The main Seremban-Bahau road ran on the fourth side. Left and right of the entrance to the estate buildings on the road two parallel lines of barbed wire frames – ‘knife rests’ – were set eighty feet apart. No troops had ever been billeted there before and as it was a ‘first’ the news quickly spread. The local member of the MIC, who had been one of those who had listened to Akbar Khan in Kuala Lumpur, soon alerted those he thought could take advantage of what he wanted, so he contacted them and worked out a plan. Get a quarrel going among the locals, ask Captain Rance to be a neutral judge and, while he was adjudicating, let the quarrel spill over and kill him – quite accidently of course ‘because he stepped into the way of a knife strike.’
It was purely by chance that Subramanian Mudaliar had to go to Seremban to organise some new machinery for his drying sheds and, on the off chance of a gossip, he went to the local MIC office to see what was what. Just as he was leaving, the ‘plotter’ came in. They knew each other and the ‘plotter’ said, ‘I have something to tell you. Let’s go and have something to eat and I’ll tell you about it.’ It was over a bowl of noodles that the plan was, voice suitably lowered, explained.
‘Now, that is a good idea,’ Subramanian Mudaliar chortled, sycophantically. ‘Where exactly is that to take place, did you say?’
‘Juasseh Estate.’
The comprador thanked his informer and wondered how best he could warn Captain Rance, who had been so charming when he gave me the watch he remembered, glancing at it in admiration. It really is a beauty.
Subramanian thought that he himself going to Juasseh was out of the question and, anyway, time was against him. I’ll ask the Telephone Office for the battalion’s number. He rang it.
‘May I speak to Captain Rance, please?’ he asked the battalion exchange.
He was told that Rance saheb was away in Juasseh Estate and could not be got hold of.
‘Is there no telephone there?’
‘No, we have to use the wireless or send mail.’
‘Thank you,’ said the Tamil and rang off. He went to a stationary shop and bought paper and an envelope, went to a cafe, sat down with a cup of tea and wrote Jason a letter, explaining what had been planned. He then took a taxi and told the driver to go to the Gurkha battalion lines and to wait for him. Once there he asked the way to the Adjutant’s office and told that over-worked man what he wanted. He told the Adjutant about his watch and showed it to him. ‘In this envelope is a letter to the man who sent the watch. Captain Rance knows his address, I don’t. I am asking him to send my letter to England.’
‘Yes, that’s reasonable. I’ll send it to him by the next convoy.’
The comprador thanked him and went back to the town in the taxi. He returned to Jemima Estate in a bus.
When the letter reached Rance he read it with mixed feelings. The main message ended, ‘whatever rumpus happens, keep well away. Do not interfere even if you are asked to sort the quarrel out. You are the target because you were at the deaths of those three Pathan boys during the war. This I know to be true.’
Hardly possible, is it, after all this time? But as Subramanian Mudaliar has warned me I’ll take his advice.
Rance was liked in the estate lines, the labourers were amused at how quickly he picked up Tamil and made the children laugh. He told his 2 ic, the Gurkha Captain, and his batman about his warning. And indeed, one morning the day after he had come back from a local operation, an unseemly row did break out. Jason was in his office, catching up with the mail and looked out of the window. A large crowd was gathering with much raucous shouting, feverish gesticulations and hand-to-hand scuffles. The main contestants seemed to be two men who were quarrelling about a young girl who was trying to hide behind her mother. Someone came and asked Rance to help sort out the row. ‘You are neutral. We respect you.’
Rance, remembering his warning, said that he felt he could not become involved.
Another man ran into the office and asked the first man something, in Tamil, which Rance did not fully understand. The second man turned to him and said ‘you are here to protect us, aren’t you?’
‘No, I am not,’ he answered gruffly but as he looked out of the window he saw a man creep up behind the two men quarrelling, lift a stick and thwack one of them full in the face, drawing blood and knocking him to the ground. In no time at all a knife was drawn and Rance saw the man with the stick stabbed in the belly. He fell down bleeding. The man with the stick then went and struck the mother of the girl hiding behind her, reaching out and trying to grab her.
Instinctively Rance just felt he had to try and help the girl and to see if he could render any medical help. As he reached the crowd he saw that the stabber was out of control and very close to him. Glancing at the stabbed man he saw he was dead. Subramanian Mudaliar’s message was temporarily forgotten in his urge to save the girl. His batman and another soldier charged up to him, Kulbahadur pulling him away and the soldier defending the two of them with a khukri. They ran back to his office and his company 2 ic said, ‘Saheb, you were warned not to go. These hot blooded people are a danger.’
‘Captain saheb, yes, thank you. I know I should not have gone but I went automatically to save the girl.’ He put both hands on his ears and twisted them, a punishment used to recalcitrant riflemen. The 2 ic laughed, ‘Saheb, you are forgiven but please do not do it again.’
