The search patrols returned with the news that they had found a weapon cache, with some rifles and much ammunition. Jason was highly delighted. It was too late to do anything so he decided to tell the trolleys’ escort commander about the cache. The weapons and ammo would be guarded until the morrow when a responsible party should be sent to collect them.
By then the five dead men had been carried down to the train, an unpleasant but necessary task. They were laid by the track without any covering, there not being any available, along with the dead civilians which their scared peers could not take their eyes off such a grim sight until three trolleys arrived. There was a Chinese doctor on one and Jason told him the exact amount of morphine administered to the wounded Gurkha. The doctor said it was clear that it would take some time before he was fit enough to be moved back down to Seremban. The civilians also went back to Kuala Lipis and it was after dark when the five stiffs reached the police station.
Jason told the man in charge of the trolleys to send up some men on the morrow to collect the cache. There would be plenty of time before a train from Kelantan came to pick them up.
***
During the small hours the sentry lost his bearing as he moved round the camp. He stepped a couple of paces beyond the perimeter and, steadying himself as he looked around, he inadvertently leant against an elephant’s leg, which he took to be a tree. He found his rifle trying to move upwards by itself so he pulled it down abruptly. The next thing he knew was that he was flying through the air and even the renowned Gurkha phlegm was unable to suppress a loud yell of surprised pain when he landed in a thorn bush. The camp immediately stood to, found the disorientated sentry, relieved him and the medical orderly took his thorns out. It was only the next morning when the sentry was shown a pile of fresh elephant dung that he changed his story from being attacked by the soul of one of the dead guerrillas to an as-frightening-but-more-prosaic elephant.
About midday a train from Kota Bharu came to take them and the civilian passengers on the remainder of their journey. No one relaxed until they were out of jungle-girt ground in case of another ambush.
***
Tuesday 7 – Thursday 23 October 1952, Kelantan: Looking out of their carriage windows at the flat countryside, the men saw that Kelantan was different from what they were used to operating in, flatter, more open and, somehow, greener. It did not seem likely that guerrillas could operate in such terrain and, to the observant; everyone seemed to be a Malay, with no Chinese or Indians. The train reached Tumpat station in the late afternoon. Jason saw a Malay captain peering about so went up to him and saluted. ‘I am OC A Company, 1/12 Gurkha Rifles. Captain Rance. I am sorry to be late,’ he said with a genuine smile as he introduced himself and saluted the Malay.
‘I am Captain Yusof Ali, on the staff of 1 Malay Brigade HQ here,’ the Malay officer answered, in turn saluting. They shook hands. He was a small, dapper man, with a wide chest and long arms. His face was young-looking and his gaze often seemed to wander into a world of its own. ‘Welcome. This is the first time we’ve had Gurkhas under command, normally only Malay troops are. 3 Malay are here, firing their annual range classification and guarding some royal rowing races.’
He continued too quickly for Jason to find out more on such an intriguing and unusual military task by adding ‘they are due to move back to Port Dickson at the end of the week. There is transport outside to take you to your lines. I’ll go with you then take you to 1 Brigade HQ and meet the Deputy Commander, a Colonel, who is standing in for the Brigadier who is on leave. I’m sorry you had trouble on your way up and had a man wounded. But you managed to kill all five of them, didn’t you?’ He spoke in English.
Jason nodded and answered in the same language, ‘It was all a bit unexpected but I have a good bunch of lads.’ He called his Gurkha officers over.
Rance’s Gurkha officers all spoke some Malay so that was the language Rance used to introduce them. Captain Ali was visibly pleased with this courtesy so seldom offered by a Mat Salleh. The company was ready to move off and went out through the station onto the main road. As far north as this the sun set later and rose earlier than it did nearer the Equator. They were driven away some little distance out of the town to a camp, Rance being given a ride in Captain Ali’s staff car. The accommodation was huts with atap roofs. After debussing the Malay captain looked at his watch. ‘Can we leave now, please, it’s getting late, it takes a bit of time to get to HQ and I don’t like keeping my boss waiting.’
‘2 ic saheb. Carry on as you think fit. I have to go to Brigade HQ.’
At the HQ Jason was introduced to the Colonel, also a Malay, who gave him a quick briefing on the current situation. Not much was happening, not much had happened and, with any luck, not much would happen. ‘We are in a quiet area here, Captain Rance, and long may it remain so. The population is more religious than in other parts of the country and so is not at all interested in Communism.’
