2
I decided to join the army in mid-1941. I knew Fort William in Calcutta quite well as I had some school friends there: Tich Brogan and Burnett. I pedalled my bicycle through Plassey gate for an interview with the commander of the Garrison, Maj. Gen. Heydeman. The interview went off well until we came to the matter of relevant papers. He said as my documents were not complete, I should come back with them. As I began walking out, disappointed, he called me back, saying that as I was so keen to join, I could do so. Another interview followed at the summer headquarters of the Indian Army at Simla. The interview was conducted by a board of British Indian Army gabardine-clad brass hats. There was also a pompous ruler of one of the smaller Indian states on the board. I was asked a couple of questions by the general presiding over the board. The royal personage then asked me, 'Do you shoot games?' I was taken aback for a few seconds, not getting his meaning, and then shot back, 'No sir, I don't shoot games, I shoot goals'. There were peals of laughter allround and no further questions. I took my leave and walked out. It seemed incredible that with the war in Europe at a critical stage, Army Headquarters was still oriented to such a peace environment. This complacency was to be shattered by Pearl Harbour and the Japanese invasion of Malaya and Burma.
On my way back to Calcutta I stopped off at Delhi to meet a friend at Lady Irwin College. We used to meet in the principal Dr Hannah Sen's bungalow in Sundar Nagar. I was serious about this girl, and her mother too was keen on my marrying her. Later, after some dating, in 1952 I was being posted to an inaccessible area in Kashmir for some three years. The girl did not want to wait that long and so it ended, but we continued to remain in touch.
I broke journey again at Agra to see the Taj Mahal. In those days the minarets were open to the public. I took a number of photographs from the top of a minaret with my Kodak Brownie box camera. On reaching the base I discovered that my pocket had been picked. My railway ticket was in the wallet, so all I was left with was some small change. I was at a loss to know what to do. The station master was sympathetic, and said that he would ensure that up to Mughal Sarai, where his jurisdiction ended, I would not be asked to produce my ticket but after that I would be on my own. I locked myself in a coupè, and despite some banging on the door at various stations, reached Howrah station, Calcutta, without any trouble, rushed quickly through the exit barrier, and made it home. After a few weeks my orders arrived to report to the officers' training school at Mhow. I had much explaining to do as no one at home had been aware of my intention to join the army. When, however, I explained that I was going to fight the Nazis, they were reconciled and gave me their blessings.
The officers' training school was hastily set up in Mhow cantonment in central India. It was from Mhow that in 1857, General Sir Hugh Rose assembled a force from the Bombay Army to march on the Rani of Jhansi. The terrain around Mhow was very suitable for the conduct of military training. The training schedules were tough and demanding. However, off parade we were treated as officers, comfortably quartered, and provided with personal servants. Our company commander was of the old school of the British Indian Army. During our long route marches, we resented the way he rode alongside astride a splendid charger. On one occasion he had organized an ambush en route. When it was over he asked us if we were aware of the persons who were in the ambush, and we replied in the negative. We were thunderstruck by his reply: 'I did not expect you to notice; remember a good soldier looks only to his front; march on!'. Some two years later, in the Mayu range in the Arakan, he was commanding a battalion supported by my battery. I reminded him of his remarks which he laughed off.
Training to be a Gunner
I was summoned to the company office and told that I was to volunteer for the artillery. I replied that my first choice had been the infantry and as I was doing very well, I should get my first choice. The reply was sharp: 'You have now volunteered for the artillery and will go there: march out.' The artillery was not a popular choice in those days as it meant an additional period of training and commissioning some months later than those in the other branches of the army. The artillery school had the reputation of failing and returning a large percentage of the trainees. The few who were selected were given a short period of leave prior to reporting to the artillery school at Deolali.
