大象传媒

PONIES

After the ambush, dead men and horses seemed to be scattered everywhere; lying in the road and on the hillside. I looked into the nullah and saw dead men in the stream. One horse, I remember, was on its back in the water; its legs pointing skywards. Other horses, more fortunate perhaps, were roaming around here and there.

There were only about twenty of us; remnants of the defunct Motor-Cycle and Bren Carrier Platoons. We had been in reserve to "A" Company, but needs were now becoming obvious elsewhere. The Trench Mortar Platoon, like the rest of us, was on the move, and on foot. They needed to move their equipment and everyone by now, was short of water. Consequently it was decided to round up the loose Jap ponies and use them as pack-horses, with the ex- carriers and motor-cyclists in charge.

One of the ponies had been hit in the neck and breast, by shrapnel; two or three small cuts, with a larger open wound, full of maggots, in the centre of its chest.

During the round-up I was called over to this animal, which was stood, head down, giving occasional short snorts. I wasn't a medic, and I had no knowledge of first aid, but I carried a can which had been supplied by some womans organisation and it contained bandages, dressing pads, sticking plaster and iodine. There was also a card of safety pins. I cleaned out the maggots with a matchtick, but the bandaging was a problem; and I couldn't get the plasters to stick. Then I realised that if I could take the large bandage around the pony's neck, and down round its foreleg, I could fix a pad exactly over the largest wound. This I did, and by the time I had finished the column was lined up and ready to move.

That's how I came to be responsible for "Daisy". I called her Daisy after a coal horse my father had when I was young.

When we moved off I realised the near futility of my efforts. The pony's movements caused the pad to swing to and fro, exposing the wound, but it did solve one problem; it kept the flies away.

The ponies, apart from those that had been ridden by the Japanese officers, carried wooden cradles, and to these we attached the loads, mostly three-inch mortar bombs, three to a case, slung each side. The only other items I remember were the canvas water chaguls, and of course, the dismantled three inch trench mortars.

One of the ponies had a foal, which trotted behind its mother; and this attracted more attention and pity than my poor Daisy.

We hadn't travelled far, - perhaps a couple of miles, when some of the men in "A" Company, who were also overburdened; with a pick or shovel, a box of grenades, or three mortar bombs, complained that they were carrying more than the mules. No doubt not realising that the animals were in a worse state than they.

Consequently a halt was called to re-organise. Immediately we stopped Daisy was down