CHAPTER 5
ACTIVE SERVICE
March 1963 - July 1963
I could not believe that I was actually boarding a Comet 4 Jet Airliner. Up until then I had only seen pictures of them in the newspapers and would never have imagined that one day I would be able walk in side one of these giants. Amazingly, here I was about to take a seat on a flight that would take me halfway round the world. To a destination that was steeped in mystery and hardly ever received a mention on the radio or in the daily newspapers. Until then I had only heard stories of the Far East from returning service personnel who were occasionally home on leave and needed somebody to talk too, so they could re-live their escapades over a pint of English beer.
If anybody had told me a couple of years earlier that I would one day visit the Orient, I would have laughed in their face. I felt good that I had changed my life around and had broken away from the small town of Stowmarket. Not bad for a young lad who just a few years earlier did not seem to have a future of any description, other than maybe prison.
I was lucky and found myself sitting by one of the windows on the left side of the aircraft, so at least I would be able to see where we were going. I could feel the excitement brewing inside of me as I anticipated what the experience was about to feel like. After about fifteen minutes, the plane started to move away from the Terminal building, to align its self up on the runway. The excitement within started to increase, as I felt like a young kid who was about to take his first steps across the room. The aircraft suddenly lurched forward with a great thrust of speed, forcing me back into my seat. Then as I watched the tarmac drop away at great speed, I could feel the adrenaline rushing through my body. It was a great feeling, something that I had not experienced up until then.
I guess it was the unexpected, of what lay ahead that had me excited, because I had no idea of what I was about to become involved in. The only thing I did know was that the trip was not costing me a penny, in fact I was actually being paid to go. I was thankful that the government was financing this trip, because there was no way that I could have ever saved the money to purchase a ticket. In those days, the only people who traveled around the world were the Millionaires, Servicemen and the Merchant Seamen.
Then all too quickly we were engulfed in the clouds that blocked my view of the English countryside below, leaving me feeling a little disappointed. It was time to talk to the guy sitting beside of me, it being Jock Minnock who had been a member of the 779 squad and behind us sat his countryman Jock Stone and his wife who was accompanying him on the trip. Jock had also been a member of our squad.
My attention was suddenly grabbed by a view that lay far below us. We had finally found a hole in the clouds and below us lay the Alps completely covered in snow. I could not believe how beautiful it all looked. After all, I had only seen coloured pictures of the Alps in the National Geographic magazines that we usually found at school. However, the view that was laid out below looked even more stunning and spectacular. Jock and I spent some time discussing what lay below and wondering if some day we would ever set foot on to that type of terrain. The Alps must have covered a very large area, as it seemed to take an eternity to pass over them.
The next spectacular views that greeted us was the West Coast of Italy. It was about now that I realised how lucky I had been in obtaining a seat on the left-hand side of the aircraft. Somehow, it seemed that most of the spectacular views we were flying over just happened to be on my side of the aircraft. Most of the passengers were walking around the plane trying to peer through whatever window was available to them. While all I had to do was to sit back and watch it all unfold beside me. The excitement and talking amongst the passengers grew even louder as the city of Rome came into view. It was so picturesque and would have been well worth a photo, if I had a camera. Unfortunately, in those days, not many people owned one and if you did there was always the hassle of carrying it around everywhere with you.
Then all too quickly we had left the shores of Italy way behind us, as we headed out over the Mediterranean Sea. The view that greeted us gave all on board the impression that it was a deep rich blue in colour. Which caught me off guard, after all I had been reading in the National Geographic Magazine, stories that told of how the Mediterranean was becoming polluted, even way back in the early sixties. Even at the height we were flying, you could see the very small waves below, as occasionally the white heads became visible as they broke. Where as Felixstowe always looked a dirty brown with loads of white froth washing up the beach
Very soon, it all changed once more and you did not have to be a brain surgeon to work out why. With the colour changed from a blue to a very light tan colour it was clear that we were now over a desert. What I did fine strange was the vastness of what lay below us. Up until then, I had always believed that only the oceans of the world covered vast expanses of space. Now all of a sudden, the desert below seemed to be as vast as the Mediterranean Sea we had just flown over. As far as I could see it was sand, sand and even more sand. I could not see a single object, other than sand from my viewing platform.
Suddenly someone further along in the plane announced to everybody on board that there was something in the distance. We all eagerly scanned the horizon in an attempt to be first to recognise what it was. To me it looked like a small short black line stuck out in the desert miles away from anywhere.
Then slowly as it came into view you could see that it was in fact an Airfield, the black being the tarmac on the runway. Then a small camp along side of the runway came into view and right in the middle of the camp was a beautiful light blue swimming pool. In its own way set in the middle of this vast, desert it looked like a paradise, a very lonely paradise, it being all on its own with only sand for company. The thought passed through my mind that at least it would be hard to fall out with your neighbours. I’ve often wondered how they laid the runway believing that they must have transported all of the materials and equipment for hundreds of miles.
As we landed, the Captain informed us that we had just landed at The Royal Air Force station of El Adam, in the heart of Libya. He also added that we would be stopping over for two hours as the plane needed to be refueled and cleaned up. We were further informed that we could walk around the camp, but were not allowed out into the desert or to use the camp swimming pool. The camp was just a refueling station for all of the military aircraft flying to and from the Middle and Far East. While Tobruk was the closest large town to the camp, but I had no idea how far away it was. I would certainly not want to walk there.
Tobruk also brought back memories of my father, who at one time or another had told me that he had been stationed there during the war. During the early part of the war Tobruk had been fortified, as the advancing German Armies surrounded it and trapped thousands of allied soldiers within its confines. Then after a few months, the Allies broke out of Tobruk, advanced on to the German lines and slowly pushed them back. Unfortunately, within just a few weeks, all the Allied gains had been turned into losses, as the Germans held their ground and even started to push the British back. It soon turned into a route as the Germans advanced at such a rate that the Allies were running in retreat. Again, they were pushed past Tobruk, where some of the Allies finally decided to take up a defensive position. The remainder kept running back towards Egypt, never once stopping to take up a defensive position. That is until they got to a place that became known as El Alamein, where they finally dug in. This is just as well because if they had not, then Field Marshal Erwin Rommel would have pushed them all into the Suez Canal. The strange thing is that once Rommel stopped and took stock of what he had, he was amazed to find that he only had four Tanks that were operational. He had advanced so fast that he actually out ran his supply lines, leaving him short of fuel, water and ammunition. If only the Allies had known this, then history might have been changed for the better. However, for a second time the Town of Tobruk, was by passed and came under siege by the Germans. The importance of Tubruk was its harbour, it being one of the few places in that area where the Allies could bring there equipment ashore.
Where the Allies had dug in at El Alamein, they fortified a complete line that ran from the Mediterranean Sea in the North to the Qattara Depression in the South of the country, a distance of almost 200-miles. It was around this time that Field Marshal Montgomery came out from the UK to take over what was left of the Allied Army. It was his job to knock them in to shape and to build up supplies for a major offensive against Rommel. In order that they might chase him, right out of North Africa for good.
Dad had told me that the night before they broke out from El Alamein, the guns had started to fire on to the German lines as it became dark about 7pm in the evening and that it continued right through the night. He always remembered that it sounded like one continual roll of thunder that lasted right through the night.
Then at 5am and while it was still dark, they were ordered to advance forward, with some of the soldiers having to advance through the un-cleared mine fields. Dad had always felt bitter about how the first to advance were treated in this way by the military. It became a well-known fact that the men were made to clear the mines in order to protect the precious tanks that followed up behind. I guess it was a case of the tanks being worth far more money than a human life. If the situation were to be repeated today, I doubt very much whether things would be any different, with the so-called modern Army of today. Dad went on to advance all the way across North Africa, then across the Mediterranean Sea to land in Sicily. Where he had to repeat it, all again on the main land of Italy as they advance right up the middle of the country. I guess he was very lucky, as he was never injured, and came through the whole experience unscathed in body. However, I’ve often wondered if it affected him mentally.
By the time I arrived in Libya it was completely financed by revenue gained from British oil companies, BP and Shell. Britain still had a small military presence in the country guarding these oil interests. The British companies still owned all the oil wells, having discovered, drilled, refined and financed the whole venture. All Libya had to do was to sit back and receive a percentage of the earnings, for doing absolutely nothing. Remembering that at the time the oil was discovered, there was not a lot of money in the country and that a galleon of petrol was only cost a few shillings. Unfortunately, as is usual and with the wonderful power of hindsight some people get very greedy. Coupled with that, when a few of the young people find them selves lucky enough to receiving a university degree, the seeds of discontent amongst the young population are sown. I mean it is all right everybody saying that it belonged to them. I would lay a bet that left to their own devices during the fifties, the oil would have stayed where it was, under ground. After all, they did not have the technology or the finance to extract it. If it had not have been the British that helped them out, then it would have been somebody else and I bet they would not have done it for nothing either.