Deolali in those days was a small two-company cantonment which became well-known throughout the army for its mental hospital. The term 'Deolali tap' was coined here to refer to a soldier who was mentally deranged. sadly, Mental Hospital Road on which it was located was later renamed. The trains stopped at Deolali for two minutes, just sufficient to take out one's baggage. The centrepiece of the platform was an antique James Macabe clock. There were no taxis to move one's baggage, the local tongas being the only means of transportation. The artillery school had moved to Deolali from Kakul in 1940. After Mhow, its infrastructure was sorely inadequate. We were housed four to a sparsely furnished tent. The tents were not electrified, so we had to study by the light of a hurricane lamp. We were to undertake a crash course of seven weeks under instructors with little experience of teaching. The officer-in-charge was from the Reserve, a 'boxwalla' (businessman) from a Calcutta jute mill, assisted by a bombardier from a British field artillery regiment. We learnt very little and were constantly shouted at and berated: 'You will never make a gunner!'. We were given little respite or time for recreation, our off hours generally being occupied with extra gun drill. There were originally 28 cadets in our course, and of these seven were reverted to other arms and services. There was no passing out parade or function. On 7 June 1942, I donned the badges of the rank of a second lieutenant.
I had volunteered for an operational assignment in the Middle East. The regiment I was earmarked for (1st Indian Anti-tank Regiment) was engaged in battle in Bir Hachiem in the western desert of north Africa. I boarded a troopship at Bombay, which was diverted to Basra upstream of the Shatt-el Arab in Iraq. I off-loaded my kit and proceeded to the transit camp at Shaiba for further directions. I reported to the officer commanding, a major of the Scinde Horse, a tank regiment of the Indian Army. He had a ruddy face, bulging eyes, and his blue veins were prominently visible. He asked me to deposit the three-day's rations which he said I should have brought with me from the ship. I replied that I was unaware of this proviso and that I had not brought any. He retorted that if that was the case I would not get food for three days. I moved my baggage to an adjacent tent and returned to the mess tent.
There was a shout-out taking place between a major of a British anti-tank regiment and the camp commandant. The gunner major demanded that the gunners who were accompanying him be fed, but to no avail. He then told the camp commandant that if they were not fed, he would place the commandant under arrest. In the ensuing bedlam I quietly went to the dining tent, had my dinner, and retired to my tent which was set amidst a number of unoccupied ones. A dust storm began to blow and sleep was fitfull.
I had a feeling I was not alone. When I got out in the morning the surrounding unoccupied tents had been removed, apparently during the dust storm. An organized gang had removed them, loaded them on to some parked trucks, and driven them off. I went to the camp office to get my movement order. The commandant, Major Vosper, then ordered me to disburse pay to the British other ranks, pushing a stack of dinars towards me. When I began counting them, he sarcastically remarked that there was no need at all for me to do so as he had himself checked them. After paying out I was one hundred dinars short (one dinar then was equivalent to one pound sterling). I returned to the office and apprised the commandant. He retorted, 'You should have bloody well counted them before you left; don't waste my time!'.
I was told to report to Headquarters, Artillery, in Baghdad. I travelled to Baghdad with others by rail in cattle flats, contracting sandfly fever en route. I was admitted to a British military hospital near Baghdad which had earlier been a palace. The hospital was well run. I vividly recall the daily visit of the commanding officer, preceded by the regimental sergeant major who, with a loud and shattering roar, announced the arrival of the brigadier doctor. We were expected to sit up to attention in our beds whilst this dignitary passed through, nodding condescendingly at each one of us. After a week I was discharged from hospital.
I reported to Headquarters, Artillery, and was told to report to my regiment, the 1st Indian Anti-Tank Regiment, elements of which were returning from the western desert. I travelled to Haifa along the pipeline to find them but later joined up with the regiment at Kifri in northern Iraq along with other units of 8 Indian Division. A new commanding officer Lt Col John Daniells had just taken over the regiment which was in the process of re-forming. I was given command of a troop of guns. The troop was affiliated to 1/5 Royal Gurkha Rifles commanded by Lt Col Briggs. Briggs, or 'Briggo' as he was known, was hard of hearing which was a source of embarrassment because this meant that he was not fully capable of taking down orders and relied on me to do so.
There were reports that a German army group under Field Marshal Erich von Manstein was planning to move through the Caucasus to capture the oilfields at Kirkuk. I was sent to reconnoitre areas for defence positions. The terrain was rugged and breathtaking, and involved our crossing fast-flowing rivers, the Greater and Lesser Zabs.
