During the day the manager, a tall, energetic, dark-haired Welshman named Peter Jones, would inspect some fields, visit the factory and go to his office to deal with the inevitable paperwork. By three o’clock the tappers would have returned to the factory with the latex they had spent the morning tapping and later collected in buckets. The routine only varied if a ‘field’ had to be hewn down and replanted.
One day Peter Jones had to go out for a meeting. He told his wife he’d be back for a late lunch so not to wait for him. Kissing her good bye he got into his vehicle and drove himself off.
***
Because Chen Fan Tek had not immediately wanted to rejoin the MRLA guerrillas, he was under suspicion. In that he and two others who also feared retribution unless they succeeded with something that the Party would approve of, they decided, if possible, to do more than recce Everton Estate to see how much damage they could do. He knew from his grocery days that there was a European manager, his wife and small child. The three guerrillas felt that even if they only killed the manager they would no longer fear retribution from the Party.
On their recce the three men had seen the car drive away with Peter Jones being unaccompanied. ‘It will be easier to ambush and kill him when the car comes back rather than force our way into the house and kill the Europeans and any staff who come to try and save them,’ the Hakka told his two companions.
They mulled that over, nodded and one of them added a rider. ‘We will gain more merit if we kill them all at the house but some of the workers could see us and follow-up will be quick. If we are caught we’ll be strung up, that’s for sure. Better think of somewhere else.’
‘I know the very place,’ said the third man. ‘A corner on the estate road where we can ambush him and easily make our escape into the jungle. That way we won’t be tracked, if at all, for several hours by when we’ll be safe.’
And that is what they decided to do. They went to where the road went round a bend that was easily ambushed, hid to one side and waited till they heard the car approaching then slowing down. The three of them left their hiding place, glad to get away from the voracious mosquitoes, and stood in the middle of the narrow road, held up their hands to slow the vehicle down.
The vehicle slowed to a stop. The manager, furious with what he saw, stepped out of the vehicle and was immediately shot and killed. The guerrillas left the car as it was, engine still running and made their escape. When, by half past 3, her husband had not returned, his distraught wife rang the office to see if there was any news. As she was listening to an answer two breathless Chinese tradesmen delivering some grocery goods to the bungalow, came hurrying up on foot with the fatal news. They would have come quicker if the estate road had not been blocked.
***
So many similar and worse incidents of unease, unrest and military action had been happening in Malaya since World War Two, that the High Commissioner declared an Emergency on Thursday 17th of June in the north and Friday 18th in the south, to try and contain further serious trouble by the MRLA against the civil population. The killing of European planters and other unfortunates, the slashing of rubber trees, the burning of taxis and the ambushing of railway trains plus many other outrages had to be stopped. The ‘Active Phase’, as it was then known, of Communist Revolutionary Warfare that had erupted, had taken many by surprise although unease, unrest and military action were not confined to Malaya …
… clouds come out now as we cross the first mountain range at four thousand feet after leaving Tonkin. The plane, a box car, begins to rock, both pilots check the controls and the navigator goes from one side of the cockpit to the other, trying to get a visual bearing. In the cargo hold the four French riggers have been busy getting loads ready to drop. A strong buzzer sounds: five minutes off target.
Two riggers go to the edge of the cargo hold and start unfastening chains which hold the load in place. They have no parachutes as it was felt that if they fell out with six tons of ammunition there would be no time for the chutes to open. Why waste good parachutes? The load has to be unlashed as the plane goes down into its final approach run, but should it hit air turbulence at this precise moment much of the load might fall out prematurely. Yet, a steady approach gives the enemy a good chance to zero in whatever anti-aircraft guns he may have.
The plane goes into a shallow dive and, exactly over the Dropping Zone, sharply noses upward. Warned by buzzer, two of the riggers jump up and push the load out of the plane with a roar of clanging metal and whooshing static lines. Watching, the riggers see the parachutes have opened. Then all four riggers, lying flat, pull the chutes’ static lines back into the plane, against the strength of the slipstream.
Then it happens: a slight tremor on the left wing, and some holes appear in it. Communist anti-aircraft-fire. Simultaneously two fighters swoop in and suddenly a big black billow opens behind them – napalm, jellied gasoline. The village burns furiously. The two fighters swooped down in turn and rake the area with machine guns … neither the pilots of the fighters or the box car know whether that village was a Communist one or not …
… whatever tactical victories the French won, and there were some, the tide of history was against them and eventually their empire crumbled during the ‘Octave of Easter’, 1954. The political base of the colonial government was not strong enough to prevail and the people of France were in no mood for any more wars so far away when nearer to home Algeria was seen as a greater and more important problem. From 1954 onwards the political base of the Americans was even less strong than it had been under the French and most unbiased people saw the eventual end long before the Americans did.
