大象传媒

My father, William J.A Winfield served primarily in India and Burma in the 14th. Army during WWII. He died in 1979, but I can remember vividly some of his recollections. He rose to the rank of Warrant Officer Class I and was first in the Bedforsdhire and Hertfordshire Regiment and then the RASC where he became the senior Warrant Officer in General Slim's forward HQ during the recapture of Burma. He followed in the footsteps of his own father who was in the Queen's Own Royal West Kent Regiment and who had fought on the N-W frontier of India in 1897-98 where he saw (Sir) Winston Churchill in combat.

I have many photos of my father and of civilian and army life in India, including the VE day celebrations there. The passage of time means I cannot be precise about the location/dates of some of the details.

The effects of serving in the Burmese jungle detrimentally affected my father for the rest of his life. I remember him having nightmares about it when I was a child. He saw many terrible things, but freely admitted that all the credit should rather go to other British and Commonwealth servicemen who had a rougher time there than he did. One of his lasting memories was of when moving through the jungle in pursuit of the Japanese, a British soldier lost his nerve (after many weeks of surviving arduous conditions) and when the enemy was close-by. The soldier started shouting and running amok, so the officer leading the party had to shoot the man. This upset my father greatly, which he considered unnecessary. The Japanese would booby-trap themselves in holes in the ground and by strapping themselves to the trees so evety footstep was dangerous. In addition, the penetrating damp, flies and insects and diseases made it a very rough environment. He recalled how a planatation was reached that grew pineapples and the British troops helped themselves to much needed fruit. But the effect of eating on raw pineapple rotted the teeth of some which simply fell out.

But my father said that as far as he was concerned the Indian and Gurkha soldiers were the bravest and best. If he ever had to go back into the Army and fight he would want a Sikh on one side and a Gurkha on the other. He recalled one incident when the Gurkhas close by to his position cleared a Japanese body of troops nearly three times their number, closing with them using only their kukri knives. He never stopped praising the Sikhs and Gurkhas, particularly.

But, not all the stories were grim. For example:

He had bought a silk dressing gown for my mother and left it on his bed in his bungalow in Poona, India. But it was destroyed by a party of large ants that marched straight through the bungalow destroying the dressing gown and furniture as they went. A large pit had to be dug and petrol used to kill them.

Monkeys used to clamber on the roofs of buildings and as he said "make a terrible racket". On one occasion they woke him up after he had been on duty all night. He took his sergeant-major's stick and gave the tail of one monkey a terrific whack. This sent them all mad and they attacked the bungalow and my father was besieged until they were scared off by gunfire.

Perhaps not so humorous is when he net up with my uncle Bert who had volunteered to be a Chindit. Bert was a regular soldier who volunteered for everything, including parachuting into German-occupied Crete. He went on to become the Regimental Sergeant Major of the Queen's Regiment. He liked fighting. They were out for a drink one night off-duty when they came across a fight in a bar between soldiers from a Scottish Regiment and American Airforce personnel. Bert suggested they join in, but my father thought two WO1's should set an example. Bert suggested they pull their sleeves down over their WO1 wrist badges, and so they did. Fortunately, they left just before the military police arrived. My father said there were many more Americans who had to be helped away than the Scots!

My mother did not see my father for six years. She told me many stories of hardship and laughter during the London Blitz which she experienced first hand at home in Peckham, south London. She worked for Waygood Otis in London making electric motors to power tank turrets. She recalled a German bomb being dropped straight through the middle of her factory and a V2 rocket exploding one street from hers, demolishing several houses. Her youngest brother used to clamber on the roofs of the terraced houses kicking off the small incendiary bombs. There was great sadness when several young local lads were lost at sea when HMS Hood was blown up, but joy when one of her best friends, her neighbour Marie was released from internment. Marie and her family were Italians, but very loyal to Britain.

This is just a few of the many stories and memories of human endurance and the lighter side of them which have been passed down to me and which do not deserve to be lost. I am very pleased they will be preserved in such a wonderful archive. Peter Winfield

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