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My name is Richard Jones. I was called up to His Majesty’s forces in December 1939.

In 1944 I was 3133390 Sergeant Jones of the first Battalion Fusiliers 29th Brigade, 36th British Division.

After service in the Arakan and a spell of refitting in Shillong in Assam towards the end of July 1944, we were flown from Liddell in the far north of Assam to the airfield at Myitkyina in North Burma near the Chinese border. This airfield had only recently been captured from the Japanese by Chinese troops under the command of United States General Joseph Stilwell, better known as ‘Vinegar Joe’, from his very brazen manner.

When we landed in North Burma we came under the command of General Stilwell and Northern Combat Area Command. It was not until the end of March 1945 and some hundreds of miles of foot slogging and fighting, that we came under the command of 14th army and remained so until we were flown out to India in May 1945 that is 2 months later. In other words we had already spent 7 arduous months campaigning before we came under 14th Army, and because most books on the Burma campaign have dealt mainly with the 14th Army, there is merely a passing reference to Northern Combat Area Command.

The task of 36th Division was first of all to relieve the Chindits, then operating in North Burma, and subsequently to clear the Japanese from North Burma especially from the famous railway corridor and Irrawaddy valley. Later to cross the Irrawaddy and operate east of the river in to the Northern Shan States.

When we arrived in Burma the monsoon rains had begun and would not cease until September. It was intended we should operate during the monsoon, all supplies would be dropped to us from the air by the Dakotas of the United States Air Force, and so we carried on. As we suffered more casualties from the conditions we encountered, than from the Japanese, I will try to give you some idea of these conditions.

North Burma was 9/10ths virgin jungle although from the air the jungle looks green and luxurious, it is malarious. There are ticks which carry the lethal scrub typhus and the amoebae and bacteria of dysentery. There are leeches which can penetrate the tightest suits to suck blood and the poor lung fly whose vicious bite hardens into a large septic lump and all the time there is a massive insect life all around you.

But who could forget the monsoon rains. It was about 4 o’clock in the afternoon of our first day that the sky darkened as the clouds piled up and the rains came and what rain! Monsoon rain is like no other, it is heavy, persistent and prolonged. The Chaungs, (that is a Burmese word for ‘stream’), are rushing muddy and overflowing. The flat ground becomes a lake, a muddy morass, and still it rains like an English thunder storm that goes on, and on, and on. The rain soaks your bush hats, it flows in never ending streams, down your monsoon cape and from the rim of your hat it cascades in front of your face. Your trouser legs are soaking wet in a few minutes and water reaches your feet as you squelch your way through mud and water.

In these conditions, our first full day in North Burma was drawing towards evening. At last we reached an area where we were to bivouac for the night. The spot for Battalion HQ was fixed, companies were allotted their defensive positions, sentries were posted and our task as always first thing, was to dig trenches. Look-outs were posted to cover every approach while the vital task was taken out. There had been no contact from the Japanese that day and there was no trouble from them from that night either, but what a miserable night it was. We dug our two-man trenches which were soon half full of water, then we sat around and ate our K rations. It had ceased to rain for a while, but the mud was ankle deep. I lay down my ground sheet, and set up my little green mosquito net. My bed on mother earth was ready, close to my slip trench. At dusk we stood to. Every trench was manned for an hour, this was routine. At dusk and dawn, every man in the Battalion stood to for an hour after which came the order to stand down, except for the Sentries who were left posted. That night I stood down and lay under my mosquito net upon my ground sheet. We did not take off our shoes or our equipment. By loosening the belt, it was possible to slide down so that the small pack on your back made a kind of pillow. Rifle or Tommy gun was always at the soldiers’ side. I prepared for sleep, however it rained again. There was nothing to do but try to ignore it. The mud and water seeped over the edges of the ground sheet and in the morning we awoke to a wet and dripping dawn.

This was our life: eating, sleeping, fighting in mud and water day after day, night after night, it went on. We slept underground or in the ground as best we could, but who will ever forget life in the monsoon.

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Becky Barugh of the ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Richard Jones and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

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