The politics of the region was dominated by the Anglo-French rivalries for the division of the Ottoman Empire. This figured in the correspondence of Mc Mahon-Hussain pledging a new Arab state. This was followed in 1916 by a proposal drawn up by Sir Mark Sykes of Britain's MI 6 and Georges Picot of France which proposed dividing the Ottoman Empire into British and French zones of influence. They also envisioned an Arab coalition or confederation of Arab states. A separate state for the Kurds was at one time considered but shelved. Russia was to be given freedom to acquire some Armenian provinces as well as sizeable Kurdish territory. After the overthrow of the Czar in 1917, the Soviets withdrew from the agreement. The provisions of this agreement were modified at the San Remo conference of 1920-2. The Arabs did not get what they were promised. The seeds of future conflict and instability in the Middle East that we see to this day were sown in the Sykes-Picot Agreement.
During my reconnaissance, I was accompanied by a detachment of 1/5 Royal Gurkha Rifles. Our rations were unappetizing and meagre. Fortunately, the Gurkhas were invariably able, with the aid of mosquito nets, to provide us with fish.
The German offensive through the Caucacus did not materialize as Hitler diverted his forces to back his attempts to capture Stalingrad.
Early Lessons in Man Management
The British officers in the early days of the war were gentlemen from upper class families. My battery commander was Major Dick Peters, a territorial army officer who in civil life was a solicitor and the local squire. He was considerate and approachable. The battery Captain, Norman Harding, was, in civil life, a jeweller. I learnt a great deal from them, particularly in terms of man management.
One lesson was driven home regarding man management. I had given a task to be carried out by my troop leader, a Viceroy Commissioned Officer (VCO) Ghulam Mohammed. The task was not completed; I scolded him in front of the men. The VCO protested to my battery commander that his izzat had been compromised. Izzat means honour and much more. There is no equivalent in any other language (a person who loses his izzat loses face and respect). My battery commander called me and said, 'Jacko [by the name I was known], how old are you?' 'Nineteen,' I replied. 'Jacko,' he said, 'this VCO has 24 years service, many more years than your age. That will be all.' I never forgot this rebuke from Maj. Dick Peters.
I got to know the men in my troop, the villages they came from, details of their family, and their problems. Man management is one of the most essential ingredients of successful command, but this aspect unfortunately today does not receive the importance it deserves.
Service conditions were tough and our tented accommodation was very basic and rations even more, although this was supplemented by hunting. We were out on training most of the time. We took part in exercises with Glubb Pasha's Arab Legion. Located nearby at Khanaquin was the Polish Carpathian division commanded by General Wladyslaw Anders. The Polish soldiers had trickled in from Poland through Central Asia and Persia. I met Anders, a most imposing man. He told me he would fight his way back to Poland. Unfortunately for him, at the end of the second World War the Soviets refused to let him return to Poland.
The regiment could not get the required reinforcements nor equipment as these were not available in the theatre. It was therefore ordered to return to India to re-form. We were very disappointed as we were keen to stay on with 8th Indian Division, a crack division commanded by a colourful, competent, and popular general, Maj. Gen. Dudley Russell 'Pasha'. After independence in 1947, he was appointed as adviser to General K.M. Cariappa but Cariappa declined to avail of his expertise. In 1950, when I was assigned to the general staff at Army Headquarters, I approached Russell 'Pasha', as he was popularly known, several times for advice. He was always courteous and helpful. He spoke to me of his experiences in the war; one in particular I would like to recall. 8th Indian Division was to be assigned the task of carrying out an assault on the island of Cos. The thinking of the theatre command was that, as the numbers of Italian and German troops defending the island were equal, they would counter-balance each other and as such the planned operation should present no difficulty. The admiral commanding the task force that was to support the assault then turned round to Russell, the soldier who was to execute the plan. Russell's reply was indeed classic, 'Gentlemen I stopped reading the brothers Grimm at the age of ten'. The operation was called off.