‘What tasks have you for me sir?’ Rance asked as he went to a large map on the wall. ‘As we are on the border with Thailand is there any likelihood of incursions or any such activity?’
‘No, none whatever.’ Captain Ali made as to say something and the Colonel said, ‘We will allot you some transport and I’d like you to tour the area, show your faces, so to speak, let the villagers see the Gurkhas and, yes, you can go up to the border. Is that all?’
‘Three more points, sir: mandatory opening times for sitreps, issue of maps and, a surprise question, do you know of any Gurkha soldiers who settled around here after escaping from the Japanese in 1942?’
The Colonel glanced at his watch, said to his Staff Captain, ‘Get my vehicle ready’ and turning to Jason said, ‘Captain Ali will answer the first two questions and you can stop at any police station you pass and ask about the last question, provided you have contacted the Officer in charge of the Police District, the OCPD, concerned first.’
Jason heard his car drive up. ‘Good night,’ the Colonel said as he abruptly left. Jason found himself saluting nobody. You’ve never saluted a blank file before, have you? he asked himself.
***
From his more detailed operational briefing on the following morning Jason found that apart from guarding food stocks and the occasional police check on any suspicious stranger, the situation was almost normal, certainly compared with farther south. Guerrilla activity had not been reported for about six months and then only on the fringes of the southern operational boundary. The nearest point of danger, in Jason’s mind, was on the Thai border. It was so quiet that any unarmed guerrilla courier from the south, wearing plain clothes, could pass as a normal civilian and so not be suspected of any nefarious activity, even though here, surely, was too far to the east for routine contact with southern Thai guerrillas. From his briefing it seemed that troops did not make deep jungle recces. Jason wondered why: no perceived threat? No particular inclination?
Jason thanked the Brigade Major who had been briefing him and said, ‘Unless you have any objections, what I’d like to do, certainly for the first week, is to rotate my platoons, one or two at a time, for a couple of days in any areas you’d like me to look at to get used to the place. For myself I’d like to borrow a Jeep and visit police stations, especially ones near the international border. As I mentioned yesterday I have been given a non-operational task by my CO, namely to see if there are any remnants of the Gurkhas from the 1942 campaign –what a disaster! – as well as feel the pulse of events.’ That was agreed to, provided he met the OCPD, first. Most police officers of that rank and above were British. That was acceptable to the military authorities. Jason returned to his lines, devised a programme for the first week and left the 2 ic to work on it while he went to meet the OCPD. On his way there he was fascinated to see the royal canoes practising rowing for the up-coming festival. He did not know when it took place or what it was all about. I must ask the OCPD.
When he reached the office he was amazed and delighted to see the incumbent was none other than Rodney Mole, the 3-inch Mortar Officer he had worked alongside when he was serving in 4/1 GR in Burma. He was a tall, lean man with a sharp, narrow face, nose a little out of shape – he had played rugger at school – and had a sensitive mouth.
Rodney was equally surprised to see who had come to visit him. ‘Well, who would have thought we’d meet up here?’ he asked joyously. ‘And, pray, what can I do for you? Have a seat while you tell me all about it.’
Jason explained that his company was ‘standing in’ until the incoming Malay Regiment troops were ready. He explained how he intended to operate and then mentioned about his search for any wartime Gurkhas who might still be in the area. Rodney was entirely sympathetic with that and suggested if dates worked out, he’d like to accompany Jason.
‘And now it’s your turn to tell me about you,’ said Jason, smiling broadly. He knew that Rodney was a man of upright character who saw the best in people even if there was not much to see in the first place.
‘I was infiltrated into Malaya by submarine at the end of 1944 and found I so liked the Malays I wanted to return and work with them after I learnt that the peacetime army didn’t want me,’ he told Jason. ‘I applied for and was accepted by the Malay police and here I am, really happy although, as in any job, it has its ups and downs. Luckily for me mine are mostly ups.’
They visited most of the police stations under Rodney’s jurisdiction in police transport. In every one, the occupants were amazed at Jason’s fluency and pronunciation compared with other Europeans. Jason, in turn, found that in some police stations the Malay language spoken was different from that he had grown up with. He had not been warned that there was a difference. He always started off by telling them that his troops’ task was purely military and then went on to mention any missing orang Gurkha who might have hidden from the Japanese in the last war. He never got an affirmative answer, but the looks they gave each other when he broached the topic troubled him. Do they know something? he wondered or is it that Gurkhas mean nothing to them?
