大象传媒

Burma Road

Toward the end of 1944 the good ship 鈥淛ohann Van olden Barneveldt鈥� docked in Bombay and decanted a few thousand service personnel including me. Bombay smelt of spices and crowded humanity, many of them living a precarious existence in flimsy bits of corrugated iron and cardboard shelters hanging on the edges of the pavements.
This was an aspect of poverty and deprivation I had not seen before. These were the 鈥渦ntouchables鈥�, Hindu outcasts awaiting death and reincarnation so that their meek submission would earn them an elevation into the caste system in the new life. Muhatma Ghandi gave them the name 鈥淗arijans鈥� 鈥� 鈥渃hildren of God鈥�. The population of India in 1944 was estimated to be 400 million, of whom some 100 million were 鈥淗arijans鈥�.

India was dry much like America had been some years earlier, though when two Irish pals and myself were wandering around central Bombay we did not know that. So when we had our meal in this restaurant we were disappointed that no drinks were suggested. On leaving the place, however, out of the passing crowd an Indian chap appeared with a bottle of 鈥淟emon Hart鈥� rum peeking from his dhoti (a single piece of cloth wrapped around his middle regions 鈥� much like an adult鈥檚 nappy). We negotiated a price, went down an alley and drank the rum. Where there is a customer for anything at all in India there is a vendor nearby to supply it and so we were quickly tattooed one with a dagger, heart and a sweetheart鈥檚 name and Farrell and I with the R.A/F/ insignia 鈥� I don鈥檛 recollect having much choice. We were then almost bundled into a 鈥済harry鈥� (horse and trap and taken into the out of bounds area where we celebrated the sights and sounds of Grant and Falkland roads.

The trip, by train, across India took some 3陆 days and was very uncomfortable for the wooden seats we sat and slept on. From Calcutta we went to Dimapur and from there we boarded a lorry to take us to Imphal via Kohima. The road wound around mountains with usually a vertical drop on the right matched by a towering cliff on the left. At times we saw below us the twisted remains of lorries that had gone over the edge, some by accident and some, we were told, by design. In the latter case it was done by followers of Subhandra Bose, an Indian national leader who favoured the Japanese rather than the British. At Kohima we had a walkabout and saw that the lorry driver had to be unshackled from his cab in order for him to enjoy the same privilege. We also met at Kohima some Naga tribesmen, headhunters who had done jobs both for the Japanese and us. A feature of the work they did for either side was always shown visually round their belts.

We stayed at Imphal some 4 or 5 days whilst our various postings in Burma were sorted out. This was sufficient time for an ammunition dump to explode nearby. We were bundled on to a lorry and deposited in the thick of the fireworks where we were told to stamp out as many grass fires as we could and given one shovel between the 5 of us to aid the stamping. The lorry departed and we were told to expect its return in the next hour or so. When the lorry reappeared we were told by an officer on board that we were wanted in another section and hopes of our returning to camp were dashed. This time we were deposited at the foot of a large hill where a crescent shaped area had been carved out beneath which, we were told mortar bombs were stored. The officer shouted, 鈥淜eep stamping out as many grass fires as you can and here is another shovel. I鈥檒l return in an hour or so.鈥� I cannot say we were scared witless by this experience, as we should have been with tracer bullets flying around every which way, but we were to an extent entertained as we would have been had it been an organised bonfire night.

After a considerable time in this shooting display and having put out a fair number of grass fires, and growing weary and apprehensive because of the officers return with the lorry to take us back to camp, we made off over the hill in an attempt to find our camp or any other fire extinguishers and hopefully a way out of danger. And we did find some soldiers who were engaged on the same work as ourselves. They too were wanting to return to their base and together with them we walked to their camp, were given a meal and then taken back in their lorry to our own camp. I never discovered what caused the ammunition dump explosion.

We were to be part of 221 group forward fighter command led by Group Captain Donald Finlay, a former Olympic hurdling contestant. Our unit was 5842 mobile signals unit stationed at Monywa a village some 40 miles from Mandalay, and on the banks of the river Chindwin. An ideal place for us for every minute of daylight hours when we were off duty we spent our time swimming. On the opposite bank was another small village where Colbert and myself would be treated by the village headman and others to cups of tea and 鈥渃hicory鈥� (looks and tastes like chocolate).

We were soon moving again for the 14th army was chasing the retreating Japanese through central Burma on the way to Rangoon. Because our units communication system required us to use very high frequencies we had to follow the 14th armies advance as closely as possible. By the banks of the great Irrawaddy our section of the convoy halted for a while and a bet was struck between myself and the driver of one of the lorries, that I could not swim across the river. Had I not succeeded I don鈥檛 think he would have been paid, but as it turned out I could not find him when I returned looking to collect.

Miektila had an airstrip, control of which was fought over fiercely and the area around our small unit was evidence of this. Dead soldiers, some in hastily dug trenches or shell holes. In one such shell hole a Japanese had dived covering himself with loose earth and leaving his opened knapsack
showing cards which he had presumably written to send to his relatives back home. We were guarded by Ghurka soldiers who assisted others in collecting their dead compatriots.

At Toungoo and in another convoy on its way to Rangoon we sat around on oil drums whilst we listened to the crackling voice of Winston Churchill telling us that tomorrow, the 8th May, 1945 the war in Europe would end. We were given a tot of rum, it was the 7th May and I was 20 years old. Churchill鈥檚 announcement was accompanied by gunfire from the Japanese, units of whose retreating army had been left either side of the road to Rangoon.

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