2nd Recce In South East Asia

+ + + +

I have been contacted by two Veteran's of 2nd Recce, currently living in Canada but both originally from Bolton. They very very kindly sent me something they wrote for their children, detailing their experiences during WW2 in Burma which they have given permission for me to post here, as I thought that along with my personal interest, others may have an interest too.

Due to the kindness of Ian Carter, archivist at the IWM, I should also in the next few days be able to provide photo's to accompany this text.

+ + + +

 

From Bolton to Burma & Back

How Ted Hughes and Ellis Mossley saved the World for Democracy

The story of two local lads who joined up to get a free pair of boots.



Neville Chamberlain, Sept 30th 1938.

Peace in our time! Declared the man, holding aloft a piece of paper and displaying a broad smile under his little moustache. That's good we thought, for at seventeen years of age "Our Time" looked like stretching a long way into the future.

But as this statement was being made, other members of the Government were announcing a mobilization program and issuing gas masks, due to declarations eminating from under another little moustache across the Channel.

Something was amiss here it seemed.

So us local lads, after some deep thought and discussion, (a couple of nights at the street corner), decided that if we joined the Territorial Army, or the Weekend Warriors as we called them, that by the time we were called up to do our eighteen months of compulsory training we would be experienced enough to forego the pleliminary square bashing drills and go directly into equipment training. We visualized ourselves operating and driving all kinds of exciting machines and equipment.

That's what the posters proclaimed. ”Join the Army! Learn how to Drive!” they promised.

For a group of youths that had never been involved with any large piece of machinery that did not have 'Lancashire Spinning Company' stamped on it that was inducement enough. We signed up, accepted the King's Shilling, were issued a pair of boots and a suit of brown coveralls, and were duty bound to attend drills one night a week, (bus fare supplied) plus a two week military camp once a year.

The camp that year was at Catterick on the Yorkshire Moors. We got our first real taste of army life. Sleeping on the ground under canvas, six AM reveille, cold water outdoor wash benches, pre breakfast cross-country run, drilling, rifle practice. We went to camp on the 20th of August, in two weeks we felt like professional soldiers.

In fact that is exactly what we were, for as we came through York station on our way back to Bolton, the public address system announced that war against Germany had been declared. It was September 3rd 1939. It turned out to be the longest two week camp we had ever been on. It ended six years later.

Back in Bolton, on the 4th of Sept 1939, we were classified as Mechanized Cavalry. Not having the necessary transport to be so described, our leaders started us on basic training, marching, arms drill, and formations.
During this time we moved to Macclesfield and were fortunate enough to be assigned to the Signal Platoon.


In May of 1940 the signal troop moved from Titherington Hall in Macclesfield to the village of Penkridge for more intensive training.

The signal troop at that time consisted of Second Lieutenant Eric Moreland, a pleasant young man who, before being called up, had worked on the editorial staff of the Bolton Evening News. A communications occupation, qualities enough for him to be assigned as signals officer.

Sgt.Bridgem a home town Territorial Army Veteran who’s weekly venue over the years had been the Drill Hall the Cotton Mill and the Local Pub. Cpl. Bert Rothwell & Cpl.Grummitt, who had worked for the local radio and electronics store, and Lance Corporal Kelly, another old TA Vet, who had served a term in the army in India. In total, about twenty five or so of us other odds and sods made up the rest of the troop.

Arriving at Penkridge we were happy to find that we were to be billeted in some newly constructed cottages outside the village. Although we would still be sleeping on the floor, it would be drier and warmer than on the bare ground under canvas. The cottages were small two storey dwellings, each with its toilet located in a small building at the far end of the back garden,
as was usual in rural districts dependent on septic tank disposal systems.

It was this arrangement that resulted in, ‘The Night of Terror’, starting with the classic phrase, “It was a dark and stormy night” when Geoff Moss, heeding the call of nature, made his way across the inert bodies of his sleeping comrades, his missteps causing grunts of displeasure as he headed through the darkness to the top of the stairs. Reluctant to make the journey to the outhouse and being small in stature, he knelt on the ledge of the small window at the top of the stairwell and whizzed through the window. Why not? At 2am on a dark rainy night, who was to notice?

Sammy Ink, that’s who! Sam was on sentry duty and, seeking shelter from the wind and rain, was in the narrow pathway between the houses. He was leaning up against the wall, propped up by his rifle, dozing lightly, but capable of becoming instantly alert at the first suspicious incident which was, at that moment, a sudden heavier downpour on his helmet.

Seeking the source, he made the mistake of looking up. Located the source and the fight was on. He came pounding up the stairs, Geoff made a rush back into the dark bedroom seeking the cover of his far corner, stepping on the bodies he had missed on his way out, evoking curses and threats, which rose in volume as the abuse was repeated by Sam’s boots as
he headed for Geoff’s shadowy figure. It was bedlam, brought to a halt by the appearance of Sergeant Bridge, flashlight in hand, from the room down
below.

He threatened to put us all on a Charge, Us for ‘Disorderly Conduct’, Sammy for ‘Dereliction of Duty’ and Geoff for- - - He ran into a bit of a problem here, as peeing on a comrade was not specifically covered under Kings Rules and Regulations. Conduct Unbecoming an Officer and a Gentleman, did not apply since Geoff was not an officer, and as recent events had proved, certainly no gentleman.

In an effort to bring closure, and rescue what was left of the night’s slumber, suggestions were put forward from the floor, ranging from Indecent Exposure, to Hazardous Conduct, to Reckless Discharge of a Weapon Causing Endangerment. Most certainly endangerment to Geoff by an irate Sam.

Sgt. Bridge left taking the damp distraught Sam with him and peace reigned, until muffled laughter from the corner started a chain reaction, only ended by the thudding of a broom handle on the ceiling of the room below. Whatever infraction of KRRs Sgt. Bridge finally settled on, it did not proceed any further than Lieutenant Moreland, who allowed the charges to wither on the vine, being reluctant to have his unit identified as a bunch of Rangi Tangs.

Geoff appeased Sammy with a couple of free beers the next pay day and an offer to reverse roles whenever the opportunity present itself.

...

 

The set backs being suffered by our forces in France made it obvious that we were facing a superior enemy. Although our training became more intensified, our equipment was still rather antiquated.

We had Field Telephones from World War 1, with the little hand cranks on the side, and small batteries that required a couple of spoonfulls of water to activate. L/cpl. Kelly demonstrated the Heliograph, a flashing mirror system that had been so successful on the Northwest Frontier fighting the Fuzzy Wuzzies in the Gunga Din era, also Sgt. Bridge’s secret weapon; the Morse flag.

This was the alternative to Semaphore flag, but only requiring a single flag. So, say you lost one of your flags; perhaps shot out of your hand by enemy fire, you could resort to Morse flag. The flag is held above the head with the stick in front of the face. A small side to side twelve inch movement would represent one dot, which the Sgt. signified by intoning " IDDY", a dash required the flag to be moved from the upright position forty five degrees to shoulder level, then returned, signified by intoning "OOMPTY".

Thus the code for end of message, which was A R or dot.dash.dot.dash.dot became, in the Sgt’s system, "iddy oompty iddy oompty iddy." All these methods required visual contact between the receivers and senders which led one to surmise that one might also be visible to enemy snipers, and just to make sure, one waved a blue and white flag over ones head. Iddy oompty iddy oompty-BANG, end of message!

The Morse lamp, set on a tripod, was perhaps our most efficient means of long distance field communication. It was early summer and we would pair off with lamp and tripod, take off over the pleasant countryside to some distant point and signal back to base, taking turns to loll in the sun, or man the lamp and keep an eye open for incoming Sergeants.

Apart from disquieting news from France, it was a pleasant period. We did a lot of running and had a sports meet with the R.A.F. in the nearby town of Cannock. Ted took part in the cross country event and was one of the first across the finish line. Unfortunately it did not count for points as he was riding in the pickup Bren Carrier having pulled a tendon at the halfway mark!

It was also at Penkridge that Bert Aldred, our reluctant recruit, overstayed his leave once too often, and had to be escorted back to the fold by the Military Police. This caused him to be sentenced to two weeks in the infamous Shepton Mallett Military Prison. Internment required ones head to be shaved, so in an effort to save him from any rough handling by the prison barber, Ted and Des Barlow did the job beforehand and sped him on his way like a shorn lamb.

Our pleasant period was not to last, for our troops in France were being evacuated from Dunkirk, and Vichy France was about to capitulate to the enemy. We were ordered to march to Rugeley to help set up a camp for the return of the Dunkirk survivors. Rugeley, as the crow flies, is about eight miles away from Penkridge but as the country road meanders it is more like eighteen miles.

Ted Bridge told us that our big packs would be going by truck and only side packs and rifles would be carried. We loaded up the big packs only to find that the crafty old Vet had conned us once again and we would be transporting our fully loaded packs in the usual manner – on our backs.

Sgt. Bridge of course would be escorting the equipment truck and riding on ahead. We started off in the early morning in good order with Lt. Moreland striding proudly ahead with Cpl. Rothwell at his side, the troop in column of three behind, with L/Cpl Kelly bringing up in the rear.

We strode along briskly, singing the usual marching songs, but as the miles mounted so the songs dwindled as we saved our breath to concentrate on the miles before us, and we began to straggle somewhat.

As we approached the small Hamlets along the route, we were greeted by the villagers who waved and uttered words of encouragement, and some of the local children followed us a short distance on their bikes.

L/cpl Kelly, at the rear, gave one small boy a couple of pennies to borrow a bike and rode for a couple of miles with the lad balanced on the handlebars before the Lt. became aware and ordered him to give it back. As the day wore on we became less of a compact column and more of a woebegone pack. Our appearance may not have struck terror into the hearts of the enemy, but it did raise some alarm in the minds of the villagers as we straggled through, especially since Churchill had just broadcast his "We shall fight them on the beaches, in the towns and in the hills. We shall never surrender!" Speech.

We had been prepared to go to France, but due to the Allied setbacks, leading to the evacuation at Dunkirk, we spent the next while setting up camps for the returning troops. This entailed going to Yarm, in Yorkshire, then Stokesley and Wortley setting up tents, digging foxholes, latrines, cookhouses, doing training, fire watches, guard duties, then when the camp was ready for the returning troops, go and set up another one.

We continued our training in, Morse code, Lamp signaling, Semaphore, Morse flag, Field telephone and exchanges, line laying, etc. Then to Thirsk, where Ted finally got his driver’s license, for more training with vehicles and schemes. We trained on Motor Bikes, both solo and sidecar combination, Trucks and small Pickups.

As most of us had never been in a Car or Truck never mind driven one, it was a very ambitious program, and the results were not too good .We had many injuries and accidents (some fatal), the result of too many new drivers in too short a time.

One particularly bad driver named Dobson was assigned as a signal truck driver and riding in his truck was a nerve wracking, bone jarring experience like a bad session on the 'Dodgem ' cars at the fairground. Military vocabulary contains a number of code words to signify various stages of emergency, usually colours, such as Code Word Yellow, (Stand to) or, Code Word Red, (Immediate Action). The Signal Platoon created Code Word Dobson, (Absolute Panic). This dreaded term signaled an immediate rush to climb aboard any truck but the one given that priority. Fortunately a better method of training took place and we learned to slow down.

Then to Scarborough in November, cold, Bren gun, anti tank guns, physical training on the prom and down to the sea and into the water, this was called conditioning. To York, driving at night. Night driving training involved driving in convoy without any lights, through the blacked out villages and down narrow unlit country roads. The only illumination allowed was a pin point of light directed from under the tail board of the truck to shine on the rear axle where,on the differential housing, was painted a white disc about the size of a dinner plate. On a moonless or overcast night, this faint spot of white was all that the driver of the following truck had to focus on. When it stopped moving; you stopped moving; (hopefully). If it suddenly disappeared you presumed it had gone round a corner and prepared to do likewise.

Having just returned from a one week night driving course, I was notified by our signals officer that we would be having a night driving exercise that evening, and as I had the most experience I would be taking up the rear to ensure that no one would get lost. During the drive, my co-driver, one Des Barlow, on a particularly nasty bend, informed me that we were getting too close to the side, but not quite getting the message, I swung out instead of in and the vehicle came to a sudden unexpected stop. On getting out to investigate we found the truck in the middle of a privet hedge, with one wheel sitting on the top an Anderson Air raid shelter belonging to the cottager in who's front garden we were now parked.