In order to complete the next leg of our journey to Aden, we had to fly over countries that did not allow military aircraft to pass within its air space. Therefore, in order that we could reach Aden, we had to divert around certain counties. Egypt was one of the countries, who did not allow shock Troops, such as Commando’s and Parachute Regiments personnel into their country. An older Marine later told me that on one occasion while he was on board a ship and going through the Suez Canal. All Marines had to remove their Green Berets so that the local people had no way of knowing what type of Servicemen they were.
There was also a story doing the rounds that during the Suez Canal crisis in 1956 when the British and French governments invaded Egypt to protect the Canal. The British Parachute Regiments parachuted on the Airfields while the Royal Marines Commando’s were landed by sea, taking the beaches.
Where the Canal meets the Mediterranean Sea there used to stand a thirty-foot high statue of the guy who built the canal. Anyway, during the Marines occupation, one of the Cliff Leaders scaled the statue and placed a Green Beret on its head. It was believed that the statue was so slippery that the Egyptian’s would not be able scale it to remove the Beret, so in desperation they blew it up. Maybe that is why they did not like Green Berets. While another story went on to explain why the Royal Marine losses were very low when they came ashore from their landing craft. The Egyptians, who had been given bakelite land mines from the Russians, were so scared of them, that they laid them in the sand with out arming them. Therefore, when the Marines came ashore they did not go off. Another point worth remembering is that being made of bakelite and not metal meant that our mine detectors would not have picked them up.
Our trip took us due south for almost a thousand miles, at which point we turned east for about hour. We then turned and headed North East, a route that took us over the Horn of Africa and finally on to Aden. We landed at night, so not a lot could be seen from my ringside window seat.
Because of the training I had received while a member of the 779 Squad, my body shape had under taken a dramatic change. So just before I left England, I had purchased a complete new set of clothing. It was also because we had to travel in civilian clothes, just in case our aircraft had to divert to one of these countries that did not like military personnel traveling through their airspace. Unfortunately I was wearing a new pair of shoes that had not been broken in. While on the plane they had begun hurting my feet so much, that I had taken them off for a little relief. Unaware that the cabin pressure would swell my feet once the shoes were removed. Therefore, as we came in to land I could not get them back on. Unfortunately, I had to make my way off the plane carrying them in my hands. This caused a big laugh amongst all of the other passengers.
Once the Plane had taxied to a halt and the doors were opened you could feel the heat circulate around the inside of the aircraft. Then as we walked of the plane, the gangway lead down in front of the Jet Engines and I could not help remarking to Jock Minnock how hot they were. Even when we were fifty meters away from the Aircraft it still felt hot. I suddenly realised that the heat was everywhere, it being unbelievably hot and stifling. I could not believe that it could be this hot at 2am in the morning, what was it going to be like at noon midday. The next thing I noticed was that wherever I looked there were Arabs lying around, or sitting propped up against walls. The whole airport just seemed to be bursting at the seams with them and it did not smell very nice either. The whole place looked like Liverpool Street station on a busy weekend, crowded with the usual wino’s and the down and outs of the area. I was told later that they were all airport workers, who did not have homes to go to. At least they would not be late for work each day. I wondered how they got on when they wanted to take somebody home for tea. We spent most of our stay in Aden inside of the main terminal building, it being a little cooler than out side. In those days there was no such thing as air-conditioning, so I guess what we never had, we never missed. Although I was thankful that the building had several large circulating fans positioned high above our heads, they were not making us cooler, but at least they were moving the air around the waiting area. At least it was acceptable as we stretched our legs and had a chance to talk to the other passengers over a drink. I was still the topic of conversation having to carry my shoes off the plane, giving most of my fellow passengers a good laugh at my expense. I must have looked funny with a shoe sticking out each of my back pockets.
After the aircraft had been refueled, we took to our seats for the next stage of the journey, which would take us to the island of Gan. Gan is located slap-bang in the middle of the Indian Ocean. We headed just east of due south, on what had become a customary four-hour hop. It was still dark as we left so I could not see anything from my window. However, within just a few minutes of passing over the coastline of Aden, the sun suddenly appeared above the horizon filling the cabin with a beautiful golden yellow light. Once again it was lucky for me as it was once again on my side of the aircraft and made spectacular view.
The Indian Ocean was so vast and looked a very deep blue in colour. It did not matter in which direction you looked, the ocean was all that you could see. This vast blue expanse went on for almost the full four hours of the flight. Until we approached the Island of Gan, that was like a pin head in the middle of this great expanse of blue. As we approached the small spec looked pure white in colour and seemed to be surrounded by even smaller white specs. Then as we were only a few miles away, we could see that the main island had a runway running its full length and was almost as wide. While all around the larger island were several much smaller little atolls and islands, all were of the same pure white colour.
By now, we were becoming seasoned travelers and we all knew the drill. It being a two-hour stopover and that we could look around, but were not allowed to swim in the swimming pools. The two Jocks and I headed straight for the nearest beach, knowing that we were going to find something very spectacular. We were not disappointed because the scene that greeted us must have come straight from the cover of a National Geographic Magazine. The beach had the finest white sand I had ever seen in my entire life. It flashed through my mind of the days I had gone to Felixstowe for a holiday back in England, where the beach was covered in stones of all shapes and sizes. Compared to this very soft fine sand they had felt like large rocks under my feet. The experience was going to be remembered for a long time. For all we knew we might never get another chance, to enjoy one of natures wonders of the world.
Jock Minnock wasted no time in stripping down to his under pants and walking past a couple of small Arab Dhow boats that lay on the beach, into the waves to sample the water. None of us had a swimming costume as they were all packed away in our suite cases that were stowed away in the cargo hold. Anyway, there was no need to worry about exposing our selves to the female fraternity. As there was only one woman on the whole Island and she was sixty years old. She was a member of the Women’s Volunteer Service and was there just to add a woman’s touch to the place and to help the fifty of so service men if they needed any feminine help over family matters. The RAF service men had to serve a minimum six months tour in this Garden of Eden, before returning to their unit that was normally stationed in Singapore. It was their job to take care of the aircraft as they past through, on their way to Singapore. I would guess that Gan must have been the prime posting that was well sort after by all the RAF personnel.
Anyway, Jock Minnock was beckoning, to Jock Stone and myself to join him in the sea. I must admit we did not need too much encouragement, as we slipped out of my clothes and joined him. Now I had been a swimmer during most of my school days and loved being in the water. However this was different it did not even feel like water, it being luke warm. It even felt warmer than the bath water that I use to wash in back in the UK. It was certainly much warmer than the Ipswich Baths heated swimming pool that I visited in the past. The first thing that went through my head was that this was not going to take a lot of getting used to. In fact, they were going to have to persuade me with something good to get me out and that is exactly what happened.
After Jock Stone had finished his swim he had gone for a wander around the island and had returned with a couple of bottles of beer for us. This was the correct enticement to get me out of the sea, where I’d been enjoying myself for the past forty-five minutes. I finally left the beautiful warm waters of the Indian Ocean to join him on the beach. Boy did the beer taste good, all I needed now was some female company and who could want for anything more.
We did not have to worry about drying our selves, because the sun did that job for us in just a few minutes, so it was easy to slip our clothes back on. Upon reflection, I think we were the only passengers to take the plunge that day, but why I do not know. All I do know is that it was a great experience and what I hoped was going to be lying ahead of me for the next eighteen months. After all, this was what I had always imagined it would be like in this part of the world, just laying a round on a beach of a desert island.
Finally some good news as we were informed that the plane had an engine problem and that we were going to be delayed for a further couple of hours. What bad luck I thought, as I lay back on the beach and soaked up the sun. I even managed to grab a few minutes sleep, but it is hard with all the excitement going on around you. It had been hard to sleep on board of the Comet, as the seats were very uncomfortable and there was not a lot of legroom either. In addition, the engines were very noisy making a high pitched whistling noise, while all around it felt like a vibration was affecting the whole aircraft. Not like today when the passenger comfort comes first, to us it was all part of the job. Service men being uncomfortable on an aircraft did not seem to come into the equation of protecting British interests in the Far East.
As we walked around the island none of us had ever imagined a picturesque place like it, to us it seemed like heaven. However, the tranquility of the moment was interrupted by an RAF guy riding around on a motor scooter trying to round us all up to re-board the aircraft. Because of the break down, most of us had wandered to almost every conceivable corner of the island in an effort to pass the time. Therefore his task was not an easy one and was further complicated by their have to walk back to the aircraft.
The next part of the journey took us due east as we headed for the island of Singapore. This was also to be another four-hour flight and then on the captain’s instructions most people adjusted their watches forward onto Singapore time. After my first experience with a watch when I bought a lemon while working at E.R.Howards back in Stowmarket. I had never bothered to wear one, something I still do not bother with to this day.
We continued to fly into the darkness of the night, so my window view was not revealing too many sights along the way. Until that is, we flew over an Electrical storm. I then witnessed a spectacular lightning show that seemed even more spectacular because I was looking down into it, I had never seen anything quite like this. The lightning was also inside of the clouds and seemed to go on and on lighting up the cloud formations below. By now if you including time zones, flight times and stop overs, we were almost 30 hours into the flight and already I had notched up many firsts. I was wondering what the remainder of my 18 months in this part of the world had in store for me.