We were originally scheduled to move back to India by the land route. We were all looking forward to this but it was not to be. We were then ordered to hand over our vehicles and move to India by sea. We landed at Karachi and proceeded by train to Sialkot, then a tidy compact cantonment. We collected our equipment, vehicles, guns, and mortars, and instead of going back to the Middle East we were allotted to 26th Indian Division which was about to move to the Arakan in Burma. After a short spell of jungle training in the Ranchi area, we moved to the Arakan. 26th Division was part of XV Corps commanded by Lt Gen. Bill slim, but he was soon promoted to command XlV Army. Lt Gen. Sir Philip Christison assumed command of XV Corps. The newly raised 26th Indian Division was commanded by Maj. Gen. C.E.N. Lomax. slim had been extremely popular in the corps and frequently visited the troops. I particularly remember one occasion when I was giving a demonstration on bunker busting in the presence of a large number of officers, including Lt Gen. Bill slim, the corps commander. In my eagerness I forgot to dig in the spades of the gun, which on firing recoiled, the telescope hitting me and giving me a black eye. slim was sympathetic, saying, 'Easy does it'.
Here I must narrate another incident that related to the importance of man management. We were located for training, prior to our departure for Arakan, at Milestone 13, Lohadaga Road. A battalion of the Bombay Grenadiers was located at Milestone 11. Orders were issued from Delhi for the reorganization of the class composition of the unit. This was resented by the men, who refused to implement the orders. The British officers of the unit over-reacted and called it a mutiny and left the unit area.
My commanding officer Lt Col 'Pip' Lascelles was ordered to handle the situation, and artillery was deployed. Lascelles called me and said, 'Jacko, go do something there'. I drove to the unit lines where the men were gathered on the sports ground. I met the subedar major and other viceroy commissioned officers. Long discussions took place. I promised that if they went back to work I would ensure that no action was taken against them. Reluctantly they returned to their duties and I reported back and briefed Lt Col Lascelles. I stressed that I had given assurances on behalf of the corps commander and my word of honour that no action would be taken against them. That was the end of the matter.
In the Thick of Action
Our regiment moved to the Arakan and took part with the 26th Indian Division in operations along Mayu Range. The regiment was complimented by Gen. Lomax on its performance. I was wounded in the operations during which Japanese Zeros straffed and bombed us in Burma. I vividly recall a Zero swooping down towards me and the face of the Japanese pilot. In a burst of frustrated anger I fired my revolver at him to little effect! There were many casualties in that attack. The surgeon in the field ambulance did a good quick job on me and I was soon back in circulation.
During a lull in operations I went on a short trek to Sikkim with Capt. Douglas Hume of our regiment. The commanding officer was surprised when told of our itinerary as the others who went on leave preferred to socialize in Calcutta.
Lt Robin Mirrlees, son of Maj. Gen. Ray Mirrlees, the director of artillery at Delhi, was my gun position officer (GPO). The GPO works out the data to engage the target. Ray Mirrlees had been Montgomery's artillery commander before being assigned to the India command. He had the reputation of being fiery and shorttempered. Robin, on the other hand, was more interested in literature and poetry than soldiering.
We took part in several operations along the Mayu range. I had one very narrow escape. I was officiating commander of the battery and was moving with my signaller and OP assistant to relieve the OP detachment. We apparently lost our way in the jungle and stopped at a jungle clearing. After a few minutes I was able to fix our position, but from the other end of the clearing a few Japanese emerged. They stopped and took up positions, and my assistant fired at them. We then slipped back into the jungle, and after a few minutes when I felt that the Japanese were near our last position, I called down artillery fire on the spot we had just left. I gave the following order: 'Battery target, battery target, grid reference ... fire by order five rounds gunfire.' After a minute or so I ordered: 'Fire'. After the rounds landed, I ordered a repeat. We succeeded in reaching our OP.
The regiment was earmarked for amphibious operations. My battery, which was operating independently, was to move to the beach at Ukhia, south of Cox's Bazaar, to train for amphibious operations. As I had to go ahead, I asked Robin to bring the main body of the battery to Ukhia and that I would place guides short of it. Robin was really incredible: I had, on one occasion, tried to stop him trying to strike a cobra with a copy of Willats' Roman Urdu!. Robin, leading the battery and reading a book, instead of turning north when they reached Arakan road from the Mayu range, turned south towards the Japanese positions. Fortunately there was a check-post manned by military police and a single strand of barbed wire across the dirt road. The military police with difficulty managed to turn the vehicles 180° around on a very narrow path of wooden planks.