All was not lost however for my friend Ellis, who was our escorting dispatch rider, was sent back to find help. As he roared smartly off round the corner I and Des relaxed with a cup of tea that the friendly householder had served us in his parlor, in spite of the fact that we had just demolished his hedge and torn up his lawn. I was enjoying my tea when a knock on the door announced, not the arrival of the breakdown truck, but a crestfallen Ellis, with a sad plea for help in getting his motor cycle out of the ditch wherein he had ridden it. I forget the details of the rest of the night but we evidently needed a little more cornering practice. The rest of the convoy managed to finish the exercise safely without our help.

Then a move to Driffield, for the period, April to December, where the regt.was reorganized and many of the Loyals were sent to who knows where for whatever reason. We gained other troops from, Scots, Welsh, London, Newcastle and Birmingham regiments. There was such a mix of dialects that in the signals we could barely understand one another and had to rely on morse code until we became more aquainted with each other.

The story is told of an officer inspecting a Platoon when he came across a trooper minus his gasmask. "Where is your gas mask?", he asked. The trooper, a Lancashire lad, replied "Ahve geet noan" (I have got none). The bewildered officer turned to his Cpl. and asked, "What does that mean?" The Cpl. a Yorkshireman said "He means he’s baht." (He is without). The officer, still bewildered, but not willing to show it said "Jolly good" and carried on down the line.

We were now going to be trained to be Reconnaissance, the next best thing to commando’s as one can get, equipped with new radio’s, Three Inch Mortars, Anti Tank guns. Signals were apportioned to the Squadrons. I was with "A" Squadron, more training on Vehicles, with new equipment.

Then to Lambourne in Berkshire. Ellis and I were assigned to an independent Squadron as the signal unit, along with some others.

There we trained and knew we were due to go to overseas.

 

0ur unit was stationed on Lambourn Downs, an area noted for it’s numerous racehorse training farms. We were located in one such establishment, being billeted in the horse stalls that ringed the courtyard adjoining the main residence.

The Estate had it’s own power plant of limited capacity and to ensure that the Elite, who occupied the main residence, could enjoy sufficient light as befitted their rank as officers and gentlemen; the connection to the stables was cut off at night leaving us commoners with whatever means of illumination we could scrape up, usually the stub end of a candle, which at that time were in very short supply.

It is said that "All the darkness in the world is not sufficient to put out the light of one small candle". On the other hand, the light of one small candle is hardly conducive to the orderly operation of an six member cut throat card game. It leads to too many misdeals, false calls, and downright cheating. Therefore, action was needed to put us on an even footing with the officers, lightwise.

We noticed that the power lines from the generator shed passed over the stables on it’s way to the main building and our ringleader, Ted Hughes, decided to light up our lives by tapping into them. So one, dark and moonless night, a small group of us boosted Ted, equipped with copper hooks and connecting wires, up the nearby pole. We lurked in conspiratorial silence as he disappeared up into the darkness. Suddenly, high up in the inky heavens, a brilliant flash of light silhouetted Ted like the Archangel over the watching shepherds at Bethlehem, and like them we were sore afraid.

I can only presume, that, at that moment, Ted had received a vision, for his next words from somewhere ten feet behind us were “Good God Almighty”! How he got there we don’t know, whatever was the shortest distance between two points, Ted had taken it.

The little generator struggling to absorb such a shock to its system, wavered feebly up and down a few times and perished. As we skulked back to horse stalls, I could see the occasional flare of a match through the windows of the now dark main house, Ted, had achieved parity with the officers. Sort of.


It was at Lambourne that we became acquainted with Bodger. We never met him or knew his second name, that privilege belonged to Jim Caine.

Jim was a personable friendly type, kind of a happy go lucky, live for the moment chap. His friend Bodger entered into our lives one cold wet night in December. It was a couple of days before pay day, when most of us were down to our last few pennies, enough perhaps for one small fruit tart from the local 'Naffi', down in the center of the village.

Hungry as we were, the thought of a four mile trudge for one small treat was unappealing. Jim came up with the bright idea that if we were to pool our pennies and throw in the extra coinage for him (he was always broke) he would brave the elements and bring back sustenance for all. Good old Jim we thought as he marched off into the drizzle, and we continued our reading and card games in our cold little stable stall comforted by the thought of the treat to come.

As the hours drew down the appetites grew, the meager fruit tarts began assuming the size of deep apple pies. Caine finally appeared, empty handed, full of beer and apologies, just minutes before the official midnight deadline.

He had met Bodger; Bodger, whom he had not seen for three years. Bodger, a friend from childhood, a bosom buddy who was so delighted to see Jim that he had forced him into the pub and bought him a pint. "I didn’t want to go but he insisted." said Jim. "You know how it is when some one treats, you have to treat back, right? It’s what’s done, right? It’s an unwritten rule." The apologies and explanations carried on through the darkness and except for the occasional rumble from an empty stomach was met with stony silence. The excuses only ended when a voice through the darkness said "Bugger Bodger, get to sleep!". It spoke for all.


A few days later all weekend passes were cancelled, a sure indication that we were due to embark for overseas. Ted met Jim Caine heading down the road to Lambourne and Jim told him he was going to sneak a quick trip back to Bolton to wish his girl goodbye and charmed Ted into lending him five pounds, no small sum at that time on a soldier’s pay. He was to repay it on his return with funds from his family.

Caine never made it back on time and as we shipped off to India without him Ted sadly realized that Jim had met Bodger again. We adopted Bodger as our symbol of neglect. If a person was late he blamed it on Bodger. If equipment did not turn up, it was presumed that the carrier had met Bodger and was delayed. In all life’s little set backs Bodger was there, lurking in the background, causing his mischief.

On our return to England we heard Jim had been sent to North Africa, from where he never returned. He had met Bodger for the final time. It seems Bodger’s other name was Kismet.

The unofficial reports said we were to become an independent Brigade destined to seize Madagascar from the Vichy French forces who then held it, to prevent it from being handed over to the Axis powers. However it was reported that the French force offered only a token resistance and handed over control to the first British Battalion to land.

We were reviewed by King George and Churchill, then on the 5th of April, we left England for wherever, rumor had it we were to go to Madagascar, however after stops at Freetown, Capetown and Durban we finally arrived at Bombay.

We then entrained to Poona and for the next two years we trained on armored Cars trucks, small and big, motor cycles and radios so big that we had to have special trucks to carry them and charging engines to charge the enormous batteries that they required. We also trained on amphibious landing craft named Alligators, off the Bombay coast. This led us to believe that we might be destined for second front landings in Europe, but only the Alligators went, and the 2nd Division stayed behind in India.

In April 1944 the British Second Division, of which we were a part, was rushed into Assam and placed under the command of the 14th Army to help stem the Japanese invasion of India.

So here we were, trained to a razors edge in all the modern technologies of war and ready to go into battle with our vehicles and equipment, trained to face any enemy, in any conditions. With total reliance on our vehicles and now sent on our way across India by Train, Aircraft and Trucks to stop the enemy who had started to invade Assam.

 

We traveled from Vizapur in India.

Our orders to move were received on the 19th of March and we were in position on the 17th of April. In that time the Division had traveled 2200 miles, some by train, some by air, and all the transport by road and rail to a place called Dimapur, which was the railhead from India into Assam, where the Japanese had invaded in the process of taking over the whole of Assam.

I myself traveled the whole way by Fordson 1500 weight lorry, accompanied by George Lightfoot and China Lonsdale. As our travelling companions we had a 6 foot snake (the pet of George which he carried around his waist when it wasn’t in its box), a hen called Henrietta, which laid eggs which we shared, and a Mongoose which George has obtained solely for the reason that if we should come across a snake charmer he would wait until the snake charmer was in the middle of his act and then throw the Mongoose in to the middle. This did occur ultimately, but the dastardly plan failed when the Mongoose took one look at the Cobra and took off "likity-split" never to be seen again. The snake came to a bad end when I tried to feed it some milk - it had become lethargic and I thought it was suffering from lack of liquid. I think I drowned it and George was not at all pleased.


Upon reaching Dimapur, all the vehicles were parked and we prepared to go up to the battle zone to help in the relief of Kohima.

The Japanese advance had been held up by the Garrison in Kohima, which at the time had been or was the headquarters of the district commissioner, but I am sure at the first sign of trouble he and his retinue would have been established in more secure quarters.

We, the 2nd British Division, were now the new chaps in town so to speak and we were deployed immediately, and our first task was to stop the advance, and forestall the Japanese objective of the taking of the railhead at Dimapur, and relieve the besieged troops at Kohima.

Here, in April 1944, the Japanese advance into India was halted, and Garrison Hill, a long wooded spur on a high ridge west of the village, was the scene of perhaps the most bitter fighting of the whole Burma campaign. A small force held out against repeated attacks by a Japanese Division. The fiercest hand to hand fighting took place in the garden of the Deputy Commissioner's bungalow, around the tennis court; but the heaviest casualties on both sides occurred after relieving forces reached the Garrison, in driving the enemy off the ridge and so re-opening the road to Imphal.

It is on the battle ground of Garrison Hill that Kohima War Cemetery lies. No trace remains of the bungalow, which was destroyed in the fighting, but white concrete lines mark and preserve permanently the historic tennis court. On its edge appropriately stands the Cross of Sacrifice, surmounting a circular shelter with seats for visitors. Near it flowers a fine cherry tree, grown from a shoot of an old tree, said to have been used by Japanese snipers during the battle. The cemetery has been built in terraces on the hillside, which are divided and supported by high walls faced with local stone; and the graves are mainly in unit groups in the turfed plots. Each grave is marked by a bronze plaque memorial. At the highest point in the cemetery is a memorial to Hindu and Sikh soldiers whose remains have been cremated.

At the lower end, near the entrance, is a memorial to the 2nd British Division. This consists of a large "Naga stone", such as the Naga's themselves use for commemorating their dead, in front of a semi-circle of Dholpur stone panels bearing the names of the units and the formations of the Division. The stone was moved into position by scores of Naga tribesmen after mechanical means had failed.

It bears the inscription, "When you go home. Tell them of us and say, “For their tomorrow - We gave our today."

A memorial to the 2nd Battalion, The Dorsetshire Regiment, which was erected by their comrades, has also been incorporated in the cemetery. A number of other regimental memorials, commemorateding men who fell in the battle, have been erected on and near Garrison Hill. One on the hill is near the cemetery; one is in the village; yet another is on Old Jail Hill, where a battle was fought; and the rest are at various points on the road from Kohima to Imphal. There are 1,420 Commonwealth burials of the 1939-1945 war here, 146 of which are unidentified. There is also one World War 1 burial here.


The only road to Kohima and Imphal wound its way through the mountains in a very circuitous route, and could only be used for priority transport, essential supplies, Artillery and Tanks. George and I were sent up the road with all the signal equipment, and instructed to look after it and get it ready.

We were dropped off at "B" Echelon, which was the supply depot for the Regt. There, we dug out a hole in the hillside and using the dirt we had dug out, we filled sandbags, built walls, and found enough stuff to put a roof on and put our equipment inside. Then we made two armchairs out of sandbags and carved out some shelves for the equipment.

All the rest of the Signal Troop had been sent further up to a place called Shrewsbury Hill, overlooking the main battlefield, to get them used to the noise of battle and get oriented. So George and I thought we had it made and we did. We had a cookhouse, the orderly room was just across the way, and we had supplied the quartermaster with a radio so he could have some music and get the news, so we were well in with him and he was the big shot, so all was well, but I should have known it was too good to last.

It was the time of the monsoon, but it was not fully upon us as yet, so we had some good day’s, and there was a little Brook close by so we could wash and keep our uniforms clean, all in all it was as good as it could be. We were the communication link with the Regt HQ for "B" Echelon, so we heard that the Regt. was soon to go on its first engagement.


We started to get all the equipment ready, but when it was time for the equipment to go up the line we were to go up with it. The next day we got transport to take all the stuff and ourselves up to Shrewsbury. It was a far cry from our cosy abode down below, now it was raining and we had to dig a foxhole and and be as miserable as the other 1000 men up there. There is a certain amount of danger in being with 1000 men on a hillside covered with trees, raining, cold and every man carrying a fully loaded weapon.

