大象传媒

My late Father enlisted in the army in 1935, he said to escape an abusive father. From undergoing training in Exeter he was subsequently assigned to the 1st Battalion Devonshire Regiment and posted to India on colonial duties, part of which involved stints on the Viceroy's Guard and patroling the border with Afghanistan. As the war in Europe expanded into the Pacific theatre with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour he was consequently despatched to Burma. As far as I can guage from what he had told me and what I have read, this must only have been for the early part of the war and he went on to see out the rest of the war on home duties, primarily with the 4th Devons.
Whilst Dad was full of yarns about India he seemed very reluctant to disclose much about his experiences in Burma. Only as coverage of the Vietnam War began to unfold on tv news in the 1960's did Dad really begin to give any clues as to his own experiences in an earlier jungle war. He said how, at one point, he was involved in the destruction of a village, or villages that were home to 'friendly' tribes. A policy enacted in Burma for the same reason it was later adopted in Vietnam, to deny shelter to enmy believed to infiltrate and shelter in these communities. Dad seemed to feel bad about that, he said how he really hated to have to do it. "They were our friends, they helped us." he would say. Dad could all too readily relate to the climate and terrain challenges Vietnam soldiers faced, along with their mortal fear of a brave and cunning enemy who seemed to be able to melt away into the terrain and reappear anywhere at will in a war that had no real 'front'. An enemy who could be merciless and cruel to any western soldier who was captured or found injured. Dad never could forgive the Japanese and could not differentiate between their contemporary descendants, he would show clear disapproval when I mentioned how I enjoyed an interesting conversation with the wife of a Plymouth based Japanese factory owner I'd met in a local park. I was not to speak to her again. If I criticised the war in Vietnam Dad would simply say, "Mary, try to see it as a soldier see's it." I think eventually I did.

Dad was prone to recurrent bouts of malaria, and often during these he would seemingly be transported back to another time and place. It would be so easy to dismiss what he said as fever-talk were it not for the amazing consistency of his account, which never seemed to chnage in detail no matter how many times he related it. Mum later tried to note down what she could remember, and here I draw upon her notes:
"We're out on patrol, my patrol, we're
climbing a mountain. There's a bright light in the sky, like a star. There's thick mist all around it. We go in. It's coming down. There's a churchyard. There's a big cloud of mist there. It's more than a cloud, it's a shiny metal object. Why did I leave? I wish I'd stayed with the others, why didn't I go back? There's Henry the 5th, Mr Eden, Churchill, my Mum. They're all in white, but I know who they are. (Les to me) stop asking me about it.(But I'm not, I say) I can hear your voice asking me. ( I was, but only in my thoughts, not verbally).
I know no details of where this incident supposibly took place, but I do remember how the scenario went that the patrol somehow became separated, and that those who went 'missing' returned to base ahead of the remainder of the patrol, which was Dad's group. Unfortunately Da could not be pursuaded to write anything down, so all I can offer are our shared memories of things said. Mum used to say how at one point his family recieved notification that he was "Missing in action", what he experienced during those lost days or weeks we never discovered.

Dad was never keen to participate in parades or reunions and he eventually dropped out of "Going down the Legion." He seemed prone to dramatic mood swings. By nature he was bit of a buffoon,a sentimental romantic charmer, the sort of man you couldn't fail to love. He had a penchant for mimicking the pidgen English of the porters and 'Punka Wallah's' he had encountered during colonial service. A very funny lovely man. Yet, in an instant he could chnage, becoming sullen and withdrawn, unsociable and critical of everyone and everything, so that there were times when you'd be almost afraid to speak lest he bit your head off. Whilst he sometimes appeared threatening, not once did he physically harm any of us, he couldn't even kill the chickens he kept, leaving that to some dockyard mates and even then he could't face actually having one of the birds for dinner. Gradually Dad came to realise how he frightened us when in those dark moods and when coming out of it would attempt an apology. He would say it was his "glands", though he knew it was neither an honest nor adequate explaination. The truth was he couldn't explain it to himself, so how could he explain it to us his family.
Years after Dad died, aged 68 in 1984, I had cause to have brief contact with Surgeon Capt. Rick Jolly and took the opportunity to tell him of of experiences with Dad.From the feedback I got, he suspected that dad had been suffering from Post traumatic stress disorder. I was ignorent of such as a child and teenager, I tended to think of Dad as "Old grumpy" and dismissed the moods as him just being awkward. Since then I have done much to educate myself as to the condition. Dad simply could not abide the sound of church bells and he would not allow a Christmas wreath in the house, to him the form of a wreath had only one association, death. If Mum happened to pull his hair in teasing he'd freak out. Mum always tended to make allwances for him, she said how the man who returned to her from the Far East was a different person, he had changed, but that did not deter her from honouring their commitment to marry, she could see beyond the changes that war had wrought, to the real Leslie that she knew was still there underneath, to the man she loved. Bizarrly he used to say that he died out there, that 'they' allowed him to come back to look after her. Taken at face value this does sound odd. However, in my reading on PTSD I have come across combat veterans of more modern wars saying very similar things, as if at that oint where they encountered a mind-blowing experience they literally lost a part of themselves. I suspect that even if counselling had been available to returning WW2 veterans dad would not have agreed to accept it, the old "stiff upper lip" would have prevailed.
Dad eventually sold his medals to pay for cigarettes; but one medal he would never have sold was the Burma Star, had the MoD granted him it. He applied, but was fed some gumph about "lost files" lack of proof that he was ever out there. Dad used to feel aggrieved at this, cheated. I never thought to put two and two together. It turned out that the Headmaster of my school, Devonport Secondary, Mr George Beale, said how he remembered Dad from Burma, that he had been his(platoon ???)commander. No doubt he would have sorted the matter out for him. The pair never did meet again post-war.

Following that initial stint in the Far East, Dad seemed to spend the second half of the war on home postings. Whenever possible, despite wartime restrictions, his fiancess, Violet 'Josie' Winzor, would travel to spend a weekend with him. Postings included Cromer, Brighton and Uckfield. In 1947 Dad was transferred from the regular army to class "z" Royal Army Reserve, where he completed a further 12 years service.

On a more light-hearted note, here are a few anecdotes that help frame Dad's character.
In the army his nickname was "Bonzo", quite why, I don't know. As a Rigger in the Dockyard he aquired the name "Charlie", when asked why this came about he would say, "I don't know,maybe I'm a proper Charlie." Before the establishment of the Army Catering Corp all the lads had to muck in and do their bit in the barrack or field kitchens. One day, whilst on a home-posting, Dad got it into his head to ensure everyone got their fair share of the chocolate ration........by coating everything in the stuff! Then there was the incident where he took his fiancee for a stroll across a beach, only when they safely reached the other side did he tell her it was mined!

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