I do not know what I had expected to find when I finally set foot on the Island of Singapore. After all, I had not read any books on the subject, I had not even seen any Television programs, mainly because they just did not exist at that time. Therefore, for me I was going to be walking into a complete unknown and that everything was going to be a complete new experience for me. The only picture I had in my head was of the coolies that I had seen in the old black and white war films of the day. With their little pointed hats, that was woven from some type of grass and with a wooden yoke across their shoulders carrying a basket either side of them, as they rebuilt the runways and roads during the war. Then according to the Tarzan films of the day, there would be snakes falling from every tree that you walked under. Somehow, I always imagined that the people would be uneducated and even backward and that we were so superior to them in every way. My Schooling had given me a little insight into European History and to how its people lived. However, there had been very little about the rest of the world, in fact, it was always hinted that they were all savages. The other thing about our history teachings is that it had always been mainly about wars and so anybody who was against the British was always thought of as barbaric people. So with these ideas planted in my head, that was the sum total of what I expected to find in the Far East
I did not manage to grab any sleep on this part of the journey, as I knew it was the last leg and so the excitement kept me awake. This four-hour stint seemed to pass a little quicker and so it was not long before we were landing in the middle of the night, at Changi Airport. The heat here was unbearable because of the humidity. Lucky I had not removed my shoes on the plane during this leg of the journey. Therefore, I was able to walk off the plane this time in my shoes, but they were hurting me terribly. Never travel in new shoes, run them in first I remember saying to myself. I had to hobble past the customs and officials that were everywhere in the terminal building. All the Marines on board were going to Burma Camp. We were all herded together outside of the airport terminal by a Sergeant and told to board a three-ton truck for the journey up into Malaya. I sat by the tailgate so I had a nice view of my new home for the next eighteen months, but I was very tired having not slept for such a long period of time. The truck set off at a very fast pace, so my first impression was that there could not be any road rules. The heat and the humidity in the middle of the night was also something I found hard to accept. Then there was the terrible smell of decaying food and the dogs. Dogs were roaming everywhere, it did not matter where you looked it was dogs, dogs, dogs, and they all looking very mangy in appearance. We drove north through Singapore, then over the causeway and into Malaya. We then continued the journey north towards Kota-Tingi. My first impression of Malaya was the same as Singapore, in fact to me it did not seem like I was in a different country, just a continuation of Singapore. Singapore is really one large city while Malaya is made up of lots of small villages and towns. Again, as we drove through the village of Johore Barhu, there were many people lying around everywhere sleeping in the street and in front of shops. What I will always remember from my first night in this part of the world, is the stifling heat and smell.
Burma Camp was located about twenty miles north of the causeway in an area of cultivated Rubber Plantations. Arriving in the dark, I could not see much of the camp so after being shown a bed and handed some bedding I just crashed out for what remained of a good nights sleep, which I had not experienced since leaving England. With all the traveling and time changes, I think it was the equivalent of about a thirty-hour flight. While in real flying time and with the stopovers, it was probably only about twenty hours. Boy was I tired and it was not long before I was blowing zzzs and counting rubber trees.
Next morning I had a good look around what I believed was going to be my new home for the next eighteen months. Burma Camp is a very large hillside camp with all of the accommodation huts built into its side. These housed A, B and C Company’s. While on the top of the hill was located the canteen, the N.A.F.F.I. and parade ground. Just back from the top was the Headquarters Quarters Company and all of the administration buildings. At the base of the accommodation huts was a very large long sports area that included about four football fields, in fact light aircraft regularly land in this area. On the other side of the football field was a second smaller hill, which housed the Jungle Warfare School. The Gurkhas were usually based here in small-corrugated tin huts, well at least ours were made of wood. In a climate like you experience in Malaya, that tin must have become almost red hot at times and would have felt like an oven in side.
The two Jocks and I had all been placed in Two Troop, of A Company, so it looked like we were to spend the next eighteen months together. We were even bunked up in the same hut, each hut at that time housed about a dozen Marines.
Each Commando unit consists of around seven to eight hundred Marines, divided into three Companies and a HQ Company. Each Company was further divided into three Troops and a HQ Troop. Each Troop is divided into three sections. One section consisted of a two-man Bren gun team, plus a Bren gun commander, a three-man riffle team, a front scout, a rear end Charlie and a corporal in charge of the whole section. If you were lucky the Troop has a total membership of nine men. Unfortunately a Commando unit was usually under strength, because of its manpower turn around program. The Unit stays where it is stationed, with only the Marines coming and going. It being a regular occurrence that once a month personnel were either coming or going. This then was 40 Commando and to identify us from other Marine units we wore a light blue lanyard on our left shoulder.
Our Company Commander was a Major, "Pug" Davis, the only Jewish officer in the Royal Marines at that time. Pug was a much-decorated officer having a military history going way back to the latter part of the Second World War. At that time he had been parachuted behind enemy lines to work with the resistance in Yugoslavia or Czechoslovakia.
During that first morning we all had to pay a visit the Quartermaster Stores to draw all of our jungle equipment, which we were going to need for the next eighteen months. We then found ourselves on our beds talking, laughing and trying on and altering all our new equipment, while stowing it in our bedside lockers. After dinner, which consisted of the usual food, that we had been used to or hated back in the UK. Then it was back to our hut to finish stowing our gear. Later we where were joined by the rest of our new Troop mates as they assisted us, having finished their training for the day. Because of the heat during the day, we start at 7am, with a break for brunch at 10.30am, finishing work at 12.30. Tea and cakes were laid on 4.30pm, supper was at 6.30pm and during supper, we all had to take one Paladrin anti Malaria tablet per day. Later it was increased to two a day, even then, I do not think that they worked, I often forgot to take mine and towards the end, I had completely stopped taking them. At one time one of the officers used to line us up with our mouths open. He would then walk down the line flicking one into our mouths as he walked past. We would then store them under our tongue and spit them out when we were dismissed. Lucky for us they did not break down in our mouths, those things would hang around for at least half and hour
Anyway, back to the guys who had just joined us, a couple of them I already knew. Don Hackett and Geordie Frith both had been in the 778 Squad ahead of us and had been in 40 Commando for a month. I had only known them briefly back at Lympstone. Anyway, all the old soldiers, as they are known were giving their own advice to us, really trying to mix us new boys up. I played it by ear, not wanting to be caught out by somebody pulling a prank on me. Several people were pulling the Jocks leg, not under standing their Scottish accents, while they were trying to adjust their new webbing equipment.
We were lucky in the fact that we had arrived at the camp on a Thursday night and this being a Friday, it was the last day of the working week. Therefore, we joined all of the other Marines climbing on board of the three ton trucks heading into Singapore for a run ashore as the Marines call it. I could not believe it, we had only been in the camp for a day and here we were getting a chance to see the sights of our new found home.
We all disembarked from the trucks near the Britannia Club, in the heart of the city of Singapore. This was where most of the service personnel spent their time drinking through the weekend. The two Jocks and I had different views on that one and headed straight for the beautiful beckoning waters of the club swimming pool. There we stayed in its luke warm waters for almost four hours while soaking up every minute of what I thought was heaven.
At which time I suddenly became aware that I was starting to burn quite badly. I found it hard to believe because I had been in the water for the whole four hours, with only my shoulder appearing above the water occasionally. Therefore, it gives you a little idea of just how powerful the sun can be in this part of the world. It was also about this time that Jock Stone and I realised that Jock Minnock who had sat on the side of the pool for the whole time, was starting to look very red. Jock Minnock had light ginger hair, so his skin was very pale in complexion and was very susceptible to the sun. He started to complain of the burning pain that he was experiencing and as we watched we could see his back changing colours until it was almost a dark red. We managed to get him into the shower room and coached him to stand under a cold shower for almost fifteen minutes. It did not help him so we took him across the square from the Britannia club to the Union Jack Club. There we booked a room and Jock Stone went looking for a chemist to get something, we could put on his back. By the time he returned the skin on Jock Minnocks back was one mass of fluid filled bubbles that were starting to burst. What ever it was, that Jock Stone had bought it was very painful when we applied it to his back. We had to be careful as the skin came off as we touched it. He stayed in bed for the rest of that day and also the following day, with both Jock Stone and I taking turns to apply the bottled liquid to his back.
We were all worried about what might happen once we got back to the camp, because it was an offence to get sun burnt. It’s known as self inflicted wounds and if you miss your work, you are usually charged. Poor old Jock Minnock he did not know what he was going to do. Sunday evening came and we caught the truck back to the camp making a pact amongst ourselves that we would not tell anybody what had happened and that Jock Minnock would stick the pain as long as he could get away with it. It is to his credit, his guts, determination, and his pain threshold that he got away with it. At no time did anybody at the camp know what had happened to him. For my first run a shore, I did not get to see too much of the city, but I thought at least there will be other times.
