, and waited by a stream for
Chang to bring some CTs into our trap. Chang appeared
followed by a girl ina brand new uniform. The two
disappeared momentarily out of view and I felt something hit
me on my shoulder. A grenade? No, the girl had taken off a
gym shoe and thrown it across the stream. She got the fright of
her young life when Noel and I seized her, but she refused to
talk.
Back in our camp with Chang and the girl, whose hands
were tied behind her back, Chang said, "She won't talk; best
get rid of her." Noel yelled, "He's going to kill her." I brought
my carbine up to Chang's chest and said, "If you touch her,
I'll fire, drop your gun!" "You wouldn't shoot me!" "Try me." I said. "I wouldn't mind saving the government a few
thousand dollars, I promise you." Noel said, "He's not fooling,
Chang, drop your gun!" Chang had wanted to execute the girl
because, until she too had turned traitor to the CTs, she was a
threat to him. The drama had a useful effect: the girl agreed to
cooperate and give us all the information we wanted.
She was a seventeen-year-old from a Singapore college,
who had been involved in student riots, panicked and fled to
the jungle.
With the Gurkhas in Thailand: Operation Knot
by
D WombeIl
Dennis was about to attend the War Office Selection Board
(WOSB) with a view to getting a commission in the British
Army, having served with the KOYLI. When he was jungle
bashing under canvas with his battalion he succumbed to a
serious bout of malaria and when he came out of hospital in
Taiping, his battalion had left for Cyprus. He stayed in
Malaya as a police officer.
In 1953 I was a platoon commander with 18 Federal Juno1e
Company (FJC) operating in the deep jungles of North Per:k.
We were not permitted to cross into Thailand in hot pursuit,
and it was frustrating to know of the existence of larcre
Communist camps within easy striking distance of the bord:r,
to which the Thais turned a blind eye, on the understanding
that the Communists would refrain from doing anything nasty
on their own doorstep. Eventually, agreement was reached to
allow Malayan police to cross the border in hot pursuit up to a
depth of forty miles into Thailand.
Discreet aerial surveillance had pinpointed a number of
large camps in the Betong Salient - the projection of Thai
territory surrounded on three sides by the Malayan border in
which the MCP had established a safe haven - and it was
decided to attack Betong first. The aerial recces were covert
and less than perfect, and it was not certain whether the camps
were occupied. One large camp, however, was certainly
occupIed; there were a number of substantial attap (type of
thatch). huts and a parade ground that had a red flag flying
above It. A mouth-watering prospect for those of us who spent
our lives hunting for needles in haystacks south of the border!
18 and 20 (Gurkha) FJC were tasked with the series of
operations that were to follow. They were to last several
months and were designated 'Operation Knot'. The first phase
was to be carried out by two groups who were to attack the
primary and the most promising secondary targets simultaneously. The first group, consIsting of the Gurkha
company and two Malay platoons from 15th FJC, was to be
commanded by Johnnie West, with Ben Gard of 20 Company
as Second-in-Command. I commanded one of the Malay
platoons and P/Lt John Abercrombie the other.
In order to avoid alarming the terrorist community in the
Betong Salient where the CTs felt secure, we entered the
jungle well south of the Thai border. The officers travelled to
the area during the afternoon to recce the entry point for the
main force. The three of us spent the night in the cells at
Kampong Lalang Police Station. This afforded a great deal of
amusement. The rest of the force arrived in the early hours and
we stumbled our way into the jungle by the light of dim
torches, until we were well out of sight of the road. At
daybreak, after a cold breakfast, we commenced our march
north towards the Thai border and the notorious Betong
Salient.
We knew that the march would be tough. The distance as
the crow flies was about eleven miles, which meant almost
double that on the ground, and we would be going against the
'grain', with innumerable hills to climb and rivers to cross. We
calculated correctly that it would take us eight days to reach
the target. This made re-supply a problem, since normally
jungle patrols would be supplied by airdrop every four days,
and to carry eight days' rations as well as weapons and
ammunition on such a long and difficult march was not
sensible, if we wanted to arrive at the target area with men fit
to do battle. The problem was solved by having two platoons
of 18th FJC act as porters and carry two days' rations for the
main force before returning to camp. We then had to carry
only six days' rations.
A condition of the agreement with the Thais was that Thai
Police must accompany us on cross border operations and, on
this occasion, we had almost a full platoon of Thais with us.
They were nice chaps and acquitted themselves well on the
march. But after two years of jungle bashing in North Perak,
my hardened jungle-wise Malays were bemused by the carefree antics of the Thais, who seemed to treat the exercise
like a picnic. However, they soon packed away their shiny,
chromium-plated cap badges, their white scarves and towels,
and began to conduct themselves in a more soldierly manner.
Navigation, the most important aspect of the march, was
difficult. We had to locate a specific point in a vast area of
primitive and largely unknown jungle, using maps that were,
at best, rudimentary. The position of many of the rivers was
only approximate and in some places shown as almost straight
lines. I acted as a leading scout to find the best route, 'steered'
by Johnnie West and Ben Gard who were thus free to
concentrate on their maps.
We arrived without incident at a river that we calculated to
be two or three hours' march from the ridge above the terrorist
camp. We spent that night and the following day by the river
to allow the men to recover from the march, before climbing
the ridge the next night ready for the attack at first light the
following morning. We had a relaxing day but silence had to
be observed, and no fires were allowed. However, as the day
grew warmer I suddenly heard singing, shouting and a guitar.
The Thai contingent had decided that they might as well enjoy
themselves and were having a great time playing in the river
with a musical accompaniment from the bank. We quickly
stopped the larking about and, fortunately, no harm was done.
In the late afternoon we made our way slowly and quietly
to the top of the ridge beneath which, if our navigation had
been accurate, was a large CT camp. It was a tense time as we
sat lined up on the ridge in the growing darkness, listening for
any telltale sound that would tell us we were in the right place
and that all our efforts had not been wasted. Suddenly,there
arose from the river beneath us the sound of men singing. I
shall never forget the eerie thrill of it. The CTs were singing
their marching songs before lights out. We were in the right
place: between us we had performed a navigational miracle.
There was much spirited, quiet, discussion as to how best
to attack the camp at dawn. Our Gurkha platoon commanders
wanted to creep down and behead the sentries in the night - but then they always did. In retrospect, perhaps we should
have let them. I would have preferred a straightforward frontal
attack with all guns blazing, but Johnnie decided upon a
properly planned attack, putting stops to the left, to the right
and to the rear of the camp before a frontal attack with the
Gurkhas. I was to go to the right, leave a platoon on the track
at that side and then climb the hill behind the camp to cut off
the enemy retreat.
At first light we started to move into position. Abercrombie
moving down the hill to the. left and I down to the right
leaving Johnnie and Ben with the Gurkhas in line on the ridge.
As I moved down to the right and neared the river, we
came across a large well-built attap hut immediately in our
path. We approached it carefully. In fact it was a large store
full of food, uniforms and equipment and well outside the
camp. We were elated. This was a terrorist group on a grand
scale compared with the shabby deprived little groups we had
been used to. Just as we started off again, heavy firing broke
out from the other side of the camp and I assumed that the
attack had gone in before we had had time to put our stops out.
We hurtled down the hill to the riverside track and, as we
reached it, much heavier fire broke out from the direction of
the camp. I left a platoon on the track to block it and then
started to climb the hilI on the other side of the river to block
off the rear of the camp. We were too late. The escaping
terrorists were already above us on the hill and we came under
heavy fire. Eventually, all firing ceased and leaving the
platoon to cover the hill, I made my way to the camp. The
place was in turmoil: two dead terrorists in the middle of the
parade ground and Gurkhas running around in all directions
looking for someone to kill! Then Abercrombie's platoon
appeared from the track they had been blocking, carrying two
bodies, Abercrombie and Sergeant Abu Bakar had been killed.
When he had reached the riverside track that he was to
block, Abercrombie, accompanied by his sergeant, walked
down the track to reconnoitre. As he turned a corner he
suddenly found himself in a small clearing; it was a perfectly constructed sentry position with, at the far end of the clearing - a
large fallen tree behind which sat a sentry on a bench with his
Bren gun pointing down the track: he opened fire hitting Abercrombie
between the eyes and Sergeant Abu Bakar in the
heart. Both were killed instantly.
This had been the signal for the CTs to put their escape
drill into action. Johnnie West and Ben Gard had no
alternative but to lead their Gurkha attacking force at full tilt
down the hill and into the camp, knowing that the stops could
not have had time to take up their positions. The main body of
the terrorists, leaving two men to fIght a very courageous
rearguard action to delay the attackers, and carrying only their
weapons and ammunition, fled up the hill at the rear of the
camp. The Gurkhas very quickly killed the two men left
behind and charged into the camp. We tried to pursue the
fleeing terrorists but they had the advantage of the precipitous
slope, up which they had climbed ahead of us and from the
ridge top dispersed and melted into the jungle.
The camp was substantial. Apart from barrack rooms there
was a lecture hall, armoury, cookhouse and well-stocked
stores. The defences were well planned and consisted of
trenches, strong points and well-sited sentry positions with
cleared killing grounds. There were even two bicycles with
which it was just possible to ride down the rough riverside
track to the nearest Thai village some miles away.
It was, of course, very disappointing that such a complex
operation, so well planned and executed, had been largely
frustrated by a premature movement by one offIcer who
sadly, paid for his mistake with his life.
Success, however, is not solely measured in the number of
kills. The information gathered from the camp in documents
and photographs was incalculable. The operation also
sIgnalled to the MCP that they were no longer in a position to
thumb their noses at us whenever they disappeared over the
border into Thailand.
The following day it was pouring with rain. I had contacted
a bad bout of dysentery and, as I squatted over the Communist-made open-air bamboo loo feeling unutterably
miserable and soaking wet, my eyes alighted on a piece of
newspaper left behind by the terrorists. A large advertisement
read, "You can be in Belfast tonight for £10.00."
"My God!" I
thought, "if only!"
Deep Jungle: A Police Lieutenant Remembers
by
J W Camm
Joseph Camm was another of the Police/Lt cadre. He had cut
his military teeth as a rear-gunner in Wellington bombers.
Many of us who have contributed to this book about the
Federation of Malaya Police will now have celebrated their
80th birthdays.
Possibly, some of our duties carried out in the jungle
during the Emergency would now be considered rather
dangerous, but to us in those days it was not so. We had
volunteered to do our duty.
Quite a number of us had experienced active service during
the war years, participating in much more horrendous
activities. I, myself, was a Wellington bomber rear-gunner.
We try to forget those terrible air raids over Germany, but it
had to be. Hitler had to be defeated and, in like manner, Chin
Peng and the Communists had also to be defeated.
My first impression of Malaya and its people was
wonderful. They were so polite, had respect for each other
whether rich or poor, and gave loving care to their children,
often in very difficult circumstances. The Royal Malayan
Police contributed to their freedom from the CTs and I am
sure that the citizens of today, especially the elderly, thank
them for their devoted service during the Emergency.
The Field Force Jungle Squad (FFJS), with whom I served
as a P/Lt, did not adhere to the same strict procedures as the
army. We had our own rules, but once in the jungle we were
on our own with a sergeant, three corporals, a wireless
operator and approximately thirty constables - Chinese, Malay and Indian.
A P/Lt's command of a jungle squad was a very
independent command. We sometimes served for two months
at a time in forts deep in the jungle, patrolling outside and
trying to shelter the locals from the CTs in the area.
On one cross border patrol, we met a man who seemed to
be from another age. He was naked, a 2ft long bamboo tube
full of poison-tipped darts hung from a cord round his waist,
and he carried an 8ft long blowpipe. We followed him into his
little camp of about twenty-five men, women and children.
Some were naked, some wore skins and some had bones
through their noses. It seemed that we were the first people
they had ever seen from the outside world, and they found my
red hair particularly astonishing. We gave them what food we
could spare, and in return we were treated to soup served in
half coconut shells. I found a monkey's paw afloat in my
bowl, but I was able to remove the delicacy surreptitiously and
drop it inside my shirt.
We were glad of the airdrops of rations which, guided by
our smoke, were usually accurate, but I often envied the
aircrews their swift transport. They would be home in hours;
we would not be home for weeks.
Every night we made bashas out of sticks with waterproof
capes for roofs. We slept in the dry clothes from our rucksacks
and in the morning donned our filthy wet clothes to resume
our march.
Although we occasionally came under fire, we were never
engaged in a serious firefight. As soon as the CTs discovered
that they were outnumbered, they always faded away into the
jungle. On one occasion, we spotted panji (sharpened bamboo)
stakes along a track and then a CT camp capable of holding
100 CTs, but the camp was empty. There was ammunition,
clothing and documents in Chinese, in the huts and these we
were able to carry back to base. We destroyed the camp.
On one of my last missions we were lying in ambush in a
rubber estate; my ambush position was in a ditch near the spot
where, according to an informer, a female tapper used to leave food for the CTs. We watched the tapper coming towards us,
pausing at each tree to pour the latex from the little cups into
her bucket. She stopped a few paces away from us and looked
all round her, searching, we thought, for CTs, our guns were at
the ready and the excitement was intense. Our mission was
almost concluded. But it was not to be. She stopped just in
front of our shelter, started fumbling with her clothes and it
became clear that she was about to relieve herself beside us. I
shouted, in a broad Yorkshire accent, "Oi! 'Op it." She rushed
off screaming and that was the end of that operation.
Sometimes we served for two months or so in the deep
jungle forts that were a safe haven for those fleeing from the
CTs.
My early days were spent in Johore but, when my wife and
three children arrived in Malaya, I asked to be transferred to
Ipoh so that my son could attend a school and my family
would be safer in a town.
Many CTs were crossing the border into Thailand, where
the British Army could not follow them, and it became the
responsibility of the Malayan PFF to work with the Thai
Police to dispose of them.
I remember several days after crossing the border, noticing
a very, very old stone on which was engraved the word SIAM,
placed there many years before; I wish that I could have taken
a photograph of it.
There was always an element of danger and the fear of an
ambush when walking down those lonely paths, and I found
the tracks in the border area much more frightening than the
deep jungle. Weeks later it was nice to view the South China
Sea.
The jungle through which we travelled in Thailand was
unmapped, unexplored territory. It was there that we met the
man of the past. The blowpipe he exchanged for a bag of rice
and a heavy knife, hangs on my living room wall, a memento
of the past.
My police days soon passed and when the Emergency
eventually ended, I spent a further three years as a tin mining engineer. In 1993 I spent a short holiday in Malaysia, and was
delIghted when a gentleman approached me and mentioned
that he had served with me. It was wonderful, as my red hair
was now turning white and I wondered how he had recognised
me after all those years.
I will always remember him and the other members of my
platoon. We were a team, each of us proud to have been in the
Force and to serve the citizens of Malaya to the utmost of our
ability.
May they live in Peace and Harmony... God bless them all.
|
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Operation Googly
|
|
by
A J V Fletcher
The overall effect of 'Googly' was far-reaching and heralded
a spate of surrenders. In addition to Graham's Bar to his
Military Cross, Goh and Gus Fletcher were awarded the GM
Idris the CPM for gallantry and seven Gurkha soldiers were
also decorated.
The heart of any honest SBO (no snide remarks of
'contradiction in terms' please), who has devoted his energies
to penetrating the organisation of the jungle-dwelling
Communist Terrorist Organisation (CTO), and to recruiting
and directing against them agents or, even better, 'doubling'
the CTOs ' own agent s, must be gladdened by the arrival of a
letter from the leader of a target organisation inside the jungle,
sugge sting a meeting. When the writer of the letter (dated 25
September, 1956, beautifully written in Chinese, well-sprinkled
with orotund phrases and with the stern injunction
on the envelope 'Not to be opened by unauthorised persons' )
then proposes to offer his services and those of his group of
terrorists, joy is unconfined.
But hard on the heels of euphoria comes suspicion. The
writer of the letter, Wang Hsi, was a highly effecti ve operator,
who had occasioned us much grief over the years with
cunningly placed ambushes and despatched to their ancestors many unfortunate local citizens thought to be in cahoots with
government, to remove the threat to Wang and 'pour
encourager les autres'.
The letter came to me through several intermediaries,
Wang's own father (a respectable elderly peasant) being the
final link in the chain. In the letter Wang, who had previously
gone to considerable lengths to remove me from this world ,
began by wishing me 'good health and happiness'. He
apologised for not knowing my 'precious surname and great
given names'. Referring to himself throughout the letter as
'this small person' (in the old Confucian term), he proposed a
meeting to discuss future joint action against the Communist
hierarchy who, he said, had betrayed him. If this was
acceptable, he said, his father knew how to get a message back
and would lead me to an agreed rendezvous. Among other
requests he asked to be supplied with two sets of jungle-green
uniforms and a 'No voice Si Teng ' (i.e. a silenced Sten gun).
Dear Mr Officer-in-Charge,
First Iet me wish you and everyone of your officers' good health in this
letter. I have not addressed you by your name because I do not know
your honourable famiIy name.
Time and again I listen to the government's appeals to "Lay down
arms, to work with the government to build a prosperous Malaya, to
end the Malayan Communist Terrorist shooting war, and to strive for
livelihood, democracy and a peaceful life for the people." This is a duty
that every citizen living in Malaya should fulfil with full loyalty.
Presented with a government policy that is benevolent and lenient
towards surrendered personnel and gives consideration to placing them
in employment, surrendered personnel thus feel boundlessly relieved and
grateful to the government. This will similarly touch future surrendered
personnel. The government is also constantly using aircraft to make
explanatory broadcasts to us, agreeing to give us a good life and
affirming that it will honour its promises. I thus feel even more grateful
and have plucked up courage to accept the government's appeal and
return to the Malagan Government's fold to help it eliminate the Malayan Communists. Looking back on the past eight or more years, I suddenly see the light and realise that I have gone against my own will and direction, and that I have failed to contribute my best to the
people.
I have thought about what tasks I can carry out before
surrendering. To make a contribution to the Malayan people's cause of
peace, I consider that I can lie low within the ranks of the Malayan
Communist troops and report when I have intelligence. At present I
have an opportunity to eliminate two important Malayan Communists
(the Secretary and Deputy Secretary of a District Committee).
I haue a few questions, which I have to ask the government:-
1: The price for my undertaking the tasks. Regarding rewards
for eliminating Malayan Communist personnel, am I entitled
to claim from the government?
2: The question of reinstatement of my social status (citizenship
rights and personal freeaom).
3: Arequest for the release of four political prisoners (Li Jie,
Fan Yafo, Liang Dong and Zhong Yongdai. They are
said to be connected with supporting the Malayan
Communists and having dealings with me. If these are the
facts of the case, I will stand surety for them. Will the
government alIow me to act as their guarantor? The first two
are members of my family. I ask that the government pardon
and be forgiving to them.
4: Can the government agree to this my request: that I=its military
and police suspend temporarily their patrols, ambushes and
combing operations on rubber estates and jungle fringes
within our operational area. (The Area is Ulu An, Gangwei, towards Muar). These operations will hinder our making
contact and communication work especially in the initial
stages of contact being established. As early as a month ago, I
already sought to forward letters to CHEN. In the process of
contacting the masses, I was interrupted several times by
police patrols, hence the delay in the presentation of this
letter.
5: I can try and think of a way to go personally to your
residence to meet and discuss in detail the above questions and tasks, and the problems of establishing and maintaining contact.
6: Finally, I ask the government to agree to let me get a member
of the masses to bring me some foodstuffs. As for the identity
of those members of the masses, I will report next time.
Regarding the above six questions, would the government please
write and let me have instruction.
Regards
In secret and in haste. Please excuse and correct me if I have made
any errors.
Herewith a sheet of the Malayan Communist Liberation
Army notepaper as evidence. I ask particularly that, on receipt of
this letter, you detail trusted British and Gurkha soldiers (one of
whom must speak Chinese) to go with this contact man (my father)
at 5 o'clock; this afternoon to the destination: the rear fringe of the
Japanese rubber estate at Ulu An. I have orally arranged with
him all the contacting arrangements. please believe me, I have no
plots to ensnare and harm you, and there will not be any
untoward incidents. Should I betray you, the members of my
family can be punished. As for our meeting and discussion place,
please avoid the presence of other people. I also ask that you give
me an introduction to call on the British Officer-in-Charge of
counter-insurgency operations.
After the meeting, we can arrive back in the jungles on the
morning of the 27th and carry out a task; the ambush of two
Malayan Communists (a Deputy District Committee Secretary and
a courier). The government can send soldiers to go with us to carry
out the ambush. First of all, please have prepared two Sten guns
with silencers for shooting and killing terrorist elements. Also send
two suits of military uniform, military caps and shoes for disguise.
It is best that the guide should be in disguise too. I have offered
my suggestions regarding the above matters, and apologise if my
views are wrong. I had intended that we met up on the 25th but
circumstances and the fact that I had no way of getting hold of
my contact prevent this. Only today the 26th have I been able to get hold of him. Also, as today is the date of my return to the
camp, I am unable to meet you for a discussion. As for the tasks
discussed above, will the government please write and let me have
its instructions as to whether it agrees with the proposed action.
On the 18th I will be able to meet the contact again at five o'clock
in the afternoon, the rendezvous being the fringe of "Bating Tunan
Rubber Estate, Gangwei".
There was no doubt of the authenticity of the letter. The
question uppermost in my mind was the possibility of a trap
leading to the speedy and economical removal of DSBO Goh
Chin Hee and myself, both having been a thorn in Wang's side
for a long time. To add to my nervousness was that for some
days before the arrival of the letter, we had been receiving
reports of large numbers of CTs in the general area where
Wang and his Armed Work Force (AWF) held sway.
But Wang was not playing from strength; he had suffered a
number of losses at our hands over the years. His A WF was
now reduced to four, himself, District Committee Member
(DCM) Tang Hsin, a tough and experienced Teochew, and
two women soldiers, one of whom, Hsiao Ling, had been
wounded in an earlier engagement.
But despite his parlous condition Wang was still in
communications with other senior bodies of the CTO in the
area. The opportunity of using a 'live' CT group, under my
direction, against these targets (which was what Wang seemed
to be proposing) was, indeed, attractive.
Inspector Goh, hard as nails and happier in the jungle. than
out of it, immediately said that he was ready to take up
Wang's offer. Goh had started his career as a teacher and
spoke five Chinese dialects. He was an action man but he had
a clear and logical mind and quick perception.
We sent back a message suggesting a date and time of
meeting at a location on the jungle fringe while declining, with
thanks, Wang's offer to have his father guide us, so as to give
us a day or two's breathing space. I drove to SB HQ in KL to
seek advice from Mike Day, an officer whose judgement I much valued. Mike suggested that, as we didn't know which
way the ball would bounce, we call the project 'Operation
Googly' (had I been quicker off the mark, I might have
counter-proposed the term 'Chinaman' - the term for a
Googly ball that goes the other way). Mike would provide us
with an important SEP operating under the pseudonym
'Thomas'. 'Thomas' would arrive in Kuala Pilah in an SB car
with a minder and then, sans minder, would accompany us to
our rendezvous with Wang, who would be most impressed
since Thomas' was frightfully important but he had only just
come out from the jungle and we were forbidden to ask
Thomas' about his background.
The difficulty of minimising knowledge of an operation
like Googly on a 'need to know' basis (by any standards
delicate) was immense, for the Colonial Service had its fair
share of officials whose amour propre was easily dented. I had
to inform my District War Executive Committee (DWEC), my
Head of SB in Seremban (25 miles away) who had to inform
the CPO who told the Commissioner of Police, who told the
Director of Operations (DOP) and the Director Special Branch
(DSB) - and so on.
I was anxious to involve the 2nd Gurkhas who were
stationed in Kuala Pilah. We would need a small selected
group of these splendid soldiers and Major Graham Vivian
handpicked five of his men. Graham was a superb officer,
misleadingly easy-going but tough as hickory.
I had previously spent three years in close liaison with
Gurkhas in Pahang and part of that time I led a jungle squad,
sometimes on combined operations with them. They seemed
to me to have only one drawback (and it was a terrifying one);
on coming across a camp of disagreeably-minded CTs, who
almost always outnumbered us, they tended to drop their
perfectly good firearms, draw their fearsome kukris and,
screaming war-cries, charge into the thick of them. My own
preference was to fire from behind the thickest tree I could
find, thus giving myself a reasonable chance of survival- and
I encouraged my men to do the same. When operating in concert with Gurkhas, however, it was always my worry that
they would charge the enemy, in which case one would have
to charge with them, although kukri-Iess, for fear of being
called a wimp - or, even worse, being decapitated in the
general excitement of the charge. The trouble was that their
British officers were as mad as, or madder than, their men.
Wang's father reported back that the meeting was on.
Thomas' arrived and we set off with the comforting thought
that Graham and five desperados were shadowing us.
'Thomas', a taciturn and slightly lugubrious Chinese, seemed
to take it as all part of the day's work. Inspector Goh, eyes
gleaming, was enjoying every minute. And with us was my
Detective Corporal Idris, a veteran of several firefights. He
still carried in his leg a slug from a CT carbine, a memento
from a fight with Wang's unit. I spoke to Idris sternly about
not entertaining thoughts of revenge when we met Wang.
The journey, by track and on foot, took in 'dirty' rubber
than that, beEukar accepted, there is nothing more horrible to
traverse, a LaEang valley and finally jungle. We four waited. I
had taped a.32 pistol to my body with the sticky tape from a
First Field Dressing and wondered, too late, how I would be
able to produce it in a hurry.
Eventually, we heard the sound of a stick rapped against a
tree, followed by whooping noises and then two Chinese
figures emerged from the trees - clad only in undergarments
made, with confounded cheek, from parachute silk from our
parachutes.
With hands raised and conciliatory smiles, the two figures
approached. We recognised them at once, for their mug shots
adorned my office wall, along with those of all the other CT
groups in my area. The ensuing conversation was in
Cantonese, a Chinese dialect which all of us spoke fluently. I
handed over a bottle of Benedictine Dom, a liqueur much
favoured by Chinese for the alleged potency of the herbs used
in the distillation process. After the obligatory pleasantries,
including a polite scrutiny by Wang and Tang of Idris's bullet
wound, it was agreed to bring up Graham's men and Wang's two female CTs.
Over the years we had all had dealings with SEPs, and with
captured CTs. But to be in cahoots with a complete, albeit
decimated, unit was, to say the least, gripping stuff.
Our first priority was to establish trust and understanding
between us and not to rush too fast to direct Wang to wage
war on his companions. But Wang made it clear, that an
important target would present itself shortly. The State
Committee Member (SCM) of Negri Sembilan, Hsiao Feng (a
woman with a reputation for being, even by CT standards,
tough and merciless), was about to arrive with policy
directions for Wang and other CT groups in the area. The
precise date and time of her arrival would be noted in a
message at a courier letter-drop at a 'liaison point' some miles
from us. But we had some days before the arrival of this VIP,
who would be accompanied by her female second-in- charge
and a male bodyguard.
We left Wang and his group having made arrangements for
the next meeting, Wang was, understandably, anxious that we
preserved total secrecy: should any inkling of his double role
get to other CT groups, he and his A WF would be dealt with
'with extreme prejudice'. I remarked that we were all in the
same boat, 'Y'ung chau kung chi' ('Together in boat, mutually
assist').
Back in Kuala Pilah SB we conferred. No SBO would pass
up the chance of getting an important bigwig terrorist alive; in
actions at close quarters in jungle warfare there is rarely such a
chance. Here was an opportunity of capturing a VIP who, if
she could be persuaded to talk, would enable us to create great
alarm and despondency.
But Hsiao Feng was a lady of great fighting prowess, quick
on the draw and with a penchant for throwing hand grenades,
one or two of which were always on her belt. The answer
seemed to be to find a way of rendering her and her group
incapable. Drink was not on the cards, since like most
Southern Chinese, she didn't drink ('Dom', perhaps,
excepted), and even if she did she would hardly allow Wang and his group to get her sozzled. Our only option was to
administer some form of strong but harmless narcotic. No
bloodshed; no noise (the sound of shooting carried for miles in
jungle, despite the trees). So I asked KL for something suitable
in the way of narcotic. After some agonising on the part of my
bosses In KL as to the ethics of putting the enemy into a deep
slumber, they agreed. (This seemed to some of us a little odd
since in the past eight years some few thousand, on both sides,
has succumbed to lead poisoning as it were). The dope duly
arrived.
For the next few days we kept in touch with Wang and his
AWF that was now, we hoped, under our control. Effective
security was a pressing priority and difficult to ensure: inside
the jungle we were secure, when getting in and out there was
al ways the risk of being spotted by locals, some of whom were
in contact with other A WFs in the area.
Throughout this difficult period, Inspector Goh played a
leading part, well backed up by the urbane Graham and his
Gurkhas who, as always, took on a new aspect when away
from their base and on operations in the jungle. their
ImpassIve faces took on a kind of fiendish excitement at the
thought of an impending fight. I was devoutly relieved that
these warriors were on our side.
I was equally glad that Wang and his group were with us.
After many years in the jungle (like many CTs he had fought
as a member of the MPAJA) his jungle craft was superb. He
and his group moved with effortless speed, in silence, and had
an almost telepathic ability to communicate between
themselves. In fact they were, in many ways, creatures of the
rain forest whose senses were developed to an amazing pitch. I
had never believed that the jungle was neutral, a la Spencer
Chapman, for, apart from the fact that it always seemed to
have some sort of personal vendetta against me when I
operated in Pahang, there is no doubt that a small group of
seasoned, fast-moving guerrillas whose home is the jungle has
a definite advantage over groups of heavily-accoutred police
or military who go in to find them.
To see 'our' AWF pitch camp for the night was an eyeopener.
While we lopped saplings over which to drape our
poncho sheets with considerable noise (which I could see
Wang, though remaining politely impassive, found amazingly
unprofessional), the four ex-CTs with unbelievable speed
slung nylon hammocks (more captured air-drop parachutes!)
between trees and after a silently and speedily consumed meal
of rice and dried fish were asleep, each side of us-although we
were convinced that, like jungle animals, they were able to
sleep with one eye open.
Tang, much bigger than his leader, was a loose-limbed
young tough with a grin and a great sense of fun. Big as he
was, he could move tirelessly through even the most difficult
jungle with speed and grace. The time came for Tang to take
off for the RV with Hsiao Feng and the group who should
have reached a liaison point only a mile or so away. In
addition to Hsiao Feng, the group was to consist of another
female CT (she was, it turned out, Wang's inamorata, although
he didn't confess that at the time), a courier who was bringing
information about the impending arrival of yet another VIP
CT, and a male CT bodyguard.
We moved away from Wang's camp, where he planned to
welcome his leader on her arrival with a suitably spiked cup of
Ovaltine (a beverage which was much favoured in Malaya).
The time passed slowly and sweatily in anticipation mixed
with nervousness. If anything went wrong, if just one of Hsiao
Feng's group escaped, the future of 'Googly' would be
problematical, to say the least; at worst, should we try to
continue it, we could all find ourselves on the receiving end of
counter-measures by incensed CTs, intent on terminating the
traitors in their midst, with the elimination of the rest of us as a
desirable secondary goal.
Tang appeared as usual out of nowhere. He had met Hsiao
Feng and her group and they were all in Wang's camp. The
spiked Ovaltine had been administered but the taste was so
foul that Hsiao Feng and the others had gagged on it and,
although woozy, were still half-conscious. The only answer was to pick them up and we did so - Goh leading the charge
into the camp and securing the group. Hsiao Feng, game to the
last and despite being only half-conscious, tried to roll a hand
grenade down on the attacking party but lacked the strength to
pull the pin.
We had achieved our object; the whole group was
captured. It would be some time before the complex
communication/contact/liaison points system would reveal to
the jungle command that something was seriously amiss;
meanwhile we had to get Hsiao Feng and her party, including
her personal bodyguard, out of the jungle, while we returned
to Wang and his A WF for what we hoped would be the next
phase, when the State Committee Secretary, Chen Ho, would
be our target. The removal of this leader, with his pivotal role
in the CTO including policy-making and contact with the
South Malaya Bureau, would deal a body-blow to the eTO in
the entire region: the possibilities, if we could capture and turn
him, were enormous.
I complained to KL about the 'Mickey Finn', making the
point that, however powerful the dope was, its efficiency was
much diminished if it tasted so foul. The boffins took note and
promised to come up with a Mark II version.
The Mark IT product duly arrived and like the original it
looked like an innocuous white powder. The dosage
prescribed was the same as before, and there was a minatory
note that the prescribed amount should not be exceeded. But
accurately measuring out the requisite amount in the darkness
of a jungle camp had not been easy for Wang on the first
occasion - and would be no easier this time.
Wang, meanwhile, was continuing his old life, keeping in
contact with various 'cells' of local rubber tappers and the like
who were assisting him with food, money or information, and
keeping open his chain of communication with other CT
groups by means of jungle courier points where 'dead-drop'
letters were exchanged, or by means of the famous 'rolled
slips', exquisitely and minutely written Chinese characters on
rice paper, sometimes rolled into the thickness of a matchstick and easily concealed, particularly when carried by an outside
agent travelling by bus, bicycle or car from one A WF to the
agent of another and thus into the jungle. The complexity of
this system, and the almost infallible 'fail safe' machinery,
which ensured an automatic break-up and move to a new
location by a CT group should a jungle letter box remain
unfilled, or a CT courier fail to meet his fellow courier at a
liaison point, was one to excite admiration. It would have been
beyond the scope of most of us, I always felt, and put it down
to the fact that a people who can store 5,000 Chinese
characters in their head, have 650 different names for varieties
of tea and who as children can, and must, recite from memory
page after page of the writings of Confucius would find such
matters simple enough.
We were now ready for the next phase in concert with
Wang and his group, with whom we were establishing a good
rapport. One of Wang's two female soldiers had been badly
wounded in the face in an engagement several years
previously. This had left her with a disfigured jaw and
impaired hearing, one of the bullets having exited by her ear.
She was named simply Ah Mui (young sister) and, like the
other young woman soldier, tended to remain in the
background. She was obviously anxious to speak however,
and also a Cantonese speaker Gust as well, for at the time
Cantonese was my only Chinese dialect), and slipped over to
where I was eating my rice to ask if I thought she could,
'When all this is over,' have an operation on her face to
remove or at any rate ameliorate the effects of the bullets. I
said that I would do my best.
The CT communication system, still unaware of Wang's
defection, continued to operate with its usual efficiency. Again
Tang went off to meet a courier, from the State Secretariat
where Chen Ho presided. The courier, satisfied that all was
well, gave a message to Tang to the effect that Chen Ho would
be accompanied by the DCM in charge of an A WF in the
Lelebu area, plus a bodyguard, an ordinary member who knew
our local area (the others didn't) and two other CTs, one of whom was armed with a Bren light machine-gun). The Bren
gunner, one Chang of huge build and great strength, was
reputed to be able to use this fearsome weapon (which, despite
its description, was far from light) with one hand as lesser men
might fire a pistol. This was a nervous-making and unwelcome
piece of information.
We moved off to be near one of Wang's camps where
Chen Ho would arrive. The narcotic would be given to him
and, if possible, to the others and, at a given signal, we would
rush in and capture Chen Ho and as many of the others as we
could. The importance of capturing Chen Ho alive was one
which could not be over-estimated: it was on the cards that he
would be able to lead us to the South Malaya Bureau and to
Ho Lung, its legendary commander.
When Tang went off to meet Chen Ho's party we held a
conference. We had to neutralise the Bren gun. Inspector Goh
immediately offered to take on this high-risk task. Graham and
his men, with Idris, would take on the other 'hostiles', while I
would grab Chen Ho, mouthing dire threats as to his fate
should he not immediately surrender. Beyond this we couldn't
plan much further.
Another long, hot afternoon passed. The green gloom of
the jungle quietly deepened as the sun, out of sight above the
tree canopy, slid down the sky. Night fell. Tang, who had not
only the grace but also the eyes of a cat, appeared with the
news that the visiting VIP and group had arrived and were
settling in. Tang had left the camp with, to use his Chinese
term, "A disorderly stomach" as an excuse. Very slowly, he
took us closer still to the camp. Eventually we were so near
that we could hear voices, glimpse a faint flame from a small
cooking fire and hear the occasional click of metal. Tang
promised to return after their evening meal, which would be
late, again with the excuse that his innards were playing up.
By then he, and we, hoped that the dope would have worked,
and If we were lucky we might grab the lot.
The time dragged on. We perforce were 'cold', i.e. we ate
iron rations and drank water. One of the benefits of joint operations with Gurkhas, in addition to their jungle prowess
and valour, is that among their re-rationing airdrops large,
hermetic ally sealed tins of rum are included. But sadly we had
no airdrop, and no rum.
Although the CT camp was very close, we were separated
from it by a steep V-shaped gorge, and we would have to go
down one side and up the other. No questions of a mad, death-or-glory charge here, and thinking of the fearsome whirling
kukris and the darkness, this was something of a relief to me.
The sounds from the camp gradually subsided. Then, with
a discreet cough when he was a few feet away, Tang was
among us. The drug had produced little or no effect, he said.
Wang put the correct amount in Chen Ho's drink; he had
swallowed it but carried on talking. The same effect, or lack of
it, had occurred with one or two of the others.
"What about the gigantic and ill-visaged Oriental Al
Capone, the Bren gunner?" I asked. "Didn't take any," said
Tang, with a happy grin, adding that in his opinion, now that
most of the enemy were pretty well asleep we could follow
him crawl down the ravine, up the opposite side and grab as
many as we could of them, shooting the rest. The VIP, Chen
Ho, was lying on a raised platform, Tang said. Wang was on
the far side of him and Chen Ho's bodyguard on the other
side, nearest to me when I approached.
There was a sentry standing near the small smudge fire
who would open fire on us as soon as he realised that we were
attacking. The Bren gun was over to the right, near a small
nipah-palm bivouac. Tang and Goh would make a beeline for
it and its operator. Graham and his men, with Idris, would
engage the others while I would make the acquaintance of VIP
Chen Ho. After this whispered Chinese conversation, we
repeated everything to Graham who passed it on in Gurkhali to
his five soldiers. (The amazing thing about these tri-lingual
instructions was that, unlike Chinese whispers, nothing was
misunderstood and everyone subsequently followed the plan
to the letter).
By now it was about 0200 hours and we began a most agonisingly slow crawl. It was dark as pitch, except for the
ever-present phosphorescent glow of decomposing vegetation.
Tang went first. Goh followed him with his hand always on
his back. I was right behind Goh, my hand on the small of his
back, then Graham, Idris and the Gurkhas, all, in the Stygian
blackness, with one hand on the man in front. We would have
looked like some monstrous jungle-green centipede, had there
been any light.
Going up was easier than the coming down. We could see a
glow from a small fire and hear the occasional Chinese
comment in the camp. Every so often, despite our best efforts,
there would be the snap of a twig, a rustle and once the clink
of metal. I remember fervently wishing, first that I could be
somewhere elseaIid, as we got closer and closer to the fInal
charge, wishing to get it over - now!
When we fInally reached the camp everything seemed to
happen very fast indeed. Inspector Goh and a Gurkha
Sergeant, directed by Tang, found the Bren and threw it to one
side. Graham and his men came. under close-range fire from
the sentry and several CTs, who were using Sten guns. I
reached the sleeping platform, guided both by the flashes of
gunfire to my right (from Graham & co as well as the enemy),
and by Wang calling urgently in English, "Come on!" (the
only time, incidentally, I ever heard him speak English; I
suspect these words represented a large slice of his
vocabulary). He was holding, in a bear hug, both to restrain
him and to stop him reaching for his gun, a CT whom, I
supposed, was Chen Ho. As I was about to relieve Wang of his
burden, there was a tremendous bang from behind Wang and a
charge of buckshot went past my left ear. I dropped to a low
crouch and fired my.38 at the flash. Unfortunately, in doing
so I hit Wang, twice; once in his left shoulder, shattering it,
and once 'creasing' him right across the top of his head. This,
understandably, caused him to lose both his concentration and
his grip on Chen Ho who, being nearer to me than to Wang,
should have been more likely to be hit. (The CT nearest to me
on the platform had grabbed his shotgun when the fIght began and slid off the platform, and it was he who fired at me).
Wang fell back, half conscious, and Chen, like all CTs,
possessed of the reflexes of a wild animal, began to slip off the
platform. As he did so, Inspector Goh arrived and put the
beam of his torch on him, the while saying laconically "You
move, I shoot": Chen Ho, looking down the barrel of a 9mm
Browning pistol, ceased his attempt to slide away. At that
moment I saw the CT who had opened up at me with his
shotgun (single barrel, fortunately), and this time was able to
take a good aim, the light being not too bad. To my chagrin,
all that happened was the sickening sound of clicks, at which
point I realised, too late, that I had fired all of my rounds at the
shotgun flash.
A Gurkha soldier then arrived, having taken part in the gun
battle to my right. In great excitement! grabbed his arm and
said, "Get him!" (In English of course) and the young soldier,
not understanding a word, merely grinned. In desperation I
grabbed his head and turned it towards the escaping CT who
was, with great sangfroid, easing his way to the far edge of the
camp. Goh took his torch from Chen Ho's face, the better to
illuminate the departing CT. The soldier ripped off a burst
from his Sten. Goh brought his torch back to Chen who, in the
darkness, had slid eel-like from the platform and through
Goh's legs. As Goh slowly brought his torch up and along
Chen's most likely path he caught him in the beam. Goh
loosed off several rounds, Chen lurched and slipped but then
disappeared from view. A follow-up was useless; the
blackness, away from the camp, was total.
It was all over. Perhaps two minutes had passed from the
time we had entered the camp to the last shot fired. We
patched up the wounded, collected the dead and gathered up
the weapons and documents of Chen Ho and the others. At
dawn we began the painful trek out of the jungle. Wang was
semi-conscious but amazingly stoical about the whole thing,
and bore me no grudge for shooting him. Our team had
suffered no casualties other than Wang, and three of the
enemy had been killed. We had caused maximum dislocation of the organisation and had recovered, in addition to weapons,
maps and documents. Nevertheless, we had failed in our main
objective, the capture of Chen Ho.
We studied a map that had been in Chen's pack. This was a
British Army 'Artillery' map and was in a War Department
(WD) map case inscribed with the name of a British Captain
of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, who had been killed in a road
ambush a year or so previously; the Captain's WD compass
was also in Chen's pack. On the map, located in the jungle
miles away, were two carefully drawn circles. One was named
'Wild Boar', the other 'Honey Bee'. These were, obviously,
contacting/courier points and the captured courier from our
earlier attack confirmed this.
I went to the military with a request that with the CT guide
they put in an ambush party on both places. As always, Bill
Vickers, the CO of the 2nd Gurkha Rifles was completely cooperative.
He was also (and who could blame him?) most
sceptical of Chen Ho making it to either spot. He ticked off the
reasons; Chen Ho may have been wounded, he was without
food or clothes other than underpants, he had no shoes, map,
compass, gun or guide. He was miles away from his operating
area. He had been betrayed by his own people and was almost
certainly in a state of shock. Either he would die in the jungle
or he would make it to a rubber estate and surrender. But if we
thought there was a chance, soldiers would be supplied.
Bill's logical reasoning was sound. But Goh and I were
both aware that CTs possessed superhuman qualities of
survival and more at home in the jungle than any of us, could
perform feats of endurance that beggared belief. Graham
shared our view and the troops were sent the next day. I went
with them, the Whirlwind helicopter Hying along valley floors
to keep the noise down as far as possible. I came back in the
chopper to Kuala Pilah, where Goh and I continued our
examination of the captured CT papers.
Four days later Chen Ho reached one of the two sites
marked on his map and was shot dead by troops of the
Federation Regiment who had relieved the Gurkhas at the two ambush positions. I was disappointed; any SBO would prefer a
live CT to a dead one, for the latter can't talk:. But I certainly
felt no sympathy for Chen Ho who, like most of his kind, had
carried out acts of unspeakable cruelty against hapless locals.
Ambushes on police and military were to be expected, but the
torture and killing of local rubber tappers, labourers and rice-growers,
including the immolation of whole families inside
their huts, put him beyond the pale.
Wang's head wound was not serious but his left shoulder
was shattered and he would never be able to raise his arm fully
agam, He was philosophical about this, however, regarding it
as one of the fortunes of war. When, two years later, I left for
Singapore and the UK by train from Seremban (my HQ town)
WIth my Wife and baby, I suffered a great deal of ribbing from
my police and military friends over the fact that at the station
platform to bid.us farewell, several bearing beautiful examples
of Chinese calligraphy extolling my many virtues, the ex-CTs,
surrendered and captured, outnumbered my own colleagues.