When they had completed their tour Jason thanked Rodney, who asked him to pop in and take ‘pot luck’ any time he felt like it.
‘Why not now, Rodney, there’s time for a quick cuppa.’
‘Or for a cold beer,’ smiled the OCPD. ‘Come along. I’d like to show you my garden. My driver will run you back to your lines.’
The two men sat on the veranda, Jason with his cup of tea and Rodney with a fresh lime. And indeed Jason had seldom seen such a profusion of colour: white, pink and red hibiscus; beds of red cannas; pink oleander bushes; frangipani trees; purple morning glory; deep violet bougainvillea and others he didn’t recognise.
‘Rodney, this is wonderful,’ he breathed. ‘You can’t have done it all yourself but it is obvious that you have looked after it with green fingers.’
As Jason rose to go it was dusk: he thanked his old friend and said it was the perfect way to end a perfect day. ‘You’ll have to visit us before we go,’ he said on parting.
***
After his platoons had returned from their patrols, all of which took place in the western part of the state, Jason debriefed them to find out what they had found – which was nothing! He fretted that there really didn’t seem much point in their coming here all the way from Seremban. In an unusually gloomy frame of mind when he went to brief HQ on his ‘no news’ report he unwittingly spoke in faultless Malay to the Colonel who was astonished and complimented him. ‘Where did you learn to speak our language so well?’ he asked and was amazed to learn Jason’s background. Jason could see he seemed to regard him in a better light than before as he was, if not politer than he had been, less abrupt. As I have noticed so many times, the way to a person’s heart is from the tongue through the ear!
‘Sir, I have been studying the map and see that a road runs along the frontier. Have you had any incursions from the Malays living in Thailand? I can’t image that any Thais would infiltrate unless a blind eye is turned when they come shopping?’ He knew that during the late war the Japanese had incorporated this part of Malaya into southern Thailand.
The Colonel was struck by the idea. ‘I had not thought of that before. With your knowledge of Malay it might be a good idea to leave a rear party in your camp and you to take the three platoons to search the border, not to cross it, mind you, to see what evidence, if any, you can find.’
‘How long for, sir?’
‘Say, a week. Or a bit longer if you like. You are about half way through your stay here, aren’t you?’
‘May I suggest I start with ten days’ rations and dump them so there’ll only be a need for one fresh rations re-supply? I’ll take a central point and patrol north for the first five days and the south for the last part.’
‘The Malay Colonel bit his lip in thought. ‘Yes, I’ll go along with that. Plan something and let me know. But no, I repeat no crossing the border.’
‘I fully understand, sir’ Jason said and, having saluted his senior, went back to his lines. There he studied his map and saw a hilly area, Bukit Bunga, Flower Hill, near the border. It seemed the obvious place to use as a base for movement north and south. There was a road near it for easy re-supply. Leaving a small rear party back in camp, transport took the rest of his company as far as the village of Rantau Panjang, a stone’s throw from the Thai border, and on down to as near Bukit Bunga as vehicles could get. They debussed, sent the vehicles back and moved west into the jungle, seeing the boundary markers from time to time. They set up a patrol base and for the first two days platoons patrolled in both directions.
On Day three, Jason had this report: ‘As we lay in ambush we saw a herd of bison, Saheb, porcupine and wild boar. We looked down a glade into Thai territory and saw a trap big enough for boar.’
‘And yet no human tracks?’ Jason asked.
‘Not on this side, Saheb.’
Jason sat still, contemplating this. He had been briefed that there were Malays on both sides of the border but everyone knew that they never ate pork meat. He turned to the man who had mentioned the trap. ‘Are you sure that the trap could not be for porcupines?’
The man looked perplexed then grinned. ‘No Saheb, not sure, but to make sure why don’t we ambush it to find out?’
‘We have three days before we need go back to the road to collect our fresh rations and only a carrying party need go for them so yes, let’s do that.’ They got ready to move and the patrol leader who had seen the trap led the way and, on the morrow about noon, two men were seen approaching it. Jason, who was a few yards in the rear, was called forward. He saw the men, took his binoculars out of their case and closely studied them. Surely not! Look like Gurkhas but can’t be so, or can it?
‘Ustad,’ he said to the NCO next to him. ‘Look through these and tell me what you think.’
