‘Put it on that table,’ the Prince said, indicating that taking anything from the hand of non-royalty was degrading. ‘And as His Majesty’s Consul – for how much longer, I wonder? – in future wear national dress.’
As the Prince turned to go he said, ‘His Majesty’s order is that only you and your Vice Consul will know about the contents of this letter. Only open it after you have returned. Once you have read it destroy it.’
An airport official came into the office. ‘Sir, your pilot is ready for the return flight. The sky is getting heavy with cumulus cloud.’
With no more ado the Prince strode out behind the official. The Consul gulped, stared after him, misery and embarrassment engulfing him. In his car returning to the consulate, fearful that this morning’s encounter would irrevocably and fatally militate against him, he tried to compose his features back to normalcy. It would never do to lose face ‘downwards’ as well as ‘upwards’ in the same day. Who was it he asked himself who had said ‘don’t worry about the bang, fear the whimper? Yes, that has yet to come.
In his office, with the door closed, he opened the letter. The note paper had the royal crest on it and was written in court Nepali, mostly not understandable to lesser mortals. He read that ‘you are forbidden to visit the boatload of British Army Gurkhas, under any pretext whatsoever, due in on the next troop ship because they are a battalion which has, most recently in the northeast of Malaya, mutinied and demanded to be regarded as Communists. The British government has therefore disbanded it.’ He was further enjoined to discover the background to ‘such an unexpected conversion and to warn the Nepalese consulate in Calcutta what action was recommended to counter any agitation on the way through the town up to being finally paid off. The Throne would be informed what had been said.’ Although the King had orally included the Vice Consul not to visit the troops, he had not included him in his letter.
The Consul shook his head in utter bewilderment. How could this have happened? he asked himself, almost tearfully.
***
It was ironic that neither the OC Troops nor his Chinese friend had the least inkling of any of this nor that the author of the rumour was under close arrest in the ship’s brig!
***
Thursday 13 – Tuesday 25 November 1952, on board SS Eastern Queen: Apart from ‘boat drill’ with life jackets in case of an emergency and the daily cleaning and inspection of mess decks and cabins, routine life on board ship was simple, get up, lounge around, eat, go to bed. Jason went with the ship’s inspecting officer to mess decks and cabins so was known to the wives and children, always with a kind word and a facial gimmick for the kids. There was only the worry of the sick child whose condition steadily deteriorated.
As soon as Law Chu Hoi, the purser, had completed his initial duties he called Ah Fat to his private cabin for a briefing. A Chinese going to the cabin of a Chinese in a Chinese boat caused less than any interest and no suspicion whatsoever. ‘I won’t ask you who your friends are as you won’t ask me who are mine but there are some who know us both and know our orders. We need acknowledge nothing else’ was his cryptic opening remark.
He looked at Ah Fat who nodded knowingly but said nothing.
‘These are our orders. We plan to be in Calcutta for six days. During that time I will have much to do but after my work has slackened, possibly on our second day in port, you and I will go to a place called South Tangra. This is one of the two Chinatowns in Calcutta where the Hakka community work in leather tanneries. There we will meet either Wong Kek Fui or Cheng Fan Tek, who will be your link for further contacts. Whichever is available will take you to a certain place and introduce you to a certain important person and leave you to carry out whatever orders you have already been given. I do not want to know about them as I have no need to.’ He let that sink in. ‘Whatever you have to do must be done before we sail if you want to travel back to Singapore with us. We simply cannot wait for you if you haven’t finished by then.’
‘Thank you for explaining all so clearly to me. It is heartening to have someone as efficient and calm to deal with and through’ – and I’m as good a toad-eater as the next man Ah Fat thought to himself – ‘and of course such information is my secret weapon for Party use only.’
‘In that case a drop of brandy will go down well’ and, going to a locker, he took out a bottle and two glasses. It was a long session, almost too long for Ah Fat who did not have a good head for liquor.
***
Initially, also, Jason had been busy checking the paperwork, nominal rolls by units, of the leave party and ensuring all was well with the troops and families, especially the sick girl. He also visited the prisoner, who had his own two CMP minders who felt their sea journey was really a holiday with no officious sergeants or officers to worry them. So it was only on their fourth day at sea, after leaving Penang, that Jason had enough time for a long, long session with his childhood friend, with whom till then he had had only passing pleasantries. ‘P’ing Yee, never have I been more surprised than when I found you were on the boat. There must be a most important reason for your being allowed to be away from “them” for so long.’