Radio Malaya, suitably prompted, announced the death of ‘a senior person at Juasseh Estate whose name cannot be made public.’ This was taken by Akbar Khan as the authorities not wanting to mention a British officer’s death. He exalted, feeling that justice had been done and, after a while, forgot about it.
In due course Jason thanked Subramanian Mudaliar for his timely warning and kept up a friendship for as long as he was in the country.
The second event was, in practice, so insignificant it hardly mentioned anything but temporary comment and an hour’s frustration for all the listeners of all three channels of Radio Malaya, the red, green and blue for Chinese-, Malay- and English-language programmes. One afternoon none of the three channels broadcast anything and nobody knew why. The reason was that it had been decided, at the very top, that the final of the inter-battalion Nepal Cup, the annual football competition, should be broadcast on a wavelength that the 68 Radio sets used by soldiers in the jungle could receive the running commentary. The headset would be hung from a low-lying branch and, less the sentries, the men could gather round it and listen. Two broadcasters were detailed, a Gurkha from the British Forces Broadcasting Service and Captain Rance. They were to take turn and turn about. The Gurkha quickly became tongue-tied and Jason Rance spoke for most of the time.
The Collector, wanting to listen to his favourite programme, found nothing. Twirling the knob on his set he heard the Gurkhali voice coming over. There was something about it that was familiar. He understood not a word but, after resounding cheers had faded into the background, silence broke out. He decided to try the red channel for the Chinese programmes and switched on in time to hear the announcer explaining the disruption of normal programmes. ‘It was the final of the Nepal Cup football competition being broadcast for the Gurkhas in the jungle and it was one of their officers, Captain Rance, speaking in their language making a running commentary. Radio Malaya makes no apologies as we approve of our fighting services getting the benefit of being able to listen into once a year and the only way for us to do that was to stop broadcasting on our normal channels and using a special one …’
The Collector switched off. So that’s who that ‘Chinese’ voice belongs to. He congratulated himself on recognising it. One day … he vowed. Even his dreadful walk to and from near the top of Bukit Beremban seemed worth it. He decided to go and visit the one-time schoolmaster in Mantin, not only for old-times’ sake.
June 1952
The guerrilla camp, base of the Negri Sembilan Regional Committee, part of the political wing of the MCP, was situated in a flat space surrounded by thick jungle not far from the summit of Bukit Beremban, 3293 feet high and easily seen from Seremban. It was guarded by elements of the MRLA, both at the base and around its edges. 1/12 GR’s camp could be seen from there.
The Regional Commissar, Lau Beng, was a one-time schoolmaster from Seremban and a veteran activist from pre-war days, who knew Ngai Hiu Ching. The military commander was Wang Ming, a short, almost square, powerfully built man – he looked like a bear and his nickname was Hung Lo, Bear – who, at low level, was tactically astute. He was a veteran from the Second World War, fighting against the Japanese.
This particular day it so happened that the camp was on high alert, with sentries placed around the bottom of the camp entrance. A high-powered conference was taking place with members from the Politburo in the Cameron Highlands, who were on an unusually long visit to the south of the country. They were Yeong Kwoh, the MCP’s military chief, Chien Tiang, chief confidant of Chin Peng and propaganda expert, and Ah Fat, a non-voting member of the Politburo. Rumours of a high-level ‘mole’ had to be pinned down. Matters were interrupted by one of the duty sentries who, after asking permission to speak and apologising for disturbing such senior comrades, announced that a courier from Seremban had brought such an important message that it had to be delivered orally. He was on such a tight schedule and in such danger of apprehension in his coming and going that time was of the essence. ‘Can he come and make his report now?’
‘Comrade Lau Beng, ask him who the messenger is,’ demanded Chien Tiang.
The sentry was asked and said, ‘Comrade Kwek Leng Joo, the barman of the Yam Yam.’
The Political Commissar explained what an important man Comrade Kwek Leng Joo was.
‘Yes, Comrade Lau Beng. get the man brought in. This could be interesting.’ That was Yeong Kwoh speaking, belatedly feeling that it was he who should have spoken in the first place.
Comrade Kwek Leng Joo was ushered into the meeting and Lau Beng, who knew him well, introduced him before asking permission to interrogate him.
Granted. ‘Comrade, please tell us your news. It must be important for you to have made such a dangerous journey.’
‘Comrades, as barman of a nightclub in Seremban, the Yam Yam, one of my tasks is gaining information from the gwai lo who talk to me as they drink their alcohol. One of the most persistent is a sympathetic English officer, name of Captain Alan Hinlea, the Intelligence Officer of the Goo K’a battalion. He is a card-carrying Communist but is under the strictest orders not talk about it openly. He wants to join us and work with the Central Committee as an adviser on how best to counter colonial propaganda.’
A gasp like a soft wind escaped from every listener’s lips.
‘He also wants to marry one of the taxi girls and has mentioned taking her with him.’