And in the midst of them all was Wang, who made sure that
his one good arm was the last to shake my hand as the train
moved off on its 12-hour journey to Singapore.
Epilogue on Boffinery
The boffins in KL, when told of the foul-tasting bitterness of
the first batch, had said they would modify the stuff. But how
had they modified it? By replacing half the contents of the jar
of powder With a taste removing compound. So we had given
each CT exactly half the amount needed to knock them out
thus not only lessening our chance of picking them up in an
unconscious state but also, because they were wide awake and
very cross, making it more likely that we ourselves would
come to a sticky end. I complained about this and, naturally,
my complaints got me nowhere.
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Operation Junto
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by
J G Rothwell
foe Rothwell came into the police from the Gurkhas with
whom he was serving in Malaya in 1948. The police wanted
army officers to help them on the para-military front. Four
officers joined from 217th Gurkhas. For many months he wore
police uniform while carrying out military duties.
In 1957 I was involved in an operation designed to persuade
the remnants of 37 Independent Platoon to surrender; the
central theme of the operation was the exploitation of the
surrender of five of their men led by Chow Fung. Since I
spoke reasonably good Cantonese, I was able to form a close
relationship with Chow and together we worked out a plan to
take out a Q patrol to capture 37 Platoon.
My relationship with Chow was helped by the
ministrations of the local military medical officer (MO) who
diagnosed and treated him for malnutrition.
My Head of Special Branch (HSB) was not a Cantonese
speaker and was not, therefore, able to communicate directly
with Chow, and he was extremely suspicious of him.
However, he reluctantly authorised my operational plan
and we were successful. By 19 October the whole platoon was
in our hands. Our original plan included the ambitious intent
to 'turn' the whole of 37 Platoon into a Q unit, keeping them
in the jungle and maintaining their communication links with
other CT units, to conceal the fact that the platoon's
circumstances had totally changed. However, we abandoned
this ambitious project and brought the CEPs out of the jungle
when they spent their first night camped under HSB's nose.
HSB's view of the operational risks involved in Project Junto
was, no doubt, influenced by a letter from his head of
interrogation, which inter alia, discussed the possibility of SEP
Chow Fung undergoing a change of heart (I saw this letter for
the first time in 1993).
Since our tirst operations against SCM Kong Zu were not successful, HSB asked the army to attack him. The army made
contact but, after the expenditure of a huge amount of
ammunition (on both sides) and no casualties on either side,
the engagement was broken off. HSB then asked for voice
aircraft to broadcast a message to Kong urging him to.
surrender since many others had done so. Fortunately, Kong
dismissed the voice aircraft message as propaganda and I
persuaded HSB to layoff the aircraft and to let me reactivate
Junto. However, he continued to mistrust Chow and told me to
plant a radio marker beside Kong's camp so that the RAF
could deal with him.
I could creep up to SCM Kong Zu's camp and leave the
radio marker switched on. The bombers would then come in
and blow SCM Kong Zu and his comrades to smithereens. I
heard a little bit about these radio markers. They had been
designed and made by Archie Pagan, an officer in the Royal
Signals in Seremban. He had made them for SB in Negri
Sembilan, who had used them successfully in a project against
their MRLA Regimental Commander and SCM, Tang Fuk
Leong.
The radio marker was used in conjunction with a direction
finding radio, fitted in an Auster aircraft. I am sure that the
system worked marvellously on Salisbury Plain, but in the
depths of the Malayan jungle it had drawbacks. Everybody
who ever relied on a radio for communications in the Malayan
jungle of the 1950s will tell you that it lacked an element of
reliability. During our Project Junto operations, there were
times when we could talk loud and clear, strength 5 to, for
example, Grik which was 100 plus miles away, but the people
we wanted to speak to, only half a mile away, could hear
nothing. And we were using specialist wireless operators!
So the pilot of the Auster, listening to the signal from the
marker, would hear it but, before his hand could reach the dial
to start tuning the direction finder, would lose the signal
altogether and would then have to start all over again. Kong
Zu had the reputation of being a lucky fighter, and I did not
want to have to rely on Kong Zu's running out of luck! But I agreed with HSB that I would take the radio marker in with
me, but that we would test it in the jungle and would only use
it if I had confidence in it.
The Junto patrol picked me up from my bungalow at 0330
hours on 19 November, and we all proceeded to the 62nd
milestone where we debussed and entered the jungle. We went
along the track for a quarter of a mile and stopped until first
light, changed into CT uniform and then carried on into the
jungle until about 1430 hours when we reached an old 37
Platoon camp, which we were going to use as our base.
I switched on the radio marker and sent out a signal. Then
the Auster aircraft arrived in the area and I spoke to the pilot
who confirmed that he was starting to locate my marker
signal. He flew to and fro for what seemed like hours and
complained that the signal was weak and that he was
constantly losing it. Eventually, as it was beginning to get
dark, he made a dive on our camp, blipped his engine three
times and flew away. He had located and plotted our marker
signal at last.
I had not been impressed by the time the Auster pilot had
taken to locate the radio marker. It needed to be located by the
Auster within minutes of its arrival in the area, but the time it
took was measured in hours, rather than minutes. So! I decided
to leave the marker behind and to rely on a normal ground
attack on Kong Zu's camp. I had trained as an infantryman, so
I was quite comfortable with the idea of putting on a ground
attack.
On the next day we sent a party of Junto SEPs with
Inspector Bernard Thong to bring in Kong Zu's couriers, who
were disarmed and persuaded to surrender. This took until the
middle of the afternoon. It was too late to take action against
SCM Kong Zu, but the couriers also knew the location of CT
SIU Ching, the DCM of Sungkai A WF, so we had an
additional target.
On the next morning, 21 November, a party led by
Inspector Bernard Thong, with SEP Chow Fong and eight
other Junto SEPS, plus one of the couriers as a guide, went out to contact CT Siu Ching and his gang. About a quarter of an
hour from ST Siu Ching's camp, three men were sent forward
with a letter to Siu Ching, instructing him to come to Chow
Fong. When he and his escort arrived, they were disarmed and
persuaded to surrender. CT Siu Ching was reluctant to
surrender but, when Bernard Thong was introduced as a police
officer/government representative, with authority to negotiate
the surrender, CT Siu Ching's reservations about surrendering
faded away.
A party of eight SEPs was then sent to the A WF camp to
bring in the rest of the Sungkai A WF who all agreed to
surrender.
Meanwhile, the patrol and myself moved off to a new base
camp closer to Kong Zu. We waited for Bernard's party, with
the new SEPs from the Sungkai A WF to arrive, and then we
set off. There were only two police, Bernard and myself. The
rest of us were Junto SEPs.
I was most impressed by the silence of the SEPs as we
moved through the jungle. I had been on operations with
police parties and with various army units, but nowhere had I
experienced a patrol that was as quiet as the one I was now in.
I have mentioned how HSB relied on Richard Clayton and his
interrogation team for advice about the reliability of the Junto
SEPs. But all those of us who were involved in Junto
operations, relied heavily on Richard and his team. We were
sharing our patrols and our camps with people who, until very
recently, were our deadly enemies. Could we trust them to stay
on side? It was Richard Clayton and his team of interrogators
who had the responsibility for vetting our SEPs, choosing
whom we could use in the jungle and whom we should leave
behind. We were ever conscious of the danger. Richard and
his team did not let us down.
At about 1530 hours we arrived near Kong Zu's camp, and
we were very close up to it: I, myself, was only about twenty five
or thirty yards from the centre of the camp,. and the others
in the party were about as close. But we were short of time. By
the time we were all in position it was close to 1730 hours. In an hour it would start to get dark.
Bernard and a small party were due to start the whole thing
off by opening fire on the sentry. In fact, Bernard had been
unable to locate the exact position of the sentry and, realising
that the time was slipping away, he just loosed off in the
general direction of Kong Zu's camp. This brought an
immediate response in the form of automatic fire from the
sentry and from Kong Zu's bodyguard. The sentry then ran
away, fortunately straight into my party.
Kong Zu and his comrades fled uphill, as we had
anticipated, and ran into our main automatic weapons. Kong
Zu was mortally wounded, as was his bodyguard, who ended
his own life by holding a hand grenade to his chest. Two of the
CTs managed to get through our cordon, but one of them was
badly wounded, and both subsequently surrendered.
We were ravenous by the time we got back to camp. I
suppose a firefight does make a man hungry. But the party in
the base camp apologised: due to circumstances beyond their
control, there was some plain rice, but nothing to go with it.
The fact was that, with the surrender of the Sungkai A WF and
also the fact that our patrol had lasted one day longer than
HSB had anticipated, our rations had been eaten. The Junto
SEPs were well aware that I could understand Cantonese and
they took advantage of this by, when they wanted me to hear
their complaints and their scurrilous and abusive comments
talking in Cantonese, and they would then slip into Mandarin:
so that I would not have a clue what there were saying. When
they learnt that we had run out of food, they complained
madly in Cantonese, and then blathered away to each other in
Mandarin in a conspiratorial fashion. It might have been
serious - I just did not know. If there was a boil festering away
under the surface, I wanted to lance it straight away.
I decided that humour was the best answer. I walked across
to them and said that it was as well that they would not be able
to fill their bellies with food that night as that meant that,
when I took them to Ipoh for a big banquet to celebrate the
attack on Kong Zu's camp, they would have plenty of space to fill. I then said that I could not make up my mind which
restaurant to take them to. Such and such restaurant had the
reputation of serving the best food, but the so and so restaurant
was said to be almost as good, and the waitresses there were
much prettier. I asked them to discuss this amongst themselves
and then let me know what they had decided. I left them
arguing excitedly about the relative merits of food and
waitresses, and I was relieved that they were speaking to each
other in Cantonese. Again I went back to my basha and, as I
composed myself for sleep, I took pleasure from knowing that
the previous Communist masters of these men would have had
apoplexy, if they had heard them arguing about such trivial
matters.
Early the next morning we returned to Kong Zu's camp. A
search party had found the bodies of Kong Zu and his
bodyguard. We then moved to a place in the jungle that I
reckoned was suitable to make a landing zone for a helicopter.
We had captured one wounded CT and one of my men had
been wounded in the leg, so we would need a helicopter lift
for them. In a while, we made contact with an Auster with
Gordon Tollwortby, again, as a passenger. We reported the
result of our attack on Kong Zu's camp, and the MIO has
given me the very notes, which he wrote when he heard my
message in the Auster. "We've got Kong Zu," he wrote,
"champagne tonight."
As the helicopter, with me on board, was coming in to land
at Bidor airstrip, I noticed a party of soldiers approaching. As I
stepped out of the helicopter, Lt Col Jebb, OBE, who
commanded the local battalion, gave me a smart salute. This
was the first (and only) salute that I ever received from an
army Lt Col, and very nice it felt too. "I know that you cannot
tell me what you have been doing, Joe, but I gather that you
have not only got Kong Zu and his bodyguard, but you have
managed to capture the whole of the Sungkai A WF as well.
Well done, I wanted to be the first to congratulate you." So, I
thought, so much for Top Secret and 'need to know'.
Each Junto patrol was given a number, and the patrol that I have just described, was Junto IX. Following Junto IX there
were thirty more Junto patrols.
By the middle of 1958, Project Junto had succeeded in
completely clearing the A WFs at Ayer Kuning, Langkap,
Bidor, Sungkai, Trolak Slim River, South Johore (west of
Ringlet), Ulu Slim/SW Pahang, Chendriang, Batu Karang,
plus the printing press at Kampar and, of course, 37
Independent Platoon. On 9 July 1958 the successes were
announced in a statement, which was very 'economical with
the truth'. SB, of course, prepared the notes for the press
release and no mention was made of SB or of any police unit.
All the credit went to the government's Operation Greenland
and Operation Chieftain.
In total we brought out 118 SEPs plus 16 hostile
aborigines. There were just two kills, of SCM Kong Zu and
his bodyguard. We recovered 185 weapons of all sorts, 18,000
rounds of ammunition and 75 hand grenades.
All those who surrendered were offered a choice of staying
in Malaya or of taking a free passage to China. Only 11 out of
the 11 8 chose to go to China.
I write this forty-four years after the operation and, at this
distance, it all seems to have been ridiculously easy.
Remember, though, that on this, the first patrol of the project,
we had four combat policemen (two inspectors and two
detective corporals) amongst twenty-five recently surrendered
CTs, most of whom had not yet been outside the jungle and
none of whom had been properly interrogated and nor were
yet regarded as 'reliable'.
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Smashing the CT in Johore
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by
F Bedingham
When I arrived in Malaya in 1950, it looked as if the police
and army were facing an almost impossible task. The battle
was hard, hundreds of police lost their lives in ambushes
where the CTs took care to ensure vast numerical superiority.
But police morale was high, helped by the heroic examples of their fellow police officers and men.
By 1954 the CTs were on the run. In Johore, the notorious
Hor Lung surrendered, and in SB we seized the chance to
engineer a meeting with Hor Lung's erstwhile comrades in the
North Johore Regional HQ. After three months of such
contact, we persuaded the whole CT organisation to surrender.
There were some anxious moments during these operations
deep in the jungle.
But by the end of June we had not found the key to South
Johore: the CTs were still aggressive, well organised and
morale seemed high. Then we had a lucky break: one of our
SEPs remembered a communication RV, which had been
arranged many months before, so we decided to try to use this
RV to establish contact with the South Johore Committee.
In 1954 the terrorists began to realise that things were not
going as well as they had hoped. Chin Peng decided that it was
time to disappear over the border into Thailand, and he set up
the South Malayan Bureau to run the war in the south.
The Secretary of the South Malayan Bureau was Hor Lung,
a hard-core Communist, and he set about running the war in
the south with considerable vigour. Although by 1956 there
were only 550 terrorists in Johore, the end of the Emergency
was not in sight. The terrorists had changed their policy and
they had decided to give up their wanton killing and
concentrate on upsetting the economy. As a result of this
policy change, it became increasingly difficult for the SF to
contact the terrorists.
On 5 April 1958, we in SB in 10hore saw our big
opportunity when Hor Lung surrendered. This was totally
unexpected.
Hor Lung proved to be a deep thinker and one of very
considerable ability. He agreed with us that, if it were possible
for him to meet the various groups of CTs in the jungle, there
was a chance that they would agree to surrender. The
difficulty would be to arrange the meetings, because it was the
breakdown in the jungle communication system that had been
one of. the contributing factors in his decision to forsake the jungle.
However, after two weeks we were able to arrange a
rendezvous in deep jungle with some members of the North
Johore Regional HQ. A small party accompanied Hor Lung to
the rendezvous and the CTs surrendered.
After three months of similar secretly conducted
operations, almost all the CTs in North Johore had been
contacted and, without exception, agreed to surrender.
In some cases, only an hour's talk had been necessary to
persuade them to lay down their arms but, in one case, it took
23 hours talking to convince one high-ranking CT.
By the end of lune, although we had been so successful in
the north, we had been unable to make any contact with the
CTs operating in the south of Johore. The CTs in the south
were well organised and still aggressive; they might prove far
more dIffIcult to deal with; their morale was stilI high.
Interrogation and re-interrogation of our newly SEPs had
produced nothing. On 23 lune, I decided to re-interrogate Lee
Tuan, who had formerly been the Secretary of the North
Johore Regional Committee. He was cooperative and recalled
that he had made a rendezvous arrangement with the Assistant
Secretary of the South Johore Regional Committee to be used
m emergency when all other means of communication had
failed. Lee Tuan had tried the rendezvous every month for six
months but no one had ever come, and he feared that the CTs
who knew the location had been killed. Fortunately, they were
still alive and we thought it would be worthwhile going, although
it could not be considered that there was more than a
five per cent chance of the meeting taking place. The date for
the rendezvous was the 30th of every month, so there was little
time to get down to details and planning the operation.
The operation started at 0500 hours. My party was a little
larger. than I had originally intended; there were six SEPs
including Hor Lung and Lee Tuan, Police Inspector Ong Liew
Swee, who was to act as an interpreter, Lt Geoffrey Dunn of
the. 1st Cheshires who was a military liaison officer, as well as
a signaller from the same regiment, Signaller Chapman, and Captain Jack Raedar, a military intelligence officer attached to
SB and one of his staff, as observers.
By 0600 hours we had issued rations, weapons and
ammunition, and were ready to set off.
It was just getting light as we left Johore Bahru with the
main party in army Land Rovers. lack, Geoff and myself
decided to travel in more comfort in my Morris Minor
Traveller, as we had a journey of 110 miles in front of us.
The road that we took is the only one leading to the east
coast of Johore; it runs for nearly fifty miles through jungle
and, except for timber workers, there was no sign of man at
all. We did not see any elephants during this trip, but we could
certainly see where they had been the night before. It was a
pleasant ride in the cool of the morning.
We stopped at the large fishing village of Mersing, had
breakfast there and continued to the village of Endau on the
coast at the estuary of the Sungei Endau. Here a large police
river launch and a much smaller outboard engine boat awaited
us. It was now almost 1100 hours, the time the Malays and
Chinese have their morning meal so, leaving the boat crews
and the remainder of my party to eat, the European section of
our party retired to a local Chinese shop for mee (noodles), a
popular Chinese dish, and beer. The trip was expected to last
about a week, and we knew that we should not have another
cold drink during that period.
At midday we were ready to depart. An inquisitive crowd
had gathered on the jetty to see us off, but they could never
have guessed the importance of our mission. The sun was
shining brightly as we drew away and commenced our fifty mile
journey up river. Fifteen minutes later it was pouring
with rain and, after a further seventeen minutes, the water
pump had blown a washer and we were drifting slowly back
down stream. It is seldom that an operation of this kind runs
really smoothly, and this one was to prove no exception.
Three quarters of an hour later we limped back to the jetty,
and the same inquisitive crowd turned out to see what had
gone wrong. There were no spare washers for the pump, but this did not deter the resourceful Chinese mechanic from a
local garage.
Amongst our equipment was a packet of 'Tommy
Cookers', which are normally used by army personnel when
heavy rain makes fire-making a. difficult job in the jungle.
Taking the stiff waterproof cover from the packet, he made a
washer and, by 1500 hours, we were on our way again.
We made our way up river at a steady five or six knots. At
the mouth, this river is several hundred yards wide and,
although it is infested with crocodiles, we did not see any: they
like to bask in the sun but now the sky was overcast. By 1800
hours we arrived at an Aborigine village and decided to spend
the night with them. Several of the aborigines knew me, and it
was entertaining to watch their faces when they saw whom my
travelling companions were. I had known for a long time that
they had been supplying the CTs with food and medical
supplies, and now they were more than a little confused when
they saw CTs and government officers together, more so
because the ex-CTs were still wearing their old uniforms.
The aborigines quickly accepted the position and smiled
again when we convinced them that we had no intention of
arresting them. They stated that an important wedding feast
was taking place that evening and an invitation was
immediately extended to all of us to attend. Our planning had
not allowed for a wedding feast, and we had to re-examine our
stores to see what we could provide for presents. We had
included some luxuries such as biscuits and a few tins of
fruit - these we rather reluctantly sent off to the house of the
bridegroom, together with some of our tea, coffee and sugar.
The aborigines live in longhouses: as many as fifty living in
one house. It was to such a house that we were led and, after
taking off our shoes and climbing up the ladder-type front
steps, we found ourselves in one large room with
approximately one hundred and fifty people present. All were
seated cross-legged on the floor. At the far end of the room,
mounted on a dais, was the newly-weds' bed, and there was
the bridegroom in it. He was asleep. The bride was not so obvious, and I asked one of the aborigines if she was present.
He replied that she was, and pointed to a small girl sitting on
the foot of the bed. She did not appear to be more than 12 or
13 years of age and, as there were two or three other
youngsters playing with her, it was no wonder that it was hard
for a European to identify her as the bride.
At the closing stages of the meal, the bride's parents and
friends made one group, whilst the parents and friends of the
bridegroom made another, and then the bride's father started
to bargain for the dowry. Amongst the aborigines, it is the
custom for the bridegroom or his family to pay a dowry and,
in this particular case; a fairly high dowry was being asked.
The father stated that he was a well-respected man of the
community and that this daughter was the fairest in the village.
The father of the bridegroom pointed out that, whilst it was
true that the bride was a good-looking girl, she was not all that
much better than the others. Then the bargaining began
seriously and, after approximately an hour and a half, an
agreement was reached whereby the father of the bridegroom
agreed to pay one dozen hens, 1 cwt of rice and a quantity of
fish and vegetables, etc. As soon as the haggling was finished,
dancing started.
The dancing is done in the same way as the traditional
Malay dancing; four girls wait in a line in front of the band
and, as the music starts, four young men will take up their
positions facing the girls and the dancing commences. The
man must never touch the girL It was only a matter of minutes
before we were invited to dance. The manner in which Geoff
Dunn and I attempted to perform this simple dance soon had
everyone laughing.We put about three times more energy into
it than required and then, just as we were tiring and expecting
the dance to come to an end, the musicians quickened the
tempo and carried on. Fifteen minutes later, we heaved a sigh
of relief as the dance came to an end. We staggered away
almost exhausted, but the young petite aborigine girls showed
no sign of fatigue, and carried on promptly with the next
dance, and did so in fact until 0500 hours the next morning. Only the same four girls were allowed to dance, the rest of the
womenfolk playing no part, other than watching their menfolk
enjoy themselves. It was about 2330 hours when we made our
excuses and left. We had been drinking Ovaltine and eating
rice and I was ready to sleep. I slept very well on the seat in
the boat, whilst the remainder of the party slept in the house of
an aborigine. Personally, I found the fresh breeze on the river
more to my liking; the aborigines are certainly none-too clean
in their habits and I do not like chickens as bedfellows.
We left early the next morning and by that evening we
were some fifty miles up river, far from all civilisation. We
had sent the large launch back, as the water was now too
shallow for it. There were huge tree trunks and rocks in the
river bed, and it was dangerous for any type of craft that had a
draft of more than a few inches. The Malay driver was an
expert with the outboard engine and, although we hit several
submerged tree trunks, he managed to swing the engine clear
just in time before any damage was done. We stopped on a
sandbank and cooked lunch, and we found some turtle eggs.
The monitor lizards were usually quick to find these eggs in
the sand and we did, in fact, surprise one, about five feet long,
having his lunch. The eggs were a tasty addition to our meal.
About 1500 hours that afternoon we reached our
destination and built our camp on a sandbank. The water was
beautifully clear and up to twenty feet in depth. After a quick
meal and a few minutes in conference, it was decided that SEP
Lee Tuan would take three of the party with him and go and
see if the CTs from the south had turned up to keep the
rendezvous. Lee Tuan said that the meeting place was about
two hours' walk and, therefore, he would be back about 1900
hours. We agreed on our recognition signals; they would give
two tiger hoots as they approached our camp on their return if
they were travelling alone; three hoots if anyone else was with
them. Our reply would be two hoots like those of a barking
deer. The rest of us could only wait. Geoff and the signaller set
up the wireless set and made contact with HQ and I had a
swim in the river and waited.
At 1845 hours came the signal - two hoots. I felt very
disappointed. A few minutes later Lee Tuan. and his small
party came scrambling down the bank, soaked In perspiration,
very dirty and very tired. I later learned that they had not
rested during the walk, and not only had it been over two
ranges of hills, but it was a walk that would undoubtedly have
taken SFs eight hours to achieve. Lee Tuan was smIlIng - and
was certainly not looking depressed, as I knew he would have
been if his mission had been a complete failure. He went to the
river, had a drink and then, pulling a piece of plastic cloth
from his pocket, he opened it. There, inside, was a. letter.
Inspector Ong took the letter and studied it for a few minutes.
It was written in Chinese characters. He then Said that the CTs
from the south had been to the rendezvous but had made a
mistake in the dates and had arrived there on the 15th. Owing
to the shortage of food, they had been unable to wait until the
30th and they were, therefore, returning to the south. They saId
that they would be at a certain place for two hours only on the
4th July and, if it were possible, they would like to have a
meeting with Lee Tuan.
Pulling out our maps we could see that it was not possible
for us to walk so far in time; the meeting place was in deep
jungle and it would take us at least five and, possibly, seven
days to get there. It looked as though we were going to be
unlucky. I then thought if we could only get helicopters to the
us a part of the way we could do it. Geoff was enthusiastic
and, viewing the sandbank with an experienced eye,
announced that a helicopter could land on the sandbank where
we were. We examined the map and, to our joy, there was a
helicopter-landing zone marked on the map about two days'
walk due north of the rendezvous. It was important that we
kept to the north and that the helicopters were not seen by the
CTs in the vicinity of the rendezvous, as they would not attend
the meeting if they were at all suspicious and thought SFs
were in the area. The question was: could we get helicopters at
such short notice? Geoff called HQ and I put in my requisition
for three helicopters to pick us up at 0900 hours the next morning. Fortunately, the importance of our mission was
immediately recognised and HQ SB requested highest priority
for our operation.
At exactly 0900 hours the next morning, two helicopters
arrived; one after the other they landed safely on the sandbank
and took us to the landing zone some twenty miles to the
south. In order to make sure that the rendezvous was reached
on time, we despatched two members of our party, who had
been engaged on courier work during their sojourn in the
jungle, to meet the CTs from the south. They were to tell them
that their leaders, Lee Tuan and Hor Lung, were in camp two
hours away and would like them all to return to the camp.
There was nothing unusual about this request, as the CTs
never made a practice of setting up a camp near a rendezvous
because, if one of the couriers surrendered to the government,
it might mean that their camp would be attacked. The two
were given a complete cover story, and away they went.
We continued our trek south and, two days later, we
considered we were sufficiently close to set up a base camp.
During this move south we came across the tracks of the
terrorist party we were trying to contact and; from this time,
we had to take precautions in case we ran into them
accidentally and shooting started.
On the night of the 2nd we found that the ex-CTs in our
party were running short of supplies. I was very annoyed and
told them they would have to go without. The four European
members of the party had been allocating their food so that it
would last for the whole of the operation and they should have
done the same but, as they had not, what was I going to do
about it? But, as I had an important job of work for them to do,
I decided to request an airdrop. We had passed a clearing in
the jungle about one hour's walk north of our camp and this
was, I decided, a suitable and safe location. Our wireless
request was approved and we were told that our supplies
would be dropped from an Auster aircraft at 1500 hours the
next afternoon. I had sent all but one of the SEPs off to make
another camp one-hour's walk north of our camp in case CTs from the south arrived early. This camp would look like an
ordinary CT camp and Hor Lung would not have to divulge
his plans to them until he thought the time was ripe. I had kept
one SEP behind so that he could act as a runner between the
two camps. So we Europeans and one SEP would have to go
to the dropping zone and carry back the food.
By 1500 hours we had arrived at the dropping zone and
had started a huge bonfire that was giving off volumes of
smoke. The Auster appeared a few minutes later and indicated
by waggling his wings that he had seen us. Geoff then made
radio contact with him and the pilot had no trouble in finding
the right spot; the smoke could be seen many miles away.
He made his first run, pushed out the first bundle. We saw
the parachute open and then, to our dismay, we saw it fall on
top of a giant tree and remain suspended at the tip of a bough.
On the radio, the pilot apologised and said he would try
and do better next time. We sincerely hoped he would be able
to do so. The remaining three packages were dropped very
accurately, one actually falling on the fire itself! We looked at
the first package as it swung backwards and forwards about
two hundred feet from the ground.
The SEP whose name was Ah Han was 75 per cent
Chinese and 25 per cent Aborigine. He volunteered to climb
the tree and release the parachute if I would give him the
parachute. The parachute was made of nylon and I knew he
would value this for making clothes etc. I was only too pleased
to offer it to him if he could get it, and I must say that I
considered it impossible for any man to do so. Ah Han made
his way through the thick undergrowth to the base of the tree.
We could not see him but could hear him chopping as he
cleared a path for himself. About ten minutes later, I saw him
half way up the giant tree and he was climbing fast. The fact
that he could climb it at all was a feat in itself, because Ah
Han was depending entirely on creepers.
A few minutes later he was sitting astride the branch and
edging his way forward inch by inch. The bough was about
nine inches in diameter and quite smooth; after edging along in this manner for about 25 feet, the bough arched sharply for
five feet. Ah Han sitting astride, let go with both hands, pulled
his long parang from his belt and attempted to chop off the end
of the bough. He quickly realised that he would be unable to
do this so, putting his knife away, he continued to edge his
way along and up the bough. A slip now would mean certain
death. He reached the top of the arch of the bough and, lying
along it, he once again pulled out his knife and started
chopping. He chopped and hacked away and suddenly, as the
weight of the parachuted package at the end of the bough
became too much, there was a sharp snap and the whole lot
came tumbling down.
As the weight was released, the part of the bough on which
Ah Han was sitting whipped up and down so rapidly that we
lost sight of him and thought, for one dreadful moment, that he
had been catapulted from the bough. But, as the bough lost its
momentum, we saw him sitting there as,though he was riding
a racehorse. Five minutes later he was back on the ground,
dirty and grazed but still looking as strong as ever. It was a
fantastic feat, daring and skilfully carried out. After splitting
up the parcels equally between us, we set off back to base.
We had left the camp empty. We had to make sure that
CTs were not ambushing it As soon as we were within two
hundred yards of the camp; we had to make a reconnaissance
of the whole area around it and then slowly make our way into
the camp. Ah Han then set off for the advance camp to tell the
others that they could now come back for their supplies.
Ah Han did not return that night, but was back early the
next morning with one other to help him carry some of the
supplies. He told us that the couriers had not yet returned, but
it was thought that they would be back in a few hours. We
spent the morning washing our clothes in the river, and it was
whilst we were so doing that I saw some of the biggest leeches
that I have ever seen. Some were about 9 inches in length and,
when they clamped themselves on to your ankles, it was very
difficult to get them off. This particular type of bull leech is
capable of sucking a pint of blood or more and, if you were lying down sleeping at night, you would not feel it. We took
great delight in killing as many of these loathsome creatures as
possible. There were also a number of water snakes in this
river, which made bathing a little precarious since water
snakes are usually poisonous.
At midday Ah Han returned alone and gave me the
message we were waiting for from Hor Lung. It stated that
Sun Lai Fong (Assistant Secretary of the South Johore
Regional Committee of the Communist Organisation) was
willing to meet me. After informing HQ by wireless of what
we were doing, we set off with Ah Han and twenty minutes
later he indicated that the camp was only a short distance
away.
He gave the call sign and when we heard the reply, I went
ahead into the camp with the others following a short distance
behind. It was important not to make a mistake. Sun Lai
Foong's party would all be armed and they would be watching
carefully to see if they were being trapped. I was only armed
with a short-barrelled.38 revolver and I now had this tucked
away in my pocket with the lanyard out of sight.
I saw the group on the far side of the camp and I walked
over to them. Hor Lung said, "Mr Bedingham, this is Sun Lai
Foong." Then, turning to a man beside him, "Sun Lai Foong,
this is Mr Bedingham. He is a member of SB and is
representing government." Sun Lai Foong smiled, held out his
hand, and I took it. I knew then that our mission was
successful. We sat down in a large circle and I explained the
government's amnesty terms. I told them that, if they would
lay down their arms now and leave the jungle, they would,
after a short period, be allowed to pursue a normal life and
they would not be prosecuted for any crimes that they might
have committed during the Emergency.
Sun Lai Foong, a 43-year-old notorious CT leader, known
amongst his comrades as the 'lion of the jungle' because of his
outstanding courage and physical strength, listened carefully
and asked questions. He said, "You have convinced me that
the government's offer is a sincere one. I have long realised that we Communists cannot win this struggle, but I was not
prepared to surrender and abandon my men in the jungle. I
have now decided to accept the government offer, and I will
do all within my power to bring the armed revolution to an
end."
He was trembling with emotion and I could not help
admiring this brave man as he made what must have been a
painful decision. As the tension relaxed, we all smiled and we
sat together, talked and prepared the best meal we could.
Ah Han went out and shot two mouse deer. They are about
the size of a large hare and taste much the same. A couple of
hours later it was difficult to realise that, for ten years, these
people had been our arch-enemies.
It was difficult to sleep that night. My mind was full of
plans for the future; Sun Lai Foong had several meetings in
the near future, including one with the Secretary of the South
Johore Regional Committee. I knew that, if we could get hold
of him, we could bring the war to an end in Johore.
We left camp at 0600 hours. The going was rough, and it
took two and a half hours to walk three miles. At 0900 hours
the helicopters arrived and we were lifted out.
lust one week in the jungle and we had the key to success. I
wondered how many Company Commanders who had
commanded troops in Malaya during the past ten years would
like to have shared those seven days.
The Secretary of the South Johore Regional Committee
refused to come and meet me. On the 12 November I was with
a small party of SEPs when we contacted and killed him and
two other high-ranking terrorists.
On 31 sI December 1958, just ten months after the surrender of
Hor Lung, the State of Johore was declared a White Area. All
the terrorists had been accounted for.
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Me Leong Chee Woh Remembers
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There are many good tales in Scorpio, The Communist Eraser, the book written by
Mr Leong Chee Woh, who served with distinction throughout
the Emergency and left the Force as a highly decorated senior
officer, with a string of successes against the MCP to his
credit. Leong Chee Woh was not one to suffer fools gladly,
and is sparing with his praise of his senior officers. His fiery
temperament, which led him into confrontation with his
seniors, suited his campaigns against the terrorists.
Apprenticeship
My first job after leaving school was as a clerk in Taiping.
My superior was an Indian, whose English was not very good
and seemed to resent me as a 'bright spark'. So I decided to
apply to the police for a job as clerk/interpreter and, after a
two-week crash course, set off to Selama where my OCPD
was a dashing young ex-Gurkha Officer, with whom I got on
very well. Since he was frequently out of the office on
operations for days on end, to a large extent I ran the office.
He used to lend me his car from time to time to visit my
parents.
About a month after my arrival, I saw my first CTs; three
dead bodies in khaki uniform laid out in the compound. I
would see many more CTs before I left Selama, and hear
many stories of the atrocities they perpetrated. The worst I
heard was of an unfortunate man, suspected of being a police
informer; they tied him to a post, slit his chest open, and then
tore out his heart and ate it in front of the terrified villagers.
In November 1950, encouraged by my OCPD, I joined the
uniformed police, disguising my change of profession from
my family, since Chinese tradition disapproves of sons joining
the armed services.
All but five of my squad were posted to Johore, the
majority to look after Resettlement Areas.
Bekok town was my allotted command and, for the first time in my life, I knew the meaning of abandonment. It was a
small town housing five thousand people, mostly rubber
tappers, on to which a Resettlement Area had been tacked.
My first night was spent in a police cell since, for security
reasons, the station had not been informed of my arrival time.
I found that, apart from my revolver, our armoury consisted of
one Bren gun, some rifles, and a Verey pistol and a small
supply of ammunition.
It was clear that our local CTs enjoyed several advantages,
not least detailed knowledge of the local people and excellent
contacts with them. They also enjoyed the friendship of the
local mongrels, which never barked at the CTs but always
announced our presence with a loud chorus. I ruined the
canine alarm system by organising mongrel shooting parties
and, encouraged by some SEPs, now turned from poacher to
gamekeeper, discovered the taste of dog flesh.
Another measure I devised to discomfit the CTs was to
engage in sporadic firing at night designed to keep them
guessing. I was able to engage in this prophylactic exercise by
courtesy of a friendly Gurkha Major in the vicinity, who was
generous with his ammunition.
As we made Bekok more difficult for the CTs to use as a
supply base, they became determined to eliminate me. I was
equally determined that I would not provide them with an easy
target, so I travelled on foot rather than by car. Although I
succeeded in outwitting them, sadly, they did succeed in
ambushing and killing a British P/Lt who was standing in for
me one day. I felt very sorry for his bereaved family in
England, sent them food parcels and in 1966 called on them in
London.
Thai Hospitality
I worked for several years in South Thailand with the
cooperation of the Thais who gave us extraordinary freedom
to operate in their territory, a wave of my hand at the Frontier
Post was the only visa I required.
When I left Thailand the farewell parties were generous in
the extreme. The most memorable was on the last weekend at
Yala. The drinking sessions were of heroic proportions and,
despite a short siesta in the late afternoon; I was in serious
need of support by the end of dinner. Finally, a huge box was
wheeled in on a trolley. It was my farewell present and I found
within it a Thai maiden. Alas I was in no state to appreciate
her beauty.
A London Visit
It is salutary to be reminded that Britain does not always
provide the warmth of welcome that Malaysians take for
granted. Having, wearing a variety of hats in government and
the private sector, been involved in 'inward missions' to the
UK, I sympathise with Mr Leong's disappointment at the
casual approach, which he encountered.
"I did not learn much from the so-called Advanced Course
which I had been sent to attend. After several years of
practical experience in SB, I already knew as much as the
instructors and a great deal more than most of my fellow
students, most of who were from Africa.
One practical surveillance exercise turned out to be very
comical. Our syndicate was given the task of keeping a lady
under surveillance as she took her lunch break. The target was
extremely tall, and it was not difficult to keep her in view
while she browsed in shops, but soon she set off with huge
strides and we had a considerable problem to keep up with her
fast, long-legged pace. The sight of five Asian men pounding
along the pavement attracted a great deal of attention. Our
target must have derived a lot of amusement from the exercise.
When the course finished I was invited to comment on the
value of the course. I did not want to hurt the feelings of the
instructors, but they insisted on hearing my opinion, I told
them that it had been a waste of time!
The Dangers of Arrogance
I vividly remember my first jungle patrol. The men offered to
cook my meal and make a basha for me, but I refused their
kind offer determined to prove that with my newly acquired
one pip, I needed no help. But as the rain came down in
torrents my efforts proved less than competent. To the
amusement of my men, a combination of a loose poncho and
then a hot billycan handle led to my food finishing up on the
ground. And then my poncho, ineffectively secured, drenched
me with water. After that terrible first night I decided to
abandon my pride, I accepted the men's help and ate with
them.
Jungle Company
After three months in Bekok my OCPD, who was by now
commanding a Jungle Company, suggested that I should apply
for the job of a Jungle Platoon Commander. When I joined my
first Jungle Company, I found that my fellow platoon
commanders were a Malay Inspector and two British P/Lts. I
found them, like most of the P/Lts I worked with, a very
friendly and likeable lot.
In Johore my Company carried out extensive search and
destroy operations in the 'Bad Lands' that were infested by
CTs; most of them were Kwongsai, a notoriously ruthless and
fearless Chinese group. When the combined forces on our side
included police, Malay Regiment, Gurkhas and HGs, there
was little to distinguish friend from foe, nearly all were Asian,
all wearing much the same uniforms and carrying much the
same weapons.
My first success came with an ambush against a CT party,
which was scheduled to collect food from the house of one of
my sources. Our plan was to send out a patrol in daytime so
that it could be widely observed but to drop off six men in a
secluded spot near our selected ambush position, before the
patrol returned to base. I was in command of the ambush party. After dark we took up final positions, commanding the
track to my source's house, and just before midnight saw the
silhouettes of three figures, with weapons on their shoulders,
coming down the track. We did not open fire since I intended
to get them on their return journey. A few minutes later we
saw them coming back and opened fire. All three fell but,
since we were not sure whether our targets were dead or
merely wounded, we stayed in position, firing in the direction
of any suspicious sound. At daybreak we saw a bloody scene;
the three bodies were riddled with bullets. This was my first
ambush and I remember shaking like a leaf before we opened
fire, even though I knew that we were in a superior position.
We had many successes of this sort, based on agent
information. One night trap we laid for a food party netted
seven CTs. The ambush parties lay close to the perimeter
fence, watched as the CTs climbed in, using bamboo ladders,
to collect their supplies and then, as the CTs came down their
ladders on the return journey, we opened fire.
Not all ambushes were based on information. One
successful trap was laid after we had established from a
shopkeeper that a courier had bought far more supplies than he
could possibly need for himself, and so we were able to
anticipate the arrival of the CT pick-up party.
On this occasion the leader of the local CTO was so
demoralised by the SF success that he surrendered. Eventually,
he went back to his butcher's trade where he made a fortune as
an expert roaster of pigs, and later blossomed forth as a
millionaire entrepreneur, but he never thanked SB for his good
fortune.
We had a problem housing SEPs and they were often
billeted with police families, who were unhappy since they
were uncertain whether the SEPs had genuinely decided to
give up terrorism. But it soon became clear that most SEPs
usually became docile and friendly once they had decided to
surrender.
Mutiny and Punishment
During one encounter a group of about 60 CTs charged out
and down the hill towards us, urged on by the notes of a bugle.
We took off our packs in order to increase our mobility and
one unfortunate wireless operator lost his wireless set in the
course of the battle. He was arrested and charged with
cowardice. His comrades thought that he had been unfairly
treated and, having been told that they could not bail the man
out, left our camp and marched down to the police station,
surrounded the lock up and demanded the release of their
comrade. Senior officers failed to persuade the mutineers to
disperse, so the man was released. Although this was a clear
case of mutiny, and the sergeant major had been the instigator,
no formal action was taken against the mutineers. However,
the whole Company was transferred shortly afterwards to
Pahang, which was considered to be a punishment State.
I began to regret that I had volunteered for jungle work.
The discomforts of jungle life were extreme. They included
the itch caused by the heads of wild boar ticks, separated from
the body by any scratching, lodging in the skin and causing
infection which might last, with accompanying itch, for many
months. The ticks were usually encountered while we were
lying on the ground, presumably attracted by the warmth of
our bodies.
Officers' rations and clothes came from Britain; the
dreaded baked bean was a staple, and I have been put off
beans for life. The uniforms were ridiculously large for small
Asian men, and many shirtsleeves and trouser legs had to be
rolled up six inches.
One of the P/Lts, a former Welsh miner, never spoke
without a stream of foul, rich, barrack room, language. One of
his jokes was about a Sikh who, visiting an Anglican Church
and finding himself with only five-pound notes in his wallet,
put one in the collection plate. The preacher saw this generous
gift and invited the Sikh to choose the next three hymns as a
reward. The Sikh, being partial to male company, looked round the church and pointed to the three best looking 'Hims'
in the congregation!
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Extracts from a Grik Diary
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by P J D Guest
Monday, 26th March 1951: Ambushing a Min Yuen Food
Drop
We received information that a party of CTs going to an
abandoned house on the edge of the rubber to collect supplies.
I drew up a plan to put a horseshoe of 'stops' around the house
and lead an assault group to close when trouble started. I was
short of men so I spoke to Jock Storrier of the Frontier Branch
and he came in with thirty of his own men.
We moved in darkness. I reached the ridge from which I
would descend to close the horseshoe when firing started. Jock
Storrier crawled into position in the Lalang at the top of a
slope facing the house. To his right was a police party also in
the tall grass. To Jock's left was another party facing the side
of the house. Way out to the right was the other side of the
horseshoe.
Tuesday, 27th March 1951
Dawn came up with all its usual burning colours and speed as
we lay in the grass and waited patiently. Jock suddenly heard
voices and, watching carefully, saw five people standing in
front of the house. As he watched, one of them, a Chinese
woman, picked up a basket and started to move down the
track. The police party lay low. As she reached their position
they said to her, "Don't say anything, keep walking." She gave
a start but said loudly, "I'm only going to market to buy rice."
As she spoke one hand came out of her basket holding a pistol.
The police opened fire and she took a full burst into her
stomach. As she fell, a grenade rolled out of her basket. It still
had the pin in and was safe.
Jock's party opened fire on the group at the house, who
. were already scattering. My group came charging down the slope through the lalang and a group of three persons came out
of the bushes from the direction of the house, going like the
clappers for the edge of the jungle. They ran across our front
and we opened fire as we charged. One of the running fIgures
went down, the other two fled into some bushes.
As we plunged through the bushes we had them in view in
front of us again, now running through the rubber. Still
charging forward we opened fire again and another went down
and then the last of the group seemed to go into the ground.
There was a dry ditch there and he was at the bottom of it,
having been hit in his forearm.
My party had killed two. The first turned out to be Ab Yuk;
she was a well-known Communist. The woman shot on the
path as she produced a pistol and grenade turned out to be
Yong Eng, wife of a Military Adviser in the MRLA 5th
Regiment.
All the men had held their stop positions. So I took over a
Bren and put bursts through the side of the wooden house. We
charged in firing as well but there was nobody inside. I noted a
chicken hutch about eight feet long with the floor built about
eighteen inches off the ground. We searched the area and there
was no sign of anybody.
A long time afterwards I was speaking to a SEP and I
referred to this action saying that we had looked for a man in
the house after the shooting. The SEP said that one chap dived
under the chicken run and lay there clutching a grenade with
his fInger in the pin ready to. explode it if he was found. He
could see the feet and legs of men standing near where he lay.