‘Yes, Shandung P’aau, there is and of course I’ll let you into the secret …’ and out it all came, the disillusion of a quick victory so to get Gurkhas away from Malaya, to India or Sarawak but preferably the former. To this end and hearing that there was a mysterious centre that was so cleverly controlling all communist activities throughout southeast Asia and in India, at least on the eastern seaboard, probably in Calcutta, Ah Fat’s task was to go there and try and find it and its operator to aid the MCP in its task. ‘That shows you, Jason, just how desperately serious they are about the current situation: my journey is seen as their only hope, their “tipping point” for victory, even though my being sent is really nothing but inspired and unproven speculation.’
Jason, for once temporarily speechless with astonishment, shook his head in wonder at such a course of action both being possible and considered necessary. ‘But, surely, there must be more to it than that. You can’t just go to Calcutta blind.’
‘You’re right there. I can’t and I’m not. This is where this Chinese boat comes into it. The purser is …’ and the rest of the story followed. ‘So you see I have guides all the way to the centre of the presumed and hoped-for spider’s web, or at least that is the plan.’
Jason, wondering, on the off chance, if any of this concerned him, asked ‘do you see me being involved in this in any way? I know that Dame Fortune, that most fickle lady, plans matters without consulting us but one of my mottos is “react to the unexpected” and if anything ever was unexpected, this is.’
Ah Fat looked at him, thoughtfully. ‘A tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed Caucasian loitering in an Indian Chinatown? I suppose tourists or, even, European businessmen in the leather trade could visit the place, Jason. The purser and I will go there on Day 2 or 3. Yes, it would be fun for us to go together but not before I go with him. You don’t speak Hak Wa but you can get by with your Cantonese. You might learn something by not speaking it! Were you to come trailing along with me and the purser you’ll be so incongruous and of such suspicion that I myself will be in danger of being thought of colluding with imperialists, fascists, colonials and I don’t know who else,’ and he smiled ruefully.
‘Yes, I think a threesome is quite out the question.’ said Jason disarmingly. ‘Let’s “play it by ear” and see what turns up when we get there, shall we? Could be that nothing will.’
***
Two days out from Rangoon the sick child died. Both parents were distraught and wondered how they could take their daughter’s body back to Nepal for correct obsequies to be carried out. The father, a corporal from 1/10 GR, came to see Jason with the senior Gurkha officer of his own battalion for advice.
‘Taking your daughter’s body all the way to Nepal may not be possible or advisable,’ Jason said, ‘nor do I know how the authorities in Rangoon and later on in Calcutta will accept a dead body. I have no experience of deaths at sea. Let me go and see the Captain for advice.’ Yes, that was sensible. ‘I’ll come back with what he says and let you know.’
Jason went to see Captain Lam Wai Lim who had already been told of the death. Unthinkingly Jason broached him in Chinese which made the elderly man flex his back muscles in surprise but, with the inherent good manners of all Chinese, reacted as though being spoken to in fluent Chinese by a gwai lo was something normal. Jason mentioned the need for correct obsequies and the desire of the parents not to forgo such.
‘Captain Rance, my firm advice is a burial at sea. My carpenters can make a coffin which we will drape, sadly not with a Union Jack or a Nepalese flag as we hold neither, but the flag of the Steam Navigation Company. To take a dead body onto Burmese soil will result in repercussions that will be so protracted that we will have to leave you and the father of the baby behind in Rangoon. They will suspect foul play. It could take weeks. No, please try and convince the parents and their friends that my advice is almost mandatory.’
‘Won’t the Burmese authorities take the signature of the ship’s doctor as certifying the reason for the death? They must, surely,’ Jason expostulated.
‘Even if they do believe it they will behave as if they don’t. Anything quicker than, say, six weeks, will cost you more money than even a British captain can afford.’
Jason shook his head in weary disgust, thanked the Captain and said he would only give him a direct answer for the burial once he had spoken to the family.