After a couple of weeks in the camp, a few of us were in the hut one morning when the door suddenly flew open and in strutted the Company Sergeant Major, balling at the top of his voice. Telling us that we were his lovely lads and that we had to listen to what he had to say. He then told us to get our gear packed for a long journey and that everything we needed was on a piece of paper that he then threw on to one of the beds by the door. Finally, he urged us to get a move on, as we only had one hour, to fall in outside of A Company main office building. Where we were to load the company stores onto the trucks, this would also include our own kit bags. He then proceeded along to the next hut, where he repeated the very same message word for word. As soon as he had left the hut all pandemonium broke loose, everybody was trying to talk at the same time, trying to find out where we going, what was the trouble, was it for real etc etc. The general opinion was that maybe we were going to Borneo, there had been rumours going around for some time, as 42 Commando was already in that area. 42 Commando had lost a few Marines as it under took an amphibious landing in the town of Limbang, in Brunei. The rebels had been getting greedy wanting to take over the country by force, mainly for its rich oil deposits. Like I said earlier with hindsight, some people get very greedy. Only this time instead of it being the young students who were the culprits, this time it was all backed up by the Indonesian government, but from a distance. So far they where only involved from behind the protection of their own borders, offering military aid and a safe haven for those that wanted to upset the Staus Quo.
In this instance, the terrorists had taken several western hostages and had them imprisoned in the local police station at Limbang. The Marines had gone up the river by landing craft to storm the police station. The raid had been very successful and all of the hostages had been released unhurt. Unfortunately, 42 Commando had paid a high price with the lives of several of its Marines.
I grabbed my kit bag and started replacing articles of kit, I had only just unpacked and placed in my locker, while checking the paper list as I went along. Several of the old boys were helping us new lads, by telling us what to pack and what to leave behind. I then dragged my kit bag down to the company office, where all hell had been let loose with Marines running everywhere. I then returned to get my tin trunk full of all my unwanted belongings, these were to be locked away in the Company stores over the back of the hill until our return. This took some time as it took two of you to carry the damn things, so we had to make at least four trips and at half a mile one way, it was tiring in the tropical heat that surrounded Burma Camp.
Having completed are own personnel tasks, we all had to muck in and help to load up A Company’s stores onto three, three-ton trucks at the bottom of the hill. Most Marines by this time had settled on our destination as being Borneo, I did not even know where Borneo was, okay I had heard the name but never checked a map to find out where it was.
All the stores that would be making the trip with us had been loaded by 6pm that night. After a final inspection by the Company Commanding Officer, Major "Pug" Davis, we were all loaded aboard a convoy of Royal Navy Buses. That left the camp and headed for the Singapore dockyard. It was pointless looking out of the windows, with the interior lights on, as we could not see anything. The buses made there way down through Malaya, through Johore Barhu crossing the causeway into Singapore. We then turned left into the dockyard that was all lit up so I could see out of the window. The buses wove their way around HMS terror and finally into the main Dockyard we parked alongside a large ship. That “Old Rusty” one of the Marines yelled, continuing to tell us all that it had been an old aircraft carrier, but had been converted into a Commando Carrier, only now-a days it went by the name of H.M.S. Bulwark. The Sergeant ordered us all off the bus and up the gangway to board the ship. We all fell in on the flight deck in our respective Company's and Troops. Where we were issued our billets and lead by a seamen through the bowels of the ship, to show us our mess deck and finally our bunks. We did not have to unload the trucks as they were all brought on board fully loaded, so at least that was one chore we were spared.
I thought I would get a haircut before leaving the ship having heard that we could be away for anything up to six months. The hairdresser was in a very small room under a set of stairs, with about a dozen sailors and Marines all queuing up out side. I got talking to a Sailor with a Liverpool accent, it turned out that he lived in Ipswich. We got on well and would you believe that in the mid seventies I would meet up with him once again, when he came to work for me. At a time when I was working for construction company building the Ipswich to Stowmarket Bypass.
After stowing our backpack gear in the small lockers provided, everybody just sat around talking. Most of us were still wondering what was happening and where the hell were we going. However, I must say at this point I was never scared, more to the point I was very excited and wanted to get going, I wanted to get stuck in. I was looking forward to whatever was expected of me. I was looking forward to having to use my rifle, in fact I wanted to use my rifle I wanted to start shooting. I had been trained to do this, I think we were all so fully trained to kill, we were like a cocked spring ready to fire, or explode. Fully trained shock troops cannot just sit around, they become dangerous when the adrenaline is flowing though their bodies. These guys have be used for what they have been trained for, otherwise problems can arise. A good example of this was what happened to some of the Aussie soldiers upon their returned home from the Vietnam War. They were expected to blend in and live normal lives. Shock Troops are not normal people, the only thing that’s different about us is that we have been trained to be killing machines and so do not be surprised if occasionally a couple of them come off the rails and do something silly.
KAMPONG "LUNDU"
Morning on board of H.M.S. Bulwark saw a tremendous amount of movement amongst the Marines Commandos and the ships crew. All the Marines had been formed up on the flight deck into their respective companies. While all around them was stacked large amount of ordinance. Each man was issued with his quota of 7.62mm ammunition, along with a couple of hang grenades. Once it had all been distributed amongst the Marines, they were allowed to sit on the deck loading up the SLR magazines. Then they primed all of the hand grenades they had been issued. Which meant unscrewing and removing the base plate insert the detonator and to then replace the base plug. The deck of the HMS Bulwark was made of steel, as a favourite trick some of the older Marines would throw a grenade at one another, just as a sailor walked by. It would then be dropped on purpose so that it landed with a loud bang on the flight deck. The passing sailor would freeze to the spot, expecting the grenade to blow up right there and then. Most of the sailors did not share our sense of humour where explosives were concerned.
Once A Company was fully loaded up with ammunition we all had to report to the landing craft that were attached to the sides of the ship. These were the same type of craft that we had all training on, while we were at Poole in Dorset. We were all loaded on board, there being one Troop of Marines to each boat. In this way, the whole of A Company was distributed evenly amongst all four of the landing craft and ready to leave the ship. While B and C Companies were eventually to go to other districts of Sarawak by Chopper, yes Sarawak had been the destination.
When the landing craft were fully loaded with cargo, they were lowered into the water. Where upon, a given signal, they all pulled away from the side of the ship, taking up a circling pattern awaiting a signal so that they could all advance towards the objective together. When the signal eventually came, we all set off in a single file heading for the coast of Sarawak and in to my very first adventure. I was surprised to find that the atmosphere was very relaxed. Once we were away from the ship, most of the Marines had their shirts off and were playing Ackers on the side of the boat. This is just a naval version of Ludo, only each player has a double set of counters. Other Marines were just laughing and joking amongst themselves. Nobody seemed worried that in couple of hour’s time they might be shot at. Even the Sergeant was relaxed, which was unusual for them. After about two hours in the open sea, the landing craft that was still in single file, preceded up a river. The river was very wide at its mouth, it being more than a mile a cross. After a further hour, we reached the small village of Lundu, where we disembarked. This was to be A Companies home for the next three months.
The village was very small, but it was the main one in this particular district. Having a Police station made it a prime target for attack from Communist Insurgents, backed by President Sukarno of Indonesia. Their main aim was trying to steal weapons in order to help their cause. The cause being to take another country by force, but the main prize was the oil fields in the state of Brunei. A big prize that president Sukarno would have loved to get his hands on. I was once told that the Indonesian air force was so hard up that it could only afford to have one plane in the air at a time.
It was decided that Two Troop would stay behind to guard the Police Station. This was one of my first big disappointments, as I watched all the other Troops go out to other areas and on their own. While we were going to be stuck guarding A Companies H.Q and all the spit and polish that would go along with it, the “Yes Sir’s, No Sir’s, Three bags full Sir”.
While No 1 Troop, would be flown by chopper to guard the Kampong of Bau, about fifty miles away. Kampong is the Malay word meaning village. The choppers were always based on board H.M.S. Bulwark sitting just off the coastline and out of sight of land, but only twenty minutes flying time from Lundu. Therefore, it was comforting to know that help was only twenty minutes away, mind you a lot can happen in twenty minute.
Three Troop would go by the landing craft to guard Sematan, another Kampong on the coastline also located by a river mouth, but not our river, this one was about seventy-five miles to the west.
The first task for Two Troop was to fortify the Police Station, this being just a wooden hut perched on four-foot high stilts and over looking the river. Sandbags were place all around the base and on the balcony a Bren gun was positioned, to cover the full width of the river. A very high wire fences was erected around the entire living quarters out the back, while a guard rosters was worked out to patrol the whole area. Because the Company Head Quarters was being set up here, it meant that there would be several officers around at all times. This meant that we could expect a lot of discipline and there was.
Out the back of the station and away from our wired compound was a very large football field. This was to be used as a helicopter landing strip. At that time the Marines were mainly using Wessex Choppers for bringing in personnel and light gear, any heavy equipment always came by landing craft docking at the jetty just in front of the Police Station. At least the Bren gun on the balcony could give good cover, as the supplies were unloaded.