The ground was wet, so were we, and the rations were Bisuits and Corned Beef, a small tin of Cheese and Jam, some tea sugar and powdered milk, but no way for us to boil water - so we drank from our water bottle which we managed somehow to fill each day. In the few days that we were up there, we had some casualties, dropped weapons with no safety catch on, dropped grenades etc and some on Patrol caught with booby traps. Some killed and some badly wounded.


So now I can get to the day or day’s when we made our way up Aradura Spur on Pulibadze Ridge, a day I can remember as if it was yesterday.

We now had to assume our role on foot. All those years of training and now we could only go into action with what we could carry on our backs! War was like that! All the best laid plans of mice and men etc. We did get our vehicles back when we got into Burma and left the mountains behind, but that is another story.

 

In writing about my travels, I can tell you about the places we were in and what happened, but the conditions we encountered were something else.

The weather, sometimes too hot and humid and in as much as we had only what we could carry, we could not change clothes, and so had to wear what we had for weeks at a time until we had the opportunity to get to a area where we could rest up and facilities were available.

New equipment, clean clothes, new boots, a decent meal perhaps a chance to write letters home and to collect letters from home,a chance to really take it easy with no worries about today or tomorrow, just relax.

Trading stories with comrades who we hadn't seen for some time, who had been in different area’s or doing different tasks. It was also here that we would learn who, amongst our comrades, were no longer with us and the tragic details of their death. Inured as we were to such news sometimes a name would bring greater grief, for it would be that of an old friend or school mate.

Monsoon rains added to the misery, one place we were in had according to the records had over 800 inches of rain in a 3 month period, that was the period we fought in, just after Kohima from April to late June.

We had no shelter, our protection from the rain was our steel helmet and a gas cape. Sometimes if time permitted we could build a basha with bamboo and large leaves, but the ground was still awash with rain. In one tragic occurrence, in an effort to make a dry sleeping space, some comrades had dug out a shelf like recess in the wall of their slit trench wherein one person could seek shelter as he slept. It worked for a short while, but the rain soddened ground collapsed in the middle of the night smothering the unfortunate occupant. This trench was shared by Ronnie Young, a neighbour of mine in Civvy street.

Sleep was just a lapse into unconsciousness from sheer fatigue, put on your steel helmet and wrap your gas cape around and lie on the floor. Making ones bed was a matter of finding a level spot and clearing the stones away or to squat down in your trench and close your eye’s and seek oblivion, and respite from the hopelessness of the situation.

Washroom facilities were non existent when we were on the move, so it was just a case of a scratchy squat in the undergrowth at trailside, and make do with grass and leaves. Occasionally one came cross a mountain river and in crossing it, got cleaned up a bit.

Once we were in a stable position for a little while then latrines were dug and some degree of privacy was available, and with luck, toilet paper; paper anyway!

Everything was damp most of the time, with the added miseries of leeches, dysentery, malaria typhus, and jungle sores. We were not what you would call happy campers by any stretch of imagination. It was a good job that I was young and healthy, and kept my sense of humour, although sometimes it was very difficult to keep it. I don’t remember being unable to do whatever I was supposed to do, but a lot of our casualties were from sickness.

Later on when the monsoon had passed and we had better weather, then things became much more bearable and everything was better. One was able to look after one’s personal things and equipment much easier, just the fact that it was dry made such a difference.

When we came down from the mountains we had other difficulties to overcome: too hot, too humid, lack of good water, all our water had to be treated with chemicals. On one occasion, the powers to be decided that the heat and constant perspiring was depriving our systems of salt, and not having salt tablets to issue, added salt to the water truck supply; Tea made with salt water is definitely not a gourmet's delight. I am sure there were many other considerations but this should be enough to make one aware of the difficulties that soldiers endure in the performance of their duties in the battle zone!

 

20th May 1944.

We left early in the morning at first light and we were loaded with all the kit necessary for our task at hand. I will tell you what I carried: My personal gear, a small pack which contained a mess tin and a tin cup, water bottle, one days rations in a cardboard box about 4x4x8 inches, a small towel, a razor, some letter cards to write home, and other bits and pieces that I could use such as a piece of soap and cigarettes, paper etc. A Thompson machine gun, 200 rounds of .45 ammunition, 50 rounds of 303 ammo.for the Bren guns, a Radio which weighed 37 pounds, 2 bags of accessories, message pads, headsets, morse key, connectors, aerial, and 3 mortar bombs for the 3 inch mortars. I was also allowed for my personal use a blanket, a gas cape and a ground sheet. George was carrying aerial rods, batteries to complete the communication gear.

We gathered together to make sure that everyone who had a role was there. I was with Lt.Messenger and George Lightfoot. Messenger was the Signal officer, and we formed the communication unit for the C.O., Colonel Bradford and would be at the HQ when we got to where we were going.

At this time we had some Nagas with us to help carry some of the supplies. Naga’s were the natives who lived in Assam, both men and women, however some time later when it became apparent we were going to be in some danger they decided to go back,and no coaxing would change their mind.

The day was dry and off we went, each mans responsibility to ensure that his contribution was carried out as directed. The terrain was not too bad down hill for a start and then up and over and it was just a case of getting used to the load that one had to carry.

We eventually made our way to the first stop and took stock of our position which was flat area near a mountain river. "B" Squadron had gone ahead and were to establish a staging point half way up and they were to be in reserve. "A" squadron and "C" squadron took different routes and would get to the top at the same time as we, but in different positions.

The object of our mission was to secure the ridge on top of Aradura, being the front end of Pulebadze Ridge. The road wound its way around the corner of this mountain and if we could secure the Ridge and hold it, then as our Division advanced up the road and drove the Japanese back the Japanese would not be able to climb up the other side of the mountain and come in behind the division. They would have no other choice but to retreat down the road.

Once the Division had advanced far enough we would then be able to leave our position, and be available for our next role. Now we had to make our way up to the top and the rains came and the ground became more difficult for travel.

In the meantime Patrols were sent out to make sure that we were not surprised by the enemy, we had to do this all the time. At our first stop,a friend of mine called Alf Edwards came over to me and asked if I could give him some cigarettes and, as I had only Tobacco in a pouch and papers which I had decided would be more useful and easier to keep dry than cigaretes and Alf was going on a patrol and did not have any cigarettes, so I gave him some of mine and away he went.

He was killed the same day, shot by a machine gun, they had been pinned down and he decided to have look and a machine gunner got him. He was from Bolton.

The second day we started up in ernest and it became more difficult, wet, muddy and with all that gear it took its toll, we had to use ropes in certain places. Some time later we came across "B" Squadron and I set up the radio. There was lots of traffic and so I was busy and there was a cooked meal ready for us. In so much as I was so busy on the set all the time I did not get the opportunity to sit down and eat so the Signal Officer brought my meal over to me and I gulped it down, while working. After I closed down and packed the gear, the effect of the fresh food after the biscuits and corned beef was too much for my stomach and I was sick ,sick, sick.

So now we started on the next part of the journey, and the signal officer told me to let someone else carry the set and reluctantly I handed it over to Kellett and Bowie. A little way farther on I came across Kellett and Bowie and they were dragging the set as they said it was too heavy to carry and at one stage suggested that we should let it fall over
the side of the track and say it was an accident! So I took it over myself and carried it the rest of the way.

When it was getting dark we stopped for the night. I had lost Lightfoot and so I bedded down on a fairly flat piece of ground, but in the night I found along with others that were we had chosen was a water course and so we got flooded out, but as it was dark and no lights allowed and we couldn’t see anything, we spent the rest of the miserable night where we were.

In the morning we started out for the top and cold and wet and around noon we made it and the C.O. selected a site for his HQ which was on the upper side of a big tree, the whole site was on a slope.

I dug in and set up the radio and still no sign of Lightfoot, he eventually turned up a couple of hours later - he had found a hole in the base of a tree during the night and gone to sleep and never heard the noise of us leaving and when he woke up he found himself alone and so made his way up by himself, in time to help me dig another trench for ourselves, on the lower side of the tree.

On inspection the CO thought the trench on the lower side of the tree was better, so I moved the radio to the lower side, but as it was getting dark, George and I did not get time to dig another one.

Then at dusk the Japanese attacked,they had been knocked off some time earlier but had regrouped and decided that they should be where we should be, and it was bedlam.

They had broken through between A company and HQ. There was a lot of heroics that night but we staved them off, and upon looking in the light of day, we found a dead Jap in the trench we had dug on the upper side of the tree and also a dead Sgt. of ours, who had jumped or fallen in, in the dark with a bullet right between the eye’s.

Lightfoot took over from me at first light and it was then that the CO, decided that we should have barbed wire strung around the perimeter of our position, as it was far from stable at that time and we were getting reports from other positions as to their strength and how they were doing.

Joe Sissons and I got a roll of wire and put a bayonet through the hole in the middle and one holding the handle of the bayonet and one holding the point of the bayonet we crawled around the perimeter,I never felt so vulnerable in my life. There was sporadic gunfire and some came over our heads cutting the leaves off the trees over our head and the leaves came fluttering down.

Then we were changing the fuses in the grenades, some now were 3 seconds and up to 7 seconds: one could tell which were which by the color of the fuse, these were then issued 3 to every man.

 

After the first day the position was under control and it was mostly patrol work and the Japs were not able to mount another attack on us as we were on top and dug in and we had the Manchester Regt. machine gunners in position doing long range shooting to keep the Japs down.

There were quite a few killed and wounded on that first night and the killed were buried where they fell and the wounded were brought to were I was and we dug out a flat spot alongside about 30 feet by 30 feet and rigged some Tarps over it and layed the wounded under cover. It was the worst of conditions and it was cold and wet and the Doctor had his hands full. I don’t know what he did or what he had to give them, I know he did some blood transfusions, taking blood from some of the lads and giving it direct but a lot of them died.

After a couple of days the CO decided that he could spare some men and allowed any of the wounded who thought they could walk out,to go back to base and they could then be attended to and sent out to the aid stations. I remember a signaller by the name of Nicolson, who had been wounded in the buttocks, saying to me it will probably kill me to walk out, but I am going to do it anyway because if I stay here I will probably die anyway. He made it!!

I went in the hospital as we called it to talk to some of the lads, when I was not on the set, but it was very sad to see them and not to be able to do anything to help. When we eventually left we carried out two stretchers only, I don’t know what happened to the others I can only surmise that they all died.

There were many episodes in those days that we spent up there, some humorous, some tragic, most miserable. I don’t remember having a hot cup of tea up there, my saving grace was my tobacco and cigarettes. There were so many episodes that happened in those few day’s that would bear telling, but I don’t think I could do them justice.

I decided that I would like a trench with a shelter over it and so Derek Knowles and myself dug another trench in front a tree just across from where we had the radio set up and we made a framework of branches and covered it with large leaves and then stood back and admired it and so did some of the others. However before we had a chance to use it something happened and the tree fell down and crashed right on top of our trench ,if we had been in it we would have suffered grave consequences.

At the same time Derek volunteered for him and I to go on a patrol that required signallers and about which I knew nothng, but before the patrol took place, Derek came down with some illness and was sent back and I went with the patrol without Derek. It was 40 years later that I saw Derek on a trip to Engand and he told me that he never got back to the Regiment and wondered how I made out on the patrol, that he had volunteered for, it was not until that time that I realised how I was picked for that patrol.

The day’s went by and the position had stabilized, and it was just a case of hanging on till the Division had reached its goal, patrols were ongoing, "A" Company and "C" company doing most of it. "B" company were in reserve and parties of them came up when they could bringing supplies. On one occasion when they came up a friend of mine, Ron Hunt, exchanged his water bottle with me and I was really grateful for that. It was little things like that that made one thankful.

At the time I was so involved in what I was doing that what else was going on was of no concern, so lots went on that escaped my notice so I can only recall, basically what happened to me.

 

My friend Ellis, who went up Aradura at the same time as I but with a different group, now gives his account.



I started out behind RSM Dobbin when we went up Aradura. We had stockpiled a lot of unwanted kit, but I had found a pair of binoculars and stuffed them into my pack, determined to hang onto them regardless of the extra weight. We passed by the Naga village and started climbing. Every once in a while we had to stop and crunch to one side of the narrow track to let the Naga carriers through.