Silence reined as the implications were considered. After a long, long silence Yeong Kwoh said ‘Thank you, Comrade. This certainly is news we must take full advantage of. Other than the woman who will have to stay in Seremban for any marriage to happen after we have won our struggle, the extrication and movement of the officer will need the most careful planning, a fool-proof cover plan and the closest monitoring. We will go back and get permission one way or the other and let you know in due course. It will take time but, if permitted and successful, eminently worthwhile. The need-to-know principle is paramount.’
The messenger was briefed how to let the gwai lo know what was being planned and not to breathe a word to anyone at all. He departed and, with a considerable lightening of the original atmosphere, the meeting continued for another day. The three senior men left in high hopes.
When a courier next arrived at the Regional Committee camp, Lau Beng told him to wait while he wrote a letter. It was to Ngai Hiu Ching and all it said was that his suggestions had been noted and that ‘we are preparing a thunder bolt that will do more damage than what you had in mind.’ He hoped that his elliptical reference would be enough to put his friend’s mind at rest.
Ngai Hiu Ching had heard the Radio Malaya broadcast about ‘a senior person at Juasseh Estate whose name cannot be made public’ and had wondered if it was Captain Rance being referred to. Later on, ‘no’, he learnt so he waited patiently for another occasion. He had already managed to contact, secretly of course, Lau Beng about the complaints he had received and his difficulty in suggesting how to resolve them. He was overjoyed at Lau Beng’s letter.
Politburo permission to contact Captain Hinlea and organise his journey onwards reached the Regional HQ and preparations were made for Hinlea to be brought to the camp on Bukit Beremban. And brought he was, having managed to steal many of the secret details of what was known of the guerrillas held in Special Branch. The Gurkha, Padamsing Rai, thinking he was talking to Hinlea, had been overheard by Rance and Hinlea’s reports were not Special Branch’s but cleverly forged ones designed to bring alarm and despondency to the guerrillas. Padamsing, never having contacted Kamal, was gently eased out, never fully understanding where he had gone wrong and once back in Darjeeling became a Bengali politician. The reports Hinlea showed to Lau Beng had such a devastating effect on Lau Beng’s morale he was unable to cope properly with his task.
Unbeknownst to the guerrillas, Captain Rance was alerted at Hinlea’s absence and the maskirovka planned by the turncoat came unstuck. Rance and four Gurkhas were sent to track Hinlea’s group, which consisted of the whole of the Regional HQ plus a military escort.
The tracking was of such a high standard that the guerrilla group never knew it was being trailed. It finished spectacularly: Lau Beng and some of his men were killed as was Hinlea, after a furious but unsuccessful attempt to kill Rance, otherwise he would have been captured. The news was never broadcast on Radio Malay so the Politburo had to guess that something on the way had compromised the operation. Also on the credit side was that Wang Ming, the Bear, and the few remaining MRLA soldiers were so won over by Rance’s performance that they were persuaded to work for the Security Forces as a ‘Q’ team, often with Rance.
December 1952
Siu Tae, a girl with a sad, sweet, young-old face, felt that by hooking a gwai lo in marriage, future life, however difficult, would be compensated by the untold wealth that every foreigner had. She knew what her hoped-for future husband was intending to do and that it would be a long time before any news could filter back that he was well and happy working with the MCP Politburo. But before anything definite was told her she began to hear niggling rumours that her Alan was dead. She asked both her manager and the barman but neither gave her an answer that satisfied her. It might just have been careless talk from one of the ‘Q’ team that his so-called friend Captain Rance – never any proof, mind you – had killed him. He had told her all that class were just the same, none could be trusted. Certainly there was evidence that Captain Rance had not been in the camp after her man had left her. Good enough! Siu Tae, who was pregnant by Hinlea, vowed that her baby would be a son – it was – who would make amends. She sought out her uncle, Deng Bing Yi, who worked in a garage and blurted the whole story out to him. ‘Don’t worry about waiting for your son, it’ll take too long. Let me see what I can do.’
He recalled a talk he had had with Ngai Hiu Ching when he had suggested trying to sabotage the gwai lo’s car when the gwai lo was inside, difficult though it would be to arrange it. Ngai Hiu Ching had acquiesced in principle but had suggested a more plausible occasion with detailed publicity would be more of a coup. It was now time for Deng Bing Yi to act. He was a skilled mechanic and during the war had sabotaged some Japanese cars by blowing them up and killing the occupants. If the man my niece wants to eliminate has his own car, as some of those officers have, that’s the best answer. I already service a couple of them. Time and place will be the problem, not what I can personally do. He wondered how best to set about solving his problem.
He decided he had three main tasks, the first was to make a bomb that would blow up a car. That would not be difficult because he had, or could get, what was needed as he still had some hidden away from the war years. The second was to fix it in the car that this Captain Rance was about to drive away – or be driven, it didn’t really matter – and the third was to get an accomplice to fix a date and place to an event that would ensure that the captain and his car would be there long enough for him to plant the bomb. The first two were comparatively easy as only he himself was involved: it was the third bit that was an unknown.