In Malaya the political base of the British was strong. Even when planters phoned in with reports of guerrillas,[6] initially tired police officers who had spent the war as captives, were ‘sniffy’ of those who had escaped and come back after the war. Police morale was low, and many casualties were caused by the guerrillas, some because there were no armoured-plated lorries to convey the police jungle squads as well as insufficient training for a quickly expanding police force. British battalions were full of national servicemen whose interest in Malaya was minimal. It looked to the MCP that victory could not be all that far away. And yet … and yet …
Even though in the early days, members of the MCP Politburo saw the sluggish reaction of Gurkha troops as a factor in favour of a quick victory, it was misguided, albeit not to start with. It was known that units had arrived from India ludicrously under strength, thanks to the subversive campaign organised and carried out by agents in India. For the first two years many of the older Gurkha soldiers referred to the guerrillas as ‘Congress’. Other agents in Malaya had reported that the Emergency was declared before the recruits who had been hurriedly enlisted to bring units up to strength were even halfway through their basic training. One example was that when the first lot of recruits were deployed in action their weapon training standards were so low – some had yet to fire their rifles on the range – and so dangerous to their own side rather than to the guerrillas, that when on sentry duty they fixed bayonets rather than loaded their rifles. Those officers who had fought in Burma felt that the maximum period of jungle operations should be three days at the very longest. In other words, Gurkhas were not seen as any serious threat. There was no proper kit: rice often had to be cooked in split bamboo, heavy leather boots were worn, wireless sets were so heavy they had to be carried on stretchers, helicopters and air-drops were unknown.
Certainly the British were ill-prepared for the outbreak of hostilities and the guerrillas held the initiative. The problem in the 12th Gurkhas was exacerbated by both battalions being made into Gunners with an influx of officers who knew nothing of jungle work or of Gurkhas. After some painful setbacks (and for 12 GR the withdrawal of Gunner officers with and then becoming infantry once more) all Gurkha battalions quickly regained their old standards as experience, combined with better training, made them a more feared adversaries than the CT – Communist Terrorists, the name the Government had invented to get away from the word ‘bandit’ which the Communists used for Nationalist Chinese soldiers – had thought likely or possible.
By 1952, even with nobody realising that the tide had started to turn against the MRLA, even though no tipping point in the government’s favour had yet been reached – or would it ever be? asked the pessimists – however hard and bravely so few guerrillas fought against so many, better armed than were they, with air and sea assets that only the Security Forces had. Not only that, but the colonial government was stronger than its French or Dutch equivalent and, among its armed forces, there were initially six then later eight battalions of Gurkhas (the extra two being brought over from Hong Kong). The tenacity and skills of these remarkable men who spent the whole of the time in the jungle, as opposed to British battalions who only spent one tour in Malaya, were instrumental in eventually defeating the Communists, the only time ever on territory of their own choosing.[7]
It must not be presumed that either side in the bitter and bloody struggle was to be seen in isolation. Despite difficulties in communications, events were followed critically by a shielded and hidden shadowy organisation of such secrecy yet so potent that its tentacles reached everywhere the controllers felt they were needed. Only the tiniest handful of the hierarchy of the Communist world knew of it or even in which country it was based. Rumours placed it in India, in north Burma, in south China and even as far away as Russia. Certainly none of the non-Communist world had any idea of its existence. Any of its manifestations were put down to local factors of labour unrest in one form or another, no one ever guessing that controlling tentacles were the cause of the disturbances.
Its existence, revelation and demise came about in a completely unexpected manner, not as the result of any Special Branch intelligence effort or one of its members reneging on his oath of secrecy, but because of an officer of the 1st Battalion of the 12th Gurkha Rifles, (1/12 GR), happened to stumble across it …
This officer was a Captain Jason Percival Vere Rance: for some the cloister and the bell, for others the camp and the bugle. This latter was for Rance, a soldier to his fingertips. He was about six feet tall, with a taut, lean body and the indefinable air of a natural commander. With fair hair, penetrating blue eyes, his features were almost hawk-like and stern. He showed his pleasure with a wonderful open smile. He was a brilliant linguist and had proved to be an outstanding company commander, an exceptionally talented jungle operator, good with the men, dedicated and hard-working who, if he could get his administrative and staff training as good as his tactics, could go far, but his background was unusual – ‘broken the mould’ some of his seniors grumbled. He had been born in Kuala Lumpur, his father had been ‘something’, never asked what, tax official it was hinted, so probably not really a gentleman, and, from what he had guessed, had married ‘beneath him’. Mrs Rance’s background was most certainly unusual, although Jason never spoke about either parent: as a young woman she had been a ventriloquist who helped her father run a Punch-and-Judy show. She made sure that her son could master that unusual art and make different voices. Quite why, other than for party tricks, she never told him: possibly it was vanity and possibly so that her own gifts need not be lost after her death. As a young boy he had adopted his father’s Chinese co-worker’s son as a brother and became bilingual in Chinese, as well as having a good working knowledge of written Chinese characters, and was fluent in Malay. He kept quiet about his Chinese language ability, almost as though he was, well, not exactly ashamed of it – why should he be? – but more to keep it as a ‘secret weapon’. He made company and battalion parties a roaring success by being a ventriloquist: he had a dummy which he sat on his knee and the absurd conversations in Nepali and English brought the house down every time he did it. One of his acts involved a highly coloured model krait which added to his performance.