One of my pet hates and chores was to roll the forty-gallon drums of AV Gas for the choppers, from the jetty to the airstrip. I would judge the distance to be about seven to eight hundred meters. Boy a long way when you are rolling a full forty-gallon drum. Add to that about three dozen drums each time the landing craft arrived. That added up to a lot of exercise and cut hands, from the rough edges around the barrels, there being no leather gloves in those days. The choppers use a lot of fuel and one of their main tasks was to fly patrols from Lundu, to different locations around the area. Sometimes they flew into just holes in the trees down to the ground. At times the tree branches were only inches away from the rotor blades, relying on the theory that the draft from the blades would peel back the branches. Other time’s ropes would be dropped through the trees for us to abseil down to the ground. On the other hand, sometimes they would hover about two or three feet above flooded terrain. We would then have to jump into the water catching our gear that was kicked out behind us. Failure to do so meant that all your gear would get very wet. Talking of getting wet, during the monsoon we would be wet through out the whole day. We would never be caught with our trousers and boots off, just in case we were attacked, so we wore both until they just about fell off us.
After a few days, everybody dropped into a boring routine. All of Two Troop was involved in the guarding of the camp. Not so headquarters personnel, they were always very lucky and got out of the menial tasks. The guard consisted of two hours on and four hours off. This went on around the clock, day in and day out. At all times, one person was always manning the Bren gun on the Police Station balcony and three Marines were roving around the compound. At nights, the roving guards would stay put, in strategically placed slit trenches. It was felt that any shadow movement, might attract somebody with an itchy finger to shoot at their own men by mistake.
In addition, during the day there was always work to be done around the camp. On top of all this, almost everyday a patrol was sent out to different areas. So that we became very familiar with the area and we got to know it like the backs of our hands. It was also to show a military presence amongst the local tribesmen. This was an exercise that became known as showing the flag.
There were no sealed roads in this division, unless you call dirt tracks roads. A division is much the same as a county in England. The whole area was littered with many rivers. Therefore full advantage was taken and they were used whenever possible, to get the Marines around. For patrols that needed to go across country, they would have to either follow very narrow existing jungle tracks or to cut their own through the jungle. This was a hard hot work, but a much safer way of traveling, hoping to eliminate any chance of an ambush. It was not long before most of the Marines became tired and fed up with these dull dreary routines and complacency soon started to creep in.
One morning four of us along with a Corporal Bwana, unfortunately I cannot remember his real name, but we all called him Bwana, after a character in an old Bob Hope Film. Anyway we were called in for a briefing and then set off up river in a long boat. This was a dug out canoe with a forty-horse power Mercury outboard motor fitted on its stern. We were too precede up the Batang River on a routine patrol. After traveling for about two hours, the trees and the riverbanks started to creep in, until they were only a few yards apart. Half an hour later they were touching each other across the centre of the river, cutting out most of the sunlight. We traveled a further hour and by now it was late into the afternoon, so we pulled onto the bank, by a very small Kampong known as Salami.
We decided to stay the night, because this village had a small trading store. Corporal Bwana ordered everybody to search the area thoroughly. I decided to search a small building that looked like the local store, but saw nothing much until I looked up and to the back of one of the shelves. There to my amazement stood two bottles of genuine Irish Guinness. I gave the storekeeper a Da yak tribesman two dollars (25 pence UK then). Back outside Bwana had found a heap of papers under an old abandoned hut. Going through them we found it contained a lot of pornography and leaflets containing servicemen’s names, along with names of their wives and men friends they were supposed to be sleeping with. Clearly, a propaganda war was about to break. There was nobody to arrest, so we just made camp for the night out in the jungle, but after this find, a watchful guard was set up. I suddenly produced the two bottles Guinness and told the boys they could have a swig. Jock Stone was rubbing his hands while telling everybody that he could not believe our luck. Here we were a thousand miles from nowhere, but at least we had a bottle of Guinness. While everybody was laughing I opened the first bottle and took a big swig, but I soon spat it out declaring that it was Vinegar. The second one was just the same, so nobody got to have a drink that night. Bwana told everybody that it had probably been hid on the shelf for nearly twenty years.
Realizing that we were in an unfriendly area we all had a restless night. That was not helped by the presence of a plague of mosquitoes that had decided to feast on our bodies that night. Unfortunately, we had no mossy nets to protect us and nobody wanted to use the Mossy replant liquid we had been issued with, because it had a horrible aroma about it and you couldn't wash it off. There was also the worry that being a strange smell the enemy might pick up on it. Mind you I used to tell people that at if it didn’t keep the moosy’s away at least it made terrorists move off in a different direction.
The next morning we headed back down the river calling in at another Kampong called Seband-Ulu. The idea was to show the flag and our military presence in the area, while hoping to make friends and allies. We also hoped that we might pick up some fresh meat for the lads back at Lundu. All the Kampong consisted of was one very long hut, containing about forty families all living together.
The hut was built up about six feet off the ground and was sitting on stilts along side of the river bank. Getting out of the boat, Bwana strode up to the chap who he thought looked most like the headman and held out his hand. Telling the guy that he was pleased to meet him. The local man looked amazed and clearly did not understand a single word he had just said. I did not believe he was the head guy, to me he looked more like the local toilet cleaner. Jock laughed and so did I, while Bwana was clearly not amused. I walked up to another guy and in pigeon English tried to make conversation with him. Bwana left it to me and I succeeded in obtaining a very small pig and a local drink for the boys, it was called Toddy and was the sap from a tree. It was tapped from a tree trunk, in the same way that rubber is extracted from the rubber tree. Being quite potent we were soon very merry, but not the Corporal he would not drink the stuff. He soon ordered us back into the boat that was moored to a large floating log that stuck out into the river.
Bwana never spoke much to us on the return trip, I guess he was feeling a bit of a fool. About ten minutes away from Lundu, he turned to one of the Marines, a Scotsman we called Big Mac. Telling him that his gun barrel was red with rust, to which Big Mac told him that it was red patherising, although it really was rust and was a crime in the Marines. Bwana just muttered something under his breath and turned away to continue looking at the riverbank, while everybody else in the boat just grinned at each other. I might add that we called him Big Mc long before the American food giant arrived on the scene.
After reaching Lundu the Company Commander held a de-brief, at which all the leaflets were shown around. It had been learnt by Radio, that some of the other company's had experienced similar leaflet drops around their camps.
That night I had to go on guard with a policeman from the local Dayak tribe. Sitting under the Police Station behind a few sandbags, we began talking in a low voice, because whispers travel very easy through the night. All the time he kept holding on to a small little leather pouch around his neck. According to Mogumbo as I called him, it was full of bones, herbs and lucky charms. As long as he kept wearing it around his neck then nobody would be able to shoot him. What a load of rubbish I thought, I bet I could prove him wrong. Still I did make very good friends with Mogumbo, over the next couple of months as we went on many patrols together. He was one local guy I know I could have relied on in an emergency situation.
The days became more and more boring, knowing that some of the tasks we were given, like digging trenches, digging latrines (toilets) etc, was just to give us something to do. Most Marines started to moan that this was the only camp that had all the disciplines of a conventional military barracks back in the UK. Here we were in the jungle and somebody was picking us up for have dirty boots. Although I realise that it was mainly because Headquarters group was located with us. This was not what I had expected when I was back at Lympstone, dreaming of operating in the jungle.
I acquired a pet Monkey one-day from a local villager, for only five dollars just sixty-two pence in English money. According to the local villagers it was an albino. It being ginger in colour and only about four inches long, with a tail that measured a further six inches. It was clearly too young to have been removed from its mother. At nights I would lay on my camp bed with my hand in an old cardboard box with the monkey cuddled in my palm, for heat. Every time I moved the monkey would cry out and wake everybody in the tent, I was not a very popular guy. During the day I took it around with me, sitting in an empty magazine pouch hung by my side, with the top cover down, even the officers never know I had it. However, it only lived a few weeks, upsetting me for a few days when it eventually died, one of the sick birth attendants told me that it had died of pneumonia.
Two Marines were charged for Accidental Discharges from their S.L.R. Rifles. In both cases civilians were nearly shot, one bullet had actually passed through the Police Station roof. After being charged, the Marines were very heavily fined and had extra work added to their already congested daily routine. Money meant absolutely nothing to us, as we could not spend it on anything. I smoked and bought tobacco to roll my own, that was flown in by choppers and that was about it. By the end of a tour in Sarawak, we went back to Singapore to a fair amount of wages that had accumulated in our accounts.
Another incident that happened, was whilst I was on guard one night. I was walking along the back of the living quarters, when I stood on something and heard a crack. Looking down with my torch I saw I was standing on a Scorpion and its tail had come up and hit the heel of my leather boot. Lucky it had not gone through the leather, had I been wearing my canvas jungle boots I would have been stung. If you did take your boots off to sleep at night, you always had to knock and shake them in the morning. Before you put them on, because at least one very small scorpion would always fall out, but I do not know how they got in to the boots in the first place as these boots were about eighteen inches high.
At night, we all slept on camp beds in tents so when the guard came in to wake their replacement they usually awoke everybody else in the tent. One night after nearly a month of this dull routine, the whole tent got up around midnight to go on guard. Somehow nobody noticed what was happening and we all staggered out to change guard. The officer checking weapons noticed that there were too many people standing in front of him and asked who should be on guard. To which everybody replied Me, then as they looked at each other along the line they suddenly woke up to the fact that some of them should still be in bed. They all burst into a low laugh and those that could, went back to bed. That is how tiredness can affect you sometime.