He got away with it, we knew he was around but Jock thought
he dived into the house and we assumed he had got out at the
back. Jock and I also got away with it, as had we peeked under
the chicken coup a grenade exploding in our faces would have
rewarded us.
Thursday, 29th March 1951
The chap shot in the arm who dived into a dry ditch, was a
local rubber tapper. We searched his place and found in the lalang, an oil drum and two large vases full of supplies.
Sunday, 1st April 1951
The squad sent to search the 27th March ambush site reported
that they had found other drums and various containers full of
supplies. We had found rolls of khaki cloth, rubber and canvas
boots, medicines, foodstuffs, and writing materials; there was
enough to equip about twenty-four guys.
So the chap wounded and caught in the crossfire was not
the innocent rubber tapper he claimed to be. He was defInitely
the MY, the supply organisation to the Communist fIeld
troops.
Three killed and one wounded, no casualties to our side.
When the extent of the disruption to the local Min Yuen was
established we got a pat on the back from State HQ SE.
Thursday, 5th April 1951: The Relief of Temenggor
A runner, who had been sent down from Temenggor, 30 miles
away, with a message from the Ketua Kampong, arrived at
Grik. A unit of Communists, about fIfty strong, had arrived
and there had been a fire fIght between the kampong guards
and the CTs during which three Malay kampong guards had
been killed and two wounded.
We didn't know what the position was. Temenggor might
be under occupation by CTs. It was decided to call for an air
recce and that someone who knew the area should go on the
flight: I was nominated.
So an Auster was flown up from Kuala Kangsar. The pilot
was a bit startled at fInding how far out it was and that he was
expected to fly a one-engined aircraft over all that jungle. We
took off at 1300 hours and flew eastwards. I watched the river,
picked up the Sungei Temenggor, and then spotted the
kampong. Down we went and came in fast and low over the
kampong. I saw a large group of Malays standing beside the
rice fIelds. The pilot produced a dropping. streamer, a small
pouch with a multi-coloured streamer attached. I put a note in;
we made a pass over the group of Malays and dropped it.
My note said I am the Assistant OCPD from Grik. We have
received your news. If the Communists are still there, sit on
the ground, if they have gone, wave your hands. We came in
low again. The group of Malays were all waving. I wrote
another note to say help was coming and wrapped it in the
'Good Morning' sweat towel I wore round my neck, and we
dropped that too.
We flew back across nothing but jungle, an endless sea of
trees. What would normally be days of hard slogging were
managed effortlessly in minutes in the Auster. I wondered how
many CTs might be down there right then looking up at us
flying over. There was a prominent conical hill on our route.
The conical hill was a large one named Bukit Besar and it
stood 5,000 ft high. It lay directly in our course and it steadily
grew larger in the windscreen. The pilot seemed oblivious of
it, as he was engrossed in a book. I didn't want to act
nervously and draw his attention to it so I just sat there behind
him quietly watching Bukit Besar grow larger and larger. The
pilot turned a page and I seized my moment to say, "Bukit
Besar's quite impressive close up."
The pilot glanced out of the windscreen, gave a start as if
hit by a lightning bolt and gasped the name of our Saviour. He
slammed the aircraft into a tight turn, tipping the Auster on its
side so that all I could see were treetops. I remain convinced
that he hadn't seen the mountain and my bones would be
decorating it now, if I hadn't drawn it to his attention.
I was relieved to get that long flight over. There had been
no villages since Temenggor. The thought of going down into
those trees was not a happy one, the bushy tops were 100 ft
above the ground and I knew that other light aircraft had been
lost without trace (including one carrying the Brigadier of the
Guards Brigade).
Friday, 6th April 1951: A Long Patrol Crossing the Sungei
Perak
We left the compound at 0400 hours. 40 Commando Marines
had already gone ahead of us and I was keen to catch up with them as soon as possible. That morning march was nearly all
up hill. As we approached Kampong Bersia we could hear
activity and I stopped, then went forward with two scouts for a
quick peep in case it proved to be CTs instead of marines.
The kampong was full of marines and Malays. I called out
our identification, called up the squad and walked into the
kampong. I outlined to OC Marine Captain Albury what lay
ahead. Thee were about ten more miles to go down the track to
Temenggor. I mentioned my concern that it was an ideal
ambush setting. They would guess, after the visit of the plane
buzzing low over Temenggor, that help would be coming.
We walked over to where the marine radio operator was
sitting next to his 68 Field Radio, a lUXury we in the police
jungle squads did not have. Albury asked for an air strike. The
marines were using porters to help with the extra rations
needed. Albury mentioned that there had been some dissent
among the porters when the marines arrived in Bersia the
previous day. The porters had complained of being 'sick', a
hint that they were having second thoughts about whether the
agreed pay was sufficient reward for the loads being carried.
The marine medical orderly gave them No.9s, a tablet used to
treat constipation! Now, probably feeling a lot worse after a
dose of No.9s, they agreed to carry on.
The column, now numbering about eighty, left Kampong
Bersia at 0710 hours. We pressed on a little harder as the track
began to descend towards the Sungei Perak. At this point the
river was about 100 yards wide and fast flowing with rapids
above and below the crossing point. With a screen of sentries
posted we got on with the task of chopping down bamboo to
make rafts. It took us about an hour to make the rafts. Those
who could swim swam across. The non-swimmers had to
clutch onto one of the rafts and kick with their feet to propel
the raft across the swift current. The police rafts were the first
finished and I deployed the squad ready to cross. As the flow
of the river would sweep us downstream, we moved further up
the bank to a place from where it was considered safe to
launch out at the opposite bank to land at a selected point. We always put down a covering party first, who kept the opposite
bank covered with weapons, including the Bren, before
anybody set off. This precaution was taken against any CTs
being on the other side waiting to give us a nasty surprise by
opening up on us mid-stream.
When the marines were ready the lead group of police
swimmers, including myself, entered the swirling brown water
and started to swim over. On arrival at the other side we
quickly recovered our weapons from the raft and set up a
defensive perimeter to cover our beachhead. Only then did
those police left on the other bank begin their own swim
across the river. Movement in tactical bounds like this made
for slow progress but it was necessary; you could never be
sure if you were not under observation.
Instead of swimming over with their gear on small rafts as
the police party had done, the marines had constructed larger
rafts. They climbed on and their kampong porters began
rafting them over. They stayed drier but were larger targets for
longer.
The track ran along the north bank of the Sungei
Temenggor, a tributary of the Sungei Perak and had beluka
jungle coming right down to the bank. Even though we were
now a strong amalgamated party of police and marines, I was
still worried about the prospect of ambush. Around 1600
hours, as we were nearing that portion of the track I was most
concerned about, I heard the drone of several aircraft flying
overhead, but could not see them. The column was halted and
the marine section leading at this point was instructed to let off
several smoke grenades so that the air support could identify
exactly where we were.
A few hours later we duly arrived at the suspect area and
my anxieties disappeared as I saw the results of the air strike.
They had blasted it with bombs and rockets. Had the
Communists laid an ambush there they would have been
plastered. We went through this tangle of craters, shattered
boughs and tom vines, with no trouble. We pitched camp with
the marines two-and-a-half hours march from Temenggor. Compared to the police jungle squads, European military
took up more room and made a lot more noise. My chaps
joked, thankfully in Malay so the marines couldn't understand
them, that they knew it would be safe now; the nOIse would
frighten off any CTs as they would think we numbered several
hundred! It was simply a fact of life that European troops were
inevitably louder and clumsier than indigenous forces.
Saturday, 7th April 1951: Back in Temenggor
The column was on the march by 0630 hours. At 0945 hours
we eventually reached Kampong Temenggor. It was strangely
quiet. It turned out that the villagers had taken fright when
they saw us approaching and fled. Once they realIsed we
weren't CTs they emerged from the trees and we were
enthusiastically greeted.
The first task was for the marine medical orderly to assess
the condition of the wounded. One was shot in the stomach
and would not survive without immediate aid. Our first
wireless transmission confirmed our safe arrival and requested
a helicopter to evacuate the two wounded guards. Our second
message congratulated the airmen on pinpoint accuracy, a job
well done.
We got the story from the Malays. About flfty armed CTs
had appeared close to the kampong and shouted to the
kampong Malays, who were fast disappearing from the
immediate area, that they wanted to talk to the Ketua
Kampong. All the Malay kampong guards grabbed their
shotrruns and went en masse to meet the Communists. CTs
spre:d out in a rough line among the trees. The CTs shouted
greetings, indicated they wanted to talk and generally behaved
in a friendly manner. What they got was not what they
expected from kampong guards stuck out in the ulu
(backwoods) without immediate support. Someone, probably a
kampong guard, let off a shot. That did it! The startled Malay
guards let off a barrage of shots from their 12 bore shotguns.
The CTs still tried to get the Malays to talk but when these
calls were met with continued fire from the guards' shotguns, the CTs returned the fire with Stens, Enfield rifles and one
Bren. In the exchange of fire two Malays were wounded and
the CTs retired from the rubber and the Ketua Kampong sent
the runner off to summon help.
The area was immediately searched to see if there was any
trace of the CTs. There was no sign of them, so the patrols
trekked back to the kampong to secure an area of open ground
for an airdrop.
Saturday Afternoon, 7th April 1951: Air Drop at
Temenggor
The marine Demilitarised Zone (DZ) party laid out some
bright yellowy orange market panels. Not long after this we
heard the drone of an approaching twin-engined aircraft. The
DZ party set off a smoke grenade and bright red smoke
spiralled up from the padang (flat open ground) in over the
trees and the cargo was dispatched out of large open doors in
the side of the fuselage. As the parachutes floated down in a
line behind the departing Dakota, I was exasperated to see
what looked like all the Malays in the kampong, women and
children included, dash forward onto the DZ. I was worried
not only for their safety, but by the depressing thought of all
the paperwork involved if any of them were killed by one of
the loads landing on them!
The kampong Malays also did something else we had not
anticipated: they promptly cut the entire parachute rigging
lines. We recovered the parachutes and rigging lines to return
for re-use. Weeks later I received a rebuke from the
appropriate HQ group that the canopies had been ruined and
couldn't be used again. But these were just simple kampong
people seeing an opportunity to get some valued string.
Nothing short of shooting one of them to deter the rest would
have stopped the rush. At least an invoice for the destroyed
parachutes did not follow the rebuke.
Sunday, 8th April 1951: Helicopter Casualty Evacuation
The next day the small Dragonfly helicopter, which with its
large bulbous Perspex canopy looked remarkably like a
dragonfly, came clattering over the treetops. It did a slow turn
as it sank down onto the padang. A huge cloud of dust was
blasted from the padang. Once down the dust wasn't so bad
and two stretcher parties ran out with the wounded kampong
guards. In a few moments they were safely aboard, the
helicopter lifted up and skipped over the trees. I thought about
how hard we had struggled and for how long to extract the
wounded from the ambush at 13th mile the previous October. I
marvelled at the speed of this evacuation. In less than an hour
the casualties would be in hospital receiving proper medical
care.
Wednesday, 11th April 1951: Orang Asli, Voices from the
Wind
I had sent out an invitation via the kampong Malays for the
aborigines to visit us. The usual inducement of cigarettes,
medicine and food (ration packs) were offered.
The aborigines were short, dark-skinned tribesmen who, in
those days, were hunting with bows and arrows and
blowpipes; they were naked, except for skimpy loincloths, and
with decorative devices such as feathers and bits of bark in
their hair. The patrols set off in all directions whilst I stayed in
the camp to be the host. They were really quite neutral in the
war, oblivious to the political divisions that divided the
warring sides. They would have dealings with both sides and
both sides tried to cultivate them. As they must have been
aware of the local CTs and had dealings with them, I hoped to
glean information. As they squatted round the camp chain smoking
the cigarettes we gave them, I managed to get some
details of the CTs they had recently seen.
I was able to surprise the Orang Asli by mentioning the
names of two or three of the CTs that they knew. I replied to
their enquiries about how I could know their names from so
far away, by telling them, "We can catch voices from the wind, so we always know what has been said," then letting
them hear the marine using his radio. their wonder was great
at this marvel that caught voices from the wind. I asked the
marine corporal manning the set to keep transmitting messages
to HQ and the Orang Asli were suitably impressed by the
voices they heard coming back. Knowing how deeply
superstitious these tribal peoples were, I hoped they would
believe our magic was greater than any magic the CTs could
show them.
Sunday, 15th April 1951
We moved out southwards.
Monday, 16th Apri11951
We had another task to attend to, making a space for an
airdrop. As we were in primary jungle with very large trees all
about, it was a formidable task.
When our clearing was almost ready a time was set for the
airdrop and soon contact was made with the inbound supply
aircraft. Then I saw it, a twin engined Valletta. As it passed
right over the clearing it banked steeply. I assumed the pilot
was making a quick assessment of the tight DZ. This was
confIrmed when I heard the pilot's comments over the radio
set when he spotted the clearing, "It would take J**** C*****
himself to find it!"
The first priority among the men was cigarettes. Every
package was searched with mounting despair as one after the
other they failed to bring forth any. Finally, there was only one
more parachute to recover, stuck furthest up a tree. With many
impressive oaths, impressive in their imaginative scope even
for marines, the offending parcel was dragged down. Eager
eyes peered into the contents. No cigarettes! However, there
was a note scrawled on a bit of torn hardboard and wedged
into the webbing strap. By chance this was the last parachute
recovered. On it one of the dispatchers had written, "Oh well,
back to KL for loads of ice cream!" There were even more
impressive oaths from the sweating soldiery, accompanied by dire threats made about the fate of the dispatchers if they ever
fell into the clutches of the marines.
Tuesday, 17th April 1951
The routine of the deep penetration patrol continued, mile after
hot, sticky mile, ploughing through the green soup of the
jungle.
You could smell your canvas webbing rotting and longed
to break free of the trees for a good cold Tiger beer and a long,
uninterrupted soak in a hot bath to wash the grime out of your
hair and the pores of your skin.
Thursday, 19th April 1951
With the lack of cigarettes it was noticeable that tempers
became frayed with the marines. The police made great show
of making cigarettes out of what appeared to be dried grass
and weeds of some sort. It wasn't long before the marines
noticed during our halts, that the police still had some fags. A
whole new cordial became evident, with the marines at pains
to become very chummy with the police during halts. The
police dispensed their improvised cigarettes freely just before
the march continued. The lucky recipients taunted their less
fortunate comrades. I knew they had lit up at the next halt
without being able to see them: oaths and curses ahead. The
smokes were truly foul concoctions. A cruel trick!"
Saturday 21st April 1951
Eventually we crossed the saddle between two high
mountains. The contours on the map showed we went over
4,586 ft.
We found another camp for the thirty guys we were
following. Again, it had been abandoned about three days
previously. It was not encouraging to fInd they were
maintaining the same speed of march as ourselves, as it meant
we were not likely to catch up with them. God! It was cold up
there. We were up to the same height as the Cameron Highlands, a hill station where we put on pullovers and had
fires!
Sunday, 22nd April 1951
Found another camp, this time for about fifteen people, and
wondered if they had split up again. We were scheduled for
another airdrop late that afternoon, which focussed the
column's mind on one thing, cigarettes! Once more we
stopped the march mid-afternoon and made a clearing. The
Dakota supply aircraft came over at 1700 hours and the
column attacked the parachuted containers like hungry hyenas.
This time we got cigarettes. Having already made so much
noise chopping the trees for the clearing we decided we might
as well set up a base camp there, making frames for us to
drape ponchos over.
Monday, 23rd April 1951
Another long uneventful march, this time with the dark cloud
of depression being replaced by a heavy fog of cigarette
smoke. The marine mood showed a marked improvement.
They even forgave the police for their cruel joke.
Tuesday, 24th April 1951
Today we found eight abandoned temporary huts with
accommodation for twenty-five to thirty persons. I estimated
they had been abandoned three or four days before.
Wednesday, 25th April 1951
During the march today I noticed an imprint in the ground. It
was a bit smaller than an elephant's but with a couple of
knuckles in it. I didn't recognise it although, obviously, a large
animal made it. I asked the Malay next to me what animal it
was. He elaborated that it was a batak, an animal with a tusk
on its nose. A rhino! I became aware that the Malays new
about the pugmark and had closed up in mutual defence. I
ordered them to extend out again to usual patrol format, but
was impressed at the nervousness they showed about this animal. The thought of a ton or so of animal charging us
suddenly didn't make me feel too good. We never saw it,
which was as well.
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Counter Terrorism is No Picnic
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Mao Tsetung said, "Revolution is not a tea party, " and the
CTs in Malaya made sure that the population understood that
terror, not tea and sympathy, was their chosen tactic; Geneva
Convention was not part of their vocabulary.
The stories in this section are a reminder that, although the
SF did not descend to the level of the bestial CTs in terms of
physical torture, there were occasions when mental pressure
was applied to produce results.
Obviously there were moments in the heat of action, when
CT atrocities had been displayed for all to see, when there was
a great temptation to retaliate in kind. But, in fact, the SFs
counter-revolutionary tactics, unlike those of the CT, were
almost always suitable for discussion at the Vicar's tea party.
The rulebook quite rightly forbade any form of torture, but
it is hardly surprising if, on occasion, the captors put pressure
on recalcitrant prisoners. The British intelligence doctrine has
always been that, quite apart from the moral issues, torture is
likely to be counterproductive, since the victim may well tell
lies in order to escape from further interrogation. However
correct this doctrine may be in the context of leisurely
interrogations away from the battlefield, the following stories
show that unorthodox methods can produce vital immediate
intelligence when 'the tea party' method fails. As I write, I
note a complaint from the Federal Bureau of Investigation
that, six weeks after the dastardly attack of 11 September
2001, none of those detained has given any information.
A Canine Threat
by
Dato' J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
At the height of the Emergency, a Scottish Major and I once
found ourselves facing a captured CT who was determined not
to give us information about his erstwhile comrades and their
camp. Since his gang had carried out many atrocities, we were
determined to destroy them.We decided that our need for
immediate intelligence justified resort to unconventional
interrogation methods. Having tied the uncooperative terrorist
into a chair, we tethered two tracker dogs immediately in front
of him, but just out of range. The dogs knew the enemy when
they saw him and started to strain at their leashes, growling
and barking furiously. The CT having, of course, been
thoroughly indoctrinated by his leaders about the alleged
ruthlessness of the SF, was petrified by the menacing sounds
and the sight of the slavering jaws and large teeth so close to
his face. He rapidly decided to collaborate, and the
information that he gave enabled us to eliminate the gang.
The rulebook did not, of course, sanction the methods we
had used and we were severely reprimanded for our breach of
the conventions, although I suspect that there was some
sympathy with our view that the end had justified the means.
Mindful of the brutal methods used by the CTs to cow the
villagers, I thought that there was too much emphasis on
conducting operations under the rules laid down for war
between civilised opponents. We were not fighting against
soldiers operating under the rules of the Geneva Convention,
but against ruthless terrorists who had no hesitation in
murdering and torturing prisoners.
Offending the Sensibilities of Visiting MPs
by
Dato J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
The rural people had been so cowed by previous terrorist
atrocities that many of them did not believe official reports of
SF successes, and assumed that this was just government propaganda. We decided, in desperation, to bring the corpses
of CTs who had been killed in action, back to Pagoh and put
them on display in front of the police station. This proved to
be highly effective. The locals, normally reluctant to visit the
police station, now crowded round looking at the corpses and
identifying them. We no longer had a problem persuading
them that we were killing CTs.
However, a body of visiting British MPs described the
practice as 'barbaric' and 'uncivilised' and disapproved of our
exhibition of CT corpses. So we were told to stop it. As the
MPs' aeroplane took off en-route to Britain, however, the
exhibition was reopened. I suppose that the MPs had little idea
of the long slog that went into the jungle war, and the vital
need to persuade the people that we were winning. Nor, of
course, did they realise the cost in many weary man-hours
(one calculation was that 1800 hours were spent on patrol for
every contact made), and a contact might result in nothing
except an exchange of fire. The attitude of the MPs
presumably reflected their lack of experience of operations.
A Most Considerate SEP
by
Leong Chee Woh
On one occasion we captured a Branch Committee Secretary
(BCS) after a long and patient surveillance of his home town:
all we knew about his movements was that he visited the town
monthly to have a haircut. The surveillance teams adopted the
cover of telephone repairmen, but after two days their cover
was wearing thin and another party was sent in to paint the
telephone poles. They worked over-enthusiastically and had to
be sent back to put on a second coat. Happily, the target turned
up on the fourth day and was taken in for interrogation. We
had three teams interrogating the BCS round the clock. I
complimented the 52-year old prisoner on his ability to endure
hardship: he was a heavy smoker but refused cigarettes and
refused all food as well.
On the fifth morning he suddenly broke his silence and started to tell us all we wanted to know. By the evening when
we had established friendly relations, we asked what had made
him change his mind and cooperate. We felt quite humiliated
when he replied that he had felt sorry for us because we
seemed so worn out!
Persuading a CT Prisoner to Talk
by
J P Taylor
I was once required to appear in court in Alor Star to give
evidence in a case about a Chinese CT girl, who had been
charged with consorting with CTs in the Kulim area.
After the judge had found her guilty, she alleged that I had
molested her sexually immediately after her capture. The
judge looked at me and then at the girl and did not pursue the
allegation, which was entirely false.
However, the truth of the matter was that she had refused,
after her arrest, to give us any help about the whereabouts of
her camp. So I told her that, if she would not cooperate, I
would hand her over to the rest of the patrol for interrogation.
The effect was magical: she started talking and would not
stop. But no one laid a finger on her.
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The Tamil Dimension
|
| The CTs, overwhelmingly Chinese, were no better at fostering
close relations with the Indians than they were with the
Malays.
It has been pointed out that, fortunately, Chin Peng and his
comrades had a very poor understanding of Malayan society;
if they had been more thoughtful and more sophisticated in
their approach, the job of the SF and Information Services (IS)
would have been more difficult.
It was only with the Orang Asli, their intelligence screen
and logistic support in the jungle, that they practised a
'Hearts and Minds' campaign of sorts. With the rest of
Malayan society they seemed content to operate by terror and coercion, without consideration of the huge differences which
existed between what they were preaching and what the
ordinary Malayan wanted.
The following stories reflect the fact that, although the CTs
were overwhelmingly Chinese, there was a significant Indian
element in the jungle with some solid Indian supporters
outside. At the beginning the Indian participation was,
although numerically tiny, of considerable value to the CTs.
Fortunately, the Chinese and Indian CT leaders did not
seem well suited to each other temperamentally and by 1956
there was little love lost between them.
A Secret George Medal for Inspector Tagore
by
Datu Tagore
In his first posting as a Police Inspector he had received good
intelligence about a supply operation, which the local CTs had
organised using sympathetic Tamil rubber tappers on a local
estate to collect food and help them to carry it from the estate
to the jungle edge. The OCPD concluded that the best chance
of catching the CTs was to infiltrate an SBO into the estate
workforce to worm his way into the group of CT sympathisers.
The OCPD asked young Tagore if he would take on this
dangerous task, and he agreed.
There were serious problems to be overcome in creating
his cover as a rubber tapper. He was an educated middle class
boy, had completed an English education and knew nothing of
rubber tapping or rubber estates. Fortunately, the unlikely
tapper managed to find work as an apprentice tapper on a
local estate. After a few weeks when he was satisfied that he
had sufficient skill as a tapper and was confident that he had
enough knowledge of the customs and jargon of the tapper
community, he left the estate. By then he had become one of
the boys and his idiosyncratic habit of looking at English
language papers was put down to 'showing off. He explained to his new friends that he liked looking at the pictures.
Next he succeeded in his application to become a tapper on
the target estate, and ingratiated himself with the tappers who
were carrying out the CT supply operation, and helped them
in a minor way with food supplies.
Not even the manager on the estate was aware of his
double role. After some weeks, he was accepted as part of the
CT supply team and so was able pto inform his superior of the
time when the CTs would next come to the estate to collect
their supplies from the Tamil tappers and to pass on detailed
information on the procedure and routes which the CT party
would use.
Communications with the police were handled securely
and effectively by way of a dead letter box (DLB). And an
ambush plan was prepared to catch the supply party as it was
leaving the estate with sacks of supplies on their shoulders.
On the night Tagore was told to wear a white singlet so
that he would be recognised as a friend, when the ambush
party opened fire. The party, about ten strong, was
successfully ambushed, several CTs were killed and wounded,
and Tagore escaped injury, despite the frenzied crossfire, as
the Gurkhas went into action.
There was an amusing sequel to the operation when
Inspector Tagore, dressed in his ragged tapper's clothes,
rushed to hospital to visit his wife who had just given birth.
The staff nurse disapproved of his scruffy clothes and barred
him from entry. It took him some time to overcome her distaste
for his scruff order and to accept his plea to be allowed to visit
his wife.
Tagore's bravery and skill in carrying out his cover role as
a tapper, and successfully infiltrating the Communist supply
system, was recognised by the award of a GM but, in view of
the delicacy of his position, he received his GM at King's
House from the Deputy High Commissioner in a secret
ceremony.
The Execution of DCM Perumal
by
Yuan Yuet Leng
In June 1956 a party commanded by DCM Chan Fei executed
the notorious and dreaded DCM Perumal. The reason for the
execution was a report by one of Perumal's men that Perumal
had decided to bring his whole section out and surrender.
A member of the execution section, who surrendered later,
gave the following account of the affair.
Our cover story was that we had been dispersed by SF action
and had gone to the Indian camp looking for liaison. In the
camp were Perumal and eight of his Indians; two others had
gone off to get supplies. We confronted and disarmed the
Indians who did not resist; Chan Fei announced the guilt of
Perumal and the Central Committee decision. Selvam then
executed Perumal, after singing some sad Tamil songs.
One Indian CT, who surrendered because of this execution,
voiced his wrath in a leaflet written for the Information
Department, as follows:-
The Chinese Communists hate and speak ill of the Indian people and
Indian workers. They call Indian comrades Keling Kwaiw (Indian Devils). They are very partial in giving food more to Chinese and less to
Indian comrades. They shot and killed Comrade Perumal unjustly.
Perumal joined the Communists and worked so loyally for them. To
placate the Chinese higher ups he even killed Indians and wrought
violence on them. No matter how hard you may have worked for them,
one day your life will be in danger. You know one Communist comrade,
Munandy, a member of the District Committee in Tapah who could not
bear the indignities suffered by lndian comrades, committed suicide. I
want you to realise it and come out of the jung!e and surrender to
government.
Great Calamity: Knock Twice
by
Yuan Yuet Leng
In August 1958, two Indian CTs, deserted by their Chinese
courier leader, found themselves out of contact with their CT
group and so left a note, prominently displayed on a tree trunk,
seeking help. We did not, at first, know what the note said
since it was written in Tamil, but sent for Raj 00, a usually
cheerful and keen and helpful translator. Rajoo was less than
amused when he found that he was required to travel, not to
Sungei Siput town, but by helicopter and rope into our Q base
in the jungle.
Rajoo was nonplussed by the note, 'We are in the midst
of a great calamity: Rendah adi! (Knock twice).' But we
understood immediately and Leong Chee Woh was despatched
to the area to 'knock twice' and await developments. Leong
said he had never before, or after, run so fast. Leong's party
took cover near the tree, leaving two recently surrendered CTs
(Lam Poh and his wife) in the open pretending to be
comradely CTs responding to the plight of the Tamil couriers.
Lam Poh knocked hard twice on a tree trunk and the sound of
blows with his parang rang loudly through the stillness of the
jungle.
Silence! Lam Poh hammered the tree trunk twice more and
this time there was a single knock in reply from some distance
away. The process was repeated, the single knock was now
much closer and soon two worried looking Indian CTs
emerged furtively from the jungle. They were delighted to see
Lam Poh and reported that, although their BCM had defected,
they had stayed loyal and had returned to warn their comrades.
Lam Poh then led the Indians towards the hidden Q party, and
they were promptly captured. CT Mangalam offered little
resistance but CT Moortky, enraged by Lam Poh's treachery,
was less amenable. Eventually however, both CEPs took Lam
Poh's advice and agreed to cooperate: we then took them back
to our 'safe house' in Ipoh.
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Mysteries
|
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Hantus and Magic on Patrol
by
S R Follows
We had just completed a particularly frustrating jungle patrol
in which our tame SEP had ruined our ambush by opening fire
prematurely, probably because he had left a brother and a
girlfriend behind in the CT section which we were tracking
with his assistance.
Now we were on patrol again. My tried and trusty Sergeant
ShaffIee was No.2, the same SEP was supposed to be helping
us and a Chinese detective sergeant from a city CID had
joined us with reinforcements.
The new boy looked pretty gloomy and when I asked him
why he replied that he was a Buddhist and, therefore, could
not kill anyone. The conversation became heated, but
regardless of my vituperation and condemnation, he insisted
that he would leave the patrol taking with him the fIfteen men
under him. My last words to him were, "Be careful that you
are not shot on your way out of the jungle, and F... Off!"
That night the men did not much like my choice of
campsite beside a river. Shafiee told me that they said there
were hantus (ghosts) by a nearby twisted tree. "Nonsense!" I
said, but although I tried to dismiss the story from my mind, I
felt that there was something eerie about the place. I asked
Shafiee whether he believed the hantu tale, he replied, "Yes,
Tuan." So the night was the worst I have ever spent in the
jungle. I do not believe in ghosts, but fear is contagious.
On another patrol when I was worrying that we might have
lost our way in a very difficult piece of jungle, I heard the men
muttering excitedly but speaking too quickly for me to
understand. Then I saw Sergeant Shafiee dressing down one of
the constables. Shafiee turned to me and explained; the man,
he said, was responsible for our problems with fInding the way
because he had with him a piece of ratan (cane) and a piece of
stone, which he had stolen from a jungle devil who would not let any thief leave his jungle domain. The constable explained
that he had known that he was taking a risk but that he had
wanted to take the jungle objects back to his kampong to give
to his local Bomoh (magic man). Very reluctantly he obeyed
Sergeant Shafiee's order to throw the objects away. Within ten
minutes we had found a familiar track and were once more
sure of our way. Was there really magic about?
A Ghost in a Chinese Cemetery
by
P J D Guest
During the Chinese Festival of the Hungry Ghosts, the
Chinese leave offerings of food on the graves of their
ancestors. This gave an opportunity for the CTs to supplement
their rations, and a chance for us to lay an ambush at the
cemetery and try to shoot the CTs. Thus, at sunset when the
last devotees left the cemetery, I moved in with my squad and
we deployed in a circle among the graves.
These sort of jobs make for a long night, no smoking, no
noise, no moving, just lying there being bitten by insects and
trying to keep alert all through the dark night. As the hours
passed, I was lying there wondering if all the men were still
awake and found my own head nodding a couple of times.
In the early hours when the night was at its coldest and
mist formed on the ground, I was jerked fully alert by a
ghostly yawning sound. I slipped off my safety catch and
slowly eased myself up on my elbows. My eyes reached the
surface level of the large slab I was lying beside and I peeked
over it as another mournful wail sounded. I peered at the
tombstones upon which the eerie ground mist floated. Then, to
my consternation, a body rose up into a sitting position from
one of the graves!
"There's no such thing as ghosts," I said to myself and
brought my carbine up. The figure that appeared to have sat up
from the grave, stretched out its arms and gave another yawn,
and as it did so I recognised it to be one of the ex-CTs in the
ambush party. I stood up and walked over to where he was and said that he had blown the ambush. I gave him a pat on the ear
with the butt of my carbine. As soon as I did it I regretted it. I
had struck a man and others had witnessed it. I hadn't long
been gazetted and now I had thrown away my career in one
burst of anger.
I looked round and saw a huddle of guys surrounding the
ex-CT, their arms going up and down. I moved in to stop the
fracas and discovered the rest of the squad were really furious,
he had frightened them as much as he had frightened me. Had
there been any CTs close by it might have cost us dear.
Spiritual Comforts and Talismans
by
Dato' J. J. Raj (Jnr.)
On my first day as OCPD Pagoh, a frail, dignified old Malay
visited my office. There seemed to be a special aura
surrounding him. When I offered him a cup of coffee he did
not drink but merely touched the cup in what was, perhaps, a
gesture of blessing. My sergeant told me that we had been
greatly honoured: the visitor was an Imam (Muslim priest)
called Pa' Mustahi; he was famous far and wide as a faith
healer and was believed to have supernatural powers. So many
people came from all over Malaya to visit him that often his
visitors had to return home without seeing him. I decided that I
must immediately return the Imam's call. When my escort and
I arrived we found that Pa' Mustahi had mysteriously
anticipated our arrival and had already prepared enough food
for the whole party.
Pa' Mustahi infuriated the CTs by giving spiritUal comfort
to many people who had been demoralised by the Emergency,
restoring their inner strength and their courage, even giving
them strips of red cloth to tie round their waists as talismans. It
was said that every time a CT killer squad had set out to
assassinate him, he had been able, by his magical powers, to
lead them astray. When I offered him police protection he
declined politely, saying, "My life is at the mercy of God." We
got on very well and he treated me as his anak angkat, his adopted child. I sometimes wonder whether it was he who
crave me the "ood luck that enabled me to survive unscathed
from a number of CT ambushes.
Whatever the explanation for Pa' Mustahi's special
powers, he was certainly no charlatan, selling his services. He
accepted no money when using his God given powers to help
people in distress. There is still a road in Pagoh, Lorong Haji
Mustahi, which commemorates his good work.
The Haunting of Tras Police Station
by
A J V Fletcher
The small town of Tras in Pahang had its equivalent all over
Malaya: one main street of shophouses, sacks of rice on the
pavement, off-white sheets of rubber drying on lines and wires
wherever a spare bit of land presented itself, the ubiquitous
pawnbroker's shop and the 'Live Forever' funerary goods
store, which did a nifty line in combustible goods as offerings
to the departed, wonderful bamboo-and-paper replicas of cars,
motorcycles and even airliners, and, constructed with loving
care and wondrous verisimilitude, a perfectly-proportioned
GEC refrigerator.
The town nestled pretty much in the shadow of the Fraser's
Hill range. When driving over the Gap down into Pahang you
could see Tras, 2000 ft below, if you stopped at a large and
vertiginous bend called W alshe's Corner about half way down
to the plain. And above Tras, on the top of an abruptly rearing
hill, you could make out the tiny white doll's house that was
the police station. The corner was not a particularly healthy
place to linger (it was near there, on the other side of the Gap,
that in 1952 I was involved in clearing up after the ambush
and murder of the High Commissioner, Sir Henry Gurney. But
the view of the apparently endless Pahang jungle, the various
shades of green dissolving into misty blue and purple on the
horizon, were irresistible. Once, gazing down on Tras, I heard
(but could not, with age-dimmed hearing, do so now!) the
station gong chiming the hour, faint but clear.
Why the police station should have been placed on the top
of this steep sandcastle of a hill, 200 ft or more above the
village and, because of an overhang, cut off from any view of
the street below, is a mystery. The good burghers of Tras, for
their part, were probably glad enough to be out of sight for
they were, on the whole, less than well disposed towards
policemen or indeed government, in general. Many of them
were dominated by the CTs. So much was this the case that,
after the assassination of Sir Henry, Tras was 'resettled'
elsewhere. I was in Tras just before it was closed down. When
the inhabitants knew of their impending fate, the normal
tolerant grins of the celestials for the red-haired devil were
noticeably lacking: adults, children babies and, I swear; even
the mongrels of Tras - all had faces devoid of any expression.
Tras was part of Raub Police District, and when I arrived
in January 1949 I had applied to take over as leader of a fulltime
jungle squad, not so much for reasons of derring-do and
possible battle honours as for the $8.40 a day jungle
allowance, which meant that one could amass a fortune of
£200 or even £300 on top of one's pay in six months or so. In
due course I was to realise this ambition, only to discover on
returning from my first jungle patrol that the new jungle
rations were being issued and the $8.40 was no more.
Meanwhile, I was to sort out the shambles of an office that
I had inherited. One day, while engaged in this Augean
project, I met one Basil O'ConneU from KL. He was a
frightfully important boss (perhaps a Deputy Commissioner)
and was about to leave Malaya. He told me he wanted to see
the file on the haunting of Tras Police Station. I detected no
glimmer of a smile; no twinkle of an eye was in evidence. He
read the file and made notes and went on his way.
The file was in the form of an 'lP', the obligatory basis for
any police investigation of a crime, and was entitled Haunting
of Tras Police Post by Ghost or Ghosts Unknown. I remember
the contents tolerably well.
Tras Police Station was, as I have said, isolated, and access
was up an enormously long and steep flight of stone steps. Perhaps it was the remoteness of the place that persuaded the
Japanese Kempetai, the Military Police, to use it as their local
base, and there is little doubt that some of the victims of their
interrogation, who died under torture or were beheaded, were
buried in the grounds of the station.
In 1946, or possibly early in 1947, a new Officer
Commanding (OC), a Malay Corporal, arrived at Tras. Not
long after odd things began to happen. The station lamps (of
the pump-up Petromax variety) would suddenly dim, several
at the same time, and after a few minutes would just as
suddenly become bright again. Some time later the seven or
eight constables of the station were horrified by the sound of
carnivores tearing flesh underneath the police station, a
wooden, attap-roofed building raised on stilts. When the
quaking coppers shone torches down under the raised floor,
nothing was there - but the tearing of flesh and cracking of
bones continued sporadically. An inspector went to investigate
but could find nothing.
Then several of the constables claimed to have heard a
voice coming from a rambutan tree on the station lawn (it was
too small to be a padang), telling the fearful listeners that they
were not to squat under the tree. They could stand or sit, but
were forbidden to squat, nor could they pick the fruit. The OC
was one of those who heard the voice and, terrified, asked to
be transferred. The investigating inspector duly recorded his
statement, but his request was refused.
Soon after this the spectral voice spoke again from the
rambutan tree, saying that no one was ever again to strike the
station gong. This, a 3ft long length of railway line, was
suspended from a strong beam outside this and every other
police station, and every hour, on the hour, a constable would
belt it with a hefty cudgel, thus telling all for miles around,
what o'clock it was. By this time the repercussions of these
supernatural events had spread far beyond Raub. The notoriety
of Tras was beginning to reach other districts and many Mata
Matas made clear to anyone who would listen that they would
go to considerable lengths never to be posted to Tras.
After many weeks of such goings-on the file was becoming
well filled with statements of witnesses, on forms with the
sonorous heading of Perchakapan dalam Pemereksan
(statements in an investigation), investigating officers' reports
and a full write-up of the case by the OCPD of that time.
Then occurred the most inexplicable event of alL The
corporal, a married man, was with his wife in their quarters
one night when, in the small hours, he was awakened by a
'great voice', as he put it, saying, "Corporal, buka
pintu" ("Corporal, open the door"). He and his wife cowered
in terror while the voice became increasingly loud and angry.
Eventually, gibbering with terror, he opened the door.
What happened then is unclear: he and his wife screamed,
bringing the men running. They found the corporal and his
wife both semi-conscious and unable to speak, having suffered
some kind of fit. Furthermore, the bodies of both were badly
discoloured down one side, from head to toe. They were
brought in to the hospital in Raub and the file was now
augmented by medical reports and the results of various tests.
There was no apparent reason for the semi-conscious state of
both (which persisted for some days), or for the blackening of
the same side of their bodies. The doctor suggested the
possibility of a stroke.
Understandably at this stage, the remaining staff of Tras
Police Station expressed their deep desire to be transferred - to
anywhere. In short, a full-blown crisis had been created.
Eventually the CPO himself came down from Lipis and not
long afterwards, following a conference at which the British
Adviser and the Mentri Besar (Chief Minister of a Malay
State), himself were present, a personal visit was made by the
CPO to Tras. Perhaps more to the point, a famous Bomoh was
consulted. After much meditation and various arcane
procedures, a course of action was agreed. All the VIPs,
including the Mentri Besar BA, and CPO etc., went to Tras
and a large kenduri (feast) was held in the grounds of the
Station. A black cockerel was decapitated and the blood
allowed to spatter the area while the Bomoh chanted prayers and incantations. Everyone, black cockerel apart, seemed to
have had a good time.
The last entry in the IP, I think by the CPO, read,, I was
asked to take the station gong cudgel and, for the first time in
many months, strike out the hour, midnight. I did so and
nothing awful resulted, (Thank God!) except that the cudgel
broke.' This minor setback occasioned no great alarm since a
long-unused item of wood is a toothsome meal for the
ubiquitous anai-anai (the white ant).
Although I read the IP well over forty years ago and can
claim neither complete recall nor total accuracy, the basic facts
are as I have told them, nevertheless, and the fIle and Tras will
always remain in my memory.
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The Aborigines
|
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A post-mortem on the aborigine situation when it was no
longer operationally important, concluded that in the Brooke
Fort area the two local aborigine chiefs, Pangoi and Awol,
had arrived at a pragmatic agreement that Pangoi would work
with the CTs and Awol with the government, keeping each
other informed and, hopefully, preventing problems for either
of them and their adherents by informing each other of the
plans of CTs and government. This picture fits neatly into the
picture guessed by Follows at the time.
Commanding Fort Brooke
by
S R Follows
In 1954 I was given command of Fort Brooke; one of the
isolated chain of forts set up along the jangly 'spine' of the
Peninsula, in order to provide bases for our work with the
aborigines. Our principal task was to win their hearts and
minds, in my case we were dealing with the Temian Senoi.
The fort was isolated: VIPs might visit by helicopter, the
RAF could drop supplies by parachute, and communication
was by radio. We walked!
The engineer who built the fort had briefed me that sixinch
nails were the gift most appreciated by the Senoi: three
made excellent prongs for a fIsherman's trident.
The fort was built in a triangular plan, defended by gun
pits, bamboo thickets, interlaced with barbed wire, with a
steep slope on one side.
My most important contact was Mentri Awol, a small squat
man, with bowlegs, a big belly and a few black teeth in his
mouth. His feet were huge and flat. We met almost every day
and formed a bond despite language problems.
The Department of Aborigines, however, was not so easy
to bond with. When I discovered the whereabouts of a
notorious CT sympathiser and planned to capture or kill him, I
made the mistake of telling the Department of my plan, and it
was vetoed. They had a different job to mine. My informant
was, understandably, enraged that he had put his life at risk
and I had taken no action. I continued to visit Mentri Awol's
longhouse to discuss plans. I had warned him that, it we had
trouble from the CTs his ladang would be the first to be blown
to smithereens, and so far my warning seemed to have been
effective.
Mentri's longhouse was typical: about a hundred feet long,
holding, perhaps, about forty people. One evening, having
cleaned and dressed a suppurating leg wound of one of the
inhabitants, I joined Mentri to discuss my wish to meet
Pangoi, the most notorious local CT supporter. It was agreed
that I should trek into the jungle to visit him. I took six men
with me and after a few hours, our guide pointed to a track
ahead and immediately retreated to the rear of the patrol, so I
took over the scout's position. The track led into a thicket and
soon I found myself trapped in the bamboo thicket with a CT
sentry a few yards in front, firing at me. Fortunately, he
missed: when we reached the camp it was deserted. A fresh
plan for an RV with Pangoi was arranged but Mentri came to
warn me that I would be killed in ambush if I carried out the
plan. I took heed.
Next, I was invited to meet Pangoi in his ladang. I spent a wretched afternoon considering how to handle this invitation,
which might so easily be no more than a trap. Before I had
made my final decision, Pangoi turned up at the fort. I
suggested to Mentri that we should celebrate this surrender
with a dance, but Pangoi refused to admit any knowledge of
the CTs to me and so the Aborigine Department came and
took him away by helicopter. But KL was no more successful
than I had been in getting information from Pangoi, so he
returned to continue his liaison with the CTs.
Much later, I found out that Mentri and Pangoi were secret
allies in a pact to keep each other informed and warned of any
danger from the SF. Both were on the fence, interested in self-preservation,
not in assisting the government against the
Communists.
The hardest thing to take in dealings with the Senoi was the
shared food pot. Many of them suffered from a skin disease
and the sight of the flakes of skin showering into the common
pot, from which we all had to eat with our fingers, was
repulsive. They had many fascinating habits, but eating from
the common pot was not one of them.
Aborigine Rafts
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
From time to time I took a police party and some civilians up
to Temenggor. We took great care about concealing our date
and time of departure.
On 23 August we set off in a troop carrier to Kuala Rui,
then by the bush tracks familiar to our guides, moving fast to
reduce the number of leeches that would suck our blood. We
stopped every ten minutes to deal with leeches. Finally, we
went by boat to a jetty near the aborigine Penghulu's house.