Much as I liked Robin, it was difficult for me to keep him in the battery and asked Lascelles to move him out. He responded, 'Jacko, do you know what you are asking me to do? He is the top gunner's son.' I said there was no alternative, and Lascelles paused and said he would speak to Christison, the corps commander, with whom he had a good personal equation. Robin was moved within 24 hours to the field artillery training centre at Mathura. I was sorry to see him go, and we remained in touch till he passed away in 2008.
Robin was replaced by Lt John Willie Leckhe, a former planter from a tea garden in Assam. He was over 40 with scarcely any knowledge of gunnery. I tried to teach him, but to little avail, he insisting he was too old to learn! Leckhe spoke to our jawans as if they were labourers in his tea estate! I once reprimanded him about this and he retorted: 'Young man. I am old enough to be your father!'. He was really difficult to deal with. One day while moving along a jungle trail, I decided to recite a poem by Rudyard Kipling, but modified it for his benefit! (The original poem is First Shikaris). My version was:
A snider squibbled in the jungle,
Somebody laughed and fled,
And the men of 1 Battery picked up their subaltern dead,
With a blue mark on his forehead
And the back blown out of his head!
Leckhe, visibly shaken, screamed at me to stop. We proceeded along the trail on our mission without any further event. Later, I took up with headquarters the question of his replacement, and soon Leckhe was posted out to Movement Control in Cox's Bazaar.
After the jungles of Mayu range, the beach at Ukhia, stretching for miles down to Foul Point was indeed magnificent. We enjoyed the training there and were put on special rations including 'halal' New Zealand lamb. Our Punjabi Mussalman troops refused to accept the stamped 'halal' meat as authentic so we officers had more meat than we could consume. My knowledge of this beach was to prove useful later in the India-Pakistan war of 1971.
There was a vacancy for a battery commander in the regiment. The CO wrote to the brigade to post in a major as the British officers were not sufficiently fit and though Jacob was fit he was too junior. A British officer, Capt. Robinson proclaimed that if Jacob superseded him he would commit suicide. The brigade commander, who had seen me in action, responded with a one-liner: 'Jacob will be promoted.' Robinson came up to me in a belligerent mood, and I said: 'Robbie if you want to shoot yourself you are at liberty to do so,' and sulked off.
We were initially to assault the Andaman islands, but the plan was later changed to capturing instead Ramree island off the coast of Burma. Many years later, in 1960 at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, I attended a banquet given by the post commander, Brig. Gen. Richard G. Stillwell, son of 'Vinegar Joe' Stillwell (a US Army general best known for his service in China and Burma), with Lord Louis Mountbatten as the guest of honour. I was returning from a missile training course held at Fort sill, Oklahoma, the training centre for the US army's artillery and was wearing my Indian army blue patrols. Mountbatten saw me and signalled me to sit beside him. We discussed the operations of the 26 Indian Division, particularly Ramree. Mountbatten said that initially the Andamans were chosen as our objective and the intelligence branch was told, as a deception cover plan, to simulate an attack on Ramree island. The objective was later changed from the Andamans to Ramree. The intelligence, due to some mix up, was not informed and they continued to simulate an attack on Ramree.
My battery was to support the 1st battalion of the Lincolnshire Regiment, a British Army infantry battalion which formed part of an Indian Army infantry brigade, the other two infantry battalions being Indian, as was the norm up to and during the second World War. Fortunately for us the intelligence had simulated the assault at Mount Peter which the Japanese had fortified, with tunnels and bunkers that had been dug deep into the hill. We landed at Kyakpau, further north, which was lightly held and the operations went according to plan. I was assigned as forward officer, bombardment, for the battleship HMS Queen Elizabeth of Britain's royal navy. I directed the fire of her eight 15-inch guns, firing 2000 lb shells at the Mount Peter defences. Later, when I went to see the results I was surprised how little damage had been inflicted on the bunkers. Over a 1000 soldiers of the Japanese garrison retreated into the crocodile-infested mangrove swamps. We went in with boats with interpreters using loud-hailers asking them to come out. Not a single one did. salt-water crocodiles, some of them well over 20 ft in length frequented these waters. It is not difficult to imagine what happened to the Japanese who took refuge in the mangroves!