Ginger Walters a fresh Marine joined Two Troop, Ginger had been a member of the 40 Commando HQ, in the intelligence section, but had asked for a transfer so he could get involved in a little of the action. I often wondered what he thought of digging trenches and twenty four-hour guards, something he never had to do before. I made very good friends with Ginger and over the next eighteen months, we got up to a lot of mischief had some great times together.
One morning Ginger, Don (Hackett) and I went to the football field to await a chopper that was arriving with some stores for us and a patrol that had been stationed at a border fort, for about a month. When the chopper eventually arrived it was a two bladed Belvedere flown by the RAF. I had never seen one of these before, it being a lot bigger and longer than the usual Wessex choppers that the Navy used. I spent a little time walking around it and having a good look, while the other Marines did all the unloading. It looked like it could carry about seventeen Marines, here in the hot climate of Sarawak, while the Wessex could only manage about eight. However, back in the UK where the air is much cooler and denser Wessex could probably carry about ten people
A four-man section of Marines jumped out so, I signalled them over to where I was standing. Not wanting to try and talk under the still revolving blades. The first thing that struck me about these guys was how white they all looked. As I shook hands with the Corporal in charge I could not stop myself asking why they were so white, when everybody else in the camp sported a lovely dark tan. The Corporal told me that at Rasau, the fort they had been stationed at was amongst very dense jungle vegetation and that no sunlight ever penetrated down upon them. Having spent a month at Rasau they looked very anaemic, but they were hoping to get a good tan here at Lundu, where they were hoping to take it easy for a few days. I laughed at them telling them that around here nobody takes it easy. This place is known as “Fort work your butt off”. Suddenly their expressions changed and I left them looking a little dejected.
One morning a landing craft came up river and tied up at the jetty in front of the Police Station, being loaded with the usual minimum amount of supplies to support a fort. Most of the Marines that had nothing to do were suddenly press ganged in to reporting to the jetty to unload. A very long, hot job was in store for all who could not come up with a reasonable excuse. A human chain was made to pass the gear from the jetty to the make shift trolleys that a couple of Marines had earlier designed. This would then be pulled inside the camp by a team of four Marines acting the part of a Brewery Drey team of Shire horses. The stores consisted of the usual items required to supply a base for about a week, although it usually included several cartons of beer. As the equipment was slowly being unloaded two of the Marines began hatching a plot to relieve the Quartermaster of a carton of beer. As the officer who was supervising the unloading turned and looked away for a few seconds, one of the Marines lowered a carton of the beer into the water by the bank, while another Marine threw a large stone into the river further down to divert the officer attention. Anyway, the whole idea was to come back later to retrieve the carton.
Once the job was completed most of the Marines made their way up to the camp, leaving a couple of them and myself by the side of the water looking at the carton of beer. Looking is about as far as we got, as the carton was completely covered with bull leaches, a bull leach can suck up to a pint of blood at any one time. Eight of these things on you and your history, they would just about suck you dry. In the end I left the other Marines to figure it all out, I never did know what they came up with, but for days they would disappear into the jungle for ten minutes at a time and reappear smelling of grog, I guess some how they found a way. Although upon reflection all you had to do was to just put your hands into the water pull out the carton and to burn the leeches off your arms. Sooner said that done because at that time we were not experts at jungle warfare, however, later on when we understood the environment we were now living in, I’m sure that’s what we would have done.
Sarawak is a beautiful country, its birds, its animals, its people the rivers and the jungle, just the air around the place. I used to love the cool misty mornings, I even l enjoyed the rain and there was lots of it. I used to love to lie on my bed listening to the rain pounding on the roof. I guess it was the sense of security, of knowing that I was dry, while outside everything would be soaking wet. Even if you were caught in the rain, once the storm was over and the sun came out your cloths would dry on you in about an hour. Unfortunately by then, your cloths would be ringing wet once again, only this time it was with sweat. So really, your cloths were always ringing wet. To prove a point the material soon became rotten and would tear quite easily.
The Lundu Division only had one decent road and that was just a dirt track which was about 12km long. Can you imagine your country only having one road. At least the road accident rate would be a little lower than today’s unrealistic figures.
I would love to visit Sarawak today, but I’m sure I would be in for a bit of a surprise. I believe its called progress but it is not always for the better. Western progress to me is sometimes a backward step, I would always like to remember the country as it was way back in 1963. Yes Sarawak was a beautiful country and I will always carry its magnificent pictures around in my head for a long time to come.
KAMPONG "STUNG GANG"
.
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It was flag showing time again, so Bwana took Ginger, Don, Dal (Dalrimple) and myself on an overnight patrol up river to visit Kampong Stung Gang. The kampong was only a couple of hours distance up river and in a so called friendly area. Once again we set off in our dug out with the outboard motor. As it was only to be a one night stay Bwana ordered us to travel light. We had an uneventful trip up the river, just staring at jungle and talking quietly amongst our selves.
Kampong Stung Gang consisted of just one long hut that had been constructed on eight foot high stilts and was positioned along the river bank. Several logs were fixed to the bank all sticking out into the river with dugout canoes tied to them. We maneuvered our boat amongst them and tied up, we then disembarked and balanced our way towards the awaiting villages on the bank.
These people were known as Iban tribe’s men and about eighty families lived together in the long bamboo constructed hut. We all shook hands with the headman who spoke very good English, however, this was usually a bad sign. If they spoke good English they were educated and education to me meant trouble, because too many ideas put into their heads while at white schools, or at least that’s what I believed at that time.
At the time, Sarawak was being slowly taken over by young Communists upstarts. Who were usually plucked from obscurity and educated in a big Russian University. Once in power it was always hoped that these new leaders would look favourable upon Russia who wanted to station their troops in the country, which would then flood the country with Rubbles. Then if he was extra smart he could play the Russians against the Americans, but not the British because by this time they were running out of money. I believed that most third world country leaders used their education to take everything for themselves. Their ideas and views meant absolutely nothing, all they were after was the power and all that goes with it, money, money, money. The plain un-educated villages were usually swept along with their big words and promises, but ended up with absolutely nothing. Mean while the leaders ended up with all the riches of war. Believe me in wartime there is a lot of money being thrown around to buy favours. These poor villages were usually very expendable as well, they were always the real losers. Just take a look at some of the so called rebel leaders in Africa who became Presidents and how rich they became once they had wrestled power from whoever was running the country at the time. To me they were not rebel leaders they were just thieves and murderers. I’ve never seen a poor Africa leader, but I have seen very poor village people trying to survive under their regimes. It must also be remembered that while they were so called freedom fighters, all committed murder in one way or another and all later became Presidents one even had the cheek to accept Nobel prizes for his cowardly acts. I can still remember, how he ordered his men to place a bomb on a train. The only people he killed that day were very poor innocent villagers. If you want to blame a government for something, at least go after them or a military target.
Mugabe and Amin are two good examples of people who used the villagers of their respective country to get what they wanted. However, once they had control they had to exterminate their opposition so they were never deposed. Both set about destroying complete races of people, while the west sat back and did nothing. To me the United Nations is a joke a complete waste of time and money. Once again see its come down to money. I hope this is not becoming a yard stick for the so called western world to follow. Sorry for this little outburst but that’s how I felt at the time and I’m trying to be honest in writing about what I did and what I believed at the time. I feel that as a fighting man I’m entitled to say what I think on this subject, as its always people like me who have to go into situation like that to help sort it out, I’m not just an arm chair critic like most people. It’s all very well talking about it but let’s see you sort it out.
The headman’s speaking of English was a little surprising and caught us all off guard, as they still displayed shrunken human heads around the outside of their huts. However, we were assured that these were mainly Japanese soldiers from the last war. During the Second World War most of the Ibans tribesmen were still practicing headhunting cannibals. In fact there were still stories doing the rounds that it was still being practiced to this day by some of the tribes in our area. The young Ibans all carried long Parangs knives tucked in their belts around their waists and attached to the handles were usually tufts of human hair.
We spent a long time just looking around the area, being observant and getting used to the people. However, at all times we had our riffles cocked and ready for action, not knowing what to expect. In fact, we did everything with our riffles by our side and that even included while we slept and went to the toilet.
After spending a couple of hours checking out the area we made our way into the main long hut. As with most long huts, there was usually an open area right through the hut from one end to the other, along the front. While along the back were dozens of smaller rooms that housed the villagers. Once inside we all sat down in front of the headman’s section of the hut in a circle, he then placed his daughters amongst us. Then the headman’s wife brought out an old rusty kettle full of rice wine. By this time, we had already taken out our water bottle mugs in anticipation and we were all given a mug full of the rocket fuel. This was very strong, powerful stuff and most of us were completely unaware of its possible effects on us and started knocking it back as though it was going out of fashion. As soon as the old woman's kettle was empty, all the other women folk brought out their kettles. I winked at Ginger lip shaping the words that it was going to be a good night and there was going to be a few thick heads in the morning. Even Bwana was sipping his full mug, it being the first time that I had seen him take a drink, I guess he did not want to offend the villages.