This was a happy occasion of reunions, we spent the next day
. watching the building of bamboo rakits (rafts) which were, at
least, thirty feet long and had three tiers, only the top deck
being high enough to keep our kit dry. The Temenggor
'rafters' were incredibly skilful at taking us through the rapids. The aborigines would accept no money for the feast they
had given us or for the services of the 'rafters'."
What Game Are You Playing?
by
Tan Sri Mohd Amin bin Osman
Tan Sri Amin was brought up in Kedah where he was well
known as a sportsman. He joined the police as an Inspector at
the beginning of the Emergency and rose to the top, acting for
a long period as IGP. Although our paths did not cross until
Konfrontasi (mid-1960s) and we seldom meet now, I count
myself lucky to have him as one of my closest Malay friends.
He was most generous with his time when I visited KL in 2001.
It took a long time to bring the aborigines into the
government fold, meanwhile the CTs continued to use them as
an intelligence screen.
Inspector Amin was involved in the 'Hearts and Minds '
campaign to bring the Orang Asli on side working as a liaison
officer with 22 SAS.
Inspector Amin's horizons were not bounded by work
alone; he managed to find time to gather orchids in order to
win the hand of an attractive lady working near his office.
Having been given a crash course in the aborigine language, I
set off by helicopter with the SAS to reconnoitre, survey, carry
out a census, and generally discover what the situation was in
areas where the CTs had been enjoying considerable success
with the local aborigines. On my first descent into a jungle
clearing, I found the timid locals reluctant to come out from
behind the trees.
Once presents had been handed over the conversation went
as follows:-
Me: "Have you seen any of the bad men?"
Chief: "What?"
Me: "The Chinese."
Chief: "Oh! The Chinois. Yes!"
Me: "How many?"
Chief: "Many." (They could only count to three
in their language.)
Me: (Arranging three locals by my side and
adding one more.) "This number?"
Chief: "Many!"
And so it went on until 14 were grouped together.
Chief: "Chukup!" (Enough)
My next question was about 'time':-
Me: "When did they come?"
This time the question was answered by reference to the
phases of the moon and the time the tapioca had taken to
grow.
Now that a good rapport had been established, the Chief
plucked up courage:-
Chief: "May I ask a question?"
Me: "Yes."
Chief: "What game are you playing?"
Me: (Nonplussed) "What do you mean?"
Chief: "Well! The Chinois and you both bring
the same presents, medicine, tobacco,
food, but they give us seeds to plant for
extra food, and you destroy the extra
food we plant!"
I tried to explain to the Asli that it was no game, the Chinois
were bad men trying to take over Malaya and we were trying
to stop them. But such concepts as communism, government
and terrorism were unknown to the Asli and also well beyond
my vocabulary.
The Asli's cooking method was idiosyncratic: they felled a
huge tree and kept the end of the trunk alight as a sort of
perpetually operating oven.
It was, indeed, a long slow business winning the 'Hearts
and Minds' of the aborigines."
Fort Iskander on the Tasek Bera
by
J C Macnab
In the mid-1950s I was OC 3 PFF with an operational area
covering Selangor, Negri, Sembilan, and Malacca, and
responsibility for garrisoning two forts, Iskander (just inside
Pahang) and Langkap (in Negri).
Langkap was a cushy three or four hour march but it took
two days to reach Iskander.
During my last visit to Malaysia I went to visit Iskander
once again, accompanied by Butch Walker who had been one
of my platoon commanders. He recalled dropping his
toothbrush into Tasek Bera. After repeated pleas by radio
asking for a replacement lest his teeth fell out, eventually a
Hudson flew over the fort and dropped a parachute from
which dangled a small parcel containing a toothbrush and an
unfriendly note from Bluff Road.
Butch had taken over from a foolish officer, who had best
be nameless. The officer seduced a Semelai maiden who
became pregnant, so he had to leave in a hurry. We asked the
local Semelai what had happened to Lila the unfortunate
maiden. She had married, born four children and was now
living happily in KL.
Another memory of the fort was the death of Probationary,
Inspector Ujar Singh who was killed in the Tanjong Quin area
when the CTs attacked the river patrol under his command.
The CTs had allowed the first canoe through their trap and
then opened accurate fire on the second canoe killing the
inspector instantly. I had flown up to the fort to investigate
but, after a twenty-four hour patrol in the jungle, had not been
able to find Inspector Singh's carbine. Many years later at a shoot in Scotland, a former SAS officer told me that the gun
had been recovered in 1954 from a dead CT.
I telephoned another of my former fort commanders; Dato
Haji Md Som who told me, with justified pride, that a Semelai
child he had taught to read and write during his time in the fort
was now a senator.
The trip to Iskander was a highlight of our visit. It was
heartening good to see that all the collective efforts of half a
century ago had paved the way for progress. The Malaysian
Government has done well."
These tales are most satisfactory pointers to the reality of the
relationships between the SF and the locals. The police, like
any other organisation. sometimes made mistakes but they
also made many friends. They were not the ogres imagined by
the ignorant who have been brain-washed into considering
that the CTs and the SF stood on the same moral ground.
Unlike our enemies the CTs, we frequently helped to create
something good. The CTs did nothing but harm using methods,
which were reminiscent of the most sadistic zealots of
mediaeval times.
John Slimming and the Orang Asli
by
B T W Stewart
There were many colourful and effective characters amongst
the P/Lts and John Slimming, who wrote several successful
books, was one of that band of heroes. After working in the
Department of Aborigines, he lived in Burma and Sarawak
before finally serving in Hong Kong where, once again, he
worked for the police.
The sound was deafening. The bamboo longhouse vibrated in
response to the sounds of the aboriginal percussion band. It
seemed as if the whole community was one large percussion
section, hammering drums and hollow logs with. their bamboo
drum sticks. Occasionally, a large gong would join in sometimes the women would sing, and once or twice a
plaintive flute could be heard, but the overwhelming sound
was of complex drum rhythms dominating the minds and the
bodies of dancers, singers and spectators alike. The drumming
and dancing went on throughout the night. Sometimes a man
would fall down in a frenzy and the services of the Bomoh
would be required to revive him. At dawn even the hardiest
dancers admitted defeat, and silence reigned at last.
This was the picture that John Slimming painted of
Bacchanalian nights in the longhouses of the Orang Asli (the
original people) when he stayed with them. He had started his
Malayan life a P/Lt but finished in the Department of
Aborigines, and in 1956 found himself carrying out a census
of the Orang Asli of Southwest Kelantan. From the point of
view of the SF these jungle people formed an untidy and
potentially dangerous screen between the SF and the CTs.
They gave little information to the government and were of
considerable value to the CTs as informers and as a source of
supplies. SB was convinced that the time had come to group
the Orang Asli around the nearest jungle fort, on the analogy
of the resettlement programmes that had brought the Chinese
squatters away from the jungle fringes into New Villages. Such
a programme would reduce the opportunities for the CTs to
contact the Asli, and increase SB's chances of getting
intelligence. So a Census had been demanded and it was
John's job to carry it out. His journeys into the Ulu usually
started by train from Kuala Krai to Bertam, continued by
motorboat up the Sungei Nenggiri (the mother of rivers). From
Bertam the river Nenggiri meanders placidly over many long
reaches, flowing between jungle-clad banks, broken from
time-ta-time by great limestone outcrops that rise steeply,
often vertically, above the skyline. Occasionally there are
fierce rapids where the boat was almost submerged as it
struggled against the current. Finally, after several days of
footslogging, he arrived at Fort Chabai. Often he had no
armed escort with him, so it was fortunate that the aborigines, upon whom he relied for his security, seemed to like and trust
him.
Nights were usually spent in long houses under the
protection of the local Penghulu. Food was shared with the
Asli. their staple diet was tapioca and rice supplemented with
mouse deer, wild pig, monkey, squirrel and fish, or any other
living creature they could catch, trap, net or shoot with the
poison-tipped arrows puffed skilfully from their blowpipes.
The rice was cooked in lengths of bamboo, all else was
barbecued, and leaves served as plates. Sometimes there were
kenduris, when neighbours, two or three hours' march away,
would be invited to join in a feast of wild pig and dance until
morning.
Orang Asli, acting as guides and porters, supported the
long treks up and down steep hills and through the jungle. It
was hard going since the Asli were, of course, in much better
shape than their Orang Puteh visitor. John needed all the help
he could get from salt tablets to cure his cramp.
The Asli customs were full of interest. Even their methods
of hair cutting were strange. Every man was his own barber.
He laid his locks across the blade of his razor-sharp jungle
knife and tapped them with a piece of wood, thus producing a
rough and ready tonsure of the pudding basin variety.
The concept of the jungle fort was that it should be well
sited for defence, with good fields of fire and plenty of barbed
wire all round. Each fort was garrisoned by a platoon of the
PFF, and was intended to provide security for the aborigines
in the area as well as a jumping off place for offensive
operations. Flies were the worst feature of Chabai; resiting of
latrines and vigorous assault on suspected breeding grounds
were of no avail; the flies continued unabated.
The survey of the Asli was not made any easier by the fact
that the communities were constantly abandoning their
ladangs where they had exhausted the soil, and trekking off to
virgin, fertile land. Each ladang might cover several acres, it
would be planted with hill rice, sweet potatoes. sweet corn and
so on, and each had to be measured for the census. And as John marched over hill and dale, he was ever conscious that
anywhere along the route there might be CTs ready to spring
an ambush.
One day some Orang Asli arrived at Fort Chabai
complaining that soldiers had burnt their houses and
destroyed their crops. However, when John visited the local
communities he could find no evidence of the alleged incident.
He strongly suspected that the CTs were responsible for the
story, and that his hosts, the local headmen, knew a great deal
more about the movements of the CTs than they dared tell him.
They warned him not to go to certain areas, but he had to be
content with this meagre intelligence indicator.
The Kelantan SWEC eventually decided in favour of
resettlement and forwarded it to KL for endorsement. KL,
however, vetoed the scheme on financial grounds, so John left
Malaya happy in the knowledge that his friends had not been
uprooted.
His Chinese cook and his Asli friends asked him why he
chose to spend his time in the jungle, sweaty, dirty, bitten by
mosquitoes, and bothered by leeches, when he could have had
a tuan's job in an office. They found his choice of occupation
incomprehensible.
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The Police Lieutenants
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The motivation of those who joined the Colonial Service was
complex, of course, but a sense of adventure was a common
ingredient and official histories of the Colonial Service
suggest that the pre-war film, Sanders of the River, had a
considerable part to play, at least as far as the Administrative
Service was concerned.
The recruits to the P/Lts cadre included hard-bitten old
soldiers as well as young men with stars in their eyes.
Whatever the individual motivation, they made a vital
contribution to the war against the CTs, particularly in the
early years when government had been caught off balance The following certificate reflects the importance that the
Whitehall Warriors attached to the role of the P/Lts.
Who Were the Police Lieutenants?
by
S R Follows
It may be an exaggeration to suggest that without the
experience and leadership PILts provided in the early days,
Chin Peng would have 'had his feet under the table in King's
House', but certainly the planters and miners, working and
living in great danger in the countryside, had good cause to
bless the arrival of the PILts. their contribution to victory as
very independent and usually very effective subalterns in a
Subaltern's war deserves a book to itself. The casualty figures
show that they were very much at the Sharp End.
The P/Lts were dispersed throughout rural Malaya and often
called upon, particularly in the earliest, darkest, days of the Emergency, to act independently and to take responsibility
well beyond what would normally be thought of as the duty of
a sergeant.
The original batch was from Palestine, many with military
as well as police experience behind them; they and the
subsequent batches were urgently required at the 'Sharp End'
where brand new SCs were attempting to defend the estates
and mines. The later batches came from other services and
walks of life. There were infantry officers, Air Force pilots,
Royal Navy frogmen, Commandos, Paras, and Force 136; all
ranks from Lt/Col down. They brought with them a wealth of
military experience.
Why did they join up? I am not sure. In Civvy Street some
missed the camaraderie and action. Others needed a job to pay
for their mortgage and keep their family. Others were
seconded from the British Police. Some, perhaps, only wanted
a change or even to get away from their families.
As far as I was concerned, brought up on the Boy's Own
paper, it was not the conditions of service. The pay was good,
plus free food and accommodation on ops (rations and a
poncho cape), but a sense of adventure was part of it.
I was attending a Marine Engineering College when I saw
the advertisement seeking volunteers. I had read an account by
a P/Lt of his experiences on jungle ops, found it interesting,
and applied.
Within days I found myself in London with 25 other
hopefuls. I found that I was the youngest and the only one
without previous military experience, and feared the worst but,
much to my surprise, I was one of the three selected. Within
weeks I was in Malaya starting on an adventure beyond my
wildest dreams.
The P/Lts were 'characters'. I remember one who told me
that his reason for joining was to collect the loot that he had
buried before the Japanese captured Malaya. His intention was
to buy himself out when his mission was accomplished. It
sounded absurd, yet it had a ring of truth. I was amused to see
in Force Standing Orders that he had terminated his contract. Mission accomplished!
One P/Lt left Malaya long before his contract ran out
without having to compensate HMG. He subscribed to The
Daily Worker, therefore his superiors (incorrectly) assumed
that he had Communist affiliations and sent him home. In the
Infantry, flat feet will do the trick; in the Royal Malayan
Police a subscription to The Daily Worker would achieve the
same result.
From Hussar to P/Lt
by
J D Pobgee
In 1951 Pobgee came to Malaya as a P/Lt via the 13118
Hussars and the Warwickshire Yeomanry.
This was a bit of a culture shock. I was posted to Rengam
Sub District in 10hore,lived by myself in a large house in a
rubber estate, and was in hostile country where no one spoke
English.
Before I had time to learn Malay or very much about my
job, I went down with jaundice and was removed to Penang
Hospital. When I returned to Rengam I was made responsible
for about 400 SCs spread all round the Sub-District. For
transport I had a Ford Popular and, later on, a semi-armoured
Land Rover.
Since I was not an ex-Infantryman, I had to learn fast on
the job reading army-training manuals before passing on my
new found knowledge to the SCs.
A new policy was announced to encourage the SCs to
become more active and I trained my SCs in the use of Bren
guns and grenade launchers. I set up a rifle range on the estate.
One day having, as usual, 'hosed down' the surrounding
jungle in case there were any CTs lying in ambush, the
trainees and I came under fire from a passing PFF unit.
Fortunately, the PFF were not very good shots and no one was
hurt, but my language was ripe when I caught up with the
offenders.
My attempts to accustom the SCs to the sound of bullets
whizzing over their heads were not appreciated by the estate
management, who found bullets lodged in rubber and palm
trees an unwelcome nuisance.
On one occasion as a squad moved at dusk into an
unfamiliar rubber estate to set up an ambush, I saw the marks
of elephant feet in one area. We waited the dawn more
frightened of the animals than of the CTs. lust after first light
a fIerce firefIght broke out and we heard the crashing sounds
of an elephant charging away from the battle. Our attempts to
ambush CT food caches were not very successful.
The time when tappers and other estate workers were being
allowed to enter the estate at dawn was highly dangerous for
the SCs, who were a sitting target for CT sharpshooters, and
we had some nasty firefIghts during the gate operations at
dawn.
My duties included interpreting for missionaries from
China and other non-police duties, such as looking after a
wounded Tamil, who had broken curfew to have a clandestine
tryst with his girlfriend and thus became a target for a vigilant
SC.
And then there was a hantu story.
A shopkeeper reported that ghosts were stoning his tin roof
every afternoon, so we arranged surveillance and indeed there
was a fusillade of stones on the roof during the siesta period.
But it was small boys, not ghosts, who were responsible. They
threw stones to divert the shopkeeper's attention while they
stole his sweets.
'There was a lot of bus burning in our area, the CTs rarely
harmed the passengers but once they killed some suspected
informers and got away into swampy ground where I was
forbidden to operate. When I contacted HQ to ask for military
support, I was offered an air strike since there were no troops
available. It was highly satisfactory to see the rockets of my
air strike hitting the swamp.
The CTs devised an ingenious method of teasing the SC
sentries: they fIxed torchlight on poles and flicked them on and off to draw SC fire. We put a stop to this practice by
massing all our Bren guns, loading with mixed tracer and ball,
and preparing to hose the area just below the lights. The next
time they played the pole game, they got an unpleasant
surprise.
The most successful operation in which I was involved
required me to pose as a forestry officer measuring timber: I
was in civilian clothes, with pistol concealed, and escorted by
two picked SCs in uniform.
The Chinese towkay (manager) of the logging gang told the
CTs that they would have to lie low until the 'forestry offIcer'
had done his job, and then they could come to collect their
money and food. After two hours of measuring, accompanied
by my rather dejected SCs, we left the forest, got mto my
borrowed car, and drove off.
The Gurkhas had put the 'measuring' time to good use and
were well hidden by the time the CTs emerged. The CT party
was annihilated by the Gurkhas' well aimed shots.
The Situation in Perak 1948
by
J H Grieve
John Grieve had just completed his National Service as a
constable in the Palestine Police, when he received a telegram
from the Colonial Office inviting him to become a 'British
Sergeant' in Malaya.
On arrival in Singapore, the newly appointed Commissioner
of Police, Col. W N Gray, addressed us. One of the things he
said proved of great importance to me. This was that we
sergeants were to operate in pairs, an experienced one with
on: of less experience. In my case I was the one with the
lesser experience: I was 20 years old, with eighteen months'
police service, whereas David Garland, my partner; had about
ten years service in the Palestine Police and, prior to that, had
about five years in the army in India. There he had his
introduction to the tropical rainforest. He was keenly interested in its flora and fauna and enthusiastically imparted
his expertise to me when we made our first incursions into the
jungle together. His tuition was invaluable.
David and I were posted to Tapah in South Perak. We lived
with a planter and we all got on well. Our area of
responsibility included the rubber estates and tin mines in the
area from Temerloh in the north to approximately Bidor in the
south. Our initial responsibilities were the protection of estates
and mines and supervising the SPs.
After we became familiar with our area, David felt we
should scout the jungle edge of a hill immediately east of
Temerloh. In the early hours of one morning in September
1948, we left our Jeep at Temerloh Police Station and with SC
Subramanium carried out our patrol in the dark, finishing at
dawn when we descended the hill. On reaching the flat ground
we were heading back towards Temerloh Police Station when
we saw a Chinese male approaching about fifty yards away.
David and Subramanium were about thirty yards in front of
me. David called to the man to show his identity card,
whereupon he dropped something and raced towards the
jungle. I ran to cut him off, reaching the path three yards
behind him. He was tugging at something underneath his
shirtfront. Suddenly, I saw a Mills 36 hand grenade (British)
drop in front of me. I had to stop and pick it up. The safety pin
was intact, so I put it in my pocket and resumed my pursuit,
but the man had disappeared in those few seconds into the
belukar. He had been unable to release the safety pin of the
grenade because it had been too splayed. We found that the
package he had dropped earlier contained pastries.
The following extracts from the 'Tapah Daily Sitreps', give an
interesting picture of the times that the police lived through in
this early stage of the Emergency:-
Terang Bulan
by
J H Grieve
When we were young this was a popular tune in Malaya's
dance halls; the catchy tune which originated in Perak has
now been appropriated for higher purposes: it is the National
Anthem of Malaysia.
John Grieve sent me this piece under the heading Terang
Bulan (Bright Moon), obviously remembering with great
clarity the brilliant moonlight on the night of his operation.
The manager of Tapah Road Estate had reported that on the
nights of 17 and 18 November about ten thousand rubber trees
had been slashed, and that Communist slogans were posted on
trees and cut into the bark. He estimated the financial loss as $M20,000. Police visited the estate, failed to make contact,
and reported that fIfty Chinese, armed with parangs, had been
in the vicinity. Bikam Estate, also in the Tapah area, was
similarly attacked on 19 November when about 6,000 trees
were damaged.
David Garland and I, having arrived in the country on 18
August 1948, were then living on Banir Estate with the
Manager. Dave Garland figured that these attacks were being
carried out by rubber tappers: tappers knew the area and
topography where the young rubber was; they knew how to
cause maximum damage; and he suspected tappers from a
Chinese-owned estate nearby, bordering on Jong Landor.
Dave proposed that we scout the Chinese estate and the
Jong Landor in the early evening of November 19. Our patrol
comprised us, our Tamil SC interpreter, Subramanium and
David Adamson, the 24-year old assistant manager of Jong
Landor. We set off at dusk and reconnoitred the Chinese
estate, then crossed back into the Jong Landor, the time now
being about 2000 hours and the full moon, having risen, was
now suffusing a strong light through the rubber trees.
David and I were ascending a slight slope in the path and
were about thirty yards ahead of our colleagues, when I heard
voices ahead chattering animatedly in what was unmistakably
a Chinese dialect. I hastened back to the other two: then we
regrouped at the top of the slope and looking down saw a large
fire about thirty yards away. The voices, ominously, had
stopped. We approached the fire as silently as possible,
crossing a stream on the way. On reaching the fire we saw by
its light about two dozen rice bowls, teacups, packets of
Quaker Oats, a cooking pot and some parangs. The beams
from our torches on the rubber trees confirmed that we had
surprised a gang of slashers inflagrante delicto.
We opened fire with our Sten guns, aiming low, Dave
Garland and I firinga magazine each into the dimness. As we
started shooting in small bursts there were loud noises of men
crashing through the underbush. We were unable to see
anyone and we didn't hit anyone. It was later established that some 2,000 trees had been slashed, but the slashers were
probably not far into their night's work when we interrupted
them. Although subsequent searches of the two estates,
including the tappers' 'lines', by us and, reinforcements from
Tapah Police Station during the rest of the night, yielded no
results, the attacks on rubber trees were not resumed in Tapah
Police District!
Defending Estates in Sitiawan
by
G S Pringle
In 1948 George Pringle came from Palestine where he had
been serving in the mounted police and, like so many others
from Palestine, was thrown in at the deep end in bandit
country in charge of a widely spread force of SCs.
We were driven into Perak in an army lorry and were
dropped off along the way at our allotted estates. I and another
ex-Palestinian, Hensley, found ourselves billeted on a young
Scottish planter, James Chalmers, who introduced us to the
admirable, courageous planters in the area.
The recruiting of SCs had already been put in hand and we
busied ourselves having guard posts erected at strategic points.
Then we took over the training of the SCs, a raggle-taggle
collection, Malays in the main, with some Tamils and a few
Chinese, all locals trawled from the various estates. To assist
us in the initial stages we had the services of a Malay
Sergeant. He was a charming fellow and invaluable. Having
reviewed the 'troops' it became obvious that to turn them into
an efficient defensive force was going to take time and,
perhaps, the patience of Job! Thoughts of creating an offensive
force were put on hold.
How unprepared we were for jungle warfare.
I discarded my Arabic book in favour of a Handbook of the
Malay Language, which became my only reading matter.
We had a mammoth task but we buckled down to it and
gradually everything fell into place. Our mixed bag of Malays, Tamils, Chinese and Indians knew nothing of warfare or
weaponry and at times we despaired. But we persevered. SCs
began to believe in themselves and in their ability to operate as
fighting units.
Our introduction to belukar was an education in itself. We
found that the only way through this heart-breaking stuff was
to jump into it and hold it down while the rest of the patrol
walked over you, each man repeating the process so that the
patrol moved caterpillar fashion. On a good day we reached a
speed of 100 yards per hour. We also learned to wade through
swamps (chest high for sergeants: chin high for men) to avoid
snakes, red ants, hornets and far more than fifty-seven
varieties of non-timorous beasties; and to marvel at the
ingenuity of leeches as they devoured our soft parts and
occasionally dropped into our glass of ale back at the base.
Patrolling had its compensations. House searches yielded
an abundance of Chinese firecrackers, which were bandy for
simulating small arms fire during training. I don't know
whether they frightened the troops but they were powerful
enough to frighten me. We frequently came across illicit stills
for samsu liquor that required destroying the still and
dispersing the liquor. After a few such enforcings of the Law,
I noticed that the squad seemed noticeably happier than usual.
I checked their water bottles and found that a fair proportion
of the confiscated liquid had, somehow, ended up in every SCs
water bottle.
The thinking behind the supply of a Ford Prefect for
negotiating muddy tracks and ambush alleys may seem
questionable, but we were exceedingly grateful to have any
transport. On returning to safe ground a dozen or more men
and their British Sergeant could board every part of the vehicle
and roar home like a scene from Viva Zapata.
Our burning need was transport. Whilst three estates had
rough tarmac roads, the others were only accessible via a potholed,
waterlogged track, which would have tested the
endurance and patience of a rally driver. On the left of these
tracks we had clear vision through the orderly rubber trees, but the rio-ht hand sides were secondary jungle and the cause of
much apprehension. We anticipated having to footslog our
way to the outlying estates but Chalmers, gentleman that he
was, came to our aid and allowed us to use his antiquated
motorcycle - where it came from no one knew, but it had a
sand filter on top of the tank that seemed to suggest a tenuous
connection with the Eighth Army.
Trying to arrange some sort of communication between
estates other than the telephone lines was tricky and, even if
we got the message, a rescue mission in the pitch dark was
hazardous to say the least. The SCs needed to be as highly
trained as we could make them. We used our combined
knowledge and constant practice on the firing range - at least
we had no shortage of ammunition. As the weeks went by, the
SPs confIdence grew. I learned later from our interpreter that
my barked commands were quite frightening to many of the
SCs; strangely enough this was a comforting thought.
One of our necessary chores was snap checks at night at
strategic points to check whether the guards were alert.
Gliding silently up to a sandbagged post on a dark night was
not our idea of fun but, hopefully, it kept everyone on their
toes. Finding guards asleep with rifles nearby, one was
tempted to remove the rifles then wake the sentries up, but
instructions were received that such seizing of weapons was
not to take place. Defaulters were reported to Sitiawan Police
Station at least once a week, and we wasted no sympathy on
them.
With ambushes from the cover of secondary jungle
becoming increasingly popular with the terrorists, many of the
vehicles used by managers and their assistants on the estates,
had sprouted all sorts of weird and wonderful plating intended
to divert bullets. Our transport problems were solved when we
were issued with a Ford Prefect. It was an improvement on the
motorcycle, especially when, after a lengthy patrol, most of
the knackered squad reached dry land, climbed aboard and
tested the springs of the vehicle way beyond the
manufacturer's specifications.
Now that the SCs in our area had become more confIdent,
we felt justifIed in leading selected members on regular jungle
patrols around the estates: 12/15 in a patrol. All were keen to
go on the offensive but I found that few had any knowledge of
jungle lore or had ventured beyond their kampongs. We were
obliged to learn the hard way about crossing swamps in heavy
rain, leeches, hornets, ants' nests, snakes, scorpions and the
multitude of other hazards that lurk under the jungle canopy.
The speed with which my water bottle seemed to discharge its
contents was remarkable. Fortunately for us, whilst on this
learning curve we met no real opposition.
On these patrols wearing our jungle green, we led from the
front of the squad. Instead of the issue green hat, I tended to
wear a natty black beret thinking it rather dashing. (How naIve
can one get?). It took some time to realise that, if we met
opposition, the man in front wearing the beret would be the
first to go. We learned to blend, to use two scouts, and hand
signals took the place of whispered commands. In addition, we
manned regular ambush points and quite often worked in
conjunction with the regular police patrols. I did wonder what
would happen in a direct confrontation with the enemy but my
question was never answered.
I subsequently transferred to the Sitiawan Regular Police
Jungle Squad. This meant deeper penetration into the jungle
areas working with the Gurkhas, the Malay Regiment and the
British Army.
On one occasion we had searched some Chinese-owned
huts and, as I emerged backwards, I accidentally stood on a
small chicken which lay squirming on the ground. To put it
out of its misery, I applied the butt end of my Sten to it, the
rather simple safety catch slipped off and a bullet shot past my
head. I was okay until a member of the patrol pointed out that
my right ear lobe was bleeding profusely. I told him in true
'British style,' "Not to worry", and we went on. When I got
into bed at base and I thought about how close it had been, I
went a whiter shade of pale and spent a restless night!
And so the work went on, the young dashing Gurkha captain and his men were a joy to be with, and in their
company we considered we were on the offensive with a
vengeance, although we had no 'kills' during our patrols with
them. On one memorable patrol we commandeered a dozen or
so small canoes with about three Gurkhas in each and us at the
rear. To see the boats gradually going under with the Gurkhas
paddling furiously as they sank, then eventually getting out,
emptying the boat, getting aboard and carrying on, was
hilarious. Whilst we enjoyed the spectacle, river leeches about
three inches long were having a whale of a time, and as Tony
Hancock would have commented when we took off our jungle
boots, "There was almost a leg full in there!" I should mention
that the rain was bucketing down at the time! What a country!
As a mounted police officer in Palestine, despite learning a
little Arabic, I always felt cut off from the people we were
policing. In Malaya, having learned the language and being
thrown together so closely, I got to know the different traits of
each individual. The Malays with their happy-go-lucky
attitude; the Tamil rubber tappers wending their betel-nut way
homeward; the Sikhs with their mischievous sense of humour;
the Indian clerks so polite in an old fashioned English style,
and the Chinese very dependable and industrious. Quite a mix
and I have never lost my affection for the country and its
people. On one substantial patrol with a regular police jungle
squad and Gurkhas, we entered some serious swampland at
dawn. The fetid water was almost chest high but stretched
across the three-quarter mile swamp to a dry knoll. Stretching
out to this small island were logs and tree trunks forming a
precarious floating pathway of sorts. We found that, whilst
most of us had to be content to slosh through the morass,
others managed to balance and walk gently across. (A good
many of the Gurkhas tried this because, as you can imagine,
their height placed them at a disadvantage in the deep water.)
So we advanced as silently as the circumstances allowed. The
tree trunks rolled very easily and the Sikhs found that by
touching the end of a log, behind a British Sergeant, they
could deposit him unceremoniously into the swamp - they were a mischievous bunch and, of course, the ducking worked
both ways.
Then we got down to business. Our information was that
our group of bandits was encamped on one of the small
islands. Leading our patrol was a Chinese CID officer. As we
closed on our objective, this gentleman allowed me to take the
lead! Suddenly, there was a warning shout from the direction
of the target, we veered in its direction and surged forward in
line. I found myself absolutely entangled in about a dozen
hooks from fishing lines, perhaps put there to give the bandits
time to scarper! It certainly stopped me in my tracks. Apart
from that shouted warning, we never saw hide nor hair of the
bandits. The information had been good and evidence of the
hurried exit from their camp was plain to see. Very frustrating!
In the two years of patrolling and searching for bandits, I
often came close, and my patrols fired off many shots at
fleeting glimpses of enemy scouts. Also many bandit
encampments and goods/ammo were found and destroyed, but
personally I only accounted for one young bandit, he saw us,
ran into belukar in panic, pointed his Luger at me and almost
eyeball to eyeball, I shot him.
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Military Matters
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Special Air Service
by
B A Glass
When I received a letter from Police HQ that I and three
other officers had been posted to the SAS, the Malayan
Scouts, I wondered what I had done wrong?
The SAS was a small new unit under the command of Lt!
Col Mike Calvert, BA, Cantab, DSO and Bar, otherwise
known from his days in Burma, as Mad Mike.
What I did not know until later was that two of the four
police officers selected for the SAS had cried off. their reason
being that it was a too dangerous and too unknown a project to
become involved with. I did not know then how right they were.
Perhaps we were chosen because of our knowledge of the
Malay language, experience of operations and of the
Intelligence requirements for the job. My first posting was to a
temporary camp in KL, which was little more then than a
muddy quagmire and a really dreadful place.
John Ford joined me there, and we were interviewed by
Col Calvert to establish just what our background and
experience was, and if it was up to the standard he required. It
was very much his unit and he set the rules irrespective of
other military commanders in Malaya.
John and I were both of the opinion that Col Calvert's main
problem was that he seemed to be streets ahead of most of
those he had to deal with in the military. This did not endear
him to his military colleagues.
A simple illustration of this was the military rule that only
one compass could be issued to each nine-man section. He
demanded one for each section of three men, which was the
pattern in which we operated. He got his way, although this
did not increase his popularity.
We moved to Dusan Tua, originally settled by Japanese
due to the hot thermal baths there. For us it was pure luxury to
wallow in those baths.
The unit was made up of men from a variety of units, all of
whom performed their task well: sometimes a very diffIcult
one. An example of this was our method of communication,
very primitive by today's standards. We were still using
Morse; messages were encoded and then transmitted with
pedal trans-receivers. These sets were outdated compared with
the 68 sets used by other units, but the 68 sets did not have the
range we needed.
The police had no serious communications of their own. I
well remember in 1949, on a one-month long police operation,
we had to borrow two Gurkha signallers for our unit. I had a
great respect for all our SAS signal men who operated under
such awful conditions.
My first operation was as second-in-command to the troop commander, Sinclair-Hill, who was known by all of us as
Bukit-Sinclair (bukit, being the Malay word for hill)! He was a
charming man who led the unit most effectively. The unit
covered a vast territory in detail throughout Pahang. We were
on operations for one hundred and four days, which was, at
that time, the longest operation there had been for any unit in
Malaya.
We were supplied by air, which was following the same
routine that I had learned on operations with the police. One of
the things that have remained with me since those days of long
ago is a hatred of tinned vegetable salad made by Heinz.
However much one may hate such tinned food, one can hardly
throw back rations at the aircraft. Unfortunately, it was very
much liked by our commander.
Another thing I remember is that our kit, although new
when dropped and issued to us, would virtually rot off our
backs within one week. We often wondered how the men in
General Slim's army managed to cope in Burma.
Although we had other. things to think about, the Malayan
jungle had some quite beautiful things to see, particularly
some of the rivers and small lakes. One patrol of three men
came in and said they had seen a pride of tiger cubs. When
asked what they did, "Kept very quiet and just watched as
discretion was a sign of maturity and survival." A very wise
and safe decision.
Finally, Col Calvert joined us and I had the task, with a
couple of his men, of leading him out to the River Aur where
he was to be picked up by Royal Army Service Corps (RASC)
sea-going launch. Very wisely, he decided this was far too
dangerous as the sea was quite rough.
Having not had a shave or a haircut for three months, I
really needed one. But on going into a little Indian barbershop
in the small village of Mersing I got what I wanted. I must
have looked quite a sight, but he did a good job. I did not have
what I was frightened of, a short back and sides in the
traditional army style.
After a short rest, Police HQ asked me to return. Col Calvert wrote and asked if I could be retained for a further
four weeks. At the time I was very much involved in
coordinating the intelligence for the new Rhodesian Squadron.
After a very good and most satisfying rest period I, the sole
survivor of the first to go from the police to the Malay Scouts,
returned to the police, but I was soon asked to return to the
SAS to assist in the recovery of the remains of one Trooper
O'Leary. He had been lost on patrol and murdered by some
Sakais. As I knew the area from other operations with the SAS
and knew the language well, I appeared to be the best choice.
I was due to go on leave, having had a busy tour of duty.
The judge, who was to hear the case against the man accused,
said I was not to fly on leave until the case was over. Just in
case the plane did not get me there and back again. Not
exactly the type of thing to improve one's confIdence in
airlines.
I flew into nearby Kampong Aur where there was a small
police post and where the accused was held. With an escort of
two SAS troopers, we set off with the Sakai headman and the
accused, in a dug out canoe, to a small mud bank where
Trooper O'Leary's body was buried. The remains were easily
identifIed, as he was one of the first soldiers to wear a gold
earring, which we recovered. The accused was cooperative
throughout this part of the investigation. After the body was
recovered, we made arrangements for the remains to be flown
out for a post mortem in Kuantan, and then burial. The
accused was also sent on to Kuantan where he was formally
charged.
I returned to formal police work and, eventually, went
home on leave after nearly four years. I was very hurt when I
met my sister who calmly told me that I was really quite mad.
Sisters have this disturbing habit of being honest.
Scots Guards
by
Snodgrass
"The Superintendent Personnel said, "A posting for you from
Bluff Road." I was in my third month of attachments and
beginning to wonder when I was to be allowed to do a job on
my own. This surely must be it. "To where?" I asked. "Slim
River," he said in an apologetic tone. "The Scots Guards have
a company stationed there and it has been decided that a police
officer should be attached to them to develop liaison with the
local people and to set up a counter-terrorist intelligence
gathering system."
Slim River, some 50 miles north of KL, was a small village
on the main road through Malaya. It was a hotbed of CTs. In
KL I had been allocated an Austin A40. The car was of a batch
that had been added recently to the miscellany of vehicles then
in use by the police, varying from old Morris 15cwts through
an assortment of British and American Forces' wartime
transport. The newly acquired British small family saloons
were not the most appropriate for use in areas where every
road bend and cutting could hold an armed ambush party.
Apart from a few two-men, ex-army armoured Scout Cars,
the police had no. bullet-proofed vehicles. The police troop
carrier vehicles were thin- skinned, three-ton Chevrolets; not
surprisingly, they were soon being referred to as 'coffin
wagons'.
Joining in KL to accompany me on my mission were the
personnel of my first independent command - one Police
Lance Corporal (P/LCpl) and one Detective Constable (DC).
L/Cpl Ahmad bin Johari, was an English-educated Mal ay of
about the same age as myself; he had been selected to be my
interpreter. Detective Ah Kow was old enough to be my
father; he was a dark- skinned, wizened, Hakka Chinese who,
when he grimaced, displayed a glistening mass of gold teeth. It
did not take long to discover he was an opium addict; no
wonder his previous commander had not objected to his
posting.
We set off from KL in the small car with me driving. In the
front seat, with the muzzle of his Lee Enfield No.5 rifle
sticking out of the window, was Ahmad. Ah Kow sat in the
back surrounded by all our excess kit that we had been unable
to stuff into the boot. He had an old Smith and Wesson .38
revolver, whilst I had my Browning semi-automatic pistol. We
were not a formidably armed party ready to take on bandits.
Ahmad and I had wondered if we should dress in civilian
clothes in the hope that an enemy ambush party would allow
us to pass as a seemingly worthless target, Ah Kow was clad
in a scruffy, old black samfu jacket and baggy trousers; he
looked more like a bandit than a policeman. Ahmad and I
decided that our greatest risk would be to be stopped by a SF
roadblock and some young soldier or policeman on seeing Ah
Kow opening fire in sheer panic. We opted to wear uniform.
Ahmad, who had only recently completed his basic training
(he had been made an Acting (unpaid) L/Cpl for this mission),
was super smart in a crisp khaki shirt and voluminous shorts irreverently
known as 'Bombay Bloomers' - and black hose
tops tucked into black ankle boots, all topped by a black round
cap with a pom-pom on top. I wore almost the same except
that I had two shiny silver pips on each shoulder and a blueblack
cap with a row of silver thread on its peak.
Some ten miles north of KL the road started to twist and
turn through jungle as it climbed to the Kanching Pass. "Bad
place", said Ahmad, "Big ambush here last week. Five police
killed." He sank lower in his seat and worked the bolt of his
rifle to slip a round into the breech. Ah Kow, in the back,
cleared his throat with a loud hawk and spat out of the open
window. I changed to a lower gear and put my foot down. The
little car responded well and fifteen minutes later we left the
forest and emerged into rubber. Ahmad gave a smile,
straightened in his seat and said, "Good!"
The Company base was surrounded by coiled barbed wire.
A drop barrier barred the road entry, by which stood an armed
Guardsman wearing jungle green uniform and his Guard's
cap. He flagged us down, his rifle held menacingly in the crook of his arm, and peered into the car. Seeing our uniforms
he smiled, "Och, you'll be the polis whose coming to join us!
The Company Commander is expecting yiz - he's over there
in his office.
The Suffolks
by
W J Syratt
Syratt had been a war time glider pilot then joined the South
African Police, but did not enjoy that experience, so, aged 24,
joined the Royal Malayan Police as a Cadet ASP.
Those Emergency days were quite tense. It was not so much
what was happening as what might happen. Every road
journey might end in an ambush and, as we settled down in
isolation every night with our families, our personal weapons
were close at hand.
I have nothing but praise for the planters. They relied on us
to come to their assistance in the dangerous areas where they
worked. Since we had no armoured vehicles and the CTs
frequently staged incidents in order to lead us into an ambush,
we greatly appreciated it when the planters of Kuala Langat
clubbed together to present us with a locally armoured 3-ton
lorry.
I arrived in late 1950 and was posted to Kajang, the lair of
Liew Kong Kin, the notorious bearded bandit. Extracts from
my diary read:-
13.2.51. Our squad followed the New Brighton estate
boundary looking for evidence of tracks into the swamp, found
a fallen tree that led out of the estate into the jungle, and two
hundred yards on the trail heard noises; two armed Min Yuen
appeared. The P/Lt shot and wounded one but my Thompson
sub-machine-guns jammed and the other escaped.
14.3.51. Five squads converged on a squatter area near by,
firing broke out and one of the squads discovered a Min Yuen camp in thick belukar. As we approached the camp Majid, the
SC in front of me, reported that he was under fire but I was
unconvinced and ordered a cease-fire. Soon enemy fITe started,
Majid pointed to a dense patch of undergrowth and I lobbed in
two grenades. Two female Min Yuens were killed; Majid was
a little miffed that I had doubted his word and showed me a
spent bullet lodged in his bandolier.
29.8.51. I accompanied an informer and a section of the
Suffolk Regiment into the forest reserve. When the leading
scout gave a hand sign that he had sighted the bandit camp I
expected that an Order Group would be called and perhaps a
stealthy approach. Not a bit of it, I was pushed aside and the
Suffolks charged into the attack killing one bandit. The
Suffolks, mostly National Service, were quite splendid, always
offensively minded and ready to patrol in small numbers.
18.10.51. 0340. Awakened by machine-gun fITe near my
house. This was an MPLA attack on a small post on an estate
near by. The bandits killed one SC, wounded two more and
took their weapons. It was a company attack on a post of
seven SCs and they had little chance.
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Coronation
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With Medals and Spices the Heroes March In
by
W J Hillier
The Kenyan Police had accepted Bill, a former 'Palestinian',
but when he visited the Colonial Office to complete the
process they said that they had lost his file and posted him to
Malaya instead. Within days of his arrival he found himself in
Sungei Siput, supposedly on a short posting to 'beef up
patrols'. Soon his temporary posting turned into a full tour of
over three years as OCPD.
I was serving as OCPD KL early in 1953, when I received a
telephone call informing me that I had been selected as Staff
OffIcer to the Royal Malayan Police contingent bound for
London to participate in the Coronation celebrations.
General Templer had directed that every policeman in the
Coronation contingent should have been decorated. The effect
of this directive meant that the standard of drill was very
uneven; all the regulars had been taught the same drill, but the
SCs varied both in skill and method, according to the skill of
their instructor or arm of service, or even custom of the
regiment in which their instructor had first served.
We sailed from Singapore to Southampton, and then took
the train to Woolwich, the home of the Royal Artillery. One of
our numbers, Chief Inspector Arajan Singh, seeing flocks of
sheep, ran up and down the corridor roaring, "Sheeps,
Sheeps!" in his excitement. Herds of cows brought forth a
similar response. He was a true Sikh warrior and farmer.
Our visit coincided with the fasting month of Ramadan. I
had obtained a dispensation from the need to comply with
religious requirements of the fasting month, but one devout
regular Malay Sergeant insisted that he would, nevertheless,
continue to fast as usual. As the daylight hours in Britain in
May/June range from 0400 hours to some time around 2300
hours, the requirement was indeed onerous.
I reluctantly agreed to hold a press conference. The only
article I can remember seeing was in the Daily Express
entitled With Medals and Spices the Heroes March In.
One day, whilst visiting a laundry in Woolwich (I was in
uniform), I overheard a woman laundry worker who had
overheard my conversation with the manager and mistaken me
for a Malay, exclaim to a fellow worker, "Ark at 'im - he
speaks better English than what we do!"
On 30th May 1953 we moved off to Kensington Gardens to
live under canvas for the last few days. The Coronation Parade
was, of course, a military parade, subject to military rules
about seniority and precedence. To the military mind the
Colonial Police were the most junior unit on parade, we were, therefore, to march furthest away from the Queen, but at the
head of the procession immediately behind the first four
bands, at least two of which would be playing throughout the
day!
Some nights before the Coronation about midnight we
toured the processional route to determine how we were going
to negotiate the major buildings in the way, e.g. the gates of
Hyde Park. It was considered that the best way to solve the
problem was to experiment 'on the ground'. The front rank
divided between the various archways and decided how many
men would march under each arch and how many to the right
and left. Hearing the noise of our exercise, people sleeping on
the pavements got up, produced their Union flags and began
cheering. The men were amazed that three nights before the
Coronation crowds were already in position to see and cheer
their Queen.