We made so called funny remarks as they passed. They would grin and nod not knowing that the remarks were somewhat disparaging. I remember Herbert Harcourt Heaton (aka "HHH" ) looking at a more imposing Naga Hillman in the center of the column, without a load, just a pair of binoculars round his neck, khaki shorts and bare feet, and remarking “Hey up, here comes Lord Louis!". The Hillman paused, looked at Bert and said in perfect english "No, I am the District Commissioner’s assistant." and carried on climbing. We were a lot more respectful to the men and women carriers after that.

As we got higher the track got steeper and the air thinner and it was too much for some of the older, less fit men, and one or two had to stop by the wayside in bad shape, where they were subject to taunts from their passing comrades. This harassment ceased when Sam, an older man, collapsed, blue in the face, quite obviously having a heart attack.

RSM Dobbin, a fearless ex Scotch Guard, a big burly man, determined to set his men an example, forged ahead, loathe to show any sign of fatigue. But big and burly and somewhat overweight does not make a good Sherpa, as RSM Dobbin found out by the time we were half way to our first bivouac area. Hating to show any sign of weakness he forced himself on till he started to turn blue in the face and stagger. He sat down suddenly and behind him we all stopped, thankful for the respite. Major Hook, I think it was, came back to see what the hold up was, looked at Dobbin and said he was to return back down to the road. The RSM tried to protest but was in too bad a shape. I think that was the last time I saw Dobbin.

Sgt.Johnny Partington took over later on. We left Dobbin at the side of the track to make his way back down with the rest of the halt and lame and continued climbing. We were by then passing through an area where the damp fallen leaves made a ground cover that harboured leeches. These, blood sucking little black caterpillers, would attach themselves inobstrusively to any passing source of blood be it mules or humans. They could find a way through to your ankles and feed. In a very short time they would swell from matchstick size to large slug size.

On the mules they would drop off when sated, but on us, hampered by our gaitors and boots, they would get trapped and squashed by the continual movement as we climbed. I first became aware of them when we halted and I noticed blood on the boot tops of the man in front, thinking he had scraped his ankles somehow in clambering up the trail. It was only when I looked at my feet and saw the same sight that we realized the cause. They were not painful. The danger could be that if a person attempted to pull them off, they would leave their mouthpiece behind, imbedded in your flesh, where it could become septic if not treated. The remedy was to sprinkle them with salt or touch their rear ends with a lit cigarette, which would make them back off in a hurry. Pulling up my pant leg, looking at the black anklet of wigglers, realizing I had neither, cigarettes or salt, I resorted to the only source of saline solution available; I peed on them. It was an immediate success, to the point where I contemplated selling my services to my comrades, but they preferred self service.

As friend Kellett remarked "If you can't beat em, join em, if you can't join em, - - - on em".


One reason we found the climb around Pulebadze up to the top Aradura spur so arduous, was that, originally, we were a light armoured unit, and most of our training had been on Armoured Cars and Bren Carriers, consequently we had not done much foot slogging up to arriving at Dimapur, and were somewhat out of shape.

Later that day, before it got too dark to travel, we bedded down. To prevent becoming a midnight snack for the many leeches that came looping towards us in the wet leaves, it was necessary to scrape a clear patch of fresh earth to lay the ground sheet on, for I had found that the leeches would not travel over bare dirt for more than a couple of inches.



We continued our wet weary way at daylight.

I still remember the Naga packers. There were about a dozen or so, men, women, young and old, barefoot, with the tump lines round their foreheads supporting the back load. They seemed to make it look so easy. We could hear them approaching, as they would each utter a little grunt at every step they took. We would move to one side to allow them to file through and they would wind quickly up the hillside rather like a musical snake. It would seem like no time at all before they were returning down having deposited their loads, which led us to think that we were close to the next bivouac area, little realizing that, with all our equipment, and slow laborious gait, we were still a few hours away.

When we reached the next bivouac area, occupied by Sgt Grimshaw’s platoon, I was ready to call it a day and get down and join them, but he ordered me to accompany some Naga carriers who were going further up the mountain, to a forward section headed by his platoon commander, Lieutenant Gillette and a fellow Boltonian, Cpl, Len Greenhaulgh.

The Nagas, knowing we were getting close to enemy territory refused to go up without armed escort. I don't suppose I was chosen because I looked very protective, but I was still standing, fully equipped, and ready, if not willing to go.

We started off in good order with the Nagas setting the pace, as they were anxious to get back to their village before dark. I found it difficult to climb carrying my rifle at the high port, ready for the instant protection of my charges. With my boots slipping on the reed like grass in a two forward one back sort of gait, I was soon forced to carry my rifle at the trail position in order to free one hand to grasp at branches to pull myself up and along. Not quite as protective, but still ready. As I dropped further back along the column and found the need for both hands, I gave up on the instant protection plan and slung the rifle across my back, concentrating on not being left behind. The stocky Naga matron ahead of me, perhaps anxious that I should keep up with them, would turn around and chirruping happily at me, grasp my arm and with a younger girl pushing from behind, help me over the steeper bits.

One of the men gave me a drink of Zu, a local rice wine, from the small gourd that the Nagas all carried. It tasted like rough cider with a strong yeasty smell. Not even that powerful potion was able to restore my failing energy. It was difficult to look protective under the circumstances but I was too tired to feel embarrassed. Fortunately for me they knew the way, for I could go no further and sat down totally done in. They disappeared up through the bushes knowing they were almost at their destination.

In a few minutes I could hear them coming back down through the undergrowth calling, "Elly! Elly!", grinning and pointing at me, and then up at the mountain. I struggled on and in a few minutes met Cpl. Greenhaulgh calling my name as he came to see where protective escort had got to.

General Slim had a lot of admiration for the Naga Hill people. Me too.

Later I went with Lt.Gillette and Cpl. Greenhaulgh's section on patrol further up the mountain. The terrain became steeper and rockier to the point were in some places we had to almost claw our way up on hands and knees, We were hoping to find a flat enough area to bed down on before it got too dark, when Len, in the lead, came across a single strand of barbed wire strung through the under growth. From it at intervals hung tin cans, in which were placed a few pebbles, an early warning system, indicating that there would be enemy positions nearby.

Lt. Gillette motioned us to get down, which posture was only a few inches lower than the one we were using to climb the mountain. Len sidled back for a whispered conference. The undergrowth plus the steepness of the terrain precluded any effective use of rifle fire, so the Lt. suggested we fix our bayonets and proceed. Len looked at the almost vertical rock wall facing us and whispered back with as much force as a whisper could carry, "A bloody bayonet charge my ass". I might point out that in civvy street Lt. Gillette had been a Naturalist not a strategist. The Lt. motioned us on.

It was at that point that I had my first encounter with jungle livestock other than leeches and insects, for as I went to slide under the wire, I felt something squirm away under my hand and even in the fading daylight recognized a large snake. I couldn't exclaim, I hesitated, the Lt. prodded me impatiently from behind as I gestured toward the ground, but his eyes were fixed like everyone elses, on the potential danger above us, thus I had no witness to my close encounter with what I have convinced myself, over the years, to be one of the deadliest snakes in Asia, maybe two.

As we crept to the top of the outcrop we were relieved to find the enemy positions abandoned and were able to squat down for the night, taking turns trying to sleep. We rejoined C Squadron the next day, following Major Hook up toward Pulebadze peak heading for our objective, the top of Aradura Spur.

The going was very difficult, extremely so in some places.

While traversing one steep outcropping of rock, Trooper Passmore froze, holding the column up. We tried to urge him on by making disparaging remarks, but his fear of heights was much greater than his fear of ridicule. Major Hook made another of his frequent back tracks to find the cause of the hold up, glared at us, then hanging on to Passmore, encouraged him step by step across the traverse. Which on looking back reflects well on Kenneth Hook; one of the qualities that enabled him to achieve the rank of Colonel. We continued our scramble up the mountainside until we made contact with the enemy, who having been there for some time, were well dug in. We assumed defensive positions, dug our slit trenches, and wet and weary, finally came to rest at some 7000 feet.

The next day I went on a three-man patrol with Cpl.Moyer and Tpr.Rex Lyons. We were to reconnoitre a track and a basha seen at some distance below the south side of the ridge we were occupying. We had scrambled our way down through the bushes and trees for some distance when a foul stench led us to three dead Japanese soldiers, lying half-buried in hastily dug graves. They had obviously been there for some time. We saw no further signs of enemy presence and carried on down the mountainside eventually coming to the basha, which we approached with caution and found it empty.

It was well made and had been Naga residence, for I discovered a small bow stored up in the rafters. It intrigued me for it was made entirely of natural materials, about twentyfive inches long, short enough for me to keep as a souvenir so I stuffed it under my backpack. Lt.Gillette told me later, that they were used, rather like a catapult, to shoot stones at birds.

The track leading up to the hut was quite broad and wound further down the hillside. We went down it for a little distance but due to its many bends could not make out its eventual direction or whether it would lead to the road or the enemy.

It was getting late as we started back up, and I think we had overlooked the fact that the return journey would take much longer than it did coming down. It started to get darker and darker then very dark. Darkness in the jungle is accompanied with a sense of eeriness which in turn brings it's partner; fear. Rex worried that we would not find our lines then worked his way from worry, to fear, to panic. The Cpl. and I tried to reassure him, but panic can be contagious and as the smell of death told us we were nearing the Graveyard we had passed earlier, I began to panic too, fearing we might stumble into the dead bodies and spend the night with them. Fortunately, Cpl.Moyer, coming from old country farming stock, and having a better sense of direction than we did, calmed us down. The moon started to rise, which filtered a little light through the trees, enabling us to make our way to C Squadron, who were once again standing to after hearing our noisy approach up the hill.

Major Hook gave Rex Lyons and me a whispered bawling out for talking on patrol, saying "At least we didn't take you for Japanese and fire on you, I could hear you bloody well talking a mile away!"

I didn't care, I was only too happy to get back.

 

Our objective of going over the Aradura ridge to cut the Imphal road south of Kohima, came to a halt.

We were subjected to enemy attacks resulting in some deaths and injuries amongst us. In return we sent out patrols seeking the enemy positions and to find out his strength.

A patrol was usually one section, which was six to eight men consisting of a Corporal or Sergeant with a Sten automatic, riflemen and a bren gunner.

I was attached to 'C' squadron and went on patrol with Sgt Jim Mace, the order of march being, me with my 1917 rifle, Sgt.Mace with Sten gun, one riflman, the Bren gunner, two riflemen. The Bren gun was usually in the middle. We were all in single file at about twelve feet apart. Jim's instruction to me was simply,"If we hit anything, drop; and I will fire over your head."

About fifteen minutes down a narrow game trail there was a sudden flurry in the undergrowth a few yards ahead of me, I dropped to the ground as a figure sprang up and ran rapidly away. Almost immediately, Sgt Mace fired a short burst above me. I saw the figure dive sideways into the undergrowth, whether by choice or driven by the Sgt’s bullets we were not to find out, as a sudden volley from an unseen enemy machine gun caused us to crawl rapidly back and take up positions alongside our bren gunner. I don’t think the enemy could see us anymore than we could see them, for their return fire was above our heads causing twigs and leaves to rain down on us. Had it not been for the panicked lookout we would have walked into that hail. Sgt. Mace ordered two short bursts from the Bren in the general direction of the enemy to keep their heads down and to let them know we also had heavier arms.

Having completed our task, which was to find out the enemy location, we withdrew back to C Squadron, who, having heard the gunfire, was now in Stand To position. Sgt Mace reported that we had contacted the enemy. Major Hook replied "So I heard". He was a man of few words.

Enemy patrol attacks had increased and one patrol had intercepted our Naga supply trail and made it too dangerous for us to continue using it, so the ration situation was becoming critical.

Although the regiment now posed a great threat to this most important enemy flank, as hard as it had been for us to climb to that position, it proved to be almost impossible to supply us. Air drops were not practicable, due to the monsoon weather and our inaccessable position on the mountain, so we received orders to withdraw.

