‘So how did you find out?’ one of the listeners asked. ‘Surely the Viceroy’s wartime orders were not broadcast, were they?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ agreed Akbar Khan and, warming to his subject, went on to say ‘I found out details of all three deaths from one Britisher, a captain, who was there at their capture and death.’
That produced a collective gasp of amazement. Quite a coincidence!
‘Details have been given to,’ he cleared his throat, ‘certain authorities but I gather nothing has been done either to the officer or for compensation to my family. I am incensed.’
The others nodded agreement.
Akbar Khan continued, ‘I want to get the guerrillas to make that captain a target so, even if there is no recompense, he will be punished. In case any of this comes your way, please take any action you can. He is a Captain Rance of the 1st/12th Gurkha Rifles, based in Seremban.’
‘We will, we will,’ the others chanted – all except one man, Subramanian Mudaliar, the comprador of Jemima Estate. He’s not that sort of man at all, otherwise I’d have heard about it. If I get the chance I’ll warn him. His firm features gave no clue as to his inner thoughts and after a bit more chit-chat the group broke up and they went their various ways.
Juasseh Estate, east of Seremban , mid-1952
This was an all-Tamil estate, with the owner living in Seremban. It was neither large nor all that profitable but the District War Executive Committee, DWEC, felt it provided a source of information to the guerrillas operating to the west of Bahau. DWECs, and their seniors, SWECs, State War Executive Committees, were the brainchild of General Templer, the High Commissioner-cum-Director of Operations. He wanted ‘jointery’ and the committees comprised the senior Malay government official, senior policeman and senior military man in the area it controlled, with some others, such as planters and railway men, being called in for advice if necessary. It was decided to station a company of Gurkhas there for a few months to see if relations could be so established that at best could bring those antis over to the government side or, at worst, to negate their power. The estate lay on the main road to Bahau so it was easy for sympathisers to count troops who passed and find out, if possible, their destination.
Captain Jason Rance, as a known linguist, was thought to be the man best able to do what was wanted so A Company, 1/12 Gurkha Rifles, was detailed to go there. There were two main buildings, in front and on the right as one entered and on the left was open ground. For accommodation a number of Nissen huts were erected. These were portable structures of ribbed aluminium over a frame of arched steel ribs. The floor was concrete. Ten men could be squeezed into one hut.
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?’