He called for the parents and the senior Gurkha officer to let them know what the Captain had advised and why. It took some time to convince the mother although the father agreed once the Gurkha officer had reminded them that the battalion pundit was also on board and that he could give the correct blessings as the body was tipped overboard. The mother eventually, through tears, acquiesced and Jason told the Captain, whose only stipulation was that the burial had to be done outside Burmese territorial waters. On the following morning, a small coffin, draped with the company flag, diagonal white stripes on a blue background, was blessed by the pundit before being tipped overboard, with all 10 GR leave men parading in sympathy.
Jason, feeling a weight off his shoulders, went to amend the nominal roll of families of 10 GR. He hoped that the Port Authorities would not query the amendment. Burmese was not one of his languages so he could not be as convincing as he otherwise might have been. Leave it to chance!
***
Tuesday 18 November1952, Rangoon: Being tied up alongside the quay was unpleasantly hot, even as late as mid-November, and boring once the novelty of seeing stores loaded and unloaded had worn off. The Gurkha officers asked their OC Troops if the men and families could stretch their legs on the quayside. ‘I’ll find out,’ Jason had said and was told, several hours later, that, yes, they could exercise themselves – between two and four o’clock in the morning. The offer was politely declined.
***
Mr Dhruba Kumar Oli called his assistant, the Vice Consul, to his office. He was Mansing Basnet, whose round, honest face had an expression of permanent surprise as though he could not quite believe where he had found himself. But, in fact, he was a shrewd operator. The Consul had given him the letter to read and now he needed to discuss the most sensible course of action. Two heads were better than one for occasions such as this. ‘Mansing-ji, the boat with the mutinying soldiers should be safely tied up by now.’
‘Hajur, I have checked and yes it is.’
The two men looked at each other, both knowing what was in the other’s mind. ‘You have read the King’s letter, haven’t you?’ the Consul asked, knowing the answer but wanting to lead in gradually to what was in his mind and, also, on his conscience.
The Vice Consul nodded as the Consul knew he would. Words were unnecessary.
‘You know I cannot go myself but there was nothing in the letter that forbade you to go, was there?’ Past tense, with the letter burnt and its ashes blown away. ‘His Majesty wants himself and our Calcutta Consul briefed, doesn’t he?’ A nod. ‘It would be, what, provident to find out from any British officer in charge, there must surely be one, who even maybe in danger of his life.’
Yes, that made sense and, in fact, both men were bursting to find out everything about this whole unprecedented and amazing matter.
‘Hajur, that is certainly so.’ Now they were both implicated the Consul felt happier. ‘Suppose you asked me if you could go and see for yourself. That way I wouldn’t have tried to make you go, would I?’ Oli wheezed in his cunning and excitement.
The Vice Consul shook his head. ‘No, Hajur, that is true. There will be families on board and if your wife and mine went with me in the car it would let the mutinous soldiers see we had just’ – he emphasised that word – ‘come on a courtesy visit.’
The Consul smiled. ‘Yes. I like that. See to it.’
The consulate car was a recently bought Ambassador, a clunky, steady machine. ‘I’ll drive. Those Port Authorities can be difficult people but there should be no trouble in our getting into the dock area with our diplomatic ID cards and the car’s diplomatic plates and if you, Consul-ji, ring them up before I leave, it will make that doubly sure.’
The Vice Consul drove to the main gate of the docks where he was unexpectedly given a cheery wave through into the dock area when his diplomatic and the two ladies’ ID cards were shown. He knew the name of the boat so was given an entry pass and told what quay to drive up to. Eventually, with car parked and locked, the three Nepalis came to the gangway and, showing diplomatic cards once more and the one signed by the dock authorities, were taken to the Purser’s Office.
‘I am the Nepalese Vice Consul and these two ladies are the consul’s wife as well as my own. I wish to see the British officer in charge of the Gurkhas on board, if there is one.’
‘Yes there is a British captain. I will call him.’ The purser pulled the Tannoy microphone over and, in English, twice called out, ‘Attention please, attention please. Will the OC Troops please report to the Purser’s Office now.’ He put the machine back and asked the trio to wait.
Jason, wearing plain clothes, came down the stairs opposite the office, smiled at the three waiting people and asked the purser what was wanted. On being told he turned towards the three visitors but before he could introduce himself the man said in English ‘I am Mansing Basnet, Vice Consul of the Nepalese consulate, here in Rangoon. These ladies are the Consul’s wife and my wife.’