We were up very early on Coronation Day, cleaning
equipment in our tents. We were dismissed about 1800 hours having been on parade for some eleven hours, and I was about
to change when one of our reserve rank and fIle appeared at
my tent flap, in tears. He had forgotten to pack his sampin
(small sarong), and we were due to parade for Buckingham
Palace the following morning. He was worried that he would
not be included. I assured him that come what may, he would
be at Buckingham Palace tomorrow. The reserve and I fought
our way through the crowds to Victoria Station, resisting all
attempts by the crowds to pull us into pubs, restaurants, etc.
and reached Woolwich Barracks about 2000 hours, but the
man with the key to the drill shed, where all our spare kit was
stored, was out celebrating - with the key! He returned soon
after 2100 hours, and opened the drill shed for us, but it was
about the size of a railway platform, piled to the roof with kit
bags, suitcases, etc., and though we searched for an hour we
did not find one item of kit belonging to anyone in our
contingent. I called a halt to the search. The next day I
explained the situation to the men, and said that I proposed to
dress the reserve in a cummerbund and white web belt, and his velvet dress songkok, which would surely be enough to show
that he was Malay. All agreed with my proposal to hide our
reserve man in the centre rank and we marched from
Kensington Gardens to parade before the Queen and Royal
Family on the back lawn of the Palace.
A guardsman with a tray on which our Coronation Medals
lay approached each contingent. The Guardsman was
supposed to call out the name of the recipient who was to
come forward and receive his medal, but names like Wan bin
Sheikh Abdul Rahman were a little beyond the guardsman. I
assisted him with this duty, so we had a kind of do-it-yourself
presentation.
Bonfire in Kedah
by
J T W Sishton
Several weeks before the date of the Coronation, I had drawn
the short straw (as the most junior officer in Police HQ, Alor
Star) and was ordered by the CPO, Jock Elphinstone, to obtain
sufficient combustible material and construct a huge bonfire
on the summit of Kedah Peak, which was the highest point in
Kedah/Perlis, some 30 miles south of Alar Star. The bonfire
was to be lit at 1900 hours local time, 2 June, to coincide with
a State Banquet to be held at the Kedah Club, with His
Excellency the Sultan of Kedah, the British Adviser et al,
attending. The CPO confIdently expected the resultant
conflagration to be clearly visible in Alor Star by His
Excellency and the assembled guests when he led them forth,
and also in Penang some 35 miles south, to impress the cpa
Penang, no doubt. To assist in this mammoth task, I was
allowed the services of one P/Lt, Jock Chambers, half a police
jungle squad and a couple of 5 tonners.
A metaIled road wound up the Peak as far as the Rest
House, roughly halfway. This deteriorated into a rough road
trace marked out by the Royal Engineers years before when
siting an important VHF mast on the summit. For the last few
hundred yards there was nothing but footholds suitable for mountain goats. The logistics were, to say the least,
'challenging'. I commandeered loads of old tyres, barrels of
tar, bales of straw, wood, etc. and these were carted as far as
possible on the lorries and then physically manhandled by the
police jungle squad up onto the small plateau on the summit.
These men were absolutely magnificent and seemed genuinely
proud to be helping in this gesture to honour HM The Queen.
Our work on the bonfire, approximately 10 metres high and
correspondingly broad at the base, was completed just prior to
'D' day, 2 June. Our masterpiece could be lit easily in several
places at once with the aid of petrol-soaked rags and other
devices such as static flares.
At dusk I left the Peak and drove back to Alor Star,
keeping well out of sight of the CPO until the hour of truth. I
nervously watched the night sky and, to my relief (and the
CPO's gratification), just before 1930 hours on a clear night
the whole sky in the vicinity of Kedah Peak glowed orangered
as the summit burst into flames. Although 30 miles south
of Alor Star it was clearly visible as the CPO led his guests,
including His Excellency, out onto the patio to observe this
unique sight which we had kept secret until then. We had
reports the next day that the Coronation bonfire had also been
visible in Penang."
NB "It was on the same road, below the Rest House,
leading to the main road to Sungei Patani, that the
newly arrived CPO, Neville Godwin, was ambushed
and killed when descending from Kedah Peak in
1954.
Celebration in Mantin
by
P A Collin
After Tapah I had a spell in Malacca where I trained P/Lts;
they were a wonderful bunch who did well in their later
postings. I was then moved to Mantin, a small town in Negri
Sembilan, lying astride the main north/south road. I decided that Mantin should do its bit to celebrate the Queen's
Coronation. We fixed up a loud speaker and procured a 78
record of the Grenadier Guards playing the National Anthem.
The town was decked with flags and streamers and just before
1100 hours I ordered the gates across the trunk road at the
north and south ends of the village to be closed. At 1100 hours
precisely, with the locals all dressed in their Sunday best and
the police on parade and the Union Jack flying, we played the
National Anthem while the Parade presented arms. After I had
dismissed the Parade, we opened the gates and traffic flowed
again along the trunk road. Of course, the closing of the road
was quite against the law, but there were no complaints and I
think everyone enjoyed the show. No wonder I was called
Colonel Blimp!
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Awards
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There are several mentions in the London Gazette of the medals for
gallantry, which were won by subalterns and their men. It
would take a large book to do justice to the long list of
awards, which they wonfor outstanding bravery. The number
of GMs awarded pays ample tribute to their courage and
initiative.
I am indebted to James Macnab for ferreting out the
following citations from the London Gazette of 24 April
1955.
Police Lieutenant Chariton, GM
An attack was planned in the Muar District of Johore against a well defended
CT camp where several important CT leaders were based. The
attacking force consisted of a police jungle squad commanded by P/Lt
Thomas Charlton anad one Military Platoon.
When the attack was launched after a long and difficult approach
marching through deep swamp, the CTs reacted fiercely. A much larger
enemy force armed with automatic weapons quickly surrounded the small police and military force. The platoon commander and his leading men became casualties almost immediately; and the rest of the platoon was pinned down by heavy enemy fire.
As soon as P/Lt Charlton realised that the Platoon Commander
was out of action and the Platoon in dire need of help, he brought his
jungle squad out from its reserve position and into action most
effectively despite the heavy fire. Then, under even heavier fire and
with complete disregard for his own safety, he moved up to the Platoon
Commander and helped the Platoon Sergeant to carry out the officer's
orders. He remained in action with the Platoon for the next three hours
during which time he displayed the highest qualities of personal
courage, determination and leadership. His conduct was an inspiration
to all ranks in the military and police force.
GMs for Police Lieutenant Graver and Corporal Osman
bin Adam
When PILt Graver and two subordinates were attacked by CTs
on an old rubber estate road in the Kulai District of Johore,
they returned fire and the CTs fled. Corporal Osman managed
to bring down one of the CTs with a long-range shot: the other
two CTs escaped, however, and took cover in a swamp
overgrown with long grass. Ignoring the possibility that there
might be a strong CT force lying hidden in ambush nearby,
Graver and Osman pursued the escaping CTs and re-engaged
them. Osman killed one and wounded the other. The CT who
had been wounded in the first firefight then broke cover,
carrying his Stengun, and threw a grenade. Graver and
Osman managed to kill him too.
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Olla Padrida
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Personal Assistant to Nicol Gray
by
H S Bailey
Hugh was a Gurkha who served in Waziristan, Burma and
Malaya, before resigning when it was decided that his Battalion would convert to an artillery role: he did not want to
become a mathematician. I sympathise having also eschewed
the artillery path in my own military days. After a short spell
on the staff of Kamunting Tin Mines, he joined the police as a
Cadet ASP.
For a few months Hugh was Personal Assistant (PA) to the
controversial Commissioner of Police Gray, Hugh wrote:-
My view has always been that Gray would have worked well
with Templer but, unfortunately, Field Marshal Montgomery
had already "damned" Gray.
He was eager to lead and to be seen to lead.
My first experience of his view on 'showing the flag', as
we travelled the country, was when I organised an escort for a
visit to Rawang, a notoriously bad area. Gray was furious
when he found our escort dressed not in smart uniform with
silver buttons, polished boots and wearing their songkoks, but
in jungle green and floppy hats. He insisted that we visited as
many outstations as possible and my contemporaries greatly
appreciated his ways and determination to share our risks.
His directive to me was that, if we were ambushed, he
would lead the counter-attack personally, passing orders
through me to our smartly dressed escort. He, himself, always
wore his No.1 uniform and flew his police pennant on the staff
car.
Hugh recalls one of the famous stories of Templer's habits.
After some time Templer learnt about the bullying which
Grey had to endure from some of the pre-war planters, they
were also trying to tell Templer how to run the Emergency.
Templer decided to grasp the nettle and deal once and for all
with the dissidents, with maximum publicity.
Having been fully briefed on the main culprit's life style,
early one morning Templer roared into his estate and stormed
into his bungalow followed by the DO and a posse of other
officials. Almost immediately a sarong-clad young local girl came out from the bedroom on to the verandah followed in
short order by the startled culprit. Templer milked the scene
for all it was worth and, spreading his arms as if to embrace
his entourage, launched a vitriolic attack on the man. Templer
said that he had no respect for him and would have nothing
more to do with him and that the officials would make sure
that his exposure would be broadcast widely.
Meanwhile SCs, estate labourers and others, alerted by the
noise of the High Commissioner's cavalcade of a personal
scout car with armoured vehicles fore and aft, had assembled
to witness the scene and hear Templer's richest invective
descending on the hapless man. Finally, Templer ordered the
SCs to be removed from the estate since the man did not
deserve protection.
No more was heard from the bully or his cronies who
decided, sensibly, not to tangle further with the 'Tiger'.
From Waziristan to Jungle Warfare and Booby Traps in
Malaya
by
H S Bailey
Sometime before I joined the police, 'Bugle' Blake, my local
OCPD, asked me if I would care to join him in an attack on a
CT camp. He claimed that he had a Malay CT who was ready
to guide us to the camp in the Pond ok Tanjong Forest Reserve.
We set off at 2300 hours. I was carrying a Reissing submachine-
gun, a Colt .45 automatic and a hip flask of brandy.
My heart sank when I discovered that we were about to
attack a hundred men with only 18 Mata Matas. Bugle had a
shooting stick, a revolver and a water bottle and, like his men,
was wearing Khaki Drill (KD) and silver buttons. The Malays
were also wearing their songkoks. Our small force was armed
with old Lee Enfield rifles, two Sten guns and a Bren, and we
had no jungle clothing, no rations and no radio.
We struggled along until dawn when the scouts came
crashing back as the enemy opened fire. Luckily, the CTs
retreated immediately. Blake had a graze on the top of his head and was slightly dazed. The brandy came in handy. When
we entered the camp we found a hundred plates and other
evidence that our estimate of the CT strength had been correct.
Our casualties had been one grazed OCPD and one wounded
Sikh. Lucky us!
When as a Cadet ASP I started to take out police patrols,
we were still using KD, wore gym shoes and had no radios or
special rations. I used to wrap my food, chocolate, tinned
sardines, onions and rice, into a sarong and sling it across my
shoulder like a Mexican bandit, and so to war with my
personal weapons and an old lemonade bottle full of water.
My days were full to overflowing. We returned from
patrols to all the normal duties, pay parades, inspections and
court cases, I never had time to think of the ever-present
dangers.
Eventually, I was promoted from a garage to a small house
and I had as my orderly, an elderly Malay lady who looked
after me well; feeding me with fine curries and local fruit and
giving me a good wigging from time-to-time for not getting
enough sleep or being away too much.
One morning I was awakened early by a report that
Communist pamphlets had been scattered around near my
quarters and office. When I went to inspect, I found two tall
bamboo poles stuck either side of the road, each bearing the
Red Flag of China. They looked innocent and I pulled one out
and handed it to the inspector. As I was about to pull the other
out, he pointed to a nail stuck into the pole some six inches
from the bottom. And when I looked at the hole from which
the pole had come, I saw a hand grenade with the pin out and
the lever nearly released, held only by a very small pebble. We
had been lucky. I sent in a drawing so that others might be
warned and the marines took care of the disposal of the
grenade.
My stint as PA to the Commissioner ended when, during a
tour in the outback, he found a cadet with a broken leg and
decided that it would be better if we swapped places, so I was
posted to a jungle company in Kedah. The CO was a brilliant patrol leader but gave no time to administration and was
paying all his men as if they were recruits.
A few days after I took over, all the Chinese deserted and
went home. I transferred most of the officers and having, with
the aid of a hurricane lamp, managed to sort out the pay
problems, invited the Chinese Constables to return to duty and
better pay. They all came back and were keen to work.
There was no training. Who was fit to instruct? The
officers knew nothing about the antiquated, heterogeneous
collection of weapons at our disposal, some could not even
assemble their webbing, and I was busy trying to sort out the
administration and walking in and out of the barracks getting
to know the men: they all seemed very young.
I was then ordered to take my company across to a camp
on the other side of Kedah. Somehow we managed to carry out
the move with armoured cars, emergency drills and so on,
without mishap.
I gave one of my officers the use of my little house for his
wife and his little lambs (as he called them) and made do with
a small room where I could sleep and hang my clothes.
Within days the promise that I would be given a month free
of operations in order to train my company was broken, and I
was required to provide two platoons to participate in one of
those useless military sweeps which look so good on a map,
but which usually turned into patrols in single file forcing their
way painfully through the jungle.
We made three contacts with the CTs but the Sten guns,
carried by the scouts, always let us down. The guns were new
but the magazines old and weak. I sent a furious radio message
to SAC Supplies, "We have made three contacts with the CTs
and in each case the Stens carried by the leading scouts failed
to fire due to the new guns and worn out magazines. Please
refer to Proverbs 30 - "He that troubleth his own house shall
inherit the wind and the foolish shall be the servant to the wise
at heart." The reply was a foolscap sheet of typed 'rocket'
copied to my CPO, "If Mr Bailey is so keen on quotations
from the Bible perhaps he may benefit from reading Matthew - "Set not your horn on high nor speak with a stiff
neck for promotion cometh not from the north or the south but
that God setteth up one and another down."
I was incensed and worried since I was due for
confirmation as an ASP but the CPO assured me that I need
not worry, he knew the SAC well, they had a good laugh at
my expense, but we would get new magazines.
I was worried about the training situation. The police
jungle companies, 240 strong, could not be effective without
training. Frightened young men needed training such as the
Gurkhas had implemented by rota, thus producing some
excellent results with few Gurkha casualties and many enemy
losses.
And then the luck of No. 13 Jungle Company ran out. An
accidental shooting in the Mess, the deaths of our OCPD and
one of my men in an attack, and I was becoming weary,
endlessly out with my platoons and worrying about the lack of
training.
One night I found myself outside my cabin with a loaded
and cocked Browning automatic, shouting to what I thought
were friendly troops the other side of the trees and calling on
them not to shoot.
One morning I awoke with a severe headache and visited
the local medical officer. He gave me a curious look and sent
me off to Alor Star where I was sedated for 36 hours. I had
been in Malaya since 1948, ''Too long in bad stations."
Reflecting on those days it seems that all my years in the
police we were rushed; there never was time for a full
appreciation of the situation, and it was seldom possible to
seek advice from a senior officer.
I gave up accepting invitations to dinner. It seemed as if
halfway through a decent meal, and perhaps just beginning a
relationship with a pretty girl, one was always called away.
Those years of immediate action have left their mark. I still
jump to do everything as quickly as possible.
Train Driving at Padang Besar
by
H S Bailey
Bill Bailey's pre-police experience was as an infantryman;
first in the Queen's Royal Regiment in India and Burma then
as an officer posted to the Gurkhas where he served in
Indonesia and Singapore. After demobilisation he attended
Manchester University, took an Arts Degree and immediately
joined the RMP.
In 1951 I was posted to Padang Besar, a small township on
the Perlis/Thai border, which had a railway station and
immigration and customs officers from Thailand as well as
from Malaya. My tasks included organisation of the SC patrols
protecting the railway line; border patrols commanding the
police station and maintaining liaison with the Thais. Apart
from the government buildings there were a few tumbledown,
unprepossessing shops. I had brought my wife and two-year old
daughter with me and we were the only resident Europeans
until a SBO moved into the Rest House. Apart from him we
never saw another European other than an occasional
passenger on the train. The road to Kangar, the State capital,
was closed because of the risk of CT ambush, so we had to
come and go by train to Arau where I kept my car. We had no
vehicles in the town.
There was one passenger train and two goods trains daily
and we used them both to travel south to Arau, usually sitting
in the guard's van. However, I got to know one of the Malay
drivers well and he allowed me to travel beside him on the
footplate, taught me the controls and sometimes even let me
drive!
Apart from 20/30 SCs in the railway patrol, I had regular
policemen manning the police station and some more SCs for
static defence and patrolling on the edge of town. I led the
border patrols and other patrols outside the town'; sometimes I
accompanied the dawn patrols along the line.
We had no derailments in my time but the dawn patrol once came across a barrier of logs and heavy stones laid across
the rails. They were able to remove the obstacles before the
next train arrived.
OCPD Triang
by
D L Brent
In December 1952 my wife, Eunice, arrived by ship in
Penang and immediately afterwards I was posted to Triang as
OCPD.
This was a great experience, my first command of over 500
personnel, with B Company 4 Malay in support and also 6
PFF. Most travel was in armoured vehicles, including an
armoured train, which was ready to travel at Triang station
right next door to my HQ. It would be easy to fill a book with
the events and characters in Triang, which included pig shoots,
a rubber estate manager turning up at a party one night with an
enormous just shot python in the boot of his bright red
Studebaker convertible, 0300 hours telephone call from a
distant P/Lt agitated about an elephant smashing the New
Village perimeter fence and guzzling the villagers' bananas,
and should he shoot it! Estate manager and friend with a
Chinese mistress who was a Min Yuen member; irate estate
managers about this, that or the other inconvenience to them
caused by police operational work; my OC, a P/Lt and former
army captain and wartime Battalion Adjutant; the desolate,
deserted estate manager's bungalow where the last
incumbent's brains and hair were still stuck to the wall after a
messy gun suicide; the character who commanded the PFF;
my first SB operation all night into the early hours during the
absence of my Chinese SB officer, and having some limited
success but making a hash of one aspect; some excellent
intelligence work by my people resulting in effective police
kills.
Triang District had earned a reputation as the arsehole of
Pahang! It festered in the southernmost corner of Pahang
State. To the north was Temerloh District and the Pahang River, to the east-southeast was Tasek Bera, Malaya's largest
swampy lake area, to the south Bahau District in NegriSembilan,
to the west was the remote border of Bentong
District and the border of the State of Negri Sembilan. The
entire area was heavy jungle on the fringes of which numerous
rubber estates had been carved out. There were only dirt tracks
but north/south through the district ran the railway link from
Gemas in the south to Kota Bahru.
There was no electricity in Triang Township. Only rubber
estate managers, who had their own generators, enjoyed the
luxury of electricity. The OCPD's bungalow was next to the
Assistant District Officer's (ADO) bungalow and was
furnished with the usual sparse teak items and lighting was by
pressure lamps. Cooking was with kerosene stove, and a hasty
order to Robinson's in KL resulted in the delivery of our first
refrigerator run on kerosene. No electricity so no fans! The
ubiquitous and absolutely indispensable fan to keep the fetid
air circulating and body cooling was much needed.
Our arrival in Triang possibly created a Malayan first ever
record for the youngest Division One government official and
wife - I was 22 years old and Eunice was 17, and in Triang, to
boot, at the height of the Emergency! Eunice certainly
attracted attention, young, slim, stunning good looks with blue
eyes and blonde hair; she turned heads wherever she went. She
knuckled down to things with enthusiasm, getting the hang of
shopping, running the household, travel, socialising and
picking up the Malay language along the way.
The popUlation was concentrated in New Villages
established under the Briggs Plan, including the entire area
around Triang town and all rubber estate work force areas.
Travel was mainly by armoured vehicles - such as the
armoured scout car on which I manned the Bren gun perched
in the turret for visits to security units and rubber estates.
I also had an armoured train under command. The engine
in the middle had an armoured carriage at front and back and
then at each end of these were two flat wagons piled with
sandbags, to take the force of explosion should the CTs mine the track to try and blow us up. Travel in the bullet-proof,
armour-plated, steel wagons was like being slowly cooked in
a very noisy hot oven. The clanking, jolting and rattling and
the unbearable heat of the armoured plating in the sun, was a
test for the physical system - but better than the alternative! A
morning of travelling back and forth in the armoured train left
the uniform damp with perspiration and a change of uniform
was usually needed on return to Triang. The CTs were very
aggressive and active in Triang but we had built up a pretty
clear picture of their organisation, both military in the jungle
and underground - the Min Yuen - in the civilian community.
Waking up to a day's work ahead was a mass of
possibilities to be coped with and stimulating to say the least. I
had a good team: inspectors for crime and SB and P/Lts in
charge of security groups. A P/Lt manned the combined
(police-military) Operations Room and worked in conjunction
with the 104 Malay Regiment. The rubber estate managers
were generally good blokes, although I recall one testy
manager calling me at night and complaining bitterly because
we had stopped his work force going into an area because we
were running an operation there at that time. His loss of a
day's tapping and revenue flow was unfortunate, but it had a
lower priority than beating the enemy.
Another manager had a young Chinese mistress whom we
knew was a member of the Min Yuen. Her role was
principally to gather information and, as she was not
potentially very dangerous, we kept her under surveillance in
order to gather leads to other 'bigger fish' and bided our time.
Before my arrival a manager of a very remote rubber estate
had committed suicide by shooting himself in the head with
his carbine. The absentee owners of the rubber estate were not
able to get a replacement for him and so the tappers continued
tapping and selling their latex independently. I had a strong
security unit there and when Eunice and I spent an overnight
stay to help maintain morale, we looked in the manager's
bungalow. It was a drab, forlorn, cement block with peeling
paint and a dank, stale smell. Scattered on the floor were miscellaneous items of broken furniture and broken glass, and
on a wall were the blood splash stains and some hair from the
head of the suicide. Suicides were not uncommon with those
who found themselves in remote, unfriendly and dangerous
locations.
The Case of the One-Armed Tapper
by
D L Brent
We had information that on one rubber estate there was a
Chinese female rubber tapper suffering from the loss of an
arm. However, when her latex was tallied at the collection
point each morning, she managed to bring in a goodly flow
from the trees in her allotted section. This aroused our
suspicion and, as we knew her son was a member of the local
CT organisation in the jungle, we decided to mount
surveillance in her section of the estate. Under cover of
darkness one night a section took up position. The next
morning the female tapper arrived and started tapping. It
didn't take long before there was some foliage movement at
the jungle fringe then a figure came into view, a CT wearing a
khaki uniform, cap with red star,bandoleer and carrying a
Mark 4 Lee Enfield rifle. We watched him as he made contact
with the female rubber tapper and both started tapping
together. We rose from our positions and confronted the CT
calling upon him to surrender and to put his hands up. He
made a break to run for the cover of the jungle while his
mother shrieked in fear. We loudly called on him to surrender
again but he continued running, stumbling over slippery
ground and tree roots. A volley of shots rang out killing the
CT instantly. We would have much preferred, of course, that
the CT surrendered. The body was brought back to HQ in
Triang and his mother was held for interrogation. I was not
insensitive to the tragedy of this case of mother and son, but
there was a job to be done.
Diplomacy in Pekan
by
D L Brent
"Pahang was one of the pre-war Unfederated States, a
Protectorate not a Colony and, whatever the small print in the
legal documents might say, HRH the Sultan was the monarch
in his State and expected to be treated accordingly whether by
Malayans or expatriate officers. John Axford, my predecessor
as aCPD, a World War II bomber pilot, had clearly not been
interested in protocoL The law was the law and those who
infringed it were liable to land up in custody.
In April 1953 the CPO Pahang, Carr Bovell, told me that I
was to take over as aCPD Pekan because the Sultan of Pahang
had banished John Axford for arresting his brother, the Tengku
Bendahara (Court Chamberlain), for conducting a lottery
based on admission tickets to the park. It appeared that John
put the Tengku in the lockup at Police HQ. This was a most
unusual situation and extremely sensitive.
I declined the Sultan's invitation to ride with his polo team,
as this would have entailed considerable time training and this
I could not afford. I restricted myself to an occasional game of
tennis with His Highness and court members from time to
time.
The only slightly difficult time I experienced with the
Sultan was when an SC, whom I had admonished for a minor
disciplinary matter, went to the Sultan's Istana (palace) with
some other SCs to ask the Sultan's help. In other words, I had
a minor revolt on my hands!! However, it was short lived. I
went to see the Sultan at his riverside istana and had a brief
conversation with him at which he agreed that the matter was
inconsequential, that he was perceived as a father figure by
'his children' and that he would, of course, advise the SCs to
return to their duties immediately.
Monsoon in Pahang
by
D L Brent
Most of us have experienced the monsoon as visitors, but it
was clearly a much more traumatic experience to live through
a long monsoon.
The heavy monsoon season on the east coast caused
considerable changes in life styles and practices amongst the
local population. The entire riverine areas on and around the
banks of the great Pahang River were flooded. All village
dwellings were built on stilts, and in Pekan Town all dwellings
and shop houses were built on pilings or five-foot ways above
most flood levels. Sampans replaced cars and bicycles. The
monsoon season had an extraordinary effect on one's outlook.
It seemed that all day, all night, the heavy rain kept thundering
down on the roof without any let up. No sunlight penetrated.
The days were dark and dismal. Everything became extremely
damp. I recall opening a cupboard door and seeing two bright
green objects at the bottom of the cupboard. When I bent
down to look closer I was astounded to find that they were a
pair of my black shoes which had changed colour in a couple
of days, covered in green mould! Added to this was the
knowledge that all sorts of creepy crawlies were harbouring
under the house on top of the brick pilings away from the
flood waters and on occasions we could see the latest additions
swimming their way across the garden towards the house - a
lizard, a toad, a centipede, a small snake!
Kaleidoscope: 1951 - 1958
by
D L Brent
My posting to Kuala Lipis in mid-1952 was an eye opener.
After command of 34 men in a platoon, I found myself as
AOCPD of a district with strength of about 1,200 personnel -
on regular police and para-military duties and dedicated
military operations. Police stations and police posts were far-flung, some a day's river travel to get to them, and altogether
an incredible learning experience on many fronts - police
work, intelligence, and operational activity. On short two-day
ops, jungle bashing, my tutor was a PILt Dixon, ex-RAF about
25, who had acquired an enviable reputation with his 'Tio-er
Squads', most of whom were SEPs. Very sadly he was killed
on a special operation in November 1952 in the Kuala Medanoarea,
where the strength of the enemy had been badly under-estimated and he was out-numbered and out-gunned. It was
my sad duty to be the OC Burial Party at Lipis, and for the two
SCs killed with him. Later, in memory of Dixon, the fort built
near Kuala Medan was named Fort Dixon.
On return to Malaya in March 1956, I was posted asOCPD
Batu Pahat. This again was a hectic period, experience of
working with Fiji Infantry Regiment (FIR), commanded by Lt!
Col Ratu Penaia Ganilau. The King's Own Scottish Borderers
(KOSB) replaced them and, while the previously 'casual'
camp of the Fijians was suddenly alive with whitewash and
red paint all over the place, they didn't quite match the Fijians
for kills and surrenders.
Many, many anecdotes - various operational successes. 21
Lt Paul Manueli of the FIR, while leading a patrol to the north
of the District, was suddenly confronted by an enraged bull
elephant, which picked him up with its trunk and threw him;
he fortunately survived. Later Paul became Chairman of the
Bank of Fiji and then Minister of Finance. On his wall is a
cartoon by me relating to the incident. In our operations room
we pinned every incident on to our large maps with coded-coloured
pins for each category of incident. We wondered
what colour pin to use for 'Fijian thrown by elephant'.
The Fijians 'uplifted' one of the two cannons from the
front of Muar Police HQ. Nobody discovered where it went
until I recognised it in front of FIR HQ at Queen Elizabeth
Barracks in Suva in 1981. The KOSB WO and Sergeants'
Mess kept a large Malayan honey bear chained near their
Mess, its favourite diet being treacle and beer.
Unrequited Love
by
D L Brent
In December 1957 I was posted to Johore Bahru as OCPD.
Johore Bahru, the capital of the State of Johore, was on the
other side of the causeway from Singapore.
One small insignificant event, which sticks in my mind
because of its incongruity,occurred over the Christmas festive
season. That afternoon I was in my office at District HQ just
in front of the causeway approach when one of my crime
inspectors told me there had been a murder in the Scudai
vicinity, a semi-rural area just outside Johore Bahru. We got in
my car and went to the scene of the crime. The local sergeant
was waiting at the roadside and took us to the crime scene.
There was a narrow footpath on a gentle hillside covered in
thick Lalang where the murder had taken place, and the body
of a young Chinese female lay to one side. Deep knife wounds
had been inflicted in the chest and throat and there was
considerable blood over the clothing and the earth and grass
underneath.
The sad story was one of unrequited love by a young
Malay youth for the young Chinese girl who was a rubber
tapper. Apparently she had not responded to his approaches
for some time and on this occasion she had rebuffed him
again. In passion he had stabbed her several times and she fell
and quickly died.
The Malay youth then ran for help and gave himself uP. and
was arrested. The circumstances were pretty clear. The body
was lifted into a police Land Rover and taken to the hospital.
We left the crime scene and returned to my office. By this
time it was about 1830 hours and it just so happened that
afternoon that the Police Officers' Mess was holding a
Christmas Party for officers' children, which I was supposed
to have been at earlier to join my wife and small son, Tim,
aged three-and-a-half. They were already there when I arrived
and the scene was one of happy mothers and children opening
presents, laughing and running about. The table was loaded with goodies to eat and pieces of pulled crackers were lying
around, altogether a scene of joy. I suddenly noticed on the
back of my hand a patch of dried blood, accidentally rubbed
off onto my hand at the scene of the murder, and I was struck
by the appallingly incongruous situation - to see, amongst all
the celebration, joy and innocence before me, the fresh blood
of a tragically murdered young girl and to feel the absolute
chasm of difference between the two separate worlds. I quietly
put my teacup down and went and washed away the blood.
Riots in Singapore
by
D L Brent
Singapore, a Chinese city, was always a potential problem for
Malaya. Across the Causeway Malay culture was
predominant: south of the Causeway the vast majority were of
Chinese origin. David's short excursion into Singapore is a
reminder that there were other cultural differences. We were
at the sharp end and they were (usually) in a peaceful
merchant city where commodity exchanges, not exchanges of
fire, were the order of the day.
Singapore had been for a long time a hornet's nest of
Communist subversive activity, and a source of recruits for the
MCP. On 24 October 1956 riots erupted. The riots finally
resulted in 13 dead, 123 injured, 70 cars burnt or battered, 2
schools razed, 2 police stations damaged and the arrest of
1,000 people. The Singapore Police requested aid from the
Royal Malayan Police and the CPO Johore, Claude Fenner,
ordered me to take a riot squad and armoured personnel carrier
to Singapore, and we drove into Singapore arriving at the
Beach Road Police HQ. The area OC suggested that I might
like to bunk at the Officers' Mess. I thanked him but declined,
preferring to stay with my men at the police station to make
sure that they were looked after, fed and ready for action. I
slept on a spare table in one of the offices.
The next few days were hot, sweaty and tiring as we patrolled the streets in the area, aware of the hidden eyes
observing us from behind closed shutters, and prepared in case
of any retaliation with thrown acid or explosives. In the event
nothing untoward transpired and the curfew was finally lifted.
We bid farewell to the police station and drove the long
journey back to Batu Pahat.
A few days later a letter of acknowledgement was received
from the OC Beach Road Police Station, Singapore, in which
he commented on my sub-standard appearance with
unpolished badges and buttons!! Unbelievable! In my view
this was just another reflection of the mind-set of certain types
in the Singapore Police and the chasm of difference between
those who lived in the cosy, cocooned metropolis of Singapore
and those who lived and worked in much tougher, down-to-earth
and sometimes remote conditions in Malaya - worlds
apart.
I was to look back at this and to contemplate that my
arrival in Singapore was curiously quite symbolic. On 16
December 1941 after the Japanese Army had by-passed
Penang my father, Captain Lionel Brent, OC 'B' Company 3rd
Battalion Straits Settlements Volunteer Force had, together
with his men, made their way south to Singapore where they
remained in the defence of Singapore. When Singapore fell in
February 1942 my father was taken POW and sent to the
'Death Railway' in Thailand where he died about a year later.
The Chinese Language School
by
H Bruce
I had, as ASCA Federation, been responsible for the creation
of the language school. which had to be invented in a great
hurry to remedy the appalling shortage of Chinese speakers in
the Malayan Government. The same tidy minded Whitehall
Warriors who dreamt up the ill-fated Malay Union
Constitution had created the gap; they decided to abolish the
pre-war Chinese Protectorate.
The Bruces and all the other instructors did a magnificent job and most of the students seemed to enjoy the crash course.
Gus Fletcher, who has been a major contributor to this book,
was one of the star pupils and went on to a full-time course.
My late husband, Robert, was the first Director of the
Government Language School set up in the Cameron
Highlands to provide crash courses in Chinese dialects for
government officers. Most of the students were police officers.
We drove up to the school in convoy, military vehicles fore
and aft; their guns ready to rake the jungle. It rained all the
way. There were no incidents but we knew that death might be
just round any sharp corner on the road or, indeed, anywhere
in ambush country. A Chinese, suspected of carrying food to
the jungle for the CTs, was shot in our garden one morning as
he tried to run away when challenged.
Occasionally we visited KL, not in convoy but in our
Morris car. One day I was on the way back with a police
officer who was one of the students, at the wheel, when we
approached the 14th mile he pressed the accelerator pedal onto
the floor and shouted, "Put the gun on my knee with the
handle by my right hand." I had never handled a gun before,
"Quick, Quick under the lanyard." I did not ask what was
going on, but my teeth were chattering and not from the cold.
When we stopped at the next police post our student explained
that he had seen a Communist cap lying on the road. The next
day our newspapers told us that an SEP had shot his comrade
and his cap had fallen off as he ran across the road on his way
to surrender.
There was little for the school staff and students to do apart
from work (which was, of course, the reason why Cameron
Highlands had been chosen).
Most evenings we sat in the hotel lounge chatting when my
ears were so filled with jungle stories that I felt that I had lived
in the jungle all my life. Not surprisingly, these normally
active young men, many from the jungle squads, found it
difficult to adjust to this inactive life. Classes every day were
all very well but Sunday was a blank, and this led to many student pranks.
On one occasion we were asked if we would lend our
Morris to accompany a Jeep up a newly-made road to the top
of Gunong Brinchang. The view was superb, but I did think it
would have been a stupid thing to die for: 'First woman up
Brinchang'.
One abiding memory, apart from the high spirits of our
splendid young students, was of the huge bluebottle-like flies
that bred prolifically in the cabbage fields. But this irritant
paled into insignificance when our reservoir was devastated by
a landslide and we had no more running water.
Sealed Orders at Colombo
by
P A Collin
Returning from leave, we did not know until we arrived at
Colombo what our next posting would be, and this was a
source of considerable anxiety. During the three weeks at sea,
a o-enerous amount of alcohol was consumed. At Colombo the o
Government Agent came on board and handed each of us our
sealed posting orders. We had been listening to the BBC
during the voyage and I had noted that there had been some
particularly nasty incidents in Perak. I was a little concerned to
find that my posting was to Perak, and for the last few days at
sea I was probably more horizontal than vertical.
I arrived in Tapah to find that I was working with a
company of the Gordon Highlanders and stayed in their HQ
bungalow. I remember no major outward successes during the
period but the CTs achieved no major successes against us,
which speaks for itself.
Sealed Orders at Colombo
by
P A Collin
My farewell to Malaya took place in Seremban where I had
been responsible for all SCs in the State, but I also had time to
play a lot of sport. It was a wrench saying goodbye to Malaya and my Malayan friends such as my orderly, a Cantonese
hillman called Woh Ah Bee. But with Merdeka looming
ahead, it was time to move on.
The send off at Seremban Station was memorable indeed.
As the train drew into the station I was paraded on the
platform in uniform in full view of the public and other
passengers. Then a brother officer stripped off the epaulettes
that carried my badges of rank, to loud applause, and then I
was bundled onto the train with everyone clapping and roaring
good wishes. It was an emotional moment, which I savoured
privately as the train pulled out of the station.
Escorting Banishees to China
by
P A Collin
While still at Balik Pulau I was chosen as the 'Joe Soap' who
would escort a party of fifty CTs back to mother China. The
bumph was a nightmare but somehow we completed all the
paperwork and set off on a slow boat to China! The voyage
was painless. The amiable skipper provided generous supplies
of Bols gin. I had fifteen Malay policemen as an escort party
and the banishees caused no troubles.
Our first stop was Hoihow where Chiang Kaishek's KMT
were in charge. We stayed outside the three-mile limit and I
watched, with some misgivings, the approach of a large launch
filled with soldiers. When the launch came alongside, the
soldiers, who were armed to the teeth, swarmed aboard. Since,
as far as I was concerned, the banishees were my
responsibility until formal handover was completed, I posted
sentries outside the doors where the formalities were being
carried out, and mounted a Bren gun covering the top of the
gangplank. The atmosphere was tense and I was relieved when
the small Hoihow party had been handed over and signed for,
and the launch drew away. Rumour had it that the KMT gave
the ex-CTs the choice of donning their uniform and
proceeding to the front or else. I do not know what happened
to them.
We sailed on with the rest of the party, now forty strong,
and handed them over to the Hong Kong Police who were
ready, in turn, to put them across the border into Communist
hands.
Our slow boat had further ports to visit before returning to
Singapore, so we had a week off in Hong Kong where I
managed to organise a programme which included escorting a
Reuter's correspondent round the New Territories, and a visit
to HMS Amethyst, just returned from her amazing dash down
the Yangtze River through heavy shell fire and was severely
damaged. We were very impressed.
A Shock Trooper's Progress
by
P A Collin
I was posted in 1950 to Kluang, Johore. One extraordinary
memory of that period is the tale of the Gurkha who was
wounded during the retreat in 1942, with the Japanese in hot
pursuit. He had remained in the jungle ever since waiting to be
picked up by his comrades, somehow managing to keep
himself alive using his kukri as an agricultural tool to grow
tapioca and other plants for food .. When the Gurkhas found
him, the blade of his kukri had been worn down to a few
inches of steel. He was issued with a new kukri and a new
uniform, and was soon seen marching proudly on duty.
Another, less happy memory, is of the bloody CT ambush,
which they sprung upon us when we were driving to Yong
Peng.
I was posted as OCPD to Rengam, a township about ten
miles south of Kluang, so I was back in familiar territory in
central Johore. It was a District full of rubber and oil palm
estates, and the main railway line from Singapore to KL ran
through our railway station.
By now the CTs had perfected the techniques that they had
learnt from Force 136, for blowing up railway lines using
gelignite and gun cotton line, so we had frequent derailments
to deal with.
The police station looked down on the village of Rengam
and my modest accommodation was situated inside our wired
perimeter, about thirty yards from the station. Close behind us
there was a company of Gurkhas, and the relations between
military and police were excellent.
The planters were, as usual, terrifIc and I visited them as
often as I could, by day and night. I devised a contraption that
looked. like a very. large compass upon which I plotted every
estate in my district so that if firing broke out, I could point
the arrow in the direction of the firing and get some immediate
indication of which estates might be involved. This was
particularly valuable if the battle was taking place in an estate
that had no radio communication, since the CTs had learnt to
cut the telephone lines before launching an attack.
I remember solving, to my own satisfaction, a slightly
awkward situation when local towkays (shopkeepers) or local
luminaries left presents of food or drink on my doorstep.
Government regulations were explicit; presents should be
given back to the donor or placed in the Treasury, but I
decided that the best way to handle such matters was to invite
people to a party where I would announce the name of the
donor and share the presents with the guests. This saved face
all round, but I do not suppose the Treasury would have
approved of the solution.
As Secretary for Chinese Affairs in Malacca I was frequently
faced with the 'gift' dilemma. I admire Sandy's solution but
fear that I would not have been able to adopt it successfully in
Malacca. I did, however, have the pleasure of presenting the
Treasury with a live chicken one day.
"I shall always blame Rengam for exposing my weaknesses in
the matter of filing systems. I plead in mitigation that to deal
with. total efficiency with the torrent of bumph which poured
out from HQ, mostly labelled Top Secret, Secret or
Confidential, would have required a huge amount of office
time, which I could not afford, if I was to remain personally involved in active operations. So, I decided that anything
marked CONFIDENTIAL, or above, would go straight into
my wall safe (thus, of course, ensuring that it would be
forgotten). We had, after all, been sent out as shock troops not
paper wallahs.
One day, the Officer Commanding Special Branch (OCSB)
breezed into my office unannounced and said, "Let's have a
look at your secret files, Sandy," and, in great dread, I moved
to my wall safe, opened the door and out cascaded all these
important sensitive papers. There was an embarrassed hush,
and then OCSB said, "Let's get this sorted out, shall we?" It
took some time but we did!"
Only Joking!
by
P J D Guest
I was returnino- on patrol from Kampong Bersia. The path
followed the bank of the large Sungei Perak. At one point the
bushes and trees thinned out, leaving only the Lalang about
three feet high, and isolated bushes. As we entered this area,
the two leading scouts went to ground and waved us to get
down. I crept up to the scouts who said there were people on
the opposite bank of the river. Through the grass I saw two
men, obviously Chinese from their skin colour, at the water's
edge. One was squatting washing, whilst the other was
standing and putting on a green shirt. It seemed certain that
only CTs would be around in this empty, abandoned area. But
we couldn't get to them, as the river was about 300 feet wide.
So the only thing we could do was to take pot shots at them.
The two scouts and I exchanged some rude comments about
accelerating their digestive systems, and raised our weapons,
two .303 rifles and my .300 American carbine, ready to fire.
For maximum fright effect I said we were all to [lIe at the
same time, and then we opened [lIe. The figures moved with
impressive speed; in a flash they vanished into the bushes and
their speed suggested neither had been hit. We didn't laugh,
but said, "That'll scare them."
Next moment there was a couple of loud cracks overhead
and then several more. Hell! We were being [lIed on! We hit
the deck as ever more fire power rained down on us and lay
really flat as the shots cracked through the grass around us. I
muttered, "Take cover," to the other two. Which was a pretty
stupid comment in view of the circumstances! We crawled,
very flat indeed, back to the men behind us. The unit
comedian piped up with, "Did we win?"
Our mini salvo at the start of the contact might be called
'Only Joking!' but we couldn't stay there indefinitely and
eventually moved off, through trees, bushes and bamboo;
everybody bent low as we went. It was the only firefight I ever
remember walking, or crawling away from, but there was
nothing we could achieve. An incident such as this would
simply be logged as a contact with no result. On the ground
things were more tense, it certainly gave us a very bad fright!
No Swearing Please!
by
P J D Guest
The convoys from KL into Pahang carried radio sets that
were linked to HQ in KL and to Police District HQs. One day
a convoy commanded by a P/Lt was ambushed along the
route. He immediately radioed to KL and, against a
background of the shots and bangs of a noisy firefight, we
heard, "Ambush at Milestone 18. Send up armoured car."
Next we heard the sound of bullets hitting the P/Lt's truck,
shattering the windscreen, as he continued to use the radio. His
oaths were fluent and impressive. We then heard the cool
voice of KL Control, "Baker two: do not swear or use profane
language over the net: Over!" The screeching reply was,
"You'd f****** well shout if you were where I am having my
d*** shot off."
Hoodwinking the Bus Burners
by
P J D Guest
Diary 29th August 1951
We received a report that the bus from Kuala Kangsar had
been stopped at the 91st mile and burnt on a wooden bridge.
Among the passengers was a policeman from our transport
section, travelling in civilian clothes. He had been down to
Circle HQ at Kuala Kangsar and was returning with parts for
one of our vehicles, which he had stowed on the roof of the
bus. He realised they were going to burn the bus and that he
would lose his spare parts, so he approached one of the CTs
and said he was a lorry driver working for a Chinese
businessman up in Grik. He said he was bringing back spare
parts for the lorry that was out of action and was worried at
losing the parts, as his employer would be angry. One of the
uniformed CTs was sent up the ladder. The parts were lifted
down and returned to the policeman. The important spare part
was later fitted to the defective vehicle, which was thus
returned into police use. A well-planned ambush by CTs.
A Noisy Tea Party
by
P J D Guest
Jan came out to join me and we were married in Singapore.