I had been out on a patrol earlier with Lt.Lucas, Sgt Crawford and three other troopers, a short way along the track we had originally come up., I assumed we were along to supply protection, while the officer and Sgt were looking for a route down off the mountain, to the road. Consequently I was more concerned with what might be lurking in the bushes than in memorizing the route chosen.

I was in the lead section as we headed out next morning. A short way along the track, the column halted, and to my suprise and dismay Major Hook approached me and said "Righto Mossley, show us the designated route". It seems the other members of the original patrol were holding the rear guard action and Lt.Lucas had nominated me as a guide and authority regarding the escape track. I moved to the front and trudged a few more yards along the track till I spotted a break in the undergrowth and a little gully leading down. It looked vaguely familiar, so I pointed it out. Major Hook approved it and said "Carry on”.

So with the 2nd Recce Regiment following trustingly behind we plunged into the bush. The gully was headed down and the Imphal road was at the foot of the mountain so it seemed reasonable that we would get there, eventually. We commenced hacking at the undergrowth to force a way through, while the men behind chopped a wider path to enable the Stretcher Bearers to get by.

We came to a mountain stream; stream seems such a gentle term to describe a torrent of water some fifteen feet across, capable of sweeping anyone away. It had commenced to pour rain again. We continued to hack our way along the side of the torrent until we came to a place where it broadened out and had some large boulders that helped break up the cataract. We sought the easiest path across. After a couple of tries, with us hanging on to him to prevent him being swept away, Major Hook found one and made it across. We cleared a path down the bank and up the opposite bank and carried on hacking our way along the riverside.

It was during this holdup that Jeep Lloyd lost his most treasured possession. He was the only person who had hung onto his greatcoat when the rest of the regiment had dumped their’s at the start of the operation. He had struggled up the mountain with it and was the envy of all, as he gloated how warm and cosy he was during the wet cold nights we spent up there. The continuing downpour had completely soaked it through. It had now become a sodden, unbearable, weight.

Jeep, not having the time nor the energy to take off his pack and equipment to divest himself of this torment, handed me his army knife and asked me to shear off the bottom half of his beloved coat at the waist. He left it behind in the jungle. It had a tin of bully beef in the pocket too, even that was discarded as an unwanted burden.


We continued hacking our way down the mountain, crossing and recrossing the river. We had started at first light and were exhausted by the time we reached the supply point almost twenty hours later. Awaiting us was fire, hotdrink, hot stew. Nectar of the Gods! Pure Ambrosia! Nothing would ever taste as good again.

I tried to remove my sodden boots, which had been in place for the last three weeks. A painful operation, revealing a foot that looked like a pasty coloured dried prune.

I decided to leave some pain for next morning, so I wrapped my Gas cape around me and fell asleep with one boot on and one boot off.

 

June 4th 1944.

The day was not too bad, as I remember, there was a break in the downpour. I had some messages to send off, then packed my gear, Radio etc.my own stuff, Tommy gun, I had at least 3 packages of cigarettes.

We had spent the previous night in a slit trench and it rained most of the night, I shared mine with Jack Kellett,and as we were on a slope the rain continuously ran into our trench and the one who had to be awake had to bail all the time using a small cheese tin. I helped with dismantling the so called hospital and two men were on stretchers and would have to be carried down, as I was fully loaded I was not used on that task.

The way down had been recce-d the day before by Ellis and others and so they led on the way down, which entailed a lot of Machete work, clearing to make way for the stretchers. The whole trip took 19 hrs. We started at daylight and it was quite dark by the time the stretchers were put on the ground. I don’t remember much of it, except I smoked all my cigarettes, just kept going and slogged my way over and under, up and down, rested when I could.

The stretchers were carried by 4 men and they could only manage about 15 mins.of that and then they would hand it over to the next 4 in line and then they would rest by the trail and tag on at the end of the line, in that way they were carried down and it took a mighty effort to do it. We had to cross a couple of mountain rivers and they were cold,I find it difficult to actually describe the conditions on that day.We had been going for more than two weeks, with no place to sleep, no change of clothes,Hardtack food,rain,mist and cold,and we were badly in need of rest and a decent place to reorganise,instead we had 19 hours of tough slogging to do.

We arrived near the bottom late in the day and had a final crossing of a mountain river and the most amazing sight awaited us. As we came out of the river and climbed the bank some of the men from the base camp were waiting and they had mess tins which they handed to us as we reached them and in them they had poured Rum, 140 proof, standard army issue. On the side of the river going in the troops were worn out and tired and cold and hungry, a few yards down the track after drinking the Rum, they were singing “It’s a long, long way to Tipperary". To say they were inebriated would be a understatement! However by the time we reached the base it had worn off and we were tired again.

It was dark and all we could do was find a place to lie down and try to sleep, but the most disturbing thing of all was the fact that one of the stretcher cases a Cpl.Tait, died within a few minutes of being put down. The effort in bringing him down was enormous and to no avail.

I awoke the next morning to bright sunshine and another day began.

 

On awakening the morning after coming down from Aradura, I was informed by Lt.Messenger, our signal officer that Lightfoot and I could now return to "B" Eschelon, and get the equipment ready for what ever was needed in the near future, and that would be our job for the next little while which suited us just fine. We made our way back on our own and eventually arrived back at our cosy abode. It was just as we had left it and so we got to and maintained the equipment that we had brought back, and charged batteries and got everything ready for use, and looked forward to an easy time until we had to move up the road and follow the advance.

However our peaceful sojourn was soon interrupted by a frantic call to get loaded with all the equipment and to meet the signal Officer at a certain milestone which we did. We found that our task was to install a telephone line for the C.O.and to keep up with him in his armoured car as apparently the division was moving pretty fast.

We plugged in to Div.H.Q. and unreeled cable from the back of our Jeep, the side of the road was a mass of wires and all we did was to place our wires on top of what was there. It was supposed to be a security issue, and no radios were to be used. When we ran out of cable we tapped in to the cables on the side of the road and if we found a pair that was not in use we cut them and wired in our own and just kept track of the color and trailed it.

Several times that day we almost caught up to the C.O's car but the advance was going faster than we were. Later, when we did finally catch up with him we hooked him up and he talked for about 5mins. the signal officer told us to disconnect and go back on radio as the alert was over. I don’t know what happened to all that cable but there must have been miles of it!

After that, it was back on footand a few patrols. On one patrol we went up a valley and I don’t think anyone had been up it for ever because, every step we took we disturbed snakes about 3 feet long and fast. We puttee-ed up very soon after leaving and felt better after, and I don’t think anyone got a bite they just got out of our way.

Later that day our front men spotted some Japs but they disappeared and after we reached the top we just turned around and came back. The battle of Kohima really did a lot of harm and they lost a lot of men and they did not get a chance to make a stand of any consequence, so it was just a case of clearing out pockets and bunkers and trying to take and hold the road.

The road was marked in milestones and that is how we were able to communicate. We started at the 42nd milestone and by the time we got to the 57th milestone we pulled over and rested. From there I and Lightfoot and Cpl Potter went with a large party off the road and up to a place called Ukrul. From there, we were to keep in touch with a large Patrol that was going to the Chindwin River, behind the enemy lines and it was about 25 miles, across unknown country and that was the whole idea behind the patrol.

It took us quite a while to get up there, and by several routes. At our first stop we stayed in a Naga Village that had been abandoned and we bedded down in a large communal hut and it was full of native artifacts. Drums, bows for fetching down birds, small sets of antlers.These were soon taken by some of the lads, but not for long as it only made one’s load a little heavier.

That night Naga’s came up and brought rations that we had never seen before, 8 man rations in a 4 gallon tin, and much better than we had been having, these contained cigaretes, powdered potatoes, hard candies, some had chocolate, cheese, jam, a better quality biscuit and individual cans of stew, etc and of course tea and sugar, so it was a party night.

George Lightfoot managed to convince us to pool our chocolate, which, with the addition of the hard tack biscuits, he said he could transform into a delicious chocolate pudding. A feat of culinary magic passed down to him by his gypsy grandmother, so he said. The result was an ugly mess that tasted even worse than it looked. It remained uneaten. He made amends the next morning by producing fried meatloaf slices for breakfast. They looked suspiciously familiar but tasted reasonably well.

One individual who was not liked by some of us, had been a little more unbearable than usual, so in the night Lightfoot cleaned out the tin of Jam and very carefully crept over to where this chap was sleeping and smeared some jam on his face and collar, so when morning came Lightfoot was the first one to locate the empty jam jar and upon looking around spotted the jam on the chap’s face and with a great todo accused him of stealing our jam! No amount of appealing by this chap could convince anyone that he was not guilty and so he was put on water duty for the next 3 day’s which entailed climbing down a difficult trail to a small rivulet. It made a lot of people happy.

The next day as we were not ready to continue the climb it was decided that a phone line should be strung to “A” squadron and so I and Lightfoot got our gear together and as we had mules with us and cable carriers for mules we loaded the mules up and with the Indian muleteers leading the mules we started off.

This was the first time that I had laid line with mules and thought it would be a snap, nothing to carry except our guns and phones, but the mules did not seem to be able to go in a straight line and the muleteers, did not seem to be able to get them to go were they should and one should realize that there was no trail and it was on a sidehill and there were trees were the mules wanted to go so most of the day was spent untangling wires from were they shouldn’t be, the muleteers pretended that they could not speak English and we swore at them in broad Lancashire, and tried to stay out of the was of the mules back legs.

By the time we got to “A: squadron it was dark or almost, so we stayed the night there and the next morning left early and got back to our group just in time to start up the mountain again.

 

We started up after our stay at the basha, and eventually came into a large valley, with the village of Ukrul at the high end.

We were being supplied by parachute and the patrol was being readied and there were large mule lines. The orderly room was a large marquee and two others containing the commanding officer and his staff. They were in a line, and Potter, Lightfoot and I managed to get our hands on a couple of parachutes and erected a large tent some distance away on a small rise for better reception, with one parachute stretched on a pole and another over the top to give double protection from rain and sun.

In this we set up our signal equipment, and made contact with the group we would be working with which was a divisional group and included two brigades and Division H.Q. We were now working with a more select group of signallers and we would have to prove our ability to stay with them of suffer the consequences.

As we had never been on a Div.group before, our officer wanted to be there to see how it went and for some reason I was the one on the set and the others watching. On my initial offering to the group control I was careful not to send too fast and to do everything correctly. The reply came back at the same speed. From then on everything they sent came a little faster until I had to stop them and ask for corrections. Aat that I got back “dit dit” which in morse is "Ha Ha" :they had established their superiority. From then on we improved and were able to keep up with them.

Every message had a priorty,but as we were only regimental, most of our stuff had to wait for higher priorty to go through, so a lot of our traffic did not go out until night making the night shift always busy. It was an interesting time and really the first time that I had been on a group working day in and day out just sending and receiving messages in Morse, and we became quite good.

We had also managed to get more parachutes and erected another tent next to the Signal tent and so were living in almost luxury, and had time to wander around when not on duty. The missionaries had established a mission there before the Japs came but left when the invasion started came, so some of the children could speak some words of English, and Lightfoot was teaching some of them to sing a song that he had made up, called as you can guess,"I wish I was Lightfoot". It would be interesting to go back and see if anyone remembered that tune. He also had time when on the set to write poems and stories. It was always interesting to follow him on shift and to read what he had written. He had so much talent, and could do anything he put his mind to.

The supply by planes was something else. Some day’s the weather was fine and the planes could be heard long before they got to us and some day’s the mist would come down and they would not be able to see us. When it was fine we could see the men in the doorway pushing out the supplies. Fodder for the mules came out in bundles and free dropped and when they hit they landed like a bomb and skipped along and destroyed everything in their path and on one occasion they went through the HQ tents and flattened them, scattering the mules. It took 2 day’s for the muleteers to get them back. The bread was also free dropped in large baskets and it didn't look like loaves when we got to it, just a mess of broken bread, but better than biscuits.

Most othe stuff came down in Parachutes, including a barrel of Rum once in a while. The crew’s of the aircraft did their best to put the free drop stuff lower down the valley so as not to cause damage, but on the day’s when they thought they could see well enough they took chances. I golfed with a chap here in Qualicum who flew over and dropped to us. He told me of his experiences flying from Calcutta with a load of supplies and trying to find us, then when they did get there the mist would come down and they would fly around and have to make a decision as to whether to drop or not. Watching their fuel and staying as long as they could, making sure they had enough fuel to get back, lots of fun.

