´óÏó´«Ã½

War’s End

Our Adjutant sent me and two Askaris up the Mawchi Pass to cannibalise a shot-up 15 cwt. and very kindly lent me his one-man bivvy tent - the beggar had got into the habit of sending me on dodgy jobs since doing airdrops from Ramree Isle.

Mawchi was on the border of Siam and pretty high up, because the clouds were below us. Eerie. I was reading Somerset Maugham’s The Razor’s Edge at the time and the hero finished up on top of a mountain in Tibet where he at last found the meaning of life. A bit too deep for me, but it seemed weird at the time. I met an officer I’d cursed at a football match back in Africa. He was OK about it, though. Then a bloke came out of the blue — 136 Force, he said, which meant nothing to me - and kept asking me questions I couldn't answer. I’ve since found out that he was a hero, wanting to know the gen about the Japanese surrender. He showed me his beloved Karen fighters who never stopped fighting the Japs. They had Japanese rifles and I was glad they were on our side!

Our Africans called them ‘Washenzi’, meaning ‘savages’, and were horrified to see me giving them fags, especially as I never gave them any. They were Dobies Four Square, sent to me from Scotland by my cousin. One old Karen smoked the fag sticking it between his second and third fingers. I tried it and coughed my ring up, much to the glee of the Karen women. So I got them to give me a lift with the remains of the 15 cwt., tossing it over the side with much good humour. I must say I liked what I saw of them, different from the Burmese, and very loyal to the British. I understand they have been fighting for independence ever since.

While I was there, an outbreak of scrub typhus occurred and we had to have injections. Being the big brave bwana, I went first to show the askaris there was nothing to it. My arm was like a dartboard, anyway! I smiled as the needle went in, then went out cold. It was as if a mule had kicked me in the arm. We had to have these every 48 hours, so after that I took the needle lying down, and in private, in case the askaris saw what poor shape I was in. I was having black-outs and deafness, shaking like a leaf at nights in my one-man bivvy tent, talking to myself. Funny, it seemed perfectly normal at the time.

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

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