Most of us started making a pig of ourselves, knocking it right back as fast as they could fill our mugs. While I imagined that I was making head way with the headman’s eldest daughter, who was sitting beside me. After an hour the noise level started to get louder, with us singing and the locals chanting and dancing. I also noticed that Ginger was making out nicely with one of the other headman's daughters. Ginger was a lucky guy, as he had red hair and nobody in this part of the world had ever seen anything like it. The attraction always drew large crowds wherever he went and he was always treated like a leader.
While we drank the rice wine, we were also expected to eat the rice sediments that earlier had been drained from the wine and lay on a large green leaf on the floor in front of us. If you thought the wine was powerful, it was nothing to the handful of sediments that you were expected to munch into after every sip from your mug.
Dal was the first to collapse right where he sat, just as I got up to go to the toilet. This was just a small hole in the floor over in one of the corners of the hut. With out warning I suddenly fell through the thin bamboo slotted floor matting. Almost falling into a load of pig dung that was heaped up under the hut. Whenever the locals needed a toilet they just did it through the hole in the floor onto the pigs below. How these people were disease free, I will never know. In fact it’s a wonder that we did not end up in a hospital. Ginger helped me from my predicament and after much giggling we made out way back to rejoin the party
Bwana was next to keel over to a cheer from those of us who were still enjoying the festivities. Boy there was no way that we were going to let him forget this day. Ginger and I saw it as future blackmail material. Then slowly we all started to collapse one by one into very untidy heaps on the floor right where we sat.
As daylight started to shine through the holes in the side of the hut, I could not believe the sight that greeted me. It was not a pretty sight as all of the Marines were out cold and looked a right mess. While sitting all around us were the local young men holding our riffle and sitting at the ready guarding us. They had spent the whole night watching over us, but I doubt they would have known how the riffles worked, or at least I would like to think they did not. If an officer had seen this sight, he would have gone bananas and threw the book at all of us. It was a good job that my earlier assessment of the headman had been wrong, other wise we would have all been killed that night. The whole incident had turned into a big learning curve and I like to think that most of us learnt by the experience.
I staggered up to get some water and threw it over everybody to wake them up. No use having breakfast in this state, as I do not think anybody would have been able to stomach it anyway. Therefore, we grabbed our gear and tried to make our way to the boat, thanking the headman and his daughters on the way. What followed was one of the most comical sights I had seen for quite some time. It was not only comical for me, even the villagers had also gathered to see the great British Servicemen make fools of them selves.
The Marines started to balance their way along the log towards the boat, but in their drunken state, they looked very clumsy with no sense of balance. One by one we all fell into the river. Ginger and Dal had to be rescued by the locals who by now were all rolling around laughing and pointing at the funny antics the Marines were displaying. It took almost half an hour to get us all into the boat safely and being a dug out it wobbled all over the place. Well that is my excuse and I am sticking to it even after all those years.Then with a final wave, we managed to shove off from the log and to head out into the main part of the river and head back towards Lundu.
Not wanting the officers back at Lundu to see the state we were in Bwana beached the boat a couple of miles before Lundu, so we could all clean ourselves up, Bwana being the worse for wear. During this time we all had a swim and something to eat. If we had learnt anything from this whole trip it was to leave the local grog alone, or at least to only drink in moderation. This jungle patrolling work was becoming a bit of an experience, not what I had imagined during my battle training. Maybe this was the type of experience we should have been pre-warned about and trained for.
Whilst we were back at the Headquarters, just sitting around in our tents after dark was a little boring. Luckily we were allowed two cans of beer per day. Coupled with smoking, drinking, cracking jokes, stories became the only pass time of the evening.
Like the one about Arthur who was attached to B Company. His section was patrolling along the border with Indonesia and based at a fort known as “Fort Little Big Horn”. Unfortunately, they had an officer stationed with them and so they were a little regimented in their behaviour. On this particular occasion they had a dead terrorist to dispose of. Therefore, the officer ordered Arthur to bury him down near the river. Arthur placed the body in a hole he had just dug, but owing to the rocky terrain unfortunately the hole was not quite big enough. So Arthur chopped off the arms and legs and folded them, in such a way that the lot just about fitted into the hole. He then threw on some dirt and jumped on the heap a few times to flatten it all down. The officer watching just turned away and walked back up to the hut in disgust, where dinner was about to be served. Dinner was usually hard tac biscuits. Anyway Arthur just walked straight into the hut and without washing his hands, grabbed a hand full and tore into them. The officer had to go outside the hut, where he was violently sick. Most of us had come across Arthur at one time or other and knew that he was capable of such an act, to us it was just Arthur.
Another time was when an Iban tracker called Leo brought in a paper parcel and then laid it on the table amongst all the food right in front of his officer. "Did you get anybody” asked the officer, "Yes" said Leo. “And did you get any identification” “Yes” said Leo, adding, "It’s in the parcel sir". The officer opened the parcel expecting to find badges of rank or something like that. Instead, he found a bloodstained hand with rings on the fingers. The officer gagged and went outside for some fresh air. "The body was too heavy to carry back,” Leo calling after him. Once again, the Marines just grinned and laughed at each other.
We also had Gurkhas stationed with us at different times and I made very good friends with some of them. They were all very young boys, some as young as sixteen. One night in my tent, one of them showed me some photos, explaining that they were of a ceremony for the Gurkhas taken back in Singapore. The Photo's were quite gruesome, showing bullocks and goats tied to posts, with a Gurkha and his legendary Kurkri sword chopping off their heads. Apparently, they have to cut the heads off with only one blow, if not they are disgraced. Then a big feast follows, after the cooking of the carcasses. Everybody in the camp wanted to see these photos. However, most Marines felt sorry for the poor old animals tied up like they were, they hadn't a chance in hell of survival.
KAMPONG "SEMATAN”
After one of the longest most boring months of my life, we finally managed to get away from the over disciplined dreary Lundu Camp, I could hardly contain my relief. As Two Troop headed down river on board one of the landing craft and once out to sea headed further along the coastline to the west. Where we relieve by one of the other troops and took up a defensive position near the very small Kampong of Sematan, by the mouth of the Serayan River. The main purpose of the Kampong was as a supply village for the near by Bauxite mine that was run by an American guy. The settling in period was made easy for us, by the fact that we had relieved another section that had previously set up the camp and fortified it.
We had taken with us a new infared riffle night scope to be tested under battle conditions. Everybody stripped it down and had a good look at its inner workings. The as soon as it was dark, we set it up outside the main bunker in the compound and took turns playing and fiddling in the darkness. It consisted of an infared lamp that was on top of a small tripod, while a special scope was attached to a rifle. All very primitive by today standards, but being the first of its type in the world, it was enthusiastically received by the Marines. The idea was that you sighted your rifle scope in a certain direction and then with your other hand you operated the lamp by slowly moving it to point in the same direction, as the gun was pointed. The best results were not too spectacular and I soon lost interest, however anything is a great help to us, especially at night. It used a red coloured beam of light unfortunately, everything looked a paler shade of red through the scope. It was very hard to distinguish a man from a tree if he were stationary. However, the more we used it the more are eyes became accustomed to what we were watching and found it a little easier to use. At least if we were attacked it was in our favour and not the enemies. It was set up by the Bren gun emplacement so everybody on guard was able to try it out at some time or other. After a few days most of us agreed that it would be very useful for us even if we only used it to look around after dark. Trying to find what had made those annoying noises that are always heard during the night.
Once again, the fort had been built around the police station and there was the usual arrangement of barbed wire and booby traps around the perimeter of the camp. The compound was quite large with many wide-open spaces that I considered as being bad for our well-being. It housed four main buildings on five foot high stilts and all built soundly of timber. All around these huts were positioned a number of slit trenches and an under ground bunker for the armoury. Unfortunately it was only accessible across those wide open spaces. I guess it had been positioned this way just in case it took a direct hit. If it were to explode it would not take any of the buildings with it.
Two Troop comprised of four sections at that time and two of them were to stay and guard Sematan, whilst the other two sections would man smaller forts along the coast further to the west. From there we would Patrol to the furthest point west of the Sarawak coastline. Kampong Serabang and Kampong Samunsam were both on the coast but the border was only about two miles in land. This was an area where Indonesia and Sarawak came together and stuck out into the sea as a peninsular. Both these forts were only accessible from the sea by boat and sections would change over at fortnightly intervals.
It was during one of the change over times that a section set out in a double skinned aluminium assault boat with a forty-horse powered mercury engine out board. Unfortunately, they set out as the tide was almost in, along with seven men and all their gear, so the boat was well down in the water. As they tried to leave the estuary, the waves were very high and rough. A dozen times, they nearly went over as they were hit by wave after wave and then they started taking in water. Frantically they started bailing out and somehow they survived and proceeded to make their way along the coastline. About two and a half-hours later as they were broadside onto the waves, they were hit by a big one. The wave half filling the boat with water, the Marines started to bale frantically, but then another big wave hit them filling them right up. One of the Marines stood up shouting don’t panic, but it was all too late, panic had set in and over the boat flipped. Suddenly they were all in the water thrashing around and trying to survive. Two of the Marines were not very good swimmers and were still wearing their very heavy clothes that were now even heavier in the water. Amazingly, all seven Marines survived and made it safely to the shore, but they had nothing with them and they were in hostile territory. Therefore, they made their way up to the back of the beach and hid in the bushes while they rested from their ordeal.