As there were three of us attending to the set, we had some time for ourselves,and Lightfoot had made friends with a chap from Division HQ who was in charge of Pigeons. He was trying them out, and had brought them up to Ukrul and asked Lighfoot and I if we would let them out on a certain day and at a certain time and he was going back to Div. and would await their return. Well, the day and time arrived and we were ready to pick them out of their cages and throw them but at the time the mist was coming down. George insisted that we had to send them regardless, so we did. I got a message later that day asking if we had sent the Pigeons. I don’t think they were ever seen again, probably made a good meal for someone!

I enjoyed our time at Ukrul, I loved being on the set and working with the operators at division H.Q. By the time we left I could read Morse as fast as they could send it plain, numbers or coded letters. It stood me in good stead when I went on to Poona on a Signal Instructors Course.

We were far from the day to day actions of the war and were only to glad to be were we were. However the time to go back to the road came all to soon, and so we packed up and started down.

This time we had mules to carry most of the equipment and so it was an easy trip.The only item that I can think of on the way down was me retrieving the drum that I had found in the basha on the way up. I was intrigued with its booming sound and so tried to play to the pace. However word soon came back to me in the form of threats to my safety, so I ceased. I tried to save the drum by placing it on the stores truck along with the bird bow but I never saw them again.

I think it was about this time that Ellis got wounded.

On the 14th of June our advance down the Imphal road was held up by a blown bridge. We rested up on the steep side of the creek it had spanned.

We were eagerly waiting for the Cook truck, having been promised hot stew. Before that treat came about, I was sent to join Sgt.Kit Crawford’s section. We were to patrol up the road to check a small spur where an enemy rearguard was situated. Starting off in file and keeping well into the lee of the road bank, about a mile up the road we spotted a couple of large huts on the hillside nestled against the trees adjoining the road.

We approached with caution.

They seemed empty, but suddenly Kit motioned us down and ordered the Bren gunner to fire on them. Firing from the hip with a Bren gun is not the most accurate method and the first burst tore along the thatched roof, the second burst stitched a line across the base of the hut. There was an immediate reaction as, with loud cries of fear, six unarmed Jiffs
(Japanese Indian Force) came running out to fling themselves at our feet. One clutched me around the legs. I tried to kick him away as my attention and rifle were directed toward whatever else the huts contained.

Fortunately there were no Japanese soldiers around, and fortunately for the Indian National Army deserters, our Bren gunner’s aim was off, otherwise instead of six prisoners we would have had six bodies.

We sent the Jiffs back down the road with news that the spur was clear and squatted down among the boulders at the roadside to await the advancing column.

Night was falling.

Sgt Crawford got word the bridge had been respanned and that the first vehicle after the infantry would be the ‘Food’ truck. Which was good news since all we had eaten since breakfast was the leftover dry rations from that meal.

We sat out the night, taking turns trying to sleep. With the dawn came the Sherman Tanks accompanied by our A squadron, but no ‘Food’ truck. Evidently our prisoners had given information that the enemy was established in some force on the next big spur along the road.

A’ squadron sections followed behind each tank, offering protection from possible suicide attacks that might be launched from the roadside bushes. We exchanged waves with friends as they passed us. I knew most of the Lancashire lads. Sgt Atkinson’s section in particular. He played professional soccer for Southport before being called up, and was a popular NCO.

As the tanks were disappearing round the bend, the mountain artillery came up and started to set up around us. Still no ‘Food’ truck.

Things suddenly became violent. Firing broke out up the road. Japanese mortar bombs started dropping on the artillery positions. I crouched down, I felt a powerful thump in my back that threw me onto my face as I heard a loud explosion. As I lay there trying to catch my breath and get up, I could hear someone saying "Don’t move, where is your Field Dressing?"

It was the nearby Artillery Lt. He lifted up my tunic and applied the dressing. I did not feel too bad and could stand and walk so he helped me to the road where a couple of field ambulances had quickly appeared. My pack was taken off me and added to a recovery pile, I had a sudden pang about giving up the binoculars that I had packed over hill and dale.

I was helped into the ambulance, which was filling up with 'A' squadron wounded who told me that Sgt Atkinson had been killed.

We started down the rough road back to Kohima. We passed the ‘Food’ truck on the way as it pulled over to let us by, but I had lost my appetite.

 

On rejoining my unit after a number of weeks in hospital due to the close encounter with a Jap mortar bomb I was dropped off at "B" Echelon awaiting transfer to my squadron which, after the victory at Kohima, was miles down the road to Imphal.

The small "B" Echelon unit under the command of a pleasant Quartermaster Captain, having finally got to stay in one place for a few days, had created for themselves a little oasis of comfort. The Captain, in his travels, hadacquired a “Thunderbox” which is best described as a bottomless box with a derriere sized hole cut in the lid. This, when situated over a latrine pit and surrounded by a privacy screen of sacking, made a little area wherein one could find a brief period of relief and respite from the daily conflict. Not the Waldorf Astoria by any means, but still a far cry from a precarious perch on a rough spar suspended over an open pit. It was the Captain’s ultimate comfort zone in a world gone mad.

It would be a few days before I could rejoin “C” Squadron, so I was detailed off to help the pioneer section, which consisted of Big Ernie List, a pick and a shovel. We were to dig a grease pit for the cookhouse area, which was situated uphill and upwind from the QM's place of worship. To save digging in the sunbaked mountainside, we scraped out small channel down to the latrine pit, down which we could dump the kitchen slops. One problem with this disposal system was that the residue attracted a multitude of insects. The pioneer section solved this by a daily sprinkle of petrol which, when ignited, provided instant sanitation.

On the day of the incident, Big Ernie sloshed a little too much petrol down the groove. We watched as a small trickle of fire eased its way down under the screen and into the latrine pit. When an open flame meets an accumulation of methane gas combustion can occur, and so it did. There was a soft” Whoompf” and I thought we had blown up the Captain’s thunderbox.

Fortunately for us, the thunderbox held firmly to the ground. Unfortunately for us, it was held firmly thus by the weight of the Quartermaster, sitting blissfully smoking his pipe, defecating, cogitating, pondering all the things that Q,M’s are prone to ponder at such times. Almost instantly, propelled by panic and petrol, he appeared from behind the screen, hastily hitching up his trousers, head craning upwards, anxiously searching the skies for Jap Zeros or incoming shells. Finding nothing, his gaze fell on us. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT”?!!.he shouted. Before I could respond with a reasonable excuse, Big Ernie, with a reply born of watching too many Lancashire comedians, said “Eeh! It musta been sumatt you ate”. This incident was never mentioned in despatches, nor did it even rate a line or two in Bill Slim’s epic “Defeat into Victory”, but Big Ernie and I were appointed permanent latrine diggers for the remainder of the trip down the road to Imphal.

As Rudyard Kipling may have put it "There are strange things done, neath the Burma sun, that a Captain will never forget. If the war had lasted up till now, nu I’d be digging latrine pits yet.. !"

 

It was after we reached the road again that we joined H.Q.and Lightfoot and I had brought down our parachutes so were able to put them up again and have a comfortable place to live. It was a time to rest and not much was going on, we got new or clean clothes and were able to feel like human beings again. Patrols were sent out to retrieve the bodies of fallen comrades, Sgt. Mjr. Dobbin mentioned in one of Ellis’s paragraphs was appointed to the war Graves Commission. To him fell the sad task of gathering up the remains of his comrades and also planning a Divisional Cemetary.

We also got some new equipment, new radios which were much better than the ones we had been using, so 6 of us were detailed to go and test them, Lightfoot and I , Cpl.Potter and Kellett, and Cpl Burns and Swarbrick.

We were taken up into the hills as far as the Jeeps could take us and then we were on or own. George and I finally settled in next to a Naga village, the others followed a track and settled in, one in a low area and the others in a bamboo area. The object was to find different kinds of areas, low, high, wet, dry, open and treed or jungle like.

We made a shelter from Bamboo and our groundsheets, the weather was good and warm,and our uniform was a small towel around our waist and a webbing belt with a Smith and Wesson revolver, and canvas shoes. The set was in the shelter and enough room for both of us to sleep under cover.

The Naga’s were very interested in what we were doing and most of the time some of them were sitting and watching, George was interested in learning some words of their language and spent some time in doing that. We had a schedule of times to open the set and communicate with H.Q. and when not on the set we were free to explore and find new places to set up.

Outside our shelter we had fastened the lid from a can and were using it for knife throwing practice, we could hit the tree,a nd get close but no cigar. Before we went up I went to the cookhouse and got a large bag of salt to take with us as the Naga’s love salt. When the Naga’s came around we would give them a little in their hands and they would just sit there and lick, with obvious satisfaction. At night we would have a fire and we would usually have a dozen or so of them sitting by hoping to get a bit of salt.

In the morning the gate to the village would open and two of the ladies would take the cattle to the rice paddies, and then the rest of the ladies would go after them to work in the rice fields. They were not of great height and very stocky, thick legs and big feet but by the time we left there they were beginning to look, more and more like Betty Grable.

One day I was on the set, and I heard a lot of people running and shouting and George called to say he was going after them. He knew few words and he heard the them say “Uzzu” which means Pig so he went after them.

When a pig or boar is spotted the whole village surround the place and beat towards the middle and at that spot the village headman and his best spearmen go. That is where Geoge found himself and upon seeing the long grass move and the excited shouts of the people with him he used his pistol and fired 6 shots. The boar staggered out into the open and dropped dead. It was taken to the village and so went George the Hero.

On such an occasion the animal is divided up among the whole village, but along its back are two strips of tender meat, one on each side,which is favored as a delicacy. George was given one whole piece as his reward. We cooked it that night and it was lovely.

The next day the men had a spear throwing contest and George and I were invited to participate, and after some instruction we did OK. It was a wonderful experience, and I thought at the time "If only my mother could see me now!" Untidy, unshaved, clad in only a towel and gunbelt and canvas shoes and cavorting with Hillmen who only a few years earlier had been Headhunters.

I forget how many day’s we were up there, but the weather was good and warm and we got together with the others on a couple of occasions and compared notes and I think that George and I had the best of it.

On the last night George was on the set and I had the fire going and a few of the Naga’s were around the fire, when George (after closing down the set for the night) came out of our little Basha and on standing up, casually took out his throwing knife and with little or no preparation took his stance and drew back his arm and threw his knife at the tin lid we had placed on the tree and had not hit in the whole time we had been there. It landed smack dab in the center, and drew Ooh’s and Ahh’s from the assembled audience. George took the applause with his usual “Savoire faire”.

Once back on the main Imphal road we settled in for a spell. Not having very much to do I sought to improve our tea brewing facilities. It did not work out the way I intended....

 

Ellis records it thus


Some time after Kohima, away down the road to Imphal, as other troops took over as front runners in pursuit of the enemy, we were able to get a couple of days respite while waiting for the forward troops to deal with Japanese rear guard resistance.

It was here, on a clearing on the side hill, that Ted, in another of his inspired moments, decided to reinvent the camp stove. He found a shoe polish tin with the usual push on lid, in the center of which he punched a pinhole. With the tin filled with petrol scrounged from the signal’s battery charger, a feeble flame was brought forth. Further thought suggested that the container should be heated to pressurize the fuel. So the tin was raised on three pebbles and a few wisps of dry grass inserted underneath, which when lit, heated the polish tin and caused a small squirt of gas through the pinhole. Further improvement called for the ensuing jet to be spread. Ted solved this by placing a large English penny supported on three small pebbles over the pinhole. Now, with a couple of small twigs and a handful of dry grass as a catalyst we were ready for a trial run.

Our tea ration was issued in the form of a block of tea leaves and powdered milk, requiring only the addition of heat and water to make. If Ted’s device worked it would provide us with a quick convenient means of brewing up, as most times fires were not practicable due to our nomadic existence.

The moment of truth had arrived.

The handful of grass was ignited, the ensuing vapor was lit, and a small rosette of flame appeared around the penny along with murmurs of approval from the four of us. Ted's efforts had met with success. Even greater success as the rosette spread to saucer size, then too much success as it spread quickly to dinner plate size and on to potential peril as it continued to spread. Like a lot of great inventors, Ted had produced something that over reached his control, something akin to a small atom bomb. It blew the lid off, scattering droplets of fire onto the surrounding grass, which although sparse was dry and caught fire.