From Ramree we could watch the naval bombardment of Myebon. The British marines and commandos were bogged down. The 36th Indian Brigade of our division, commanded by Brigadier K.S. Thimayya, was ordered to clear out the Japanese, which they successfully did. Thimayya was the only Indian to command a brigade in battle during the second World War. He was the most distinguished combat officer the Indian army has produced. With him was Lt Col S.P.P. Thorat and Lt Col L.P (Bogey) Sen. Lt Col Carriapa was at that time AQMG of the 26th Indian Division and Maj. Bikram Singh his deputy.
After clearing the Japanese out of Ramree, we took part in the landing at Letpan Chaung, south of Akyab, and also at Cheduba island. The division was then promised a rest and refit back in India. We boarded a troopship, MV Dunera, and sailed to Madras; spirits were high as we were told we would be located near Bangalore. We docked in Madras in the late evening. The following morning we were awakened by announcements over loudspeakers to be ready to proceed on a route march in full field service marching order. There were grunts of outrage from the battalion of the Lincolnshire Regiment. It was raining heavily, and we marched through the streets of Madras cursing, wondering whether this was the recreation we had been promised. We returned to the ship late in the evening. The following morning we sailed out of Madras in stormy weather on very rough seas. There was intense speculation about where we were heading. Our doubts were soon removed when the shoreline of Ramree island reappeared on the horizon. After anchoring, a motorboat pulled alongside. Maj. Gen. Chambers, who was earlier Brigadier, General staff at HQ XV Corps and promoted to replace our previous divisional commander, the popular Maj. Gen. Lomax, boarded the troopship. We were ordered to assemble on the deck to be addressed by Chambers. There was much fidgeting before Chambers began speaking. 'You should be very privileged to know that you have been asked to return here to take part in one of the most important strategic operations of the war, as for your leave...' was as far as he got. One of the soldiers of the Lincolns shouted 'Chums you've had it!!'. This was followed by catcalls and barracking. A red-faced Chambers descended to the motorboat alongside to continuing catcalls and barracking.
My battery returned to its previous location. There was nothing there. The shelters we had constructed from the tin sheets scrounged from the Japanese bunkers had disappeared, so we had to face another monsoon without cover. Soon a bevy of senior staff officers from various headquarters descended on us, including the supreme commander, Lord Louis Mountbatten. The division then prepared for the assault on Rangoon. The American Office of Strategic Services (OSS), Wild Bill Donovan's, boys whom we called the boat people, had informed us that the Japanese were pulling out of Rangoon. Despite this, the operation was executed as planned.
On the lighter side, I can recall one incident in particular when the German surrender was announced. The 6 Rajputana Rifles, whose task it was to protect the gun area, fired its mortars into the sea in celebration when I was in the gun area. Lt Col Hill, who was officiating as commander, Royal Artillery, of the Division, phoned and wanted to know who was firing. On being informed he ordered me to place the commanding officer, Lt Col Butcher, who I knew well, under arrest. The Officers' Mess was under a tarpaulin and there was revelry all around. I went up to Col Butcher and said, 'I have been sent to place you under arrest!'. He laughed and replied, 'Have a drink old boy,' and that was the end of the matter.
We returned to India after the fall of Rangoon by the same troopship and proceeded to a tented camp some 30 miles outside Bangalore and were told to prepare to take part in operation 'Zipper', the assault on Malaya.
I was asked to proceed to the selection board at Bangalore for a regular commission. The tests were exhaustive, tough, and spread over four days. Some weeks later my name was announced as one of the first to be given a regular commission.
Operation Zipper was never mounted. The first atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima on 8 August and Japan surrendered shortly after. The division was to move to Sumatra to disarm the Japanese located there. The move was, however, delayed as General Douglas McArthur directed that moves would only take place after he signed the instrument of surrender aboard a battleship in Tokyo Bay. We embarked on troopships in Madras and sailed to the anchorage at Belawan in North Sumatra. There we collected our vehicles and equipment and proceeded to Medan. My battery was immediately involved in providing security for sensitive installations in the town. The Dutch officials were attempting to take over the government, a move that was strongly resisted by the Indonesians who wanted the Dutch to leave. Resistance was at first muted. 'Merdeka,' the cry for freedom, echoed throughout the archipelago. Fighting broke out between the Indonesians and our forces, which were given orders to return control of the country to the Dutch. The soldiers of my regiment were Punjabi Mussalman and their sympathy lay with the Indonesians. In those days artillery batteries were self-accounting units and were designed to operate independently. My battery was assigned the task of policing a large sector of the town, including a part of the perimeter. The Japanese unit located there presented me with a guard of honour. I remembered this when I was negotiating Niazi's surrender in 1971 and insisted on him providing a ceremonial guard of honour, for which he was much criticized.