Not long after we had arrived in Temerloh, Jock Storrier
turned up. I invited him to tea at 1600 hours. What a
transformation from previous bachelor days, cups of tea
instead of pints of cold beer!
We had a table and chairs placed on the lawn just outside
the front door of the bungalow. Jock and I put our weapons
aside. We sat relaxed in our chairs, with the warm afternoon
breeze floating over us enjoying the afternoon and the
sandwiches, cakes and tea provided by Jan. All seemed well
with the world. Suddenly, there was a burst of firing from the
rubber trees about two hundred yards away. Jock and I dived
for our weapons and rolled onto the lawn with weapons facing the sound of the firing.
Jan had just gone to fetch more tea and turned back to face
us, a reflex possibly more connected to the sound of her
crockery breaking than the gunfire. She stood there bemused
to see two grown men 'playing cowboys' until I yelled at her
to get down. My tone upset her a bit as she had, at that point,
no idea Just how serious we were. I wished we hadn't left our
spare Sten magazines indoors. To take Jan's mind off the
immediate problem, and to have more rounds to hand if things
turned nasty, I shouted to Jan to "Fetch the magazines." She
scrambled back indoors and emerged soon after proudly
calling out, "I've got them, Times and Newsweek!" I didn't
have the heart to say anything other than, "Thank you Jan," as
she handed me The Times and Jock the copy of Newsweek.
The Execution of Nine Ah Lims
by
P J D Guest
February 1955
Some time after moving into the second bungalow, I woke
suddenly one morning. The early grey light that heralds the
dawn, just before the sun rises over the equator in all its
tropical beauty, flooded the room. I lay for a moment in the
half-light; the realisation came to me with a jolt that I had just
heard a shot not far away. I slipped out of bed and reached for
my Luger pistol. The close proximity of the shot concerned
me, was it a long overdue attack against the vulnerable
bungalow target?
It was with some relief that I heard the sound of the Land
Rover coming, but then it stopped. The silence felt deeper and
lonelier now. I guessed the men had debussed and entered the
rubber further up the hill, to sweep downwards towards the
bungalow. Not being sure if anyone was waiting outside in the
hope of luring me into the open, there was nothing to do but sit
tight until the police section arrived.
Finally, the Land Rover drove to the bungalow; they had
come across the body of a Chinese rubber tapper. He had been shot through the back of his skull and was dead. Nearby, they
found a young Chinese girl aged about ten years old crouching
behind a rubber tree. The child told the police that she tapped
the rubber area next to her father and like all tappers they had
started about 0500 hours. Whilst she was tapping four Chinese
men came out of the darkness and spoke to her. They asked if
a certain man tapped rubber around there. The name they
sought was the name of her father. She replied that he was,
"Over there." The men went off and she carried on tapping. A
little later there was a single shot, which sounded very loud in
the quiet of the morning. She attributed the shot to the four
men who had questioned her and she feared for the safety of
her father after the shot sounded. She stopped tapping and hid
at the foot of one of the trees.
Later I heard that the CTs had been looking for a police
informer and guessed or found out that the informer's name
was Ab Lim. This was a very common name. The CTs did not
know which Ah Lim was the informer, so they assigned one of
their execution squads to set about killing everyone of that
name in the area. They eventually killed nine people named
Ah Lim and, in the course of their killings, they did kill the
informer.
It was essential to bring Jan up to speed, but how to
mention there had been a killing only sixty yards from our
isolated bungalow and, therefore, to be extra vigilant without
alarming her? To her great credit and with two young children
in the house, Jan made pretence of not being alarmed by the
news. Over the coffee and toast I suggested it might be a good
idea to know how the Luger worked and Jan casually agreed.
We went over immediate actions; call the police; there was the
possibility that the line might be cut, in which case to fire two
shots to raise the alarm. With baby Kenneth gurgling away
under the playful attention of his elder brother, we moved on
to safety catches; hair triggers; aiming with a two-handed grip
and magazine release and replacement. Then target
acquisition, "Shoot at the nearest target." "Shoot first and
shoot at the largest part of the target, the chest. If the target keeps moving, keep shooting!" After this, whilst hugging the
children, I cautioned Jan to be extra vigilant but not alarmed.
Then kissed her, handed her the Luger with a flippant remark
not to lose it, as the paperwork would be a nightmare, then I
left for HQ.
Grenades and Informers
by
P J D Guest
One Thursday evening, returning form the offIce, three of us
visited a shop in the local town, and sat down at a table near
the front to have a beer and observe the traditional bustling
scene, which preceded Friday, the Muslim's Sabbath.
Suddenly, we heard the unmistakable sound of a .22 cap
exploding followed by the ominous clattering sound of a
metallic object rolling across the concrete floor of the shop.
Trevor Bailey, the DSBO, yelled "Grenade" and the three of
us threw ourselves on the floor. I remember lying half under
the table with my hands clasped over my ears waiting for the
inevitable. Time seemed to stand still and then I realised that I
was counting the seconds - four, five, six, seven. There was
no explosion. Bob Moorfield, who had obviously been doing
the same thing, shouted out "It must be a dud. Let's get to
buggery out of here." The three of us scrambled to our feet
and beat a hasty retreat into the street.
Once out of the shop, we grabbed a number of by-passers
and asked them if they had seen anything or had witnessed
anyone running away. Of course, nobody had seen anything
or, if they had, they were not prepared to admit it.
Bob, using his powers under the Emergency Regulations,
immediately imposed a 23-hour curfew on the town, which
meant the townspeople were confIned to their houses and only
allowed out between 1700 hours and 1800 hours to enable
them to buy food and other necessities. Anyone found on the
streets during curfew could be shot on sight. Bob let it be
known that, until the culprits were found, the curfew would
remain in force.
On the third day, deputations of Chinese and Indian
businessmen presented themselves at Police HQ and pleaded
with Bob to remove the curfew. It was ruining them and the
town would die.
Bob lectured them like a Dutch uncle and told them that he
had no intention of taking the curfew off until the culprits had
been found. He said he was quite certain that somebody knew
who the perpetrators were and that he would wait until these
people came forward with information. In the meantime, the
curfew would remain and if they all went bankrupt that was
their problem.
The following day an anonymous telephone caller, gave
the names of three Chinese who, it was alleged, had been
involved in the grenade throwing. One, an itinerant ice-cream
vendor, was named as the person who had actually thrown the
grenade while the other two were said to be members of a
local Communist cell. All three were arrested, and admitted to
being involved in the incident and, since their offence carried
the death penalty, agreed to sell out the other members of their
cell in exchange for the promise of deportation to China
instead of being hanged.
So much for honour among thieves.
A Foolish Informer
by
P J D Guest
One night I received a night time visit from an Indian PWD
overseer.
He told me that the CTs were in the habit of visiting the
PWD labourers' lines at night to collect food, medicines, and
cash donations. These visits were conducted on a regular basis
and usually took place fortnightly following the labourers'
paydays. He said that there were normally two terrorists
involved. One visited the labourers to collect donations while
the other kept watch.
I gave the man a payment from the slush fund to keep him
sweet, and asked him to let me know if he had any further information or any definite date for the next visit. During the
next couple of weeks the Indian contacted me on a number of
occasions and acting, on his information, I set several
ambushes all of which were abortive. I was becoming annoyed
with my informant and began to wonder if he was playing me
along to obtain a few dollars from the Secret Service funds. /:>
My sergeant was fed up with the whole thing and only wanted
to get his hands on the person who was feeding me with false
information.
But one evening my Indian turned up again. He was grey
with fear and was so obviously frightened that I decided he
must be telling the truth. He told me the CTs were going to
make a visit later during the evening, and pleaded with me for
assurance that we would kill them since, if they escaped, he
would be a marked man. I told him not to worry and that if the
CTs did, indeed, turn up, they would not escape.
I telephoned the police station, asking the duty officer to
turn out the police jungle squads, the duty officer was unable
to reach my sergeant and reminded me that I had previously
agreed that the police jungle squads could be stood down.
Since there was no other immediate alternative, I called my
batman and asked him if he would like to accompany me to
lay an ambush. He seemed quite pleased at the prospect and I
issued him with a Sten gun and magazines. I took my M1
carbine with a folding stock.
The PWD labour lines were a few hundred yards away, on
top of a rise alongside the Temerloh/Mentakab Road and
outside the defended area of the town. At the rear, they
overlooked a flat area of ground intersected by two large
monsoon drains that carried storm water from the town into
the nearby stream.
Ghani and I made our way towards the PWD lines. It was
pitch dark and had been raining. There was still plenty of
cloud overhead through which the moon occasionally broke.
When we arrived at the PWD lines, I posted Ghani on top
of the rise overlooking the rear of the buildings as I anticipated
that our expected visitors would approach from that direction. I told him to keep his eyes open, to watch my back and to
open fire on anybody who moved.
I made my way to the bottom of the rise and settled down
on a track, which ran alongside one of the monsoon drains
towards the rubber estate at the far side of the open area. The
mosquitoes were out in droves following the rain, and it was
not long before I was being eaten alive. I put up with it for as
long as I could bear, but eventually decided to cover myself
over with my poncho cape, which I had taken with me because
of the rain. I made an observation slit through the neck of the
poncho and waited. It was uncomfortably hot but at least I was
protected from the mosquitoes.
Eventually, I reached the stage where I could no longer
bear the heat and decided that, mosquitoes or not, I must get
some fresh air. I sat up and threw the poncho off. As I did so,
the moon came out from behind a cloud and I found myself
looking at an armed and uniformed man who was approaching
and was no more than 15 feet from me. The recognition was
instantaneous. I swung my carbine up, pushing the safety
catch onto automatic as I did so, and squeezing the trigger. He
stopped, half-turned to his right and started to level his
weapon at me. Fortunately, my reactions had been a little
faster than his. He gave a yell, turned and took off without
having got a shot away. As he ran I gave him another burst
and Ghani also opened fire from his position on the rise above.
We carried out a search of the area and found a heavy blood
trail leading from the position where I had first seen the CT, to
the main monsoon drain, which ran at right angles to his
approach path. The blood trail petered out at this point. We
searched the drain without result and carried out an extensive
examination of the ground in an effort to find out where he
could have gone. It seemed to me that our man must have had
to re-cross the monsoon drain in order to escape, but this was
about eight feet wide and, in view of the large amount of
blood that he had lost, it seemed unlikely that he could have
jumped across. We searched for almost two hours without any
result and eventually called the search off. I was bitterly disappointed, but went home and slept.
At sunrise there was a commotion outside my house, and
Ghani appeared holding on to an elderly female Chinese
rubber tapper who was gabbling something about a dead body
in the rubber estate across from the PWD lines. She led us
onto the estate where she pointed out a khaki-clad figure lying
on the ground. It was our CT, when we examined the body we
found that he had three bullet holes in the lower part of his
stomach and had obviously died from loss of blood.
We draped the body over the front of the Land Rover and
drove back through the town to the police station; hoping that
the locals would take note and that possibly someone might be
able to identify him. It subsequently transpired that he was a
DCM and was already listed on SB records. In the event we
got ourselves into hot water over this episode, some locals
complained to the DO over the way we had displayed the
body, and he agreed with them. We were reprimanded and told
not to do it again.
My informant duly collected a substantial sum of reward
money for his efforts and was also transferred to another
location for his own protection. A few months later, he was
stupid enough to make a visit to Temerloh, driving a new car
and flaunting his new found wealth. The following evening he
and two companions went out on a drinking spree. their
bodies were found, tied up to trees, with placards hung around
their necks identifying them as running dogs. All three had
been hacked to death with parangs.
Not Nairobi but Sungei Siput
by
W J Hillier
My predecessor, Bill Poundall, was a colourful character who
had first come to Malaya in 1920. When wounded in the
buttock by a Sten gun round accidentally fired by a planter
whom Poundall had gone to assist, he complained loudly, "If
you shoot me up the arse when I come out to help you, I shall
have to reconsider my position!"
I did not take over my predecessor's quarters above the
police station, but arranged to stay in a nearby estate
bungalow. I was thus able to turn the OCPD's flat into a
barracks to house the young policemen who previously had
been scattered around the town in shophouses. The new
arrangements were a great success; we improved security for
men and weapons, as well as significantly decreasing our
response time. On my first two responses to incidents with my
newly formed jungle squads, we arrived before the CTs had
time to disappear into the jungle, and managed a 'kill' each
time. I put these heartening results down to 'rapid response'.
But we were not always so lucky; on one occasion when
we charged out to deal with a burnt truck incident on a local
estate, we came under rapid and effective fire from a hill to the
left of the road, I fired back from under my Jeep and shouted
to my men that, unless they took part in the counter-fire, we
would all be killed. I could see the movement of CTs creeping
up on us through the Lalang grass, where I was taking cover.
Meanwhile, however, I also saw the Gurkha section, which
had accompanied us, moving round to outflank the CTs. The
CTs, very sensibly, decided to break off the action.
I was no longer so sure that immediate response was the
answer when a vehicle had been burnt. This type of incident
was a favourite CT dodge to lure SF into an ambush. We
suffered three casualties. A detective and the estate truck
driver, who had come with us to provide transport, were both
killed and my Malay driver lost an arm; I got off with a bullet
through a sleeve.
I took the Malay driver on as my bearer but, unfortunately,
he and my host's Chinese cook quarrelled so bitterly and
incessantly that I had to find him another job so he became a
stallholder in Kuala Kangsar, where he flourished for many
years."
A Churchillian Interest
by
W J Hillier
"On the afternoon of December 31, 1948 a patrol of the 4th
Hussars' armoured cars was ambushed in my district, and I set
off with a strong patrol to investigate. We moved with
considerable caution in extended order along both sides of the
road. But this time we made no contact: the CTs had
abandoned the ambush area. However, we were able to get all
the wounded Hussars back to base before dark.
There was a curious sequel to this incident. Late one night
in mid-1949, Police HQ telephoned to instruct me to return
immediately to the scene of the Hussar ambush, search and
secure the area and await developments. No explanation was
offered for this strange request. With 45 men from my jungle
squads I duly carried out my orders and, as dawn was
breaking, returned to the main road. There I found a senior
planter standing by. I supposed that, like me, he was standing
by for an unknown reason, but I did not question him about his
presence. So we waited by the roadside. Then about 0800
hours an impressive procession of army and police vehicles
appeared. At the centre of the convoy there was an 'upmarket'
civilian car out of which stepped Mr Anthony Eden, the
British Foreign Secretary. I was then asked to tell him all I
knew about the ambush of the Hussars.
When the convoy left I was none the wiser about the
reason for this session with the Foreign Secretary about an
incident that had taken place six months before. It took me a
little time to realise that the visit was almost certainly
connected with the fact that the Prime Minister, Mr Churchill,
had served with the Hussars at Omdurman in 1898, so Mr
Eden had felt the need to brief himself thoroughly in case his
master should ask about the ambush.
Banished to Grik
by
Dato Mohammed Pilus
Before the war, Grik had been considered a punishment post;
now it was also a dangerous one at the end of a narrow,
winding road, perfect ambush country, and surrounded by
jungle, perfect country for CTs to hide in.
Grik had four P/Lts and, like most of that breed, they were
good material: well trained, disciplined, courteous and a credit
to Britain. Many of them gave their lives in the Emergency.
Grik was a small one street town, with a population of fewer
than one thousand, and facilities were primitive, water from a
well, electricity at night only, and our communication
telegraphy wire primitive.
I had an unfortunate brush with the local British Army unit
when we shot a lurking CT down in the nearby rubber estate.
My aborigine tracker brought him down with his first shot. My
British Army neighbour complained that he should have been
told so that he could mount an operation. I politely refused my
OSPC's suggestion that I should apologise: I argued that we
would have lost valuable time had I not acted immediately.
One of our regular duties was escorting the Treasury truck
to Taiping. On one occasion when I had taken an escort of ten
men and a sergeant, we came under light fire as we entered the
danger area, but the CTs did not follow up, and they did not
use automatic weapons. I thought about this odd incident and
decided that it had probably been intended to lure us into the
jungle, where a large party with automatic weapons would be
lying in wait.
From then onwards we used prophylactic fire. Our Bren
gunner would fire a few bursts at any likely ambush spot:
during the rest of my time in Grik, there was only one serious
ambush so, perhaps, my prophylaxis was effective.
Pride Comes Before a Fall
by
R A Ruegg
The author cannot remember the date of this incident, but
clearly the detail of the battle remains fresh in his memory.
One day SB fixed a meeting to take place in Kuala Kangsar
between a heavyweight female DCM, name forgotten, and her
mother. SB and some detectives, took up surveillance
positions nearby the meeting place and watched the DCM,
who was armed, turn up as planned. But armed bodyguards
escorted her as well and we had no intention of engaging in a
gun battle in the middle of Kuala Kangsar. So we changed our
plan and decided to continue surveillance, but to wait for a
more appropriate opportunity to tangle with the DCM. Skilful
surveillance enabled us to follow the DCM on her way back to
the jungle. She, underestimating the skills of her foes, rashly
deCIded to spend the night in a New Village. We surrounded
the village and then a small SB team moved towards the house
where the DCM was lodged in the loft. She hurled her grenade
at the SBOs and one officer was injured, but in her excitement
the buxom lass fell out of her loft and after a fierce struggle
was taken prisoner.
Later, under interrogation, the DCM told us, "I did not
worry when I heard that there were police and soldiers about,
but when I saw SBOs approaching, I took the pin out of my
grenade."
A voiding a CT Trap
by
R A Ruegg
This is a story of the CTs firing on a police station not as a
prelude to attack, but as a ruse to draw police reinforcements
into a well-laid ambush.
The Malay proverb 'Pelandok melupakean jerat, tetapi, er
at tiada melupakan pelandok' ('the mouse deer forgets the
snare, but the snare does not forget the deer') was, sadly, sometimes apposite in such situations, and many casualties
were caused by such CT tactics. On this occasion a canny,
experienced senior officer judged correctly that the CTs were
not aiming to capture the police station, but to massacre the
reinforcements.
At about 2100 hours one evening, the PC in charge of our
outpost twenty miles along the Ayer Puteh Road, telephoned
to say that his station was under terrorist attack. The sound of
gunfire was only too evident over the phone. We were short of
transport at that time so the OSPC commandeered the
Kemamam bus, into which he packed as many PCs and SCs as
could be spared.
I was put in charge and sent ahead in the official A40 car.
The obvious possibility of an ambush at the 15th mile to the
left, high off the road was mentioned but, of course, we felt
that we had to do something.
The OSPC decreed that we should go hell for leather for
the police post, but we were delighted when the OSPC's
Standard Vanguard overtook us at the 5th mile, and the driver
passed on the OS PC's order for us to return home.
The OSPC had telephoned the CPO (H G Beverley) to
brief him. The CPO had said that the information from KL
was that the CTs had adopted the tactic of creating minor
incidents in order to lure SF rescue parties into ambushes, so
he had ordered our return.
We kept in touch with the OC Police Station Ayer Puteh
for the rest of the night, and the fact that the telephone line had
not been cut suggested that the police station was not the real
target of their operation.
No one was hurt because the OCSB kept his head and
made his men and their families remain in their kubus (sentry
posts). By daybreak the shooting had ceased. We found ample
evidence that a large body of CTs had been in ambush
positions at the 15th mile, ready to shoot up whatever
reinforcements were sent to the aid of the police station.
Cognac and fire Engines
by
J T W Sishton
This incident is said to have occurred in Ipoh circa 1949-
1950. It concerns our ASP, alias Willie, formerly army and
Palestine Police. Willie apparently had an incredible capacity
for brandy, some say two/three bottles a day, but always with
decorum. At that time he was also addicted to Mah-Jong
(Chinese game played with tiles) and regularly played with
Chinese towkays in certain Chinese hotels in town.
One day at noon whilst indulging in his two favourite
pastimes, Willie heard the bell of a fire engine passing the
hotel. As a conscientious and well-trained PO, Willie
immediately got into his car and followed the fire engine
intent on rendering what assistance he could at the scene of the
fire. He was in uniform, complete with pistol. By that time of
day Willie had probably consumed a bottle of brandy and
completely failed to consider, as he drove along, that the fire
engine had left the municipal area and was heading for the
jungle. After several miles the fire engine had halted at the
scene of a fairly routine bus burning. Armed and uniformed
CTs were busy confiscating Identity Cards (NRICs) from the
frightened passengers at the side of the road and searching for
Running Dogs. In the smoke and confusion, WiIlie, by then
considerably sober, had the presence of mind to leave his car
and mount the back step of the fire engine, which was of the
old-fashioned variety with a turntable.
Removing his police headgear, he donned a spare brass
fireman's helmet, covered his epaulettes with crossed hands
and climbed along the engine until he was partly hidden under
the turntable. Willie sat there motionless until the CTs had
finished their work and withdrawn without even spotting him.
On emerging from the fire engine, Willie is alleged to have
changed back into his police headgear, assumed control of the
situation, and subsequently returned to town.
The Investigation Paper would have made good reading!
NB As the quantity of brandy Willie consumed throughout the
day increased, this seemed to have an inverse effect on his
sobriety, enabling him to behave with complete decorum at all
times.
In came a Slim Brown Arm
by
J T W Sishton
When stationed in Alor Star in 1953, I had occasion to visit
the border crossing post of Changlun, some 30 miles to the
north. Two P/Lts, Jack and Derek, were in charge of the post.
I stayed overnight and after dinner we all sat on the floor
with the TiIIey lamp to avoid random pot shots aimed at the
bungalow by CTs firing from outside the perimeter fence. The
following morning Derek, armed with the newspaper and his
carbine, went to visit the 'loo'. In the absence of water borne
sanitation this consisted of the usual 'bandit sentry box' at the
bottom of the garden, serviced through a trap at the rear by a
bucket system. Suddenly we heard shots and ran to the back
door just in time to see Derek stumbling from the latrine with
his shorts around his ankles.
Apparently, the man had arrived to empty the buckets and,
unaware the Tuan was inside, had silently inserted his arm
from the rear and deftly changed the buckets. This so startled
Derek that he instinctively pressed the trigger of his carbine,
putting several rounds through the roof. This, undoubted!y,
improved the ventilation of the 'thunder box'. It also gave nse
to the oft-repeated phrase, 'When in came a slim brown arm'.
The Perils of Over-Confidence
by
J P Taylor
At the end of 1951 I had, temporarily, taken over a platoon in
my jungle company, to allow the platoon commander to take a
day's leave. I led his platoon into the jungle in an operation to
follow up an air attack by Venom fighters.
During the approach march when we were close to the scene of the air strike, I spotted a basha with its roof off and
walked towards it, assuming that the inhabitants had evacuated
the area after the air attack. I could not have been more wrong.
The 9th Platoon, 8th Regiment MRLA, was in occupation and a
fierce firefight ensued.
Although I managed to kill the Deputy Commander before
the CTs broke off, I wondered what the outcome would have
been had I made a different assessment about the basha hut
and taken the elementary precaution of assuming that it might
be occupied.
The Thunderers
by
Yuan Yuet Leng
The Emergency Information Service (EIS) broadcasting
vehicles were known as 'Thunderers', continuously beaming
our messages up into the vaIleys and hills.
On 26 February 1958 a CT called Fong Loy, surrendered
and on being asked if he had heard the Thunderers he said,
"F***ing Hell: I was bloody deafened by it." "Where were
you?" asked the DSBO. "I was in the Lalang, right in front of
the big trumpet!
A CT Reports on Operation Ginger
by
Yuan Yuet Leng
Dato Yuan calculated that over three hundred CTs were
eliminated in 'Operation Ginger', killed, captured,
surrendered. Many of the so-called SEPs were, in fact, CTs
captured in SB operations and 'turned' into collaborators.
The fifteen-month operation had been successful in many
ways; 53 fire contacts with CTs, the discovery of nearly 500
CT camps, large and small, and about a hundred dumps of
food, arms and equipment.
SB had certainly contributed hugely to these SF successes.
In August 1958 we recovered some CT documents, which
included a CT report on Operation Ginger. It gave a
heartening description of the excellent effect that our
operations were having on the CTs in the area.
"The enemy have applied a total food blockade... meanwhile artillery
and aerial bombardments are more frantic and erratic than before. The
majority of the smaller trees are broken in half.
All food purchases are recorded and soon central cooking will be
imposed.
Comrades persist in the struggle, but some of the corrupted ones are
unable to bear the hardship."
In February 1959, after the killing of Central Committee
Member (CCM) Siu Ma by his bodyguard, a document was
recovered reporting on SF operations.
"The attacks consist of nothing but a military and psychological
offensive, but the enemy's attacks differ from those in the past... the
most prominent difference is the longer duration -16 months. Secondly,
the attacks are on a whole district. Thirdly, the enemy searching is more
exhaustive than before. The enemies psywar operations are very timely
and thorough."
However, the document assessed that, it would take 8/9 years
to tackle all our districts. Perhaps if the remnants of the CTs
had not withdrawn to Thailand, that, might, indeed, have been
the case.
A Rash Advance on a CT Camp
by
J P Taylor I joined up again partly because I thought that life had other
things to offer apart from premature entry into marriage.
I Was sent off immediately, without further ado, to train
estate and mine guards near Batu Gajah. The training was
farcical. As there was no practice ammunition to use on the range, we could only teach the SCs how to hold their weapons
and some foot and arms drill. In my time the SCs were not put
to the test, but in 1950 an estate manager and five SCs were
ambushed and killed in the area. In Kedah, however, I was
involved in a major ambush when the OSPC and his driver
were killed and four PCs wounded, and the CTs melted away
into the jungle with all the arms and ammunition from the
leading vehicle, including a Bren and thirty magazines, before
a counter-attack could be launched.
In 1951 when I was commanding a jungle company in
Central Kedah, I was told that air reconnaissance had reported
a suspected CT camp near Padang Lembu New Village. Only
one of my platoons was available to follow up this
information. The platoon commander was on leave so I led it
myself. The plan was to carry out an air strike and to follow
through with my platoon. As so often in such affairs, things
did not go entirely according to timetable, and we were over a
mile from our target when the air strike took place; three
Venoms using rockets and cannons.
Soon after we had moved off towards the target, the
leading scout signalled that he had seen something. I halted
the platoon and went forward to see for myself. When I joined
the scout I saw the tip of an attap hut and, rashly assuming
that it would have been abandoned by the CTs after the air
attack, moved on alone past the sentries to investigate. Some
seven or eight yards away from the hut I became aware of
some unpleasant facts. One, a powerfully built male Chinese
was advancing towards me; two, several pairs of eyes were
looking at me from another hut and three, my platoon was
blissfully unaware that they were close to an occupied camp.
As the man turned away from me I opened fire and saw
him fall. The CTs then opened fire on me from both sides and
one CT, armed with a sub-machine-gun, was prodigal with his
ammunition. I then threw some .grenades and the CT slipped
away. We did not recover the body of the man I had shot but
learnt later that he had been Vice Commander of the 9th
Platoon of the dreaded 8th Regiment; the unit which later murdered the CPO, Neville Godwin.
I was very conscious of the number of the errors that I
made that day, starting with the fact that I should not have
been there in command of the platoon, and was about to go on
leave. I should not have gone forward alone after making the
hasty assumption that the CTs would have been scared out of
the camp and I should instead have infiltrated two stop
sections round the back of the camp and then mounted a noisy
frontal assault.
Fortunately, the CTs too had made a foolish mistake. They
had built the last 100 yards of the track to the camp in an'S'
shape to give the sentry a good view of anyone approaching
but, since one of the hut roofs could be seen before the'S'
section had been reached, the attackers, not the defenders, had
the advantage. No doubt the sentry was severely criticised, but
we had been given cover by heavy rain.
The operation yielded useful intelligence on the support
that the New Villagers were giving to the CTs.
Good Hunting by P/Lt Graver, GM, on Kali Malaya Estate
by
J C Macnab
In 1950/51 I was OCPD Kulai in South Johore, part of Johore
Bahru Police Circle. Even now, some 52 years later, the event,
which happened on 30 November 1950, remains vivid in my
memory.
At 0845 hours Bob Graver received a message from the
manager of Kali Malaya Estate that CTs had been seen on the
estate earlier that morning. Bob immediately went to the estate
where he was told that there were five terrorists in the party,
but others might have been nearby.
With the aid of the estate map, Bob interrogated the rubber
tappers who had seen the CTs and was able to pinpoint the
actual spot with reasonable accuracy.
He set off by vehicle with the only two SCs available, the
estate; area security unit being already out on patrol. On the
way he was stopped by a member of the public and told that
four male and one female CTs had been seen at about 0830 hours crossing the road a little further on, travelling southwest.
Bob and his party searched the rubber up to the jungle's
edge for about two hours but found no signs of anyone
entering the jungle from that part of the estate. He then moved
south to search another part of the estate. When they stopped
for a rest, they saw the party of terrorists about 250 yards
away moving southwest through the rubber.
Bob ordered his two SCs to spread out in line and they
managed to get to within about 50 yards of the CTs. They then
followed the CTs until they saw them approach some rubber
tappers. At this point, one of the SCs opened fire. The CTs
fled with Bob and his party in hot pursuit. Bob Graver
overtook and bypassed one of the struggling terrorists. As he
ran past him, Bob yelled to the two SCs behind him to shoot
the terrorist, which they did.
Bob ran on with his two SCs following him and seeing
another terrorist about 150 yards ahead, fired a burst from his
carbine and killed him. They ran on for about another 150
yards when they saw the remaining three terrorists running in
front of them, but obviously tiring. Bob stopped his party and
they fired 12 rapid rounds and saw two of the terrorists drop.
One was only wounded and was seen behind a log trying to
clear a stoppage in his sub-machine-gun. As he raised the gun
to fire, he too was shot dead.
They continued in pursuit of the one remaining terrorist as
he fled through the rubber. Bob caught up with him and with a
short burst of his carbine shot him dead.
There then began the job of collecting the bodies. As they
turned over the body of the female terrorist, a grenade with the
pin out fell from her hand. The firing pin struck and Bob and
his men dived for cover. Fortunately for all concerned, the
fuse failed to burn and the grenade did not explode.
A pistol, a rifle, a Thomson machine-gun, the hand grenade
and assorted ammunition were recovered.
The two SCs who were with Bob Graver in this action
were SC 26483 Hussein bin Lumat and SC 23611 Ismail bin
Karson. All three were awarded the CPM.
Bob Graver: a Doughty Warrior and Man of Few Words
by
J C Macnab
"In addition to his GM and C:eM, Bob Graver received three
High Commissioner's Commendations for valour.
Bob was a very quiet person, not at ease in social
gatherings, shy and perhaps a bit dour. A man of few words
who, when expressing an opinion, did so briefly and
succinctly. Underneath it all he obviously had tremendous grit
and he took his job very seriously. He made a real effort from
the start to learn the Malay language and to understand his
men. He was invariably well turned out and was respected and
liked by his SCs. He was an inspired leader when the situation
demanded.
When I first met him it was clear that he was reliable, but I
found it difficult to know what he was thinking. He tended to
be inscrutable and poker- faced, particularly when receiving
orders or instructions. He was certainly a bit of a loner.
I remember after the incident on 30 November 1950, gently
chiding him, pointing out that I had told him not to go into the
Hylam Kong area without a proper escort. He raised his hands
in the air, pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. Looking
him straight in the eye I said, "Graver, you are a Bolshie
bugger, aren't you?" There was a pause and I saw a twinkle in
his eye and we both laughed!
|
|
Byways
|
| Those who survived jungle operations, ambush and counter
ambush, lived their off-duty life to the full, and in the time
honoured way of warriors down the ages, celebrating
comradeship and survival. But not all the tales in this section
are about celebrations lubricated by Tiger beer.
Four Legs
by
Snodgrass
The CPO asked, "How old are you, lad?" at my arrival
interview. 'Twenty-one, Sir," I replied. "Good to start at a
young age," said the 'old man', who must have been at least
thirty-five, "What police training have you had?" "None, Sir! I
was told to report in London and we were pushed on to a
plane, and here we are." The CPO gave a look that made me
feel that it was my entire fault, it was I who should have
arranged to be trained; what on earth was I doing reporting for
duty as an untrained officer? Disgraceful.
"Good heavens," he sighed. "We'll have to do something
about that. Can't have you wandering around with two pips on
your shoulder and not a clue what to do." Two Pips! First day
of joining I was called a sergeant and no sooner do I report for
duty, I have two pips. It took me three years in the army to be
able to wear two pips. The truth of the matter was no one had
bothered to tell me that I had been appointed as a Cadet
Assistant Superintendent.
"We'll start you off doing a constable's job for a week,"
said the chief. "You will be attached to an experienced PC and
watch what he does. Then, on a weekly basis you'll do the
same with a corporal, a sergeant and then longer with an
inspector. At the same time you will read as much law as you
can, and study to speak, read and write Malay." I wonder what
I will do in my spare time, thought I. "And don't forget," he
went on, "You have to pass your law and language
examinations as soon as possible."
Not far from the square in what used to be known as Batu
Road, is the Coliseum Bar, Restaurant, Hotel and Cinema, a
relic from the past. You have to search for it now.
There were two basic reasons for going to the Coliseum
Restaurant. A Saturday evening thrash around town always
kicked off there. The proprietor understood and, amongst other
things, provided tall coat stands by the bat-winged front door
on which could be slung the carbines and pistol belts of rubber planters and others in town for the night, enjoying a break
from the stress of terrorist infested areas. Also, it was a
gathering point for young police officers who had just been
pallbearers for one of their compatriots killed in action with
CTs. Many is the wake which took place there, ably assisted
by gallons of Tiger beer, many pink gins and fish and chips or
lamb chops and carrots, consumed at tables set with soiled
tablecloths and cluttered with bottles of chilli, tomato and
other sauces.
Outside, behind the bar, was a rough, un-surfaced area for
car parking. A self-appointed car park attendant was a
teenaged Chinese boy who had only one leg. To be able to
move around, he supported himself on a three-legged stool,
and he could move fast. Customers knew him as Empat Kaki -
'Four Legs'. If you were unwise enough not to slip him a
generous tip as you went into the bar, when you tottered out -
Surprise! Surprise! The sides of your prized vehicle were
defaced with deep scratches. At the height of the Emergency,
SB moved in one night and removed Four Legs. It seemed that
he was a CT intelligence agent. How many secrets he
managed to glean from police officers chattering amongst
themselves, nobody ever knew.
Rosie: Queen of the Strippers
by
David Brent
I too, met Rosie, when I was Secretary for Chinese Affairs
Penang, and, like David, attempted to enforce the standards
demanded by the society of those far-off days. I too
interviewed Rosie in my office and gave directions on the
modesty required of her and her troupe.
When I attended her first performance, flanked by the
doyens of the Penang Chinese community, the), gave a very
modest show, so I did not have to invoke the law. I suspect that
in David's case a quick 'whip round' by the locals dealt easily
with the fine.
A memorable event in Batu Pahat was the arrival in town of
the famous Rose Chan and her troupe. Rose was known as the
'Queen of the Striptease'. There was a theatre stage in the
local amusement park and her troupe was scheduled to appear
there. However, in keeping with the social mores of the times,
Rose was required to sign an agreement at the District Office
that when bare-topped females in her troupe appeared on stage
in any tableau they were not permitted to move. Furthermore,
she was required to pay a deposit of M$2,OOO to guarantee
compliance, to be forfeited if there was any breach of the
agreement. It was my onerous duty to go and watch the show
the first night which I found most entertaining. The audience
was thrilled. But, it was my 'regret' to observe that the
delightful young lovelies who graced the stage not only moved
about but also did so with much enthusiasm and vigour! The
next morning I called one of my inspectors in to my office and
instructed him to attend that night's performance and report to
me first thing the next morning. He confirmed exactly my
observations, and I reported the matter to the DO. The
outcome was that Rose lost her deposit, but I suspect still went
away with a handsome profit.
A Visitor in the Bed
by
David Brent
Pekan District is one of the largest in the country, covering
huge jungle and swamp areas with scattered villages, a long
coastline and the Royal Capital of Pekan. Through the
northern part of the district flows the mighty Pahang River,
placid and docile most of the year but a swirling, raging
torrent in the monsoon season - December to February -
flooding everything in its vicinity and pouring into the South
China Sea. Pekan was the seat of the Sultan of Pahang, His
Royal Highness Sultan Abu Bakkar, who had three Istanas in
Pekan and one in Kuantan, four wives, all in Pekan, and a polo
field.
From Pekan, both the DO and myself used to make periodic VISitS to the villages on the banks of the Pahang
River. Starting up river early in the morning, the trip by boat
would take a whole day, arriving at the only government Rest
House in the area. The Rest House was a simple timber
bungalow with verandahs and a couple of bedrooms with
mosquito nets over the beds. On one occasion John Melford,
the new DO of Pekan, arrived at the boat landing below the
Rest House and wandered up to the bungalow, while the
boatman and his orderly carried up his bags and gear and left
them in the main bedroom. As his orderly made up the bed
with the bed linen John had brought, John stripped in the
adjoining bathroom which had an external door leading down
some steps to the back of the building, and eagerly poured
cold water over himself ladled from the large Shanghai jar in
the corner, enjoying the relief as the sticky sweat washed away
and left him feeling clean and refreshed. He towelled down
and donned a clean short and slacks and, while seated on the
verandah preparing some last notes of his day's journey,
watched the warm evening close with a gentle fading orange
glow. He enjoyed a brandy ginger ale and a simple dinner. It
had been a long and tedious day.
John ducked under the mosquito net around the bed and
relaxed with his sarong loose around his body according to
local sleeping protocol. It was a very warm evening and John
soon fell asleep. About half-an-hour later to his consternation,
John was awakened by somebody climbing into bed with him.
Now, John was the quintessential English gentleman, a very
proper bachelor and very sensitive to his responsibilities as a
pillar of morality in the community. The form creeping into
his bed was definitely female from the contact of soft warm
flesh next to his; and the unmistakeable cloying sweet floral
perfume popular among village maidens that now enveloped
the inside of the mosquito net penetrated his confused senses
with the realisation that a female was attempting to share his
bed with him. Horror! John shoved the lady away shouting,
"Who's that?" A muffled scream, and the maiden fell on the
floor and fled the room through the back door. John thought about waking up the Rest House contractor but decided that
discretion was probably the better course, and he climbed back
into bed.
John later pieced together the mystery of his uninvited
inamorata at the Rest House. Apparently, a young Malay
Home Guard officer, whose duties included visits to the
various villages in the area, also used the Rest House. A
village maiden, with whom he was having an affair, would
discreetly enter through the back door to the bathroom and
join him in bed. The young maiden had got the dates mixed
up!
John was mightily relieved that the matter had not resulted
in any further complications with the problems amongst the
Islamic communities of the district, who had strict codes of
conduct with regard to male-female relationships.
Problems with Matron
by
A J V Fletcher
One day, after a month or so of estate work, I found several
perfectly formed itching rings on my arms and wrists. This
was diagnosed as tropical ringworm and I was removed to
Kuala Lipis 60-70 miles away, where there was a hospital with
'facilities for Europeans'. By the time I arrived my ringworm
had spread to such an extent that, although I was otherwise
completely fit, I felt that like a leper in Biblical days, I should
be ringing a bell and calling out 'Unclean! Unclean!'
The hospital was a long, low building with wide verandahs,
open sided and with an attap roof. My room was huge and,
although there were four beds in it, I was in sole possession.
The treatment was to consist of being liberally anointed with a
substance called 'Whitfields Ointment', which killed off the
critters, which produced the rings. Two very jolly and pretty
nurses, both Chinese and of about my age, brought me tea,
fruit and newspapers from time to time, and lying back on my
pillows, I began to enjoy the sybaritic advantages of being
hors de combat.
I was aroused from my reverie by a voice from the room
next to mine. There I found a young Malay Lt in the Malay
Regiment who had been wounded in the legs in a road
ambush. His name, he said, was Hanif; would I like a drink?
We had several Tiger beers and a couple of brandies, and I
returned to my room and sank into a deep sleep.
The following day Hanif called me again for pre-Iunch
drinks. I also had a memorable home-cooked Malay meal (my
first), produced by his wife and brought along by his orderly.
He suggested a couple of after-dinner drinks that Sunday
evening, after a siesta. The 'couple of drinks' ended up as a
veritable Bacchanalia, and late in the evening the two nurses
joined us, the four of us singing English, Malay and Cantonese
songs. Before the nurses and I lifted Hanif from his wheelchair
into his bed, he asked me if I would be so kind (his orderly
having gone home), as to put a box containing a few empty
bottles under the bed in my room as he had accumulated,
"Rather too many, old chap." (He had been to Eaton Hall in
the UK for a six month course and had assimilated the local
idiom). I agreed and tottered happily to my own bed.
The next thing I remember the following morning, is being
harangued by a virago who told me she was the hospital
Matron. Did I think I was in one of my dirty police stations?
How dare I abuse my patient status with an over-indulgence in
alcohol, etc. Then she pointed out two large boxes of empty
bottles that had been under my bed. I could hardly believe my
bleary eyes. Hanif had foisted on me a mass of empty beer,
whisky and brandy bottles, which he must have been
accumulating over several weeks in the hospital before my
arrival. I had a dreadful head and could only lie there while the
diatribe raged. At length, fIxing me with a basilisk glare,
Matron delivered a Parthian shot: military and police patients
were, she said, allowed a bottle of beer with their dinner but
she would ensure that in my case this privilege was withdrawn
and, furthermore, she would report me to Police HQ in KL.
With that she swept out.
I reproached Lieutenant Hanif for overdoing the empties; he was regretful and charming and gentlemanly as only a
Malay can be, so that I felt myself a boor for having chided
him, and we remained friends.
I was in hospital for three weeks. The two young nurses
decided that I should learn a few words of Cantonese. By dint
of assiduous parroting of their words I reached a standard that
satisfIed them. I should, they said, smile at the Sister (a
married Chinese lady called Mrs Keong) and say to her "Good
morning Mrs Keong, how are you?" It never occurred to me
that these two angelic young things were mischievous and
devious. When I greeted Mrs Keong, what I actually said was,
"Good morning Mrs Keong, I love you." Mrs Keong's face
was a study. "Who tell you say that?" she snapped. I
floundered my way out as best I could, and later had a word or
two with the two little angels. Mrs Keong, who had a shrewd
idea as to who was behind the plot, forgave me.
Ramona
by
Snodgrass
After some weeks of attachment under instruction by an
experienced Inspector, a channing elderly Tamil offIcer who
embarrassed me by saluting and calling me "Sir" at every
opportunity, I was moved to a spell with the Vice Squad in
CID.
Jack Tyler, the Deputy Head, was a splendid man. A tall,
thin, dark-complexioned Englishman with a bristly, black
moustache and bushy eyebrows. His subordinates, Malays,
Chinese, Indians, Eurasians and Europeans alike, adored him.
I think I had better take you out and show you some of the
town's vice spots," said Superintendent Tyler. "Right, I'll
meet you in front of Central Charge Room at seven o'clock.
Scruff order," said the boss. "Take a revolver because we
don't know what we may run into." Nobody in the police had
taught me to use firearms. Thank goodness for army service.
I had interpreted scruff order to mean wearing a crumpled
short-sleeved shirt and a pair of baggy old slacks, the pocket of which was large enough to take my 9mm Browning. The
boss's idea of scruff order was an immaculate long-sleeved
shirt with a Thai silk cravat and perfectly pressed trousers.
"We'll start off with some of the night clubs - some of the
seedier ones," said the superintendent, glancing at my
crumpled shirt. "Then, to end with, we'll have a look at The
Worlds."
Some of the 'hole in the wall' nightclubs were, indeed,
gruesome. At each one it didn't seem long before whispered
messages were passed around and people began to drift away.
I was fairly sure it wasn't because of my rumpled shirt.
The Happy World was an enormous dance hall with an
American style six-piece band on a platform at the far end.
Along the two sides of the hall were chairs with small tables
between them, occupied by demure, pretty young Chinese and
Eurasian girls dressed in slit-to-the-thigh cheongsams
(gowns). When the band struck up, young men, who had each
purchased a ten dollar book of tickets, extracted one of their
twenty tickets, presented himself to the chosen girl, bowed in
true old-fashioned way, slid his ticket under the girl's handbag
on the table beside her, and took her in his arms.
"Allo, Jack," said a silky voice behind me. I looked round
to see a gorgeous young woman approaching us, smiling at the
boss. "Oh, hello Ramona," muttered the superintendent, "Care
to have a drink?" The girl slipped into a chair between us.
"This is Ramona. Rodrigues," said Mr T, "She was Miss
Malaya a couple of years ago."