Assisted by a slight breeze the flames commenced to race across the clearing. We immediately applied Signal Troop emergency plan Number One, 'Self Preservation', by ducking quickly into the bushes to reappear from separate locations to join in the general panic, stamping and beating at the flames, exclaiming loudly, "What happen"! "How in the world--"! "Who's the idiot--"?.

We managed to put out the fire but not before it had devoured the Quartermasters tent and some stores. We were suspect for a while but managed to escape trouble. I think it was Ted's ability to delegate the blame that led to his being recognized as leadership material, for shortly thereafter he was sent to the signal school and promoted to corporal.

During our advance into Burma, sometimes we were fortunate to be bivouacked close enough to the rest of the Regiment that it was possible to have time for a quick visit to friends in other Troops or Sections.

As Ellis recalls: At one such time I sought out Bud Gough, who, back home, lived four doors up the street from me in our row of houses. Bud and his sister Alice had shared a childhood with my brother Harry and I, growing up together through Cubs, Scouts, and School, into our teens. We joined up together along with the rest of our pals so we could be in the same unit.

My very first memory, as a two year old, was scratching my arm on his little wooden wheelbarrow. My first sight of blood, particularly my own, causing me to cry, thinking that I was going to die, and Bud trotting me home to his mother, who administered her usual remedies, Iodine for the scratch, and a ‘Sugar Buttie’ to make the hurt go away. A Sugar Buttie being a slice of bread and butter with a liberal sprinkling of sugar on top. This was in the early nineteen twenties when candies were luxuries only produced for birthdays and Christmas. I still carry a faint scar on my forearm as a memento of my close brush with death by scratch..

Bud had lost his older brother Tommy two months earlier. Killed at Arnhem during the battles in Europe. Being close enough now, gave us the chance to exchange news from home. So asking directions of the scattered groups I wound my way through the trees. I came upon Bud’s section gathered around a small fire, eating. I wondered where they had managed to find something to cook since we were all on dry rations. Jess Lonsdale, Bud’s section Corporal, pointed to a large snakeskin hung over a branch. The section had discovered a python that had made the mistake of sleeping off its recent meal of a small Monkey, under the trees that Bud’s group had chosen for a campsite. Bud offered me a taste.

The Survival Booklet said snakes were edible so I tried a nibble. It tasted not unlike conger eel, a dish we ate once in a while back in Lancashire. I thought of how close we were to our natural roots. Gone native indeed. We had nothing to fear from the jungle animals, quite the reverse evidently.

Another memory of these occasional gatherings was the impromptu concert that would spring up at twilight between tents, jokes were exchanged, ballads recited. As could be expected, where the assemblage consisted wholly of men, who’s refinement had dulled somewhat after a year in the jungle, the humour was low and the ballads bawdy. One Cockney comrade, who I suspect had been a carnival barker in Civvy Street, would introduce a series of circus caravans by declaiming loudly ”Ladees and Gentlemen, Walk up, Walk up, and view the Wonders of the world! For the price of one small coin, one thin sixpence, you can be horrified terrified and totally amazed. In the first caravan we have the Wild man from Borneo covered in hair from head to foot, who lives on nothing but grass, grubs and reptiles and never craps all year round. Why don’t he crap? I don’t know lady; He don’t know; That’s what makes him so Goddam wild. In the second caravan we have the Wonga Wonga Bird. The only bird known to fly in military formation, i.e. single file. When beset by the enemy, it will, in a little known army maneuver, circle upon itself and thrust it’s beak up the rear orifice of the bird ahead and thus joined will fly in ever diminishing circles until in one big flap, it disappears up it’s own arse, in a cloud of bullshit and feathers to the confusion of all concerned!" and so on for ten or more caravans.

There was a lot of bawdy humour around. We did not classify it as obscene, not when the real obscenity was the everyday slaughter that was going on around us.

 

As earthy as our humor was, it did help to relieve the tedious, seemingly endless trek through the jungle. One member of Sgt Wharton's troop, a hefty lad named Woodman, had the ability to pass wind often enough and loudly enough to achieve a modicum of fame.

His comrades dubbed him Farting Phil. One always knew when he was up ahead, as his performance was usually preceded by the exclamation "Get out and walk you lazy sod. Ive carried you far enough!" accompanied by the usual blast. The Sgt usually assigned him to the rear of the column. It was Farting Phil's dubious talents that once threatened my friendship with John Kellett. We had reached a river. I think it was the river Mu, at that point the current was sluggish and the banks low enough that we were allowed to have a quick dip. It was our first chance of a decent wash for weeks.

We stripped off and eagerly waded in. I was keeping an eye on John, for he was not a strong swimmer. Upstream from us was Farting Phil, who, taking advantage of what he deemed to be one large flush toilet, seized the opportunity to rid himself of unwanted cargo. I suppose he preferred that, rather than scrambling up the bank for a scratchy squat in the bushes.

I spotted his flotsam, recognizing it for what it was, and swam out of the way. I turned to John to warn him of the incoming torpedoes. John in a panic, struggled frantically with his feeble breaststroke to avoid coming face to face with Phil's discards but without much success. When he was able, in a classic case of blame the messenger, he reflected loudly upon my parentage and personal hygiene habits.

A friendship forged in the heat of battle looked like foundering in the face of floaters. I pointed out Farting Phil upstream, John connected the crime with the culprit and our friendship survived.

The regiment continued the drive to the Irawaddy River, skirmishing with the enemy, clearing roadblocks and villages, wherever a stand was made. We were not too well informed, it seemed just a matter of plugging along following the guy ahead.

Once in a while during the day's march, news would be passed person to person down the column. I remember Christmas day 44, the battle in Europe seemed to be going very well and word of some great victory was being passed back. I turned my head to Bert Aldred trudging wearily behind me and said, "Looks like the war's over". Bert replied "Thank God for that" then after a brief pause "Who won"? Which just about sums up our attitude at that time.

Along with that message came the promise of extra Christmas rations, to supplement our dry rations at the days end, which brightened us up a little. When we finally came to rest the Christmas treat was distributed. It turned out to be a minuscule piece of fruitcake measuring about two inches by one inch by half inch. With the cake came the tragic news, that on the previous night, one of the MortarTroop back in the rear echelon had been killed. One plane had flown over, dropped one bomb, that killed one person. Christmas Eve. It seemed ironic that a life should be destroyed violently at a time set aside to celebrate Peace on Earth.Goodwill to all Mankind. I asked who the unfortunate comrade was. The answer; like that faint scar on my forearm; stays with me always. It was Bud Gough. I thought of my next letter home, which would be shared, as always, among all the Mothers in our street. All the 'Sugar Butties' in the world would not be able to make the hurt go away this time.


Ted:-

I think Ellis may have been right, for shortly after the mishap with the tea brewing stove, I was called to the signal office and Sgt Kaye informed me that I was now a N.C.O. promoted to L/Cpl, but more importantly, I was to pack my kit and prepare to leave the Regt and proceed to India along with a Officer and attend the Poona Signal School.I was to take the instructors courses on Tank corps Signals and also the course on Infantry Signals, one of 4 weeks and the other of two weeks.I forget the officers name now, but he was easy to get along with,however before we went to the school,we had to go to Ahmadnagar,which was near Vizapur where we had left from to go to Assam.

The object of that exercise was to go through the personal effects of the lads who had died or been killed in the actions,and to give back to the Army what was their’s and to pack up and send home the effects which belonged to the the deceased.We were warned to go through the effects carefully and not to send anything home which would be a cause of embarassment. That took a few day’s and then by train to Poona,The signal school was a wonderful change from what I had been used to for the last little while and I made the most of it,and kept up with the news in the papers,and followed the advance through Assam and into Burma. The school was great and I enjoyed it,I made friends with 3 N.C.O.s who were with the tanks,the Hussars,and they had been on the road from Kohima. I met one of them later when I got back.the officer who was with me only took the tank course and then he left and I don’t remember seeing him again.

After the course I was given a pass for 10 day’s in Bombay,so by train to the big city and put up at the Y.M.C.A.I met some people from the Testorate of Mechanization, and they had the best job in the army as far as I could see. Their job was to to go over all the transport that came off the ships destined for the Army, and make sure that everything was in top shape before it was delivered. They had great facilities and a wonderful dining room and bar and Mess.

I spent a lot of time there,and when I made my mind up to go back I was little late, and could not make it back by by train in the time I should. Desperate measures were called for. I therefore made my way to Poona and to a US Air force base just a little farther up the road from where we had been stationed as I had been told that they had regular runs to Calcutta, and a bottle of good Gin would get me a ride. And it did,with the result that I was in Calcutta, a couple of day’s earlier than I should have been. I had a couple of day’s in Calcutta, but with the Yanks being there in force everything was so much more expensive than when I had been before.

On my last night there I had enough money to the go to a cinema or go and have drink, I elected to have drink and so went into the Bristol Grill on Chowringee, the main street. I was sitting at a small table nursing my drink (a Tom Collins) when a Yank came and asked if he could sit there. When the waiter came he ordered and asked me what I was having, I was quick to tell him that I was broke and going back to the Front on the next day. He insisted and we talked and soon a officer from a English Merchant ship joined us and ordered but I told him I was broke, but to no avail and then he pulled out a couple of tins of cigarettes and offered them around.

I left there some time later and I had had a great night: good company and a few drinks, a tin of cigarettes and ate well. I made my way back to the transit camp which was just the other side of Chowringee, happy with myself and the world. So many times during the War it was, that I met people and really enjoyed their company and then never to see them again, but that is life.

I went to Dum Dum airport the next day and got aboard a DC3 loaded with Letter cards and oxygen tanks. I was the only passenger, and we dropped down at Chittagong, unloaded the oxygen tanks, then on to Comilla. I could not go any farther that day and would have to go to the airstrip each day and try my luck, so I stayed at the transit camp and as long as I booked in with the transit officer then my pass was OK.

Each morning everyone was required to go on parade and duties were handed out and the idea was not to get selected for anything,N.C.O.s on the left and other ranks on the right.I was on the front row and grabbed right away and given 12 men and told to report to the cookhouse,so off we marched and as it was jungle like and the tracks wound through the trees we could only walk in double file, with the result that when I looked back to see if everything was going OK, half of them had ducked into the jungle.
I halted the column and gave the order to dismiss, and that was the last I saw of them. I went back to my billet got my kit and made my way to the airstrip. How the cookhouse made out that day I don’t know!!!

When we reported to the transit officer on arriving he was able to tell us roughly were we would be able to find our unit and in which direction.
I was able to get out that day on a small plane and flew to Monywa, then on a very small plane that was used to bring out the wounded and sick, and had two stretchers on the outside of the plane, one on each side. I was strapped in and off we went. I was dropped at a flat spot near our Regt.HQ. These planes flew very low and could not be brought down by enemy fire, so I had a birds eye view of the ground.

I had bought a made to measure bush outfit in jungle green on my travels and so wore that and made a grand entrance, reported in and was told I was being to assigned to (I believe it was) "C" squadron. I picked up my fighting gear, Revolver, ammo etc. and off I went. When I got to where they were, I was pleased to find Ellis working on the set and he was sending morse so fast that I could not believe it.

(Ellis)- The idea was to fill the air with a large volume of morse signals regardless of whether they made sense. I was busy at my appointed task, sending odd words and numbers, seeing how fast I could tap them out without making a mistake, when Ted popped his head into the tent covered signal dugout to announce his return. I could see the look of bewilderment on his face as he attempted in vain to read my signals. I think at that moment he was worried that all his hard work at the signal school had been of little use, giving me a brief moment of triumph.

 

Once settled in, I got to know what was going on, and was able to take part. We were at a place called Sagang or Sagaing, it is spelled both way’s and it was on the north bank of the Irrawaddy river. The river had a big turn and Mandalay was on the other side.

The regt. had embarked on a scheme to deceive the enemy. We had deployed our signals over a large area mostly in vehicles and they were sending large amounts of information, all fictitious of course and that is why Ellis was sending at such a terrific rate of speed, no one was reading them. At the same time we had vehicles pulling downed tree’s behind them to create large amounts of dust indicative of the assembly of heavy armour.