In guerrilla jungle warfare at company level such empathy with his soldiers was essential in getting positive results, maintaining high morale and keeping casualties to an absolute minimum. His Commanding Officers could not make up their minds about him: some accepted him by judging from results his company produced, accepted his unusual characteristics, his being unconventional, his being unorthodox: others found it difficult to accept one who ‘would not have been commissioned pre-war’. In the Brigade of Gurkhas, unlike in a large corps, seniors who belittled juniors were hard to hide from … but with his men behind him, Captain Rance was hard to find fault with.
The announcement of Zhdanov’s new policy was only made public in September 1947, in Poland, at Szklarska Poreba, formerly a German resort town, previously known as Schreiberhau. It signalled the end to wartime cooperation between the Soviet Union and the ‘Western’ allies. Susanne S Lotarski, The Communist Takeover in Poland, in Thomas T Hammond (ed.), The Anatomy of Communist Takeovers (Yale University Press, New Haven, 1973), quoted in The Rise and Fall of Communism, Archie Brown, London, 2009, pages 157 and 158, and note 24 on page 642. ↵
See Operation Janus. ↵
The Brigadier related this to your author when he visited him a day later to hand in recommendations for the Viceroy’s Commissioned Officers (VCOs) of his battalion, 1/1 GR, to be fully commissioned. ↵
This is a historical fact. ↵
That detail and many others, especially of the Indonesian’s discourse, can be confirmed in between pages 778 and 838 of Blood and Ruins, The Great Imperial War, 1931-1945, by Richard Overy, ISBN 978-0-723-99562-6. The name Westerling was well known to your author. ↵
It is a historical fact that when, in late December 1948, the Director of Operations was asked what his reaction was when planters told him of guerrilla activity, he answered ‘take off the last two figures of their total, divide by two and take necessary action.’ When that became known he retired for health reasons. ↵
In the Dofar province of Oman, Communists were beaten by British troops, with the Sultan’s explicit support (1970-1975). ↵
2
Saturday 4 August 1951, south of Labis, Johor, Malaya: The noise of the telephone by the side of the Major’s bed in the small hours was like a buzzing bee in a drunken dream that did not make sense. It went on and on until it woke him. He had had a couple too many night caps before he went to bed and was hazier than normal. He groped his way to turn on the light, picked up the phone and, crossly, said who he was before asking who the hell was at the other end at this time of night? He inwardly cursed as his head was aching.
‘It’s Peter from Police HQ. I have a red-hot tip for you. A large party of guerrillas has come into your operational area. I think your whole company is in base and we have no police jungle squads anywhere near. I recommend you move now and catch them at dawn. I’ll give you their grid reference.’
‘Wait a sec for me to pick up a piece of paper and a pencil.’ The man on the other end heard a rustle of paper. ‘Go ahead. I’m ready.’
The line was not good and the grid reference that came across was misheard so wrongly written down. It was not read back so the mistake was not noticed.
The Major, a tall, burly man of florid countenance and no unnecessary words, staggered out of his room and, at the top of his voice, shouted out in Nepali ‘Stand to, stand to. Line sentry, wake up everybody, tell them to fetch their weapons and the normal amount of ammunition from the armoury and fall in when ready. Tell my “O” Group to be in my office as soon as possible. Alert the drivers for all transport to be ready to move out.’
He dressed quickly, put on his equipment and his orderly brought him his weapon, a rifle, and fifty rounds of ammo as he reached his office. He looked at the map, found the grid reference and the nearest mile stone to it as his ‘O’ Group came in. He told them to sit down and briefed them on the intended operation and the order of march. ‘Once we are there, I’ll give further orders. No time for any tea.’ Before writing out a short message for the rear link signaller to send to Battalion HQ and detailing the company clerk and the office runner as escorts for the vehicles when they were empty, he stressed that their tailboards had to be lowered with no noise at all. ‘Sidelights only when you see my headlights go off.’