I was regretting my dishevelled appearance, when I felt
Ramona's leg make contact with mine. A few moments later,
under cover of the tablecloth, Ramona's hand alighted on my
knee. I glanced at her. She was chatting to Jack, but realising
that I was looking at her, she turned and gave me a slow, lips parted
smile. Suddenly, she froze: I looked down, "Gawd!
She's found the pistol!" I realised.
Some weeks later I left the Vice Squad and went to the
Magistrate's Court to be exposed to court procedure. On my
first day my mentor, an elderly British Chief Inspector, told me to sit with him at the prosecutor's table and watch what he
did. "The magistrate is a funny old boy," he said. "A great
stickler for protocol. He confuses everybody by wearing a
monocle stuck in his eye at an angle. You never know who he
is looking at."
I looked up and saw that my Chief Inspector was on his
feet, like everyone else in court, bowing obsequiously towards
the enormous bench. Standing behind it was a short, tubby
European with an eyeglass set at a rakish angle. He sat down;
"I see, Chief Inspector, we have a newcomer in court who has
failed to observe the dignity of process," said the monocle.
"Kindly tell him to stand and bow to me."
My instructor nudged me. I flushed, and feeling ·like a
reprimanded schoolboy, I got to my feet and bowed so low
that my forehead almost touched the table. A titter ran round
the court. 'That's better," pronounced His Honour. "Call your
first witness." "Call Miss Ramona Rodrigues," thundered the
Chief Inspector. Something icy clutched at my heart. Ramona
was looking very pretty. She obviously was very nervous; she
gaped in awe at the magistrate and then peered around the
court. I tried to become invisible.
Suddenly, she saw me. She broke into a big grin, leaned
forward and, with a wave of her hand, cried "Allo, Dahling!"
The monocle fell out of the magistrate's eye. To give him his
due, he refrained from any other display of alarm. However,
he did declare a ten minute recess, making it clear to the Chief
Inspector that I would not be welcome to his court for the rest
of the hearing.
Jammy Bastard
by
S B Hurst
Steve Hurst was a National Serviceman, who worked in Police
HQ, Bluff Road.
I was sharing a tent in Johore during an inter-unit shooting
competition with soldiers from infantry units scattered around
the Peninsula. Eventually, the dreaded question came,
"What company are you with mate?"
"Oh! I'm detached."
"Which mob are you attached to?"
''The Civvy Police."
"Where?"
"KL."
"Jammy Bastard." The cry went up. But there was no
contempt or envy, only admiration. They wanted to hear fables
of the bright lights and wild women. I wanted to hear tales of
the jungle, but to them that was boring. So I told them stories,
which I had no need to invent.
I had started off on a troop ship destined for Korea, but
when we reached Singapore, I was posted to KL, where I
joined a small elite team, which included silent and, at first,
aloof NCOs and two young women in the map room. I saw a
different part of KL every day, since General Templer had
ordained that everyone should vary their daily route to HQ to
make life more diffIcult for the enemy.
On my first day I needed a lot of help to penetrate the
various security barriers on the way to the Keep, the 'Holy of
Holies' in the centre of Police HQ.
As a newcomer, I had to look and listen carefully to
survive in this world of most sensitive secrets.
I was frequently reminded that the military role was to
assist. the police, and the system seemed to work well as a
result of General Templer's powerful personality. We gave the
same service whether our customers were Brigadiers or
Deputy Commissioners.
I was very conscious of my good fortune in this post.
Although I had not wangled it, I knew full well how lucky I
was to be detached from my parent Corps (Transport) and
outside the normal military world.
My army trade was 'Tactical Sketcher', trained to plot the
routes of convoys after nuclear war: but HQ Malaya decided
that the best thing to do with me was to post me to fIll the
vacancy of Topographical Draftsman, which should have been
fIlled by a trained RE Sergeant. Fortunately, my training in
graphics and draughtsmanship were probably better suited to
the task than those of an army-trained sergeant. There was
plenty to do, the work expanding to keep abreast of changes in
Vietnam, and increased US interest in South East Asia.
The Keep was a rabbit warren, which included old cells
that we could use as paint stores or secure drawing offIces
where the most sensitive work would be done, behind a door
guarded by an armed sentry. The windowless map room, the
size of a large living room, lay behind a locked steel door. It
housed fIve huge map boards on which we plotted the progress
of the Emergency, incident by incident.
My first day was monthly map changing day. P/Lt Gough,
formerly a major in the British Army, greeted me with, "Can
you do this, new feller what's your name?" "Yes Sir!" said I,
not having a clue as to what was entailed. "You don't call me
Sir! P/Lts on contract are called Mr. You can salute gazetted
police officers, if you like, but always salute WRAC and
WRAF officers, or they'll have your guts for garters."
My first months were dominated by the French disasters in
Vietnam, which seemed to match a steady advance of
Communism in the region. The new map showed South China
as a great red udder, with Communist dominated territory in
Annam and Laos dangling from it like a teat. Sometimes I
would chance upon some senior officer contemplating the map
and wondering whether he would ever see his family again.
The 'domino' theory seemed all too real, and there was much
talk of the Third World War starting in South East Asia.
Gough and his companion, Lane, soon discovered my weakness in conventional map trammg. Gough's phrase to
remedy my weakness on coordinates was, "For Christ sake
remember that a map is like a woman, you've got to get across
her before you can get up her." Frankie Lane was a less
rounded man and our only point of social contact was football,
although even here we were divided; I played Rugby Union,
he played League. We were as chalk and cheese.
The mediator between us was an old soldier called Sid,
who had survived through infantry and Royal Army Service
Corps (RASC) to arrive in Bluff Road. When I asked him why
he did not seek a sergeant's third stripe, he replied, "You
know me mate; stripes go up and down on my sleeve quicker
than a tart's drawers."
One of the features of our office was a fine full-length
mirror that Sid had somehow managed to 'win'. It brought all
sorts of men and women to our office to check their turnout.
One of our regular visitors was Suleiman, a Malay driver, who
was something ofa dandy. My replacement greeted him with
"Suleiman, you are looking very beautiful." Suleiman replied,
"Yes, today I am feeling very beautiful!"
I remember very clearly the busy contingency planning
which accompanied the deteriorating situation in Vietnam.
Some French historians claim that the British were indifferent
to the French problems, but it did not look like that to me. We
were kept busy. At the end, when Dien Bien Phu fell to the
Vietcong, I happened to be on duty with signallers at HQ
Malaya, and heard the radio messages passing to the French
Army in Saigon and Hanoi. The rage and pain of the French
signaller was clear as he said, "Dien Bien Phu est tombe. Nous
sommes tous futus. " (Dien Bien Phu has fallen and we are all
f*****).
It was clear in the map room that our successes in Malaya
were not by battalions and brigades rolling up the CTs, or by
bombardment and bombing of jungle areas, but by small
patrols focussing on groups hidden in the jungle.
I was allotted the task of weekly visits to General
Templer's residence. On my first solo, I reported to the General's military assistant, producing my best imitation of a
crashing Guards-style salute. At the end of my visit he said,
"Have you any civilian clothes, if you have, would you wear
them on your next visit; all this crashing of boots frightens the
secretaries."
Eventually I was introduced to General Templer who,
typically, became engaged in animated discussion on how we
might improve the presentations. The military assistant was
amused and even more so, When he discovered that I was not a
regular soldier but an artstudent from Oxford.
I knew a fair number of police officers and discovered that
there were serious rifts between factions. The Malay cadre did
not love the Palestinians. On one occasion I was ordered by a
senior officer of the Malay cadre to "Get out and tell your
master to f*** off." Gough invited me to return to the charge
and tell the senior officer to "Stick the sketch map up his
arse." But I suggested that this might be unwise.
Gough (not his real name) was a casualty of the war. He
Was a well-educated man; spoke Malay and Chinese, and a
bon viveur, an endless womaniser, and gambler, with financial
worries to. match. He found peace irksome, and having
finished the war as a major, joined the Palestine Police to get
away from men he despised in his old civilian drawing office.
When he arrived in Malaya he barely had time to give
basic training to the SCs on the estate for which he was
responsible, before the CTs launched a major attack. They
were driven off, leaving several of their number dead on the
perimeter wire.
Frankie, on the other hand, had little education and, I
thought wrongly, little emotion, until he told me, just before
he left on a jungle patrol, that he had shot a female CT with
his Sten gun, on automatic. He said, ''When I saw t' state of t'
lass, I spewed my ring. I'm not ashamed to tell thee lad, I cried
like a babe."
When I returned to Oxford, I missed the comradeship and
tolerance of the army, and no one wanted to hear about Malaya, so
I shut up like many others, and put my diaries in a box.
Visitors from Westminster
by
S B Hurst
The struggle for South East Asia, as all progressive people
will agree, was fought between the People's Armies of
Liberation (PAL) on the one hand, and the Colonial
Imperialist Oppressors (CIO) and their Running Dogs, on the
other. Paddy Waring agreed that he was a bloodsucker and a
Running Dog, most cheerfully, as the number of empty pint
glasses increased on the table and the monsoon flies invaded
the tin-roofed shack that served as a NAAFI. But Paddy was
of the petit rentier, or Kulak class, so he had nothing to gain
from the onward march of the freedom loving Asian people.
Though he wore neither pip nor crown on his shoulder, and
only three stripes as an Emergency Sergeant on his sleeve,
Paddy was a person of consequence. He owned a horse that
ran in the Singapore Gold Cup. Mr Waring senior was a
bookie well known in the East End of London, who lent his
soldier son the capital to buy eighty percent of a racehorse (the
sum to be paid back with interest on demobilisation). We
formed a syndicate to buy the rest of the horse and each had a
minor share in Paddy's investment (The fact that the beast
lost race after race, and our investment dwindled, has no
relevance to this story).
Paddy and I agreed to differ over politics. He was a paid up
member of the Bow Conservative Club, whereas as a student I
was one of the League of Socialist Youth. Being of the Left, I
look forward with anticipation to the arrival in KL of a factfinding
visit by members of Her Majesty's Opposition.
Paddy saw them before I did. He was in Singapore, his
horse had won and he treated himself to a night at Raffles
Hotel. Raffles was, like every decent hotel, out of bounds to
BORs. But, wearing the white suit and with a pretty nurse
companion,Paddy looked like a gentleman of the turf.
To Raffles came the Opposition Delegation to stay in the
best rooms in that famous hotel. The delegation from the
Labour Party was impressive, and its two most prominent members were the two former IllIlllsters of the Crown,
Aneurin Bevan and his wife, Jenny Lee, who never tired of
telling people that she was a miner's daughter who grew up in
poverty.
I entered the drawing office, early in the morning, to find
Gough examining his medal ribbons and sleeking his yellow
moustache, a bad sign which usually indicated a hangover.
"Hey! Corporal, you're a Socialist, how'd you like to show
this bloody Labour Delegation round? Explain the political
situation. Right up your street, eh?" Great was my excitement,
mixed with awe, at the chance of meeting the heroes of my
youth and the seductive Jenny Lee. I should have known my
superior better. Gough, once a major in the XIV Army and
former sergeant of the Palestine Police, had an ulterior motive
for letting such a moment of glory pass, even if it meant an
hour in the company of those whose politics he detested.
Now back to Raffles. As the politicians enjoyed their pre-dinner
drinks, generously refilled, the organiser outlined the
proposed visit to war-tom Malaya. Meanwhile, Paddy tipped
one of the waiters to move him to a table close to that of the
Delegation. "You'll enjoy this," he told his companion. The
first performance was by Nye Bevan, who refused to wear a
tie at dinner. This was against the hotel rules, the couple were
entertained by the burly Welshman shouting at a very small,
Chinese, inscrutable Maitre D, who refused to serve dinner
until the ex-Minister put on a tie. A smiling Malay waiter
arrived with a bow tie on a silver tray. Bevan put it on.
The next cabaret turn was by Miss Lee, who made a fuss,
loudly, about the wine. It was poor quality and was too cold,
not the right type of wine to go with the fish. So it went on,
until Paddy's great roaring guffaw echoed through the dining
room. He told the girl that it was better than Drury Lane or the
Abbey. His puzzled partner stared at him uncomprehending.
Paddy sat there, laughing, nodding, and all but joining in the
conversation. At last tIte great ones arose, replete. "All paid
for by the party faithful and honest toilers back in Blighty," as
Paddy told me a week later, when the politicians had flown home, satisfied with the best food and wines that Raffles'
kitchen and cellars could serve. "And here's the best bit of all.
As the Delegation assembles in the foyer, what do I do but nip
out ahead of them, onto the steps, where their official cars and
syces (drivers) are waiting. Jennie Lee turns to Nye, "Now
let's go and look at some slums," says she. And the whole
overfed gaggle of 'em gets into their cars and off they go to
weep and wail over the poor and needy Chinese, victims of
British colonial oppression."
I accused Paddy of making this up and, anyway, only
Raffles carried sufficient prestige and our elected leaders work
hard and play hard and deserve the best.
The former ministers flew up to KL for the day, in a
specially fitted-out RAF transport plane with fighter escort and
some of the lesser MPs took their lives in their hands and
toured the battlefronts. Although I did not hear the sound of
cannon or heavy machine-guns echoing through the streets of
sleepy KL that day, the Delegation arrived at Police HQ with
an escort of police heavily armed and a scout car of the l l"
Hussars. They did not stay long but, no doubt, many a tale of
danger and derring-do went the rounds of the House of
Commons ' bars when they returned home safe from their
adventures.
Thinking themselves well informed about the colonial
situation in South East Asia, the politicians were sure that they
had all the facts at their fingertip before they set foot in the
map room. Neither PlLt Gough nor Captain Howard could
sway their high-minded and tunnel-visioned picture of the
war. They returned to Singapore before the equatorial night
fell with all its terrors. Our heroes did not meet drunken BORs
in the Batu Road: Somersets who had spent the last months up
to their armpits in swamp water, or Hampshires who had been
stuck in bamboo clumps, waiting in ambush for nothing. The
politicians might actually have heard the voices of the people.
But these, after all, were only uneducated, brutal civilian
soldiers, too young to vote, therefore their views counted for
nothing.
Denied the privilege of shaking hands with my heroes,
meeting no ex-ministers, greeting neither orators of note nor
decision-makers of consequence, I entered the drawing office
with a heavy heart, to find Gough sitting at my desk. For once
he was smiling: as he wrote busily in a little notebook. It
would take a heart of stone not to rejoice at the sight of so
contented a policeman. Every cloud has a silver lining and it's
an ill wind...
We must leave the comfort and luxury of Raffles and
return to the Front Line. "Where is the Front Line?" asked a
visiting US Senator, touring the hot spots of the War Against
Godless Communism. Freddie Gough, P/Lt. in Charge at
Federal Police HQ, Bluff Road, kept a book in which he
recorded the fatuous questions and ridiculous statements of
visiting politicians. His favourite was another American, this
time a Congressman, "Do the aborigines understand the full
significance of Communism?"
Postscript
"Even making allowance for Gough's prejudice against
politicians of either faction, several officers agreed that the
delegates, having read Professor Purcell s version of events in
Malaya, were not prepared to believe anything told them by
either police or soldiers, or anyone else who sang from a
different hymn sheet.
Until I read Jennie Lee's autobiography, I believed
that Paddy invented the Raffles incident. But as I read I began
to wonder. Like many visitors from Western Europe and the
USA, Jennie Lee was full of admiration for all she saw in the
USSR.
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Jungle Tales
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A Hornet's Nest
by
S R Follows
'Do not poke a hornets nest or you will be stung to death
One day, on patrol with a Sikh jungle squad, I saw one of the
men step on a tree trunk lying across the track. The trunk was
rotten. There was a little crunching noise, then a humming
sound and suddenly the jungle path was full of leaping figures,
and the air full of what looked like large wasps, their bodies
coloured with yellow bands.
The patrol retreated in disorder and regrouped some distance
back; we were all badly stung. I was not cheered by the
Malays reminding me of a saying that hornet stings can kill a
dog. As I prepared to lead the patrol on a detour round the
offending log, one policeman reported, apologetically, that he
had dropped his rifle in the melee: beside the hornets' nest, so
now I had to find a way of recovering it despite the angry
swarm. I planned to throw smoke grenades on the nest, and
then launch a concerted rush to recover the weapon. Our
attack was successful but, despite their frantic speed, the patrol
suffered further nasty stings. We were a sorry sight, covered in
swelling and rashes and in pain, and treated tree trunks with
great respect thereafter.
A Tiger and a Human Salt Lick
by
Tan Sri Mohd Amin bin Osman Amin
One evening we had stopped for the night after a gruelling
six days on jungle patrol, my sergeant took the first spell as
sentry, and we agreed that I would take over from him at
midnight.
After our evening meal I lay down and dropped off into the
deep sleep of the exhausted, but my slumbers were soon violently disturbed by the loud roar of an animal and the loud
yell of a startled human being. When the hubbub had died
down, the sergeant gave me the following explanation.
As he squatted in the jungle, peering into the dark on sentry
duty, he had suddenly felt something soft and moist touching
his moustache and instinctively tried to swat the 'something'
away; but his hand had encountered bristles.
It was a tiger's muzzle, and presumably the tiger was
enjoying the salt on the sergeant's luxuriant moustache, and
was as startled as the sergeant, and roared loudly before loping
away without waiting to investigate the surprising
phenomenon that it had encountered. The sergeant, equally
amazed, yelled loudly before he worked out what was going
on.
We went back to sleep and the tiger did not return to its
human salt lick.
Ensnared
by
S R Follows
One afternoon, treading delicately as leading scout, I felt
something grip my ankle and then, in an instant, I was hanging
upside down. I had walked into one of the extremely effective
native game traps consisting of a noose attached to a strong,
flexible sapling, which as soon as something was caught in the
noose sprang up and dangled the victim in mid-air.
My patrol quickly came to my aid and we saw the funny
side of the incident.
fire Ants
by
S R Follows
On one patrol I had climbed halfway up a tree in order to try
to pinpoint our position. Busy with map and compass I felt a
vicious sting on the back of my neck and soon, slapping
ineffectively, I found myself covered in ants; the branches
above were too slender to take my weight, so there was no way to escape except back down through the ant army to the
ground. It was murder: they stung me everywhere.
When I hit the ground, Shafiee said, "We call them semut
api (fire ants) and there are usually no ill effects." "Well!
That's something," I said.
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Animal Tales
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Baby Crocodiles
by
D L Brent
An amusing incident occurred in late 1953. An Orang Asli
came downstream to Pekan from the deep jungle. He had
brought with him 38 baby crocodiles in order to claim a
government reward. It transpired that this was his first foray
out of his jungle habitat for very many years, and that he did
not know that there had been a war and that the Japanese had
occupied the country. And we had to advise him that the prewar
regulations on rewards for baby crocodile tails, no longer
applied. So a despondent jungle resident left to return to his
habitat, a little wiser and poorer, sad to say.
The baby crocodiles posed a problem, but we emptied the
sand in the station's fire buckets and filled them with the baby
crocodiles and water from the river in front of the building,
and transported them to my bungalow. There I had my orderly
dig a pit in the back garden and sink in a huge discarded iron cooking
bowl, which we filled with water and surrounded with
chicken wire. So the infants found a good home and were
regularly fed with nearby swamp fish.
The story of the baby crocodiles in my garden, travelled far
and wide and came to the notice of the King's African Rifles
(KAR) Officers' Mess in Kuantan, who asked if I would
donate a few baby crocodiles to reside in the fish tank which, I
believe, sat in the middle of the dining table! This I did, and in
return they gave me a spotlight (used on their armoured cars)
for me to use with my boats on emergency trips at night,
which could be pretty hazardous in the flood season with large floating tree trunks and braches looming out of the darkness
and crashing into my boats. My previous requests for
spotlights to Police HQ in Kuala Lipis had met with unconcern
and no response. We owed our Orang Asli friend a favour as
his baby crocodiles got us our much-needed spotlight!
Elephants and Bears
by
D L Brent
I have never had trouble with boars or bears (except my
Burma Honey Bear which had to go to the zoo), but I can add
to the stories of elephants the fact that in the early 1980s they
were causing mayhem in Malaysia by treating young oil palm
plants as blissful 'bonne bouches'. When the planters dug
ditches and Installed electric fences the elephants rapidly
regrouped and used tree trunks to cross the 'tank traps' and to
smash down the electric fences. They know how to learn from
experience.
"Batu Pahat and Y ong Peng were both bad areas for terrorist
activity, although the situation was much better than in the
earlier years of the Emergency. Shortly before I arrived the
dramatic and highly successful bombing of Goh Peng Tuan's
camp 10 the Kluang District nearby was the beginning of the
final defeat of the Mep military organisation in the region.
When the Fijians left Batu Pahat they were replaced by the
KOSBs. As with the Fijians, we had excellent relations with
them and their bugler took over early morning reveille as my
wake-up reminder each day. They kept a Malayan sun bear.
The sun bear is smallish; dark brown almost black in colour
with a yellowish patch on its chest and a yellowish muzzle.
Locally known as a bruang, the sun bear lives in the jungles
and is mainly nocturnal. Reputedly, the sun bear cubs are very
cute and attractive and make good pets but when fully grown
are short-tempered and not too safe. When I saw the sun bear
at the Mess it was a fully-grown specimen and chained up and
was being fed beer and golden syrup! But there was nothing
placid about it.
Pythons and Wild Boars
by
D L Brent
One of the colourful characters in Triang was Knud Staugard,
manager of Triang Rubber Estate. The manager's two-storied
residence was about ten minutes drive. It was a bnck and
concrete building quite pleasantly furnished, surrounded wi!h
barbed wire and floodlit at night with several kubus around It.
Next to the house Knud had a small zoo in a simple netted
enclosure - some small crocodiles, pelandok (mouse deer), a
squirrel, a porcupine and some ducks, which all lived togetlIer
in apparent harmony.
Knud was a stocky, well-built man witlI blue eyes and lIght
brown hair, devoted to his Chinese workforce and his job. He
did very well as manager, and indulged himself with a big,
red Studebaker convertible V8 with white wall wheels, plenty
of 'chrome and a torpedo-shaped grill front, which was
illuminated from the inside! Not exactly the anonymous style
of transport one would select to avoid fast recognition and
ambush. But I think it was Knud's way of saying, "Do your
worst."
My first meeting with Knud occurred at the 6 PFF
Officers' Mess. The Studebaker's big wheels crunched up on
the gravel and the vehicle came to a halt with Knud jumping
out and calling, "Come! Come! Look what I have." Everyone
sauntered out of the Mess holding their drinks, curious to
know what Knud had as he went to the back of the car and
opened the boot. The ladies gasped and drew back in horror as
we saw a huge python curled up in the boot. It seemed that as
Knud was driving to the party he saw a very big python across
the track he slammed on the brakes, skidded to a halt, grabbed
his M1 carbine and rapidly put four shots into the python's
head and killed it instantly. He loaded the snake into the
spacious boot and came straight to the Mess, about. another
four minutes' drive. Although quite dead the python's coils
were still moving: quite an eerie sight.
We would go pig shooting on Triang Estate. This usually involved driving shortly before nightfall in Knud's armoured
Land Rover to a particular far division on tlIe estate where the
adjacent jungle was very dense. We would then line up and
space apart about 50 yards facing the jungle edge about 80
yards away and wait to catch tlIe wild boar coming out of tlIe
jungle as daylight faded to fossik around fallen rubber nuts,
roots and other food, sometimes causing damage to the rubber
trees. Hopefully, several boars would emerge at about the
same time, at otlIer times we might only get one.
The tough part was getting tlIe carcasses back. We would
cut down a branch to make a carrying pole and, with the
boar's legs lashed together slung on the pole, we would carry
the carcasses and load tlIem into tlIe back of the Land Rover.
A nice leg made a tasty change of diet.
There were many stories about tlIe tenacity and courage of
the wild boar; it is more dangerous and courageous than the
tiger with its slashing tusks. Knud said that it has been known
for a charging boar to keep coming on even when hit several
times by bullets. Once when we changed our hunting method
and went into tlIe jungle to try and track down wild boar, I
came across what seemed to be a lair inside a very large, thick
thorny bush. When I approached a deep roar startled me.
When I moved slightly closer tlIere was another roar and some
scuffling. Knud came up behind me and advised that we
should move well away. He said, "It is a wild boar protecting
its lair, possibly with a new litter, and it wouldn't be worth
taking any chances given our closeness." So I learned that
wild boar can roar. It may not be exactly like a tiger's roar, but
it's enough to stop you in your tracks if you are close enough.
Slow Loris and Other Animals
by
D L Brent
David's collection of local animals will strike a chord with
many of us who served in the tropics. I only got as far as a
Honey Bear, presented to me by a Colonel of the Kachin Rifles
in Burma, and monkeys, of course.
"One evening we were driving back to Pekan .. The road was an
easy drive, and when we were about halfway I observed two
little red glowing lights in front of us. There was a Slow Loris
in the centre of the road staring at us in fright. The Slow Loris
moves in very slow motion. This one was a male with a dark
brown stripe running down the centre of its back. It turned
around clumsily and put on full speed straight down the
middle of the road in the beam of the car lights. Full speed was
about 200 yards an hour and not much help at alHor the little
fellow, so I dropped a sack over him and dropped him in the
boot. When we got home I opened the boot and put him into
an empty cage I had on a back verandah. We kept the Slow
Loris for some months and he became quite tame and would
sit on my shoulder and wander about the house. We fed him
on fruit and an occasional live chikchak and he remained in
good condition.
One day during one of my periodic visits to riverside
villages up stream, I came across a dwelling with a young
male macaque monkey (in Malay, a kera) in a bamboo cage.
On inquiry the family were happy to part with the monkey for
the princely sum of six ring et (currency, about fifteen
shillings). At home I had a small wooden crate converted into
a house with a doorway and a tin roof. This was fixed at the
top on an 8 ft. pole and situated on the lawn in front of our
verandah lounge area. Abu could climb up and down his house
pole and run around an area at the bottom of the pole.
Monkeys make ideal pets, particularly if they are acquired
when young. The grooming habit seems ingrained and Abu
would often sit on my shoulder and sift through my scalp to
look for small sweat crystals which he enjoyed nibbling.
Monkeys also make excellent 'watch dogs'. Whenever a
stranger came near the house Abu would race up the pole to
his house, climb onto the roof and jump up and down
shrieking noisily.
When I was posted to KL we were allocated a chalet next
to the botanical gardens. Abu's pole house was installed at the
back of the chalet facing the direction of the botanical gardens. Unfortunately, there was a roving band of macaque monkeys
in the botanical gardens. They obviously saw Abu as an
intruder to their domain and attacked and killed him. He had
been a wonderful family companion and we missed his antics
greatly.
One morning the Sergeant OCSB asked if I was interested
in having a male musang. One of his relatives had come by a
baby musang and didn't want to keep it. The musang is
Malaya's mongoose and when I went to look at it I was very
taken with this bright alert little animal. It was a young male,
quite small and very tame and inquisitive. So Musang, as we
called him, was brought to our house and became a house pet.
Musang was into everything he could find - testing this,
turning that over, tasting things and finding out all he could
about his new home. He had an incredible sense of balance
and would race along the narrow back of the lounge chair
without a hint of falling off. He was very mischievous too.
The main target of his humour was our cat. Musang's idea of a
joke was to scurry off behind a door when he knew that the cat
was going to walk past any minute, and as she passed leap out
on to her back and hold tight. The cat would go into a state of
shock and rush about scampering all over the place to try and
dislodge Musang. This rarely succeeded. Surprisingly, the cat
didn't seem to bear a grudge against Musang in between the
rodeo bouts when they got on quite well together.
A Garden Owl
by
P A Collin
One night when I was driving home, travelling at about 40
mph, I heard a colossal thud against the nearside wing. When I
got out to investigate I found a large bird lying in the ditch; it
had obviously flown into the car and knocked itself out. It was
a Malayan garden owl. I picked him up and put him beside me
on the front seat and christened him George. George's arrival
at the Gordons' camp caused quite a stir. I found him a towel
rail to perch on and he seemed to be recovering, but it was clear that he had severely damaged one wing and we needed a
vet. It was an eerie experience waking in the morning to find
myself eyeball to eyeball with George, but over the next few
weeks we became firm friends. He was a beautiful looking
bird. Although I never measured him, I think he stood about
fifteen inches tall.
But there were many things to be attended to. The most
immediate need was to meet George's dietary requirement of
one live bird per day. Fortunately, the Malays accepted this
and somehow managed to supply George's needs. It proved
more difficult to get him to a vet. I had the utmost admiration
for the brave PC who set off in a bus attempting to control
George on his wrist and sympathised with the passengers who
were, presumably, not used to travelling with a wild owl.
When George's wing showed signs of recovery, I took him
down on my arm to introduce him to the Jocks. I warned them
not to try to stroke him or suddenly thrust out a hand, but to no
avail. There was at least one Jock with a sore and bloodied
finger.
As the wing got better George began to fly around the
bungalow when I let him free. One day after circling he flew
off into the jungle. I missed him.
DIY War Dogs
by
A J V Fletcher
"I did not see the order, emanating from some wizard in KL,
to each Contingent HQ ordering one hapless District from
each State to find, house, feed and train to track down CTs in
the jungle, a posse of local dogs. All I know is that the District
chosen as the fall guy was the one in which I was stationed at
that time. The argument advanced by the canine expert in HQ
was that it was not necessary to go to the expense of importing
trained tracker dogs from the UK and that local canines, born
in Malaya and already acclimatised, could be turned into as
good, if not better, substitutes.
That our District was to be the choice for this experiment was not greeted with wild acclaim. A parade of our SCs
produced a young Tarnillad called Murthy, whose father had
not one, but three, dogs back at home and Murthy assured us
that he got on well with them. So Murthy was detailed off to
be the dog recruiter, feeder and, in the fullness of time, trainer.
The trick was to find enough or, indeed, any suitable dogs.
A local planter gave us one from a litter of puppies presented
to him by his boxer bitch of impeccable pedigree, but of a
lascivious nature, who had formed a misalliance with a no account
estate dog. The new recruit was only about four
months old and had large paws almost like the feet of a shire
horse. At the slightest sign of interest he (it was a male),
would flop over on his back and wriggle expectantly while
waiting to be tickled. This did not seem very promising,
although the hope was that as Oliver matured he would
become more ornery and wolf like. We were allowed a sum of
money to build kennels and an exercise pen and these were
constructed by the local PWD carpenters. These were Tamils
and it was an unfortunate fact that Murthy, hitherto of a
retiring disposition, had allowed his new position of 'in charge
of dogs', to go to his head so that he barked out machine-gun
bursts of Tamil at the workers throughout the construction of
palatial premises for the quadrupeds.
Oliver had the new quarters to himself for only a week or
two before the next arrival. This was a gift from a local
butcher and had been employed as a wild boar hunter. The
Chinese butcher made much of his generosity in giving us this
dog and his desire to do his bit to help the government in the
struggle, but the dog (a bitch) was missing bits here and there,
notably an ear and a piece of a rear leg and other honourable
wounds resulting from many a battle with ill-tempered wild
pigs. It was also apparent to anyone that this was a
superannuated animal that was interested in two things only:
eating and sleeping for both of which, particularly the latter,
she displayed a wonderful propensity. She was an affable old
thing when she was awake, however, and someone gave her
the name 'Narco' (the butcher said she was called 'Melly', which was probably his version of 'Mary' we thought at the
time) insofar as she answered to anything, which was not
often, anyone of these names seemed to suffice.
I am no longer sure after such a long time about where the
next two dogs came from. All I remember is that one dog was
a huge animal, who frightened everyone who had need to deal
with him - and this included Murthy, a small and slightly-built
lad who could have been picked up in the slavering jaws of
this new arrival, who had something of the bear in him - and
an unusually large brindled bull terrier. The last of the canine
warriors was another gift, this time from a chettiar (money
lender) who had been given the dog in part payment of a debt
and who obviously rued the day he had accepted it. This was
not a beautiful cur: apart from any other defect it had more
than a touch of mange. The government vet, in due course,
cured this. The local populace, fascinated by the whole affair,
often came to the kennels to stare, to speculate and to marvel
at the cunning plan of the authorities, for it was common
knowledge that these animals were going to spell doom for the
orang jahat in the jungle.
All these dogs, dominated by the huge bear-like animal
known to all of us as 'Gajah', noW entered upon the happiest
days of their hitherto unremarkable and in some cases
disadvantaged, lives. That they had clearly never eaten so well
in the past soon became speedily apparent, as they increased
their avoirdupois almost by the day. Each day Murthy would
walk them, one by one usually, but occasionally in twos (with
some difficulty, particularly when it was Gajah's turn when it
might appear to the onlooker that it was Murthy being walked
by Gajah!) What no one had worked out, however, and the
order from KL did not provide much help in this respeCt, was
how they were to be trained to sniff out and track down the
enemy: indeed, as the weeks went by and the canine sleuths
increased in weight and girth, they became, no doubt,
contented, if surprised, at their improved lifestyle, less
inclined to do anything much other than eat and sleep, perhaps
taking their cue from Melly/Narco who had started out as she meant to go on.
Irascible letters from HQ as to what progress was beina
achieved caused a certain amount of worry, so Murthy was
told to take the trainees into the nearest tract of jungle where,
provided with an aniseed-soaked rag (supplied by the ever helpful
vet) and escorted by members of the jungle squad, he
was to lay a trail. This was a total failure: the dogs, at first
enlivened by their new surroundings soon became lethargic
and were, at no time, interested in aniseed. Even worse, one of
the Mata Matas unwarily stepped on Melly's bad leg and was
bitten. It was fortunate for him that the ancient Melly had few
teeth, and those pretty loose, but the fact was that the dog was
haram (unclean) so a great deal of susah ensued.
Things went from bad to worse and even the most sanguine
of us began to realise that none of our animals was ever oa oin0a
to do anything positive still less to track aCT. Murthy seemed
to take it all badly and, although he continued to trot his
charges around the padang, his heart was not in it. The locals
too lost interest and the dogs became sleeker and ever fatter
and more somnolent.
The OCPD,who bore the brunt of HQ's criticism about the
lack of progress, became increasingly tetchy on the subject
and, rather in the manner of King Henry II, asked who would
rid him of these turbulent canines? One day, with great
courage, strengthened by a desire to recoup some of the great
sum spent upon the animals, the AOCPD found a Chinese
entrepreneur who was willing to buy the dogs, the kennels and
their exercise pens as well as the remainder of their month's
rations, as a job lot. The AOCPD sold them lock, stock and
barrel. I remember seeing from my office window a very large
lorry with all these items on the back but particularly
remember the sight of a collection of happy, fat, but puzzled
dogs. The subsequent row was of Vesuvius-like proportions.
Brush Contact with a Tiger
by
S R Follows
My Platoon was a mixture of Malays, Chinese, Eurasians:
Moslem, Hindu, Buddhist, and Christian. Our common aim
was to rid their country of Communism. Like me, they had
heard too many stories of the ruthless, vicious actions of the
CTs. We hated them.
One day as we settled down in ambush positions, we heard
the sounds of movement coming ever closer. All our weapons
were pointing to the sound; then a magnificent tiger appeared
sniffing, alert, suspicious and superb, and then it roared and
leapt away.
Sprayed by a Cobra
by
P J D Guest
One day, in particularly difficult jungle, I took over from the
leading scout. I was bent forwards, trying to read the compass
bearing when I heard a loud hiss and saw a shower of what
looked like spittle striking my chest. I guessed what it was - a
cobra - and didn't look up. Fortunately, since I always kept
sleeves rolled down, hat pulled well forward and collar up; the
spittle did not hit my face, eyes or arms.
I went into rapid reverse, and the whole patrol concertinaed
into me. When I gasped to the Sikh Sergeant that there was a
snake up front, he replied, "I know" and calmly pushed the
reptile aside with a stick remarking, "It's a big one" and
warned me not to touch the spittle.
Later, when I examined my shirt, webbing equipment and
hat, I found that the spittle had bleached out all the colours.
Unlucky Tracker Dog
There is a widely told story of a tracker dog that suddenly
stopped in the middle of a pool of water and lay, motionless, in
the middle of the pool refusing to acknowledge any command
from its handler. The patrol, which was following up a CT
party after an abortive fire fight, could not understand why
their dog, normally well disciplined and responsive to every
command, had suddenly gone motionless. The handler poked
the dog with a stick and felt a tingling sensation, and the dog
continued to lie motionless. Eventually, the patrol noticed that
the high-tension electric cable crossing the water had been
severed by a stray round during the fire fight and had fallen
into the water thus making the pool lethal and electrocuting
the dog.
This sound like a tall story but I have had it from several
sources and it was recorded in a regimental history. It seems
as if this bizarre set of coincidences did actually occur and,
had the dog not been ahead of the patrol, the leading scout
would presumably have been electrocuted instead.
Decoying Village Watchdogs
by
Leong Chee Woh
Dogs presented a formidable problem to patrols trying to
make a surreptitious approach to a rural village. These
mongrel packs provided the villagers with a first-class alarm
system; the dogs would sense the approach of a patrol long
way off and their barks and yaps would advertise their
presence long before the villagers had detected them. Various
ruses had been tried to lure the dogs away but without success.
The canine alarm system continued to plague us since the
owners of the dogs chained them up if they left their houses.
I too kept watchdogs, and when brooding on the problem
we faced and considering new solutions, I suddenly
remembered that when my bitch was on heat every dog in the
neighbourhood came to visit her in my compound. Since most
of the visitor dogs were strangers to me, I presumed that they
must have travelled some distance in response to the scent of a
bitch on heat, so it seemed to me that her scent might be a
more effective lure than any we had yet tried. The next time
my bitch came on heat, I soaked a cloth in her blood and, carrying it in a bottle, took it off to the jungle. I spread bits of
the cloth around some distance from a village and, to my great
satisfaction, saw the dogs all coming out in response. This
trick served me well on operations thereafter.
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Q Matters
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Working on Q Operations
by
Leong Chee Woh
An important weapon in the anti-CT armoury was the Q
Squad, a section of police officers masquerading as CTs. One
of the Q ploys was to lure CTs into a Q squad camp, unload
their weapons and remove the fuses from their grenades while
they were sleeping and then, when the CTs awoke, reveal
themselves as SF. In these circumstances the CTs, recognising
the weakness of their position and surprised by the attitude of
their captors, would usually surrender without a struggle. The
CTs were amazed to find that the SF did not torture and kill
their captives, contrary to all that they had been told by their
leaders. Usually the Q squad included a SEP, preferably a
former member of the target group,to bear witness to the good
treatment meted out to SEPs by the government.
Before entering the jungle, Q squad members were
carefully inspected to ensure that everything they wore and
carried was the same as the CTs used. They had, for example,
to take account of the fact that CTs who had been in the jungle
a long time developed acute senses, and could detect the smell
of soap, food or tobacco at a long distance. For this reason,
smokers had to smoke raw tobacco leaves, which tasted much
like burnt paper; cured tobacco was forbidden.
Part of our CT-style equipment was the canvas hammock,
which required considerable practice to sleep in; they
invariably decanted beginners onto the ground below.
It was tough working in Q squads. Talking was not
allowed, and when we were out of the jungle we had to stay
out of the sunlight in order to maintain our jungle pallor. But the Q system contributed significantly to the elimination of the
CTs in Central Perak.
With Q Squads in Perak
by
J S Bailey
In 1956/57 I was posted to Ipoh as DSBO. My staff included
Inspectors Leong Chee Woh and Bernard Thong, two of the
bravest men I have ever known.
I remember vividly one Q operation in which they were
both involved. The plan was to use the services of a newly
surrendered Branch Committee Member (BCM) to try to
persuade the 20 CTs, that he had just left behind, to follow his
example. We had little time to prepare the operation as the ex- .
BCM had left his camp on the pretext that he was going to
make contact with another CT unit, so he would be expected
back in camp in a day or so. Our operation section consisted of
the SEP, three Chinese inspectors and me. We started our
approach with a helicopter ride just before dusk. The landing
spot had been chosen on the advice of the ex-BCM as being
far enough from the camp not to disturb its inhabitants, but
near enough to keep our approach march short. Unfortunately,
the spot proved to be unsuitable for landing so we all had to
jump out from about eight feet above the ground.
We made our camp for the night and the next morning, led
by the SEP, we marched off towards the CTs. We halted quite
close to them, well hidden by the jungle, but we were able to
see their camp in a clearing across a re-entrant. The SEP and
Inspectors Leong and Thong. finalised their plans for entering
the camp. It was agreed that I and the other inspector should
stay out of sight until we were called forward by a signal from
the inspectors but, if things went wrong, do whatever we could
to help. But I hate to think what would have happened if
things had gone wrong. Our team moved into the camp after
an exchange of recognition signals with the CTs and had to
wait, for what seemed like an eternity, for the successful
signal. It was a very tense time not least because I could not see the whole camp and so often lost sight of the inspectors as
they moved about. Then, to my great relief, I heard the call
that was the agreed success signal. All the CTs had agreed to
surrender.
But we had a long march ahead of us to get the SEPs to the
RV at the edge of the jungle where our transport would be
waiting. By now it was about noon and our ex-BCM had
estimated that the RV was three or four hours march away.
Our route lay through primary jungle so we had to proceed in
single file; we moved with the ex-BCMand two inspectors i.n
front, another inspector in the middle and me at the rear. ThIS
was the first time I had ever been at the rear of a column; my
previous experience was of leading, not of marching behind,
and this time I was behind a column of almost thIrty men.
There were some steep slopes to negotiate and, although the
inspectors said that they had not been setting a fast pace, I had
to trot most of the time to keep in touch. My jungle green
uniform was black with sweat and I was soaking wet as if I
had fallen into water. We reached our RV without mishap just
before dark and found our transport awaiting us, and
eventually delivered our ex-CTs to their new billets.
There was an amusing sequel to the operation. An army
major, our liaison officer, had gone off with one of ?ur
inspectors to celebrate the mass surrender and the celebratIOn
went on until the wee small hours. A few days later at a coffee
morning, the Major's wife told my wife that she would be
obliged if I would refrain from keeping her husband out
drinking in future. Fortunately for the Major, my wife kept her
counsel. This was not the first time that a husband had used
my reputation in order to calm an irate wife.
A Dodgy CEP
by
Yuan Yuet Leng
On one occasion we took three CEPs out on a Q operation,
although we were far from certain of their reliability. My
report on the operation was as follows.
We changed into CT uniforms and arrived at our RV at
1800 hours on the jungle fringe.
In view of our doubts about the three CEPs, we kept them
surrounded, and the SBOs in the party took turns to watch
them throughout the night.
At about 0300 hours there was a heavy downpour. At 0500
hours when dawn was breaking, C W Leong shouted. "Ah
Loke (one of the CEPs) has run away". He had slipped away
during the heavy rain. He was eventually recaptured some
months later.
Ah Loke was the only CT in the history of Q operations
who had the dubious honour of being captured and induced to
surrender twice. He was not popular in SB after all the trouble
he had previously given by returning to his comrades with
news of our methods. There were, undoubtedly, officers
whose minds turned to the possibility of eliminating him. He
was terrified.
In 1993 I met the 59 year old Ab Loke, now retired and
with his family. He told me the following tale.
"When I was first captured, I was interrogated by you and
Leong while my two comrades were interrogated by a
Chinese-speaking European, and another big European. After
the interrogation, we compared notes. I said that I had been
treated quite well; they told me that I had been lucky; their
'boss' European had been aggressive and thumped the table
with his gun.
Since I had, personally, shot one or two soldiers in
ambushes, I decided, nevertheless, that it would be wise for
me to escape.
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Epilogue
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It would be natural to seek tributes to the brave police from the
senior officers of their day but, for obvious reasons, fifty years
on this is not possible. Moreover, unlike more conventional
wars, the Emergency did not give rise to the writing of major
works by commanders nor, indeed, since technically it was not
a war, there were no battle honours and citations from which
to borrow appropriate quotations. Gent and Gurney, two High
Commissioners were killed while still in office, the first in an
air disaster, the second in a terrorist ambush, and neither
General Templer nor Tengku Abdul Rahman wrote
autobiographies. So I have turned to words used by Tun Hanif,
a distinguished former IGP, who has long been an enthusiastic
supporter of works by police officers who, having been at the
Sharp End, have written about their memories of those days.
In his foreword to 'Operation Ginger' Tun Hanif said,
"Hopefully Dato Seri Yuan and his contemporaries will write
more so that the nation will remember forever that their
present progress, cohesion, economic prosperity, peace and
stability, owe much to these once young and vibrant men and
women of Malaysia, who served with great distinction and
valour."
It is in the spirit of Tun Hanif's words that this book has
been written as a tribute to the gallant men and women who
performed so courageously and effectively.