Captain Booth became a make believe Brigadier complete with highly visible red hatband and shoulder tabs and with an official looking group of ‘big brass’, made forays down to the riverside where they could be obsererved by Japanese spotters, leading the enemy to believe that we were building up a great force and preparing to attack on this flank, when in reality the division was building up on the other flank.

After a few weeks the Division was able to cross without to much opposition and once over were able to attack in great strength and take the city of Mandalay.

It was at this time that Ellis and his rifle parted company: During the long trek to the Irrawady our unit was informed by some Burmese Villagers of a Hurricane Fighter bomber that had crashed landed on a dry riverbed. The villagers had rescued the pilot and looked after him in their village. We notified the Air Command and a small patrol of us accompanied the villagers to the scene. The plane, on landing, had hit the palm trees alongside the riverbed, left behind one wing and then broken in half just behind the cockpit. I was left to guard the wreckage while the rest of the party proceeded to the village. Like most soldiers would, I looked in the cockpit for souvenirs, but it had already been gone over, presumably by the villagers. All that I found were some, explosive tip bullets. These triggered the mental picture of me putting an advancing enemy tank out of action with a well placed shot, saving the regiment, so I loaded three of them into my rifle magazine just in case.

The patrol returned with the pilot, who looked in good shape, and we handed the situation over to the newly arrived Airforce rescue unit. The pursuit of the enemy had led us to more open terrain and we now had the luxury of vehicular travel. There were no paved roads, in most cases no roads at all, so that being in convoy was a very dusty experience. To prevent dust from accumulating in my rifle barrel I stuffed the end with a piece of the cleaning flannelette that we were issued with. As we prepared to leave the marshalling area on our way to the embarkation point at the Irrawaddy River we loaded the signal Jeep. The order of priority was, Signal equipment and gear, Corporal's gear (Ted's), Driver's gear, (Tony Earnshaw) then, last and least, Other Ranks, (me).

When it came my turn, the jeep was so loaded that the best I could do was to fling myself on top of the pile in the manner of a cargo net and try to keep everything, including myself, from falling off. I leaned my rifle against the wheel while climbing the pile and the jeep roared off leaving it behind.

When we reached our assembly area down by the river, about two miles away, I realized what had happened. I tried to persuade our dispatch rider, Quarry, to nip back for it but he refused to do it without permission. I had to face Major Varga, to ask for that permission. I had lost favor with the Major when, on a previous occasion I had woken him up from a much needed deep slumber with what I thought was a top priority message, which had turned out to be the days ration count for the Cook Sgt..

I suffered through a bawling out but received the permission. Quarry went back and returned with the rifle and the sad news that it had a split barrel due to being run over by a Bren Carrier. Had that happened, it would merely have pushed the rifle into the soft sand. What really had happened was, Quarry, being a pistol man and being nicely isolated back there, had succumbed to the desire to try his hand with a rifle and had taken a shot at a tree. The Hurricane bullet with the explosive tip met the resistance offered by my flannelette plug resulting in a two inch split at the end of the barrel. I was greatly saddened to see this, not at the damage, but the thought of reporting it to Major Varga.

Army law said if a soldier lost any thing he was responsible for, through carelessness, he would be charged for the lost article, plus the new issue, and the replacement to stock. A triple whammy.

I wondered if this law applied whenever the Big Brass announced "Today we lost five hundred of our troops in the asssault on Inanity Hill." Would the person in charge be responsible for three times the loss? Yes, but only if through neglect. That being so, how about Dieppe, the Bridge at Arnhem, Ypres, and back to Gallipolli and The Charge of the Light Brigade. History seems to show that the Blunderers where Honoured and put out to pasture.

In light of this, the penalty for my infraction seemed a bit severe. Fortunately a guardian angel in the form of RSM Partington showed up. Johnny was a Bolton lad, an ex Loyal, as I was. As Regimental Sgt. Major he was in charge of arms and ammunition and he quietly issued me another rifle. He probably saved me from being sent back to England and Knighted. Thus did the rifle #b4879 circa 1917, come to a sad end at 28 years of age. It most likely could have lasted a few more wars.

On the night of the 24th we started across the fast flowing Irrawaddy, about fifteen hundred yards wide at that location. Being the last division to cross the river, our invasion flotilla was made up for the most part, of craft that had been used by the divisions who had preceded us over the Irrawaddy at the other locations. This resulted in a fleet of shot up, patched up, assortment of vessels ranging from what appeared to be Bailey Bridge sections bouyed up on empty oil drums and powered by outboard motors, to large rubber 'Zodiac' boats propelled similarly. Certainly not your "D Day" armada, such things were for the European armies, not the Fourteenth Army.

Some of the outboards proved to be inadequate against the river's strong current causing some craft to drift downstream to make a landing away from the planned point of contact. The enemy were alerted and opened up with machine guns and mortars. Our group managed to make it to a sandy island in mid stream and dug in, while the troops who had made it to the far shore battled to establish a bridgehead. Perhaps "dug in" is a misnomer for what we tried to accomplish in that sandy surface. It was so soft and fine the digging was easy, getting it to stay dug was the hard part. Every shovelful we tried to pile up on the sides would settle back down ready to be dug again. It was like trying to dig a hole in water.

We tried gathering some of the nearby reeds to thrust into the sides and form a wall but the sand slowly filtered through. What was to be a couple of two man slit trenches, breast high, 5 foot long by 2 foot wide, finished up some hours later as just a shallow saucerlike depression. Fortunately for us we were slightly out of range of the enemy mortar bombs. The only good thing about our defensive earthworks was that it provided the softest ground we had bedded down on since the start of the campaign.

There were signs of having been some cultivation on the island, and Ted, who’s parents had been in the greengrocery business, was quick to spot a melon nearby and some corn stalks which yielded a few small, but edible, ears of corn. With the help of a discarded ration can and a small fire Ted introduced us to corn on the cob. Not a familiar dish in Lancashire cuisine, and though meager, it was a definite enhancement to our dry rations.

As an added bonus Ted had received a parcel containing six tins of cigarettes - well, five to be exact, for the package was neatly opened at one end with the message stamped on it, ‘Damaged in Transit’.

But we were thankful for small mercies and enjoyed our brief spell of luxury. It seems strange that this brief incident should leave such a strong memory when a battle was raging all around us. Perhaps, after all the bloodshed and destruction we had witnessed at Kohima we were inured to outrage and violent death. But there was to be no escape from the tragedy of war. It was there, as we waited throughout the day, for the troops who had made it to the far shore, to recoup and establish a bridgehead, that the signal section lost Corporal Lane.

Bummer Lane we called him, our little, chubby, cheerful, friend. The island, although low lying for the most part, had a steep bank on the leeside that provided shelter from the enemy. It had been a number of weeks since we had had sufficient water to wash in, and being so close to such a large amount of fresh water, a few of us, adjacent to that area, seized the opportunity to have a quick wash. There was not a great deal of standing space and too steep a drop off and too swift a current to immerse oneself, so it was a matter of reaching forward and scooping water up in cupped hands.

No one realised immediately that Bummer was missing, for no one saw him go. He just wasn't there anymore. One of the better swimmers, a particular friend of Bummer, tied to the end of a rope, searched till he was exhausted, but all in vain. We were on the island on the 25th of Feb. The War Graves record gives the 12th of March as the date of his death, perhaps that was when he was found. What we did know was that we had lost another of our comrades.

Our days would be a lot less bright. In war there is seldom time for farewells.

So here, some fifty years later, "Goodbye Bummer. It was our good fortune to have known you. However brief the moment; the memories last."

 

Once we had made it to the other side of the Irrawaddy we were in a new phase of the war. The terrain was more friendly to our vehicles and we could do the job we were intended to do in a more effective manner, we could range about much faster and cover more ground.

As we were the communication for the reconnaissance,we did not take part in any of the actual fighting unless we had no choice,so our role was to be where we should be and to make sure that what we were doing was reported to the Commanding Officer of our unit. In my case it was the Regt.HQ. In this way the C.O. was able to plot the whole Regiment's movements and plan ahead. We did not do much at night and usually found a spot that could easily be defended in case of enemy action, and once such a spot had been found we dug in and ate and got ready for the next day, quite often we would be in the grounds of a temple, one of the many throughout the area,amongst the trees, hidden from enemy aircraft.

On one occasion we found ourselves in such a location and there were small mounds of earth here and there so we placed our vehicles around these mounds.As we had a Jeep we were in an open space. Something was wrong with our radio and it was something that I could not fix. In cases like that we could call upon the Royal corps of signals, of which we had a section attached to our Regt. so we sent for help and in due course two Signal Men reached us.

Meanwhile, Ellis, with his hole digging skills, acquired earlier as an unwilling apprentice to the Chief Latrine digger, was digging our defense trench. Although it was a required drill that troops dig in if the advance was halted for a long period, no one was digging in very energetically, presuming the resistance presented by the enemy would be short-lived and the trenches not needed.

I had been getting the other necessities done including charging the batteries, the battery charger had a muffler and a flexible metal pipe which allowed us to put the muffler a little distance away from the Jeep, so as to get away from the fumes, or placed in a small trench if a little less noise was demanded, which is where it lay at the moment.

The trench was only about a foot deep, and about six feet long, Ellis having suspended his excavations to witness our tanks and armored cars being brought into action to help clear the entrenched enemy.

The appearance of the armor brought a sharp reaction from the enemy, they opened up with a sudden burst of low trajectory anti tank shells that screamed over our heads and ricocheted around us. Every one made a dive for the shallow trench. From an unwanted nuisance it had now become Shangri la, the place where all good soldiers go not to die. Big Beaumont, the man from HQ, got there first followed by his partner followed by Ellis.

It looked very much like standing room only as far as I was concerned, so I sought shelter behind the rear wheel of the Jeep. As I lay there I could hear, amid the noise of the shells, cries of anguish coming from Beaumont, who had landed chest first on top of the hot muffler, with the other two refugees on top of him. Nobody was about to move around until the shelling stopped, not even to switch off the charging engine, which continued chugging steadily along; after all, what was a little noise under the circumstances. So poor old Beaumont was left to suffer the torment of heartburn and gas with nary a Tums tablet in sight. He survived the ordeal with a little discomfort but that was one time that the early bird got the burn.

 

The country was beautiful and the weather was warm and dry.

The enemy was for the most part not very well equipped and in retreat, so we were now thinking the end was near, everyone had the same thought: Don’t get hurt now when we are so close to finishing the job.

Our commanders felt the same way, so each plan was well thought out and since we had the advantage this was much more easily accomplished. We moved about a lot and every day was moving day, I don’t remember very much of this time just certain episodes.

On one occasion we had the task of finding an Artillery Observation Post, which is a forward position placed in a spot where they have a view of the enemy, probably by the use of binoculars. From here the observers can direct the fire from the cannons in the rear. Advising them, as the shells hit, whether to aim left or right, back or forward, and by how much.

We set off with two armoured cars and our signal Jeep in one direction and others tried in other directions, the country was treed and up and down but not too much and the going was quite good for our vehicles. The Japs, I believe, did not have great amounts of ammo to spare and sought to make the most of what they had and so the OP.s were of great importance to them.

When we first started, we tried to zero in on them by triangulation on their signals, and would head in that direction, hoping to get near them. Once we were sure where they where, our infantry would go in and route them out, what we did not know, was that they had several OPs all directing the same guns, and as soon as we got close to one of them they would move out and the other OPs would take over, and the infantry going in would get shelled.

We would see them as they were pulled out. The ones who had been shell shocked by being too close to the exploding shells were in a sorry mess, completely disoriented and brain scrambled, crying, moaning, hurting and badly in need of attention. We had to go on and finally had to forget about the OPs and go after the guns themselves, so the infantry were called back to a defensive position and tanks came in. Later the Guns were silenced either by the Japs moving them back or being destroyed by the tanks or a bit of both.

By putting pressure on them, and keeping them on the move I don’t remember them being a threat again. The infantry lost some men but the ones who got shell shocked were sure a pitiful sight. I remember seeing them going in stretched out in a long line in a advancing formation looking very smart and then a short time later coming out carrying out the wounded and leading the shell shocked.

Not a good time.