Well within the hour the company was moving south along the Ayer Panas road, fully expectant. When, in the front of the leading truck, the Major saw that the relevant mile stone for debussing was near, he told the driver to switch off his headlights. On seeing the next milestone, he told the driver to halt. The other vehicles drew up behind. The drivers slowly lowered the tailboards with no noise, the men debussed and fell in by the side of the road. The ‘O’ Group reported to the OC.
‘It is still too dark to go and look for the daku. We will go into the rubber estate on this side of the road and lie up till dawn. When we move forwards towards the swamp on the far side of the rubber 4 Platoon will be left, 5 right and 6 with me as reserve with Company HQ. Fire on sight!’ Platoon commanders moved to give their orders and the company moved into the rubber to lie up.
Dawn was misty. The Major gave the sign to advance; the lighter it got the farther apart the men moved. Bunching is never a good idea.
A guerrilla sentry, who had left his post and moved over to a clump of bushes to relieve nature, was on his way back to where the guerrillas had spent the night when a soldier spotted him. The Gurkha fired, killed him. On the noise of the shot, the occupants of the guerrilla camp, as yet unseen by the soldiers, were ordered forward and advanced to counter their so-far-unseen aggressors. The Gurkhas saw them as they came into view and four more of them were killed. Their return fire went wide. The Gurkhas killed two more. The rest of the guerrillas were seen disappearing towards the swamp on the edge of the rubber estate. As the troops charged after them, one managed to waylay a soldier and slash him to death with a parang before escaping. He was the only Gurkha casualty.
In the ensuing follow up a total of thirty-five guerrillas were killed or captured. The company went back to the road taking the captured guerrillas with them. Luckily a police vehicle passed which was stopped and told to go back to their police station and bring back a squad of men to collect the corpses.
The company returned to Labis and had a late meal after cleaning weapons. Battalion HQ was rung up with the good news and congratulations were the order of the day. The dead Gurkha’s corpse was sent to Seremban for proper obsequies. The rest of the day was free, and the Major threw a great party that night. He was overjoyed to be awarded the DSO in the next Honours and Awards List, the only company commander to get that level of bravery award during the whole Emergency.
***
Wednesday 8 August 1951: somewhere in the Cameron Highlands, north Malaya: The camp of the MCP Politburo and its attendant staff was cleverly sited in deep hilly jungle, difficult to see from the air or be approached without alerting the sentries. Under the thick jungle canopy it was on flat ground totally cleared of its undergrowth.
The camp was high enough to be cool by day and chilly at nights, especially after it had been raining, which it did, heavily, almost every day. It was closely guarded by chosen units of the MRLA. A couple of the few light machine guns that the MRLA had either captured or kept from the war years were tactically sited with rifle positions around the perimeter. Camp sentries alerted the inmates by low whistles. Some distance below were guerrilla outposts responsible for patrolling and engaging any approaching Security Forces, their aim being to draw them away from the main camp before engaging them decisively.
Water was never a difficulty as there was a spring at the back of the camp and a stream flowed along one edge of it. Rations, though, were a constant problem and a complicated and tenuous supply trail had been put into operation. Fresh meat was sometimes available – routine patrols were not allowed to shoot for food but traps were set for deer, porcupine and jungle pig. Cooking, always strictly controlled because of smoke problems, was done in a confined area near the spring, with any excess smoke drifting away above the stream until it dispersed rather than rise above the tree canopy. On one side was a cave for stores, rice, flour, a few clothes and sleeping material for any important visitor, as well as a small workshop where arms could be mended. There was enough space for a rudimentary game of volley ball to be played of an evening. Limbs grew stiff sitting around camp all day. Outside patrols were kept to a minimum to avoid leaving tell-tale signs. An evacuation plan was practiced once a month. It had not yet been used in action.
The guerrillas’ huts, made of waterproof palm thatch, were almost invisible from the air: strict orders had been given, and were always as strictly carried out, for fresh leaves to be put on the roofs as soon as the old ones became the slightest different in colour. This was necessary to keep the camp from being spotted by pilots and air photography, both constant dangers. Always tidy and clean, huts were built on low bamboo-slatted platforms six inches above the ground as protection both against insects and any possible flash flooding. The senior men slept in hammocks. Strung on poles, they too had leafy camouflage on top. Men had light-weight blankets. There were no mosquitoes or midges. In front of each guerrilla’s sleeping place was his pack, always ready with what was needed if an immediate evacuation were ever ordered. Personal weapons were carried at all times: at night they were as close to the owner’s body as would a wife have been. Guerrillas wore khaki shirt and trousers, puttees and canvas shoes – easy for leeches to cluster round each ankle – and a round, small-peaked khaki hat with a red star, cloth or enamel.
There was a separate part of the camp for the wireless set. Provision of and charging batteries were never easy. For the charging, a bicycle frame, complete with the pedals, was linked to the battery and prolonged pedalling charged it.