Were General Templer still with us, I am sure he would
have approved whole-heartedly of our endeavours and given
us some colourful quotes as well, the mildest of which would
probably have been "Bloody good show." Tengku Abdul
Rahman would also, I am sure, have done us proud.
Unfortunately, I came too late to the current task to enlist the
support of those two wonderful men but, having known them
both, I am sure that they would have been enthusiastic
supporters of Operation Sharp End: a tribute to the crucial role
of. the Royal Malayan Police in the First Emergency in
achieving a unique victory over a Communist guerrilla armed insurrection.
Field Marshal Lord Carver had this to say about the campaign:
"The Malayan Emergency was an exemplar of counter-insurgency,
and those who participated have every right to be
proud. The greatest credit must go to the people of Malaya
who made great personal sacrifices, saw with sound sense,
where their real interests lay, and employed considerable
political skill, imagination and restraint in attaining their
ends ... and General Templer was the man-of-the-hour...
It was a magnificent team effort, to which the police made
an outstanding contribution."
After that quote from a Field Marshal, I leave the last word
with a former British Sergeant, Gus Fletcher.
"Most of the British ex-Palestinians and the SCs were very
young, I was nineteen and many of the Malays were younger
still. The relationship between these youngsters from two
entirely different backgrounds and cultures would have been
tricky. The Emergency was barely six weeks old and thin as
seemed critical but. the kampong lads were wonderful - full of
fun in their new strange world. They adapted extraordinarily
quickly and close bonds were forged between the young
Britons and Malays with miraculous speed, but sadly the
Malays and their British Sergeants soon suffered heavy
casualties. That the CTs were cruel and merciless, mostly alien
enemies, goes without saying. When at an impressionable age
you have to remove a pig spear from the stomach of a rubber
tapper pinned to a tree by the spear and left to die a lingering, agonising death, or pick up the bodies of two Chinese miners
executed in front of their families by 'elimination' squads as
'running dogs' by driving eight inch nails through their
foreheads, one has little affection for those responsible.
Although I began to hate and loathe the CTs, strangely, I
also found myself reluctantly admiring the SEPs and CEPs for their organisational powers and usually superb jungle craft.
But there was another dimension. Many of them had gone into
the jungle barely literate. Now after years of indoctrination in
their jungle camps, they were literate and had learnt a great
deal about the wider world, albeit in a biased way. Clearly
they were not more refined, but they were no longer the
ignorant lumpen proletariat that they had been when they first
joined the CTO. It seemed as if one effect of their daily class
work in the jungle camps was that they had learnt to listen and
to give straight answers. When you operated with them in the
jungle you felt that you could trust them. The cynic would say
this was because they knew that their own chances of survival
would be greatly improved if their former comrades in arms
were eliminated. But whatever the reason we all found that in
some respects their years in the jungle seemed to have made
them trustworthy and reliable when 'the chips were down'.>
|
A Stastical Picture of the Emergency
by
B T W Stewart
|
|
During the Vietnam War, Robert McNamara, US Secretary of
Defense, was famously addicted to what the cynics called 'the
numbers game'; ammunition expended, number of bombs
dropped, balance of forces and known and presumed
casualties were all part of the intelligence assessment process;
part of a vain attempt to turn assessment from the art of
intelligent guesswork into a science.
In Malaya we did not go along that route and, as Mr
McNamara eventually discovered, the numbers game was a far
from satisfactory basis for intelligence assessment.
Nevertheless, even if you have some sympathy with the wag's
definition that there are lies, damned lies and statistics, they
can provide some useful snapshots of various aspects of the
war.
It is in this sense that this section has been prepared.
The Balance of Forces
The Chinese have a proverb about using a cannon to shoot a
sparrow. To the untutored eye it may well seem that the
numerical superiority of the government forces should have
enabled the government cannon to destroy the jungle sparrow
with ease.
In 1948 the government had at its disposal 10 infantry
battalions, an artillery regiment, and a police force of over
8,000 men. By 1950 there were 17 infantry battalions at the
government's disposal; the police, regulars, specials and
auxiliaries had expanded to well over 100,000; in addition
there were Home Guards and Kampong Guards. The CTs
never had more than 6,000 armed men in the jungle.
But, of course, such comparisons are meaningless. On the
government side the battalions of the British Army were woefully under strength, many of the soldiers and officers
were national service men, not long out of school, barely
trained and without battle experience or jungle warfare
training, and none were acclimatised. The Ghurkha and Malay
regiment units were hardly better placed; they too consisted
largely of recent recruits.
The police, because of swift expansion, also had many raw
recruits. Moreover, the SCs were. perforce spread thin
throughout the country and experienced instructors were
scarce.
By contrast their opponents, the CTs, had many
experienced fighters trained during World War II in guerrilla
and jungle warfare by British Officers of Force 136.
Moreover, unlike most of the British and Commonwealth
troops, they were fighting on home ground.
But the CTs greatest advantage was that they could choose
time, place and target for their attacks. And since, unlike the
SF, they had no duty to stay around after contact had been
made, they could adopt the highly effective tactical doctrine
taught by Mao Tsetung, "When the enemy advances we
retreat. When he retreats we attack." They could apply
overwhelming force at a well-sited ambush point and then
melt away before the SF could mount an effective counterattack.
Hit and run was their method, so the SF seldom had an
opportunity to retaliate. And, since they did not yet have
effective intelligence coverage of the CTO, they had little
chance of predicting the time or place of CT ambushes. In
short, at the beginning, despite the numerical superiority of the
government forces, the CTs enjoyed a considerable advantage.
Naturally, British Generals also sought to join battle only
when they outnumbered the enemy, but it was easier for the
guerrillas to guarantee surprise than it was for the government
forces trying to cover the whole peninsula.
In any case, numbers alone could never provide a final
answer against seasoned guerrillas so long as they could
intimidate or otherwise persuade the rural Chinese population
to give them support. Nor was command of the air, and plentiful artillery support of much use in jungle warfare,
fighting what General Harding called 'will 0' the wisps' .
Occasional optimistic plans to roll the CTs up as if beating
game had little success; it was too easy for the 'birds ' to slip
though the cordon.
As General Westmoreland discovered painfully in
Vietnam, even 500,000 troops and virtually unlimited supplies
of bombs and shells were of little avail in a war against
guerrillas operating on their home ground.
A comparison with the size of the British Armed Forces
deployed in Palestine in the 1930s is also illuminating. As
Professor Short has pointed out, in Palestine, a country smaller
than Malaya, consisting of open country, with scope for
effective air strikes , the British Army had two cavalry
regiments, and 14 infantry battalions; all consisting of regular
trained soldiers , many with battle experience. The Malayan
Security Forces were even less well placed than the
Palestinian Government to deal with a guerrilla war.
In any case, however large the SF and however successful
their training for their new counter-insurgency role, they
lacked an effective intelligence machine and, without
intelligence, they would be condemned to spend huge amounts
of time slogging through the jungle looking for needles in
haystacks.
In these circumstances it was remarkable that the police
and all the other parts of the SF stemmed the tide of terrorism
while faced with the problems of expansion and training. An
important ingredient in their achievement was the courage and
ingenuity of the subalterns in the police, many dropped in at
the deep end to learn to swim as best they could, many within
days of joining up in Britain posted to the remotest parts of the
country, and picking up enough of the Malay language in short
order to enable them to train and lead their 'troops' .
Security Forces and Civilian Casualties
During this Emergency the SF lost 1,865 killed, 2,560
wounded; civilian casualties had been even heavier, 4,000
murdered or wounded and 800 missing.
In the SF it was the police who bore the brunt of the
casualties; 1,346 were killed in action and 1,601 wounded.
The toll of police 'subalterns' killed in action was: -
ASP and Cadet ASP 27
Police/Lieutenants and British Sergeants 59
Inspectors 16
As the stories remind us and some of the photographs show us,
the Police Force reflected the rich cultural mix of Malaya.
Malays, of course, were the majority but there were gallant
men from every bangsa.
The casualty figures continued to mount until 1951. After
that the SF were winning although, as General Templer
emphasised at the end of his remarkable tour as High
Commissioner, final victory was still a long way off. The
figures for killed and wounded were as follows: -
SCT Casualties
Figures for terrorist strength in this Emergency are, for
obvious reasons, impossible to establish with complete
accuracy, but the broad picture is that between 1948 and 1958
about 12,000 CTs passed through the ranks of the MRLA.
Over 6,000 of them were killed, 3,000 surrendered and 1,286
were captured. The rest were 'missing'; they probably dIed of
wounds or sickness in the jungle, but there is no record of the
year in which they became casualties.
Whatever else these figures tell us they certainly suggest
that not every CT was a fanatical Communist ready to make
the supreme sacrifice for the cause. There are several tales In
this book illustrating how SEPs or CEPs who decIded to cast
their lot in with the SF, showed remarkable enthusiasm in
assisting in the tracking down, capturing, or elimination of
their erstwhile comrades. With the benefit of hindsight, it is
clear that the overwhelming majority, once they had decided
to defect or, in the case of a CEP, to collaborate, turned their
coats wholeheartedly. In some cases they wanted revenge, but
there was also a feeling that, having turned coat, they would
be safer if they eliminated their former colleagues. But, of
course, the police families who found SEPs billeted upon them
were by no means sure about their 'loyalties', and polIce
officers taking such men out on their first jungle patrol could
certainly not be sure about the ex-CT in their midst. There
were a few cases of CEPs deciding to escape during a jungle
patrol, but I know of no case where the CTO planted a double
agent on us through the SEP route.
The motivation of the SEPs included the following
factors: -
(a) Hunger, discomfort, ill health as government
controls decreased their supplies and their camps
were harried by SF operations;
(b) A growing disillusion with the fine words of
their leaders since there was no evidence that the
CTs were winning;
(c) A wish to eam rewards for information.
(d) A wish to have the comforts enjoyed by their
former comrades, now SEPs.
As the SEP campaign evolved we focussed more and more on
individuals and individual units, calling upon them by name,
warning them of the danger they faced if they did not follow
the example of former comrades, who were now safely and
comfortably housed with the SF and in touch with their
families. Loudspeakers, 'voice' aircraft, or leaflets broadcast
the messages.
By the end of 1952 government was with increasing
success proving to the Chinese popUlation that surrender was
an option worth considering and that, contrary to CT
propaganda, SEPs would not be tortured and then executed
after interrogation. The MCP, having already executed some
23 of their own members on suspicion of treachery, were hard
pressed to find facts to support their claim that the SF were
more cruel than the CTs.
|
The Rise and Fall of the Malayan Communist Party
by
B T W Stewart
|
|
The MCP was born in 1930 using the Party in China as its
model. Throughout its active life it remained Malayan in name
only. The vast majority of its members were Malayan Chinese,
and the few Malay and Indian members were never fully
trusted. In 1936 the Party was strengthened by the arrival of
seven Communist cadres (officials) from Amoy in South
China, but it continued to be a Party overwhelmingly drawn
from Hua Qiao without any interest in Malayan culture.
The Politburo, a sort of cabinet at the apex of the Party
structure, consisted of the Secretary General, Deputy Secretary
General and four other Central Committee members. Below
them came the Central Committee, then the State Committees,
and then the Branch Committees and their subordinates.
Communications ran vertically: lateral communications were
severely discouraged and the 'need to know principle' was
rigorously applied. So only the Politburo had any informed
picture of the overall situation. The rest of the membership
was kept in the dark, like mushrooms, but occasionally the
door was opened and scraps were thrown to them from the top
table.
This compartmentalisation served the needs of security
well, and strengthened the authority of the Politburo. But, as
we have seen in some of the stories in this book, the state of
ignorance amongst the lower echelons could be of
considerable help to Special Branch when they sent SEPs back
into the jungle to contact CTs who had no up-to-date
knowledge of the general situation.
The military arm of the MCP was firmly controlled by the
Party in accordance with Chairman Mao Tse Tung's wellknown
dictum that, "Power comes out of the barrel of the
gun." The MCP used the traditional Communist method of
controlling the gun: even at section level there was a political commissar as well as a section commander.
Until the Japanese Occupation the MCP had busied itself
with a variety of so-called United Front activities, fomenting
industrial unrest and exploiting Chinese chauvinism to disrupt
society. There were assassinations but no attempt at 'armed
struggle'. At this time the MCP was a proscribed organisation
but, much to the annoyance of the Malayan and Singapore
Governments, London insisted, after the war, that the MCP
must be allowed to operate legally, thus making the MCP's
task much easier.
In the mid-1930s Loi Tak, a Vietnamese, became Secretary
General. Loi had previously worked in Indochina both as a
Communist and as an agent of the French Secret Service, but
had fled when he and his French case officer decided that his
cover was wearing thin. The French handed him on to the
British who assisted him to establish himself and advance
rapidly to the top of the tree, by arresting and deporting his
strongest rivals, usually on the basis of intelligence that had
been provided by Loi himself.
During the Japanese Occupation Loi collaborated with the
Japanese Kempetai but also maintained contact with British
Intelligence and, after the war he was, once more, their star
source on the MCP.
Throughout his Singapore career Loi had succeeded in
persuading all but a tiny handful of his comrades to believe
that he was a devoted and courageous Communist, and all
accepted his false claims that he was Moscow-trained and well
connected in the International Communist movement. But the
whole time he had been helping his British and Japanese case
officers to mount anti-Communist operation s. It says little for
the skill of the Party's security apparatus that, apparently , no
one ever noted that Loi Tak was always absent when the
police surprised his comrades in flagrante delicto .
In early 1947 Loi decided once again, this time without
discussing the situation with his case officer, that his cover
was wearing dangerously thin, and departed taking with him
the Party funds. When he was tracked down in Thailand he was assassinated by order of Chin Peng the new Secretary
General.
The Party which Chin Peng inherited, was filled with
despondency as the rumours began to circulate about Loi's
treachery. A secret enquiry into the Loi affair established that
he had been betraying the Party for over ten years. Morale
plummeted and rumours continued to flow about other vipers
in the Party's bosom. The Party's appeal to forget the past,
trust 'the centre', and look to the future, naturally made no
impact: the lower echelons were sunk in gloom.
Chin's position was made more difficult because he had
been Loi Tak's protege and right-hand man. Before his
defection, Loi had been criticised by his enemies as an over
cautious 'rightist', but now he had been unmasked as a serial
traitor. Chin's need to find some dramatic gesture to distance
himself from the policies of his former patron, as well as to
restore flagging morale, must have been a significant
ingredient in his decision to move from the war of words to
armed struggle.
Before the Japanese War the MCP, like its neighbouring
Communist parties in Indonesia, Thailand and Indochina, had
been subordinated to the Shanghai-based Nanyang Communist
Party. After the war the Nanyang Party was dissolved and the
MCP was subordinated to the Far Eastern Bureau of the
Moscow-based Communist International, in order to provide a
smoke screen designed to conceal the basically ethnic Chinese
nature of these Communist parties. But this obfuscation did
not alter the reality of the situation. It was Hua Qiao not
indigenous South East Asians who led the. parties and
provided the bulk of their rank and file, and the MCP was no
exception. It was not long-term residents of Malaya, whether
of Malay, Chinese or Indian extraction, but recently arrived
Hua Qiao who waved the banner of Marxist Leninism.
When in 1949 the MCP belatedly recognised that a higher
priority should be given to garnering Malay support, they
decided that the raising of a Malay Regiment would persuade
the Malays that the Mep was a genuinely indigenous Malayan Party. The ploy was not notably successful. The need to
present Communist parties of the region as national parties,
had already been emphasised in the mid-1930s by the
Vietnamese Communist leader Ho Chi Minh. But this was
easier said than done, and all the South East Asian Communist
parties remained highly vulnerable because they were seen as
basically Hua Qiao. Indeed, in Indonesia in the 1960s, the
common perception that the Party Communist Indonesia (PKI)
was mainly Chinese facilitated the suppression of the PKI and
set in motion an anti-Chinese pogrom.
So in May 1949, Chin Peng directed the senior Malays in
the MCP to raise a Malay Regiment to be named the 10th.
Ironically, at this stage in the Emergency the Malayan
Government had yet to grapple with the analogous problem in
the Malayan SF, which had four battalions of the Malay
Regiment but no military fighting unit that was open to
Malayans in general.
The MCP's optimistic attempt to cure their problem by
creating the 10th Malay Regiment did not start well. At the
very first meeting convened to discuss this subject, the Malay
leaders requested that the new regiment should be allowed to
wear songkoks, have sole authority over all Malay fighting
units and the sole right to liaison with them and with the
Malay masses. Chin Peng roundly rejected all four requests.
Nevertheless, despite these infelicities, by late 1949 about
400 Malays had been recruited for the new regiment. Within a
year, however, half the strength had surrendered and the 10th
Regiment never had much impact on the campaign. In 1951, at
a meeting with Chin Peng, the Malay leaders complained that
the implementation of the Briggs Plan, curfew, food control,
resettlement and harassment by the SF made operations
extremely difficult: but their protestations were ignored: the
MCP's disobliging response was that the 10th Regiment must
find a way to scrounge its rations from the Malay 'masses'.
It is, perhaps, hardly surprising that the 10th Regiment was
ineffective as a military unit, since neither the commanders
nor the rank and file had any military experience and their Chinese comrades gave them little help to remedy their
military short-comings, moreover, they only supplied 200
weapons for the 400 men on the regimental strength. The 10th
Regiment was expected to make up this shortage by capturing
weapons from the enemy, while being issued with substandard
weapons, unreliable ammunition and poor and insufficient
rations.
Neither the Chinese leadership nor the rank and file ever
showed much flair for 'hearts and minds' work, even amongst
their fellow Chinese, but they were even less adept in dealing
with their Malay members. Many of the MCP's Top Secret
reports and directives were not shared with their Malay
comrades. They were not shown the report that recorded the
detail of Loi Tak's treachery. There were other manifestations
of lack of trust: for example, although Chinese CTs were
allowed to visit Malay camps, the Malays were forbidden to
visit Chinese camps. The Indian CTs too, of course,
complained frequently that they were treated as second-class
members of the CTO. It was only with the Orang Asli that the
MCP seemed to understand the vital need to win 'hearts and
minds' .
This distrust of non-Chinese was not, of course,
unprecedented. The Chinese have seldom found it easy to
accord full respect to 'outer barbarians' of other races, as
many foreign students have found to their discomfort when
attending educational institutes in China.
A Malay Propaganda Section was established with its own
printing press. But it was little more than an Army Education
Section attempting to teach the Malay CTs about
Communism. It stayed well away from such difficult topics as
the contradictions between atheist Communism and Islamic
Malay society, and their propaganda had little effect.
Meanwhile, as the MCP was giving such shabby treatment
to the Malay Regiment, the Malayan Government, inspired by
General Templer, was giving Rolls Royce treatment to their
new creation, the Federation Regiment. Potential officers were
trained as Officer Cadets in the UK and the regiment got the best modern equipment.
In 1989, when the MCP laid down its arms forty years after
the start of the Emergency, the world had changed
dramatically. China had moved away from crass, crude
Communism and its attendant campaigns and cruelties, to
pragmatism under the leadership of Deng Xiao Peng. Politics
and Marxist ideology were no longer the order of the day, and
China was interested in exporting goods for sale not in
exporting revolution. There was no Chou En Lai proclaiming
loudly on the world stage, that the "Revolutionary situation
was excellent."
Although officially the 'First' Emergency came to an end
in 1960 when every District in Malaya had been declared
'White', it was not until 1989 that the M CP renounced their
absurd ambitions to turn Malaya into a Communist state. Until
the small rump of the MCP and its military components retired
to lick its wounds in South Thailand, it had continued to
maintain contact with Thai, Indonesian, Vietnamese and
Burmese comrades. They also vigorously pursued an active
liaison with their Chinese comrades who provided, amongst
other forms of support, subsidies, political training in the Party
School in Chungking, and signals and military training. And
the Vietcong provided training in such practical subjects as the
construction of tunnels, manufacture of booby traps, and
sabotage.
Meanwhile, the MCP had been infiltrating men into
Malaya to recruit 'Assault Units' for future armed struggle, to
set up underground cells, and to recommence United Front
activities to foment unrest. The war was by no means over as
far as the MCP were concerned.
In 1972 the Mep adopted a new constitution following the
changes adopted in China, but the changes, however useful
theoretically, had little practical significance in the context of
the MCP's activities in Malaysia: they merely reflected the
Party's slavish reliance on the advice and direction of 'Big
Brother' in China.
The MCP did not escape the consequences of the dreadful Chinese campaigns, the Cultural Revolution and so on. The
MCP inaugurated horrific trials and many hundreds of Party
members, new and old, were incarcerated, convicted by
Kangaroo Courts and executed as spies and traitors. Veterans
as well as newly joined recruits fell foul of this witch-hunt.
Chin Peng and the Central Committee called these affairs
'rectification' but to most of the membership they were highly
disturbing manifestations of an unpredictable system.
We shall probably never know the exact extent of China's
support for the MCP. There was certainly moral support, and
there were visitors from China, civil and military, observers
or, perhaps, even advisers; places were provided for the MCP
in China's Party schools and there may even have been some
military training. But China did not provide significant
military support or send soldiers to fight on the ground.
In 1989 Chin Pen, now looking like a benign grandfather
and, apparently, entirely lacking in any sense of guilt for the
atrocities he and his Party had committed, became a retired
revolutionary.
|
|
|
 |
| Malaya Map
|
| Colony Profile
|
Malaya
|
|
Suggested Reading
|
The War of the Running Dogs
by Barber, N.
Communism in South-East Asia
by Brimmell, J.
Jungle Green
by Campbell, A.
The Communist Party of Malaya
by Chin, Aloysius
Templer: The Tiger of Malaya
by Cloake, J.
The Door Marked Malaya
by Crawford, O.
The Long, Long War: The Emergency in Malaya 1948-1960
by Clutterbuck, R.
Green Beret: Red Star
by Crockett, A.J.S.
The Jungle Beat
by Follows, S.R.
Scorpio, The Communist Eraser
by Leong Che Who
Jungle Menace in Malaya
by Miller, H.
Templer in Malaya
by Parkinson, C. Northcote
A Policeman's Story
by Pilus, Dato Mohammad Yusoh
Guerrilla Communism in Malaya
by Pye, L.
War Years and After
by Dato Raj, J.J. (Jnr.)
Emergency Propaganda: Winning the Hearts and
Minds of Malaya 1948-1958
by Ramakrishna, K.
The Jungle is Neutral
by Spencer Chapman, F.
The Communist Insurrection in Malaya
by Short, A
Temiar Jungle
by Slimming, J.
British Documents on the
End of Empire: Malaya, Part II.
The Communist Insurrection
1948-1953
by Stockwell, AJ.
God's Little Acre
by Thambipillay, R.
Defeating Communist Insurgency:
by Thompson, R.
Malaysia: A Survey
by Wang, Gungwu
Operation Ginger
by Yuen Yuet Leng
|
| Glossary and Conventions
|
| ADO |
Alliance Party |
| Alliance Party |
An alliance of the principal Malay,
Chinese and Indian parties |
| Anjing |
Dog |
| AO |
Administrative Officer. The title given to
District Officers in the Malay States. |
| ADSBO |
Assistant District Special Branch Officer |
| Anai-Anai |
White Ants |
| AOCPD |
Assistant Officer Commanding Police
District. |
| AP |
Auxiliary Policeman. |
| APC |
Armoured Personnel Carrier (see GMC) |
| ASAL |
The organisation developed by the MCP
to control the Orang Asli |
| ASP |
Assistant Superintendent of Police, the
rank attained by a Cadet ASP after he
had passed his language and law exam
and completed his probation |
| Attap |
A form of thatching used to make roofs
and walls of buildings |
| AWF |
Armed Work Force (MCP term for cells
of armed terrorists working on the jungle
fringes under CTO direction) |
| Babi |
Pig |
| Bandits |
A term in vogue at the beginning of the
Emergency but abandoned in favour of
CT as being dangerously reminiscent of
the propaganda by the Nationalist
Chinese, who were being severely
trounced by the Communist 'bandits' in
China |
| Bangsa |
Race |
| Basha |
A flimsy temporary shelter made from
jungle plants |
| BCM |
Branch Committee Member (of the
MCP) |
| Belukar |
A nasty high scrub growing in secondary
jungle, a formidable obstacle |
| Bluff Road |
Shorthand for Police Headquarters that is
sited on a bluff overlooking KL |
| BMA |
British Military Administration which
took over the administration after the
Japanese surrender |
| Bn |
Battalion |
| Bomoh |
Witch Doctor |
| BOR |
British Other Rank; i.e. a British soldier |
| Bren Gun |
The highly regarded light machine-gun
used by the British Army throughout
WWII and after. The CTs loved it |
| British Adviser |
The senior MCS officer in a Malay State |
| British Sergeant |
The predecessors of the Police
Lieutenants |
| Bruang |
Bear |
| Bukit |
Hill (Malay) |
| CCM |
Central Committee Member of MCP |
| CCP |
Chinese Communist Party |
| CEP |
Captured Enemy Personnel |
| Chandu |
Opium |
| Cheongsam |
The slinky, sheath-like, high-collared
long gown worn by Chinese women of
all ages. The design, a mix of Chinese
and French chic, could be stunningly
attractive on the right figure, and also
highly seductive since it was slit up the
side to a height chosen according to taste
by the wearer |
| CID |
Criminal Investigation Department |
| CO |
Commanding Officer |
| Commissioner of Police |
The officer in charge of the whole
Police Force |
| CPM |
Colonial Police Medal for gallantry |
| CPO |
The senior police officer in a State or
Settlement |
| CT |
Communist Terrorist; the name officially
adopted for members of the Communist
guerrilla forces |
| CTO |
Communist Terrorist Organisation |
| DC |
Detective Constable |
| DCM |
District Committee Member of the MCP |
| DLB |
Dead Letter Box; i.e. prearranged hiding
place in which to conceal a secret
message for later collection |
| DLI |
Durham Light Infantry |
| DO |
District Officer. The officer charged with
overall authority for a District |
| Durian |
A large fruit much beloved in South East
Asia, but the taste is, to put it mildly,
strange and not easily acquired by
visitors. Its 'fragrance' is so penetrating
and long-lasting that many carriers refuse
to allow it on board! |
| DPP |
Deputy Public Prosecutor (the senior
government lawyer in each State or
Settlement) |
| Dresser |
A combination of male nurse and
dispenser of medicines |
| DSB |
Director Special Branch |
| DSBO |
District Special Branch Officer. |
| DSP |
Deputy Superintendent of Police |
| DWEC |
District War Executive Committee
chaired by the DO and attended by
Military Police and civilian
representatives, charged with
coordinating and prosecuting the counterterrorist
campaign at District level |
| DZ |
Dropping Zone, the place designated for
dropping supplies from the air |
| EIS |
Emergency Information Service. The
service set up in parallel with the
Information Service to handle Psywar in
support of the hearts and minds
programmes and counter-terrorism |
| FFJS |
Field Force Jungle Squad |
| FJC |
Federal Jungle Company; the forerunner
of the PFF |
| Ferret Force |
An improvised counter-insurgency force
created at the beginning of the
Emergency, led by ex-Force 136
Officers, Chinese-speaking MCS
Officers and others to hunt down
'bandits' |
| Force 136 |
The clandestine force tasked by SOE to
fight the Japanese |
| Gajah |
Elephant |
| GM |
George Medal |
| GMC |
Literally General Motor Corporation. In
our context, the shorthand for the
'workhorse' armoured personnel carrier |
| Gunong |
Mountain (Malay) |
| Haji |
A person who has been on a pilgrimage
to Mecca. |
| Hang Kong |
Supervisor of a tin mine or other
workforce |
| Hantu |
A ghost, a supernatural spirit (Malay) |
| Haram |
Unclean: forbidden (Malay) |
| HG |
Home Guard |
| HQ |
Headquarters |
| HSB |
Head of Special Branch (State level). |
| Ilujan |
Rain (Malay) |
| Hung Mo Kwai |
Red-Haired Devil (Chinese slang for a
European) |
| Imam |
The religious head of a Muslim
community. |
| IGP |
Inspector General of Police; the title of
the head of the Police Force |
| ISA |
Internal Security Act |
| Istana |
Palace (Malay) |
| Jalan |
Road (Malay) |
| Kampong |
Village (Malay) |
| Kampong Guards |
Equivalent of the Home Guard |
| KAR |
King's African Rifles |
| KD |
Khaki Drill (uniform) |
| Keling |
A slang name for Tamils and others from
South India. It derives from the word
Kalinga (Sanskrit) |
| Kempetai |
Japanese Military Police |
| Kenduri |
Feast (Malay) |
| Kepala |
Head (Malay) thus by extension
headman |
| Ketua Kampong |
Headman of the Kampong (Malay) |
| KIA |
Killed in Action |
| KL |
The commonly used abbreviation for
Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia |
| KMT |
Kuomintang (Nationalist People's
Party) - the governing party of China
until 1949 |
| Konfrontasi |
Confrontation (the Indonesian attack on
the newly created State of Malaysia in
the 1960s) |
| Kongsi |
A Chinese term for a group or association
and, by extension, a building or complex
housing a group of Chinese workers |
| Kubu |
Sentry Post |
| Kukri |
The legendary short curved sword used
by the Gurkhas |
| Kwai |
Literally 'spirit' or 'devil' (Chinese).
Used by the less educated Chinese to
refer to all non-Chinese. Hence, for
example, Hung Mo K wai (red-haired
devil) was a common slang Cantonese name for any European. Many Chinese
have claimed in our PC times that the
term should not be taken at its face value
but rather as a light-hearted term. Not all foreigners are persuaded |
| Ladang |
A clearing made in the jungle in order to grow food (Malay) |
| Lalang |
A type of tall stiff grass with sharp edges,
which made a formidable obstacle
(Malay) |
| Laterite |
Red clay that hardens after exposure to
air: frequently used as a rural road
surface |
| Latex |
The sticky white substance tapped from
the bark of a rubber tree to make rubber
sheets |
| Lee Enfield |
The reliable and effective.303 calibre
rifle used by the British Army for many
years |
| LZ |
Landing Zone; a landing strip specially
prepared for operational purposes |
| Mata Mata |
Slang Malay term for policeman; literally
'eyes' |
| Mata Mata Gelap |
Slang Malay term for a detective;
literally 'secret eyes' |
| MCA |
Malayan Chinese Association. The
Chinese Party formed during the
Emergency. Led by Tan Chenglock (later
Sir Chenglock Tan) |
| MCP |
Malayan Communist Party |
| MCS |
Malayan Civil Service; the officers, like
the gazetted police officers, were
traditionally recruited by the British
Colonial Office |
| Mentri Besar |
The Chief Minister in a Malay State |
| Merdeka |
The Malay term for Independence |
| Min Yuen |
A Chinese term for the 'masses'
organisation outside the jungle, which
supplied logistic and intelligence support
for the armed terrorists |
| MO |
Medical Officer |
| MPAJA |
Malayan People's Anti-Japanese Army;
i.e. the Communist- dominated guerrilla
force, which collaborated with Force 136 |
| MRLA |
Malayan Races Liberation Army, the
name given by the MCP to their gangs of
armed terrorists |
| MSS |
Malayan Security Service; the service
responsible for monitoring security
threats in Malaya and Singapore |
| MU |
Malayan Union |
| New Village |
A village constructed to house rural
people, usually Chinese, who had been
moved from the jungle fringes for their
security and in order to disrupt the CTs
supply system. They were provided with
a perimeter fence, police and HGs,
schools, water supplies, and health care |
| NRIC |
National Registration Identity Card |
| OC |
Officer Commanding |
| OCPD |
Officer Commanding Police District |
| OCTU |
Officer Cadet Training Unit |
| Orang |
Person or people (Malay) |
| OSPC |
Officer Superintending Police Circle. (A
Circle consisted of several Police
Districts) |
| P&T |
Post and Telegraph, i.e. the department
responsible for running the Post Office
and the telegraph service |
| Padi |
Rice in the field (Malay) |
| Padang |
A flat open ground in the centre of
village or town (Malay) |
| Panji |
Sharpened bamboo stake, which used as
a mantrap can cause painful wounds or, if
smeared with poison, death (Malay) |
| Parang |
A heavy, short-bladed sword used for
clearing jungle but, like a machete or
panga, at times a fearsome slashing
weapon (Malay) |
| PC |
Police Constable |
| Penghulu |
Malay headman of a rural area |
| P/Lt |
Police Lieutenant. The rank given to the
European reinforcements who were
hurriedly recruited in 1948 |
| PFF |
Police Field Force; the paramilitary force
organised to fight the CTs in the jungle |
| Prahu |
Boat (Malay) |
| Propaganda |
Generic term for attempts to influence
people by words; originally used in
relation to a committee of Roman
Catholic Cardinals overseeing missionary
work |
| Psywar |
Psychological Warfare; a more
sophisticated form of propaganda, which
the practitioners intended to be more
effective than the lies of the MCP
propaganda machine |
| PWD |
Public Works Department. The
department responsible for all public
building |
| Q Squads |
Police squads consisting of government
officers, SEPs and CEPS, masquerading
as CTs |
| Raja |
The Malay Ruler of Perlis State |
| Rakits |
Bamboo raft. (Malay) |
| Resettlement |
The process of moving squatters and
others from the jungle fringes to New
Villages |
| Rotan |
Cane |
| R&R |
Rest and Recreation. A term coined by
the military |
| RMPFOA |
Royal Malaysia Police Former Officers '
Association |
| Rubber Tapper |
The worker who wields a tapper's knife
to create a channel in the bark from
which the latex oozes and drips into a
small cup |
| RV |
Rendezvous; a prearranged meeting
place |
| SAC |
Senior Assistant Commissioner |
| Sakai |
A generic, rather derogatory, term for the
aborigines in general |
| Sampan |
Small boat (Chinese) |
| Sangar |
A breastwork built of stone to provide
protection against bullets |
| Sarong |
Traditional cloth sheath worn by Malay
men and women |
| SAS |
Special Air Service. |
| SB |
Special Branch (Police) |
| SCA |
Secretary for Chinese Affairs. A
Chinese-speaking MCS officer working
at Federal or State Settlement level on
'Chinese Affairs' |
| SC |
Special Constable. Police recruited
specially on short contracts to provide
security in the rural areas. Most were
Malays |
| SCM |
State Committee Member (subordinate to
Central Committee of the MCP) |
| Semut Api |
fire Ants (Malay). |
| Senoi |
One of the aborigine groups. A highly
successful force was recruited from
Senois and trained by the SAS for jungle
work against the CTs |
| SEP |
Surrendered Enemy Personnel. A CT
who surrendered |
| Sitrep |
Situation Report |
| Songkok |
A brimless Malay cap shaped like a cross
between a Glengarry and a 'pillbox' |
| SF |
Security Forces (police and military) |
| SOVF |
Special Operations Volunteer Force
(consisting of SEPs operating under
police command) |
| Squaddie |
Slang term for a Private in the British
Army |
| Sten Gun |
A crude but useful sub-machine-gun
widely used in WWII |
| Stop |
A party of men placed behind the
objective to prevent the enemy escaping |
| Sultan |
The ruler of a Malay State |
| Sungei |
River (Malay) |
| Susah |
Difficult (Malay) |
| SWEC |
State War Executive Committee |
| Syce |
A word imported from India which
originally meant a groom and, later, a
driver |
| Tamil |
The South Indian race which supplied
most of the labour force for the early
Malayan rubber estates |
| Tengku |
Malay Prince |
| Temiar |
One of the aboriginal tribal groups |
| Tengku Bendahara |
Court Chamberlain. |
| Thunderer |
A lorry bearing a loudspeaker system for
broadcasting messages to the CTs |
| TS |
Tiger Squads (Police fighting patrols) |
| Tin Tailing |
The worked out residue of a tin mine |
| Towkays |
Chinese shopkeepers and businessmen |
| Tuan |
A polite form of address used in Malay.
The term has become tarnished. It does
not have to be translated as 'master'; it is
the equivalent of 'Sir', the derivation is
from the Spanish 'Don' |
| Tuan Mat Salleh |
Malay slang for expatriate officers |
| Ulu |
Backwoods - Up Country - Up River |
| UMNO |
United Malay National Organisation, the
principal Malay Party led by Tengku
Abdul Rahman |
| WD |
War Department (British) |
| World |
Happy or great name was the name given
to Amusement Parks containing food
stalls, restaurants, theatres, cinemas,
dance halls etc. Post-war every large
town had one or more 'Worlds' where
families could stroll, eat, drink or
otherwise amuse themselves and men
could enjoy the dance halls. |
| WOSB |
War Office Selection Board (British) |
| WRAC |
Women's Royal Army Corps |
|
| Timeline
|
|
c1400
|
Malacca established as the capital of
Majapahit
|
|
1511
|
Portuguese capture Malacca.
|
|
1641
|
Dutch capture Malacca.
|
|
1786
|
Britain acquires Penang from the Sultan of
Kedah, by treaty
|
|
1795
|
Britain occupies Malacca temporarily durinothe
Napoleonic War
|
|
1819
|
Raffles acquires Singapore as a Trading Post
from the Sultan of lohore by treaty.
|
|
1824
|
Britain acquires Malacca from the Dutch by
treaty
|
|
1858
|
Founding of KL town.
Yap Ah Loi is given title of Kapitan China
and takes responsibility for enforcino- order . b
amongst the unruly Hua Qiao (Chinese
immigrants)
|
|
1867
|
British Colonial Office takes over
responsibility for the Straits Settlements
(Singapore, Penang and Malacca) from the
East India Company.
|
|
1874
|
Treaty of Pangkor. The first British
Resident, Birch, is stationed in Perak. He
was the first of a long line of British
Advisers in the Malay States called,
according to changing constitutional
niceties, Advisers or Residents. As in the
Princely States of the Indian Empire, the
relationship between British Adviser (see
note 1 below) and the local Ruler was a
sophisticated one, determined as much by
personality and personal chemistry as by the
letter of the treaties. The Treaty of Pangkor was, above all,
concerned with restoring peace in Perak by
curbing the unruly habits of the Chinese and
their secret societies who, like the Chinese
tin miners of Selangor, were engaged in
gang warfare.
|
|
1875
|
Assassination of Birch, the British Resident
|
| 1895
|
Formation of the Federated Malay States:
Perak, Pahang, Selangor, and Negri
Sembilan, under British protection
|
|
1910
|
Formation of the loose association of the
Unfederated Malay States: Kedah, Perlis,
Kelantan, Trengganu, and Johore thus
linking all the States on the Peninsula under
British protection.
|
|
1922
|
Congress of the Toilers of the East meets in
Russia (Petrograd); the beginning of active
communist involvement in Asia.
|
|
1926
|
A Nanyang General Labour Union is
formed. Nanyang (Southern Ocean) was the
term used in Chinese to describe the region
now called South East Asia. For many
centuries the Nanyang had provided a refuge
for Hua Qiao (Overseas Chinese). A
Communist Secretariat in Shanghai ran this
Labour Union and all its members were Hua
Qiao. Historically in Malaya the only serious
problem posed by the Chinese community
had been the criminal activities of their
Triad Societies. However, after the creation
of the Chinese Republic (1911),
Kuomintang (Nationalist) Chinese politics
had begun to seep into Malaya and now
Chinese Communism started to play a
subversive role.
|
|
1930
|
Founding of Malayan Communist Party
(MCP).
|
|
1936
|
The MCP foments industrial unrest in Batu
Arang Coal Mine: the first major industrial
strike in Malaya.
|
|
1941
|
Japanese invasion. (December).
The Communist led Malayan People's AntiJapanese
Army (MPAJA) offers to
coUaborate with the British against the
Japanese and Colonel DaIley organises
Dalforce.
|
|
1942
|
Japanese occupation of Malaya and
Singapore, and brutal massacres of Hua
Qiao. The British and the MPAJA agree, as part of
Force 136, to continue resistance to the
Japanese and harass the Japanese Forces
from the jungle.
With the faU of Burma, it becomes difficult
to re-supply Force 136. The relations
between the British liaison officers and the
MPAJA become increasingly strained.
|
|
1945
|
Air supply to Force 136 becomes possible as
the Japanese are driven out of Burma. But
by now the British officers are prisoners ,
rather than colleagues, trainers, or leaders of
the guerrilla movement.
|
|
Aug '45
|
Japanese surrender.
|
|
Sep '45
|
The British Military Administration (BMA)
takes over, but the sudden Japanese
surrender, after the dropping of the atom
bombs, causes serious problems. The BMA
has insufficient staff to take over the
administration of the whole country, and too
few people with experience and knowledge of
Malaya. The MPAJA exploits this weakness,
taking control in many areas and wreaking
vengeance on alleged collaborators, while the
BMA struggles to restore law and order.
|
|
1946
|
Civil Government supersedes the BMA.
Malay National Party is heavily infiltrated
by Indonesian Nationalists.
Much violent crime, mostly Communist
inspired, continues to plague the country,
while the Malays protest with increasing
vehemence against the new Malayan Union
Constitution.
|
|
1948
|
The Malayan Union is superseded by the
Federation of Malaya.
|
|
May '48
|
Federation of Trade Unions banned leading
Communist agitators; a newspaper editor
and a TU leader are arrested
|
|
Jun '48
|
State of Emergency declared.
|
|
Jul '48
|
High Commissioner Sir E Gent killed in an
air crash.
|
|
Aug '48
|
Nicol Gray, the new Commissioner of
Police, takes post
|
|
Oct '48
|
Sir H Gurney, the new High Commissioner,
takes post.
|
|
1949
|
First amnesty offer to the CTs. The Chinese Communist Party, led by Mao,
establishes the People's Republic of China
|
|
1951
|
Sir H Gurney murdered in a CT ambush.
Lyttelton becomes Colonial Secretary.
The Director of Intelligence, the
Commissioner of Police and the Director of
Operations, all retire.
|
|
1952
|
General Templer takes over as High
Commissioner and Director of Operations.
Sir A Young, City of London Police,
becomes Commissioner of Police.
|
|
1953
|
Declaration of the fIrst 'White Area' (in
Central District, Malacca) and the beginning of dismantling Emergency Regulations in the Country
|
|
1955
|
Bandung Conference of non-aligned
nations is dominated by the Chinese
Communist Party. Baling Talks. Tengku Abdul Rahman, Chief
Minister, offers an amnesty but Chin Peng rejects It.
|
|
1957
|
Mcrdeka; Malaya becomes independent
|
|
Sep '57
|
Fresh amnesty offer.
|
|
1958
|
August 31 st 1958 chosen as target date for
end of the Emergency.
|
|
1969
|
Emergency officially declared at an end
|
|
| Police Structure
|
| Gazetted Officers |
| CP |
Commissioner of Police |
| DCP |
Deputy Commissioner of Police |
| SAC |
Senior Assistant Commissioner of Police |
| ACP |
Assistant Commissioner of Police |
| SUP |
Superintendent of Police |
| ASP |
Assistant Superintendent of Police |
| CADET ASP |
Cadet Assistant Superintendent of Police |
| Non-Gazetted Officers |
| CI |
Chief Inspector |
| SI |
Senior Inspector |
| Insp |
Inspector |
| Sub Insp |
Sub-Inspector |
| E/Sgt |
European Sergeant |
| P/Lt |
Police Lieutenant |
| Rank and File |
| SM |
Sergeant Major |
| Sgt |
Sergeant |
| Cpl |
Corporal |
| PC |
Police Constable |
| SC |
Special Constable |
| Sgt SC |
Sergeant Special Constable |
| Cpl SC |
Corporal Special Constable |
| APC |
Auxiliary Police Constable |
| The expatriate Gazetted Officers were, like their MCS
colleagues, recruited by the Colonial Office in London but
paid by the Malayan Government. They started as Cadet ASPs
on three years' probation. The Gazetted Officers (Asian) were
recruited in Malaya from the Inspectorate.
The European Police Sergeants, later called P/Lts, were
also recruited by London; the majority came from the Palestine Police
Force when it was disbanded at the end of the Mandate. |
| Police Appointments |
| CPO |
Chief PO of a State or Settlement |
| DSBO |
District Special Branch Officer |
| HSB |
Head of Special Branch (State level) |
| OC |
Officer in Charge |
| OCCI |
Officer in Charge of Criminal Investigation (State Level) |
| OSPC |
Officer Superintending Police Circle |
| CSBO |
Circle Special Branch Officer |
| OCPD |
Officer Commanding a Police District |
| Emergency
Formations |
| FJC |
Federal Jungle Company |
| PFF |
Police Field Force (this superseded the FJCs) |
|
|