I commandeered the Japanese commander's Packard convertible (previously owned by a Dutchman). It was a fabulous car in mint condition. I was not, however, destined to drive it around for very long. The general officer commanding the division, Maj. Gen. 'Deadly' Hedley saw me driving it and ordered that the car be handed over to him for his use, and that I would be given a suitable replacement. The replacement arrived, a beat-up Austin 10, which had seen better days. Hedley was later promoted to assume command in Malaya.
One of our soldiers disappeared somewhere in our sector and we organized a search operation. I was driving past a long doublestoreyed wooden building and decided to have a look accompanied by my signal operator. The ground floor housed a cigar factory, humming with activity. In years gone by, the best cigars were wrapped in the famous Deli tobacco leaf of northern Sumatra. The workforce appeared to consist in the main of girls. They worked silently and all appeared peaceful. I was fascinated by the manner in which they rolled the cigars on their exposed thighs. We then decided to investigate the top floor. No sooner had we reached the top of the stairs, than we saw at the far end of the corridor a group of young 'Pemodas' armed with spears and they began hurling the latter at us. I fired over their heads, emptying a full magazine from my Luger pistol, to keep them at bay. My signaller, armed with a sten gun, ran down to cover me. The other signaller in the jeep also began firing at the top floor to cover our move to the jeep. I had been in battle before but had never been so unnerved as on this occasion, attacked by a fierce looking group of spear-throwing, machete-wielding freedom fighters!
The intelligence officer attached to our division was Captain Turco Westerling of the Dutch Army, a rough operator. The Indonesians had put a reward of US$20,000 in gold on his head. On a couple of occasions I had to admonish him for his methods. In one particular incident he tried to force his way across a bridge manned by my troops, to a 'no go ahead' area without a permit. The havildar in charge stopped him with the butt of his rifle.
Some weeks later a British service officer who had replaced Westerling, against my advice, accompanied by four British sergeants with a permit crossed over to the no-go area. Some days later the officer's body was dumped after nightfall on the far side of the bridge. Westerling used to boast that his Ambonese soldiers were superior to our Gurkhas. Later, after Indonesia became independent, he raised a revolt against the Indonesian government, using his favourite Ambonese troops. The revolt was crushed and Westerling returned to the Netherlands.
The Indonesians, despite the brutal Japanese occupation, preferred the Japanese to the Dutch. They refused to take Dutch guilders, accepting only the worthless Japanese currency. We regretted that on arrival we had burnt crates of the Japanese currency. The Japanese in defeat were disciplined and behaved with dignity. The working parties provided by them were a model of efficiency. Once assigned a task, they executed it silently and efficiently. We could only move out of Medan in battalion strength. I was deputed to carry out some assignments out of Medan and had to do so by travelling in the back of a Japanese truck, as the Indonesians did not interfere with the movement of Japanese troops. On one of my assignments out of Medan I had ordered a particular task to be carried out by the Japanese unit. I informed the commander that it had not been completed to my satisfaction. He called up the second in command, and, in front of his men, slapped him with his gloved hand. I was astounded and most impressed by the Japanese even in defeat.
On the various forays around Medan our columns were frequently ambushed by the Indonesians. On one occasion, moving with the 6th Battalion, Rajputana Rifles on the road to Arnhemia, the company commander walking beside me, Major Sabnis suggested that we separate as the road along which we were advancing was notorious for its frequent ambushes. He advised that I move to the other side of the road, which I did with my radio detachment. A few hundred yards ahead there was a burst of fire and Major Sabnis stopped four bullets, was evacuated, and survived the attack. In another operation, Major Chand was also seriously wounded.