After about an hour the fittest of them decided to go for help, he made his way along the beach back to Samatan, taking nearly three hours. Where he blurted out his story to the remaining Marines
Ginger, Don, Corporal Pearse and myself set out to try and find them, leaving the survivor to rest up. We took an extra couple of rifles with us just in case we were attacked, knowing that the ship wrecked Marines would need some sort of fire power. Marching quite fast it only took us about two hours to find them, although we had been worried in case we were walking into ambush. The enemy might even be using the capsized boat as a lure for us to come along the beach. We found the Marines lying on the edge of the jungle just beyond the high water line and most had already recovered from the ordeal. We set up camp for the night and gave them all a good feed, we also watched the tide waiting for it to go out. The beach was very flat and about half a mile wide at the point where they had capsized. Somehow we managed to recover everything, the boat, the outboard motor, guns, packs it was quite unbelievable, there was nothing missing it was just wet.
We then spent a very uncomfortable night amongst the ever-biting sand flies and swarms of mosquitoes that plagued us all night. Not much sleep was had by any of us, so we were all glad to see the warm morning sun when it finally poked its head up above the horizon. Wasting no time we set off back to Samatan, leaving only the boat behind we would pick it up another time.
One day, an airdrop of mail and stores by parachute was found to contain a movie film, the Ten Commandments. It was arranged with the local Bauxite mine manager for the Marines to go to the mine and use his projector to view the film, allowing any locals who wished to watch it. We all looked forward to the viewing, instead of drinking our two cans of beer each night we saved about a week’s supply and we had one big binge the night of the film showing.
Came the big night and half the fort personnel were allowed to go to the mine for the showing, all were carrying their supply of cans and becoming well drunk, but they still had their weapons slung over their shoulders. By the time the film started, everybody was quite merry and started wise cracking and telling jokes during the film, which lucky for us was in English. Most of the locals could not understand a single word but they all watched in amazement, as none of them had seen moving pictures before. They laughed whenever the Marines laughed, not realising what we found funny. By the time the film reached the scene where Mosses is being chased across the Red Sea, Jock Stone was well and truly drunk. Mosses was about to be shot by a pursuing Egyptian with a bow and arrow, Jock picked up his S.L.R. rifle and fired it at the Egyptian. Most of the locals dived under the chairs while others ran off screaming in to the night. It was lucky that we were viewing this film outside and that the screen was just hung on the back of one of the out buildings. Jock just laughed and said that he could not see what all the fuss was about as he had just saved the day and Mosses from a fate worse than death. The bullet tore a hole through the screen and the hut behind it, lucky for us nobody was hurt. Other wise all hell would have been let loose. It’s a good bet that jock would have been jailed for his little escapade. It might sound incredible but we still watched the end of the film. Funny but we where never invited back to the mine again, I often wonder why. Jock was also very relieved that no charges were laid against him, I guess it was put down to high spirits by our Corporal. It was even more surprising that we managed to keep it from Headquarters. If Pug Davis had found out Jocks feet would not have touched the ground, until he ended up behind bars.
One morning a group of us took an aluminium assault craft down to the river mouth and on to the far sand bank to have a go at water skiing. None of us had ever attempted it before, so we were all novices. We took with us a small plank of wood about six inches wide by about five foot long. Once we had arrived on the sand bar, using a machete we rounded a point on one end and nailed on an old sand shoe, (Plimsoll) onto the middle of the board. We then got one Marine to sit on the sand near the waters edge, with one foot in the ski shoe. The rest of the Marines positioned them selves around him, with their hands under him to assist him in trying to stand up. In order to keep the weight down in the boat and the speed up, only the coxswain was allowed in board. Therefore, you can imagine the speed at which he accelerated forward. As the boat attempted to tear the Marines arms out of its sockets, on the command of "Go".
We had some great fun and most of us got at least fifty feet before falling off. Because there was about eight of us all waiting around to have a go, the time seemed to drag. Therefore, another Marine and myself went for a swim across the river mouth, however I now know it was crazy to even attempt it. Then I was just young guy who did not have a care in the world. We reached the other bank and then swam back. It is a wonder we were not swept out to sea for a start, whilst someone later told us that they had seen sharks four miles up river. The river mouth would have been at least half a mile wide at this point and at times had been quite treacherous. Try telling that to a young upstart from Suffolk who imagined he was bullet proof thought he knew it all.
KAMPONG “SARABANG”
Morning found Two Troop, including myself boarding a Malaysian patrol boat from the Sematan jetty. I was feeling happy because I would be getting away from an office-controlled fort. We were to be split into sections and man very small out-post fort along the coast. We shoved off from the jetty and headed west along the coast of Sarawak to wards the peninsular that juts out into the South China Sea. The journey would take us almost four hours, while on the way we dropped off another section at Samusan and took on board the section that was being relieved. They all looked quite pleased at are arrival and were looking forward to a break back at Sematan. We then continued our journey along the coast to Serabang and on to Kampong Milano it being the furthest fort that we had a presence. We were to be the first Marines to stay there, so we would have to build our own defenses. The journey was very uneventful as the patrol boat hugged the coastline line. Then as we neared Serabang, the boat went in to the beach as near as possible, without it running aground. We had to jump over the side and into the sea where we waded ashore. So here we were, Don Hackett, Ginger Walters, Corporal Reg Pierce, Harry Dalrimple and I.
All we found was a small long hut that sat on the beach containing only four rooms, a barbwire entanglement was scattered around the area. The hut was so close to the sea that the barbed wire was actually under the water at high tide in some places. We had a quick look around, to secure the area and to see what we had to defend. We were on a small peninsular of land jutting out of the furthest point west. The Sarawak Indonesian border ran up the middle of this peninsular of land and was only about three-quarters of a mile back from our new home, the hut on the beach... There were other small Kampongs in this area and we were to show a presence around them all. It was once again a show the flag exercise although we also had to protect them and to assist the local police. The corporal grabbed one of the rooms, Don and Dal took one and Ginger and I took the other. The last room was for all the gear we had ferried ashore from the patrol boat.
Everywhere we looked around the camp area there were wild dogs roaming around. A long the front of the hut that faced the sea there was a veranda that ran the entire length of the building. On which lay a very old, but friendly three-legged mongrel dog soaking up the sun, he had probably been left behind or tamed by the last occupants of the hut. Being an animal lover I soon took to making a fuss of him. I’ve often wondered how he came to lose his leg, because there did not seem to be any locals living around the area. I guess I could only assume that it might have been by a wild animal in the jungle.
There were a few old slit trenches and sandbag emplacements around our fortified new home. Most looked like they were in the correct position and did not need much work to bring them up to scratch. Therefore, after grabbing a place to sleep, we all set about making our enclosure safe for the night. By placing mines and booby traps around the perimeter of the barbwire fence, that was only about twenty yards from the hut. While making sure that, any roaming dogs did not set them off. We then arranged a guard roster, only one guard on at a time, as we were so few in numbers. We were not happy in the thought that the jungle was so close to where we were setting up camp, but there was not a lot we could do about it. Just the thought of removing a considerable amount of jungle put us off the idea.
By now it was starting to get dark, so it was a quick meal and those that were not on guard hit the sack, we were all dog-tired, as sleep was always hard to come by in this sort of environment.
Next morning the first task was for somebody to disarm all the booby traps. We had a motto, “He who arms them, Disarms them”. Most of them were of our own design and flimsy, so it was only right that the inventor made them safe.
We were to keep up the one-man guard at all times, in addition three man teams were to patrol the area. This meant that our travel was to be lighter and faster so we could cover a lot more ground while leaving two in the camp area at all time for back up.
The first patrol was to the Kampong of Serabang, from our fort we could see it right across the bay. We would have to walk around the bay to get to it. Corporal Pierce, Ginger and I set off at a brisk pace. We were traveling in single line with about a five yard gap between each other and I was leading. The jungle was thick, but we were following an old track, something I was not happy about. A well-used track is ideal for an ambush and everybody in the area would have seen us landing from the patrol boat the day before. They would also have seen us leave our new home and approach them up the track. Although the jungle is a noisy place with monkeys calling and insect’s clicking or screeching you can still hear unusual noises. It is that different and unusual sound that usually gives your position away.
The track hugged the coastline so it was very easy to see where we were going. We did have maps but they were very sketchy with not too much detail on them, in fact where it said Indonesia it was completely blank. You will have to see the photos I’ve included. After a long four-hour march, we finally entered the Kampong that consisted of a few small huts all scattered along the beach obviously belonged to the local fisherman. The rest of the Kampong was built into the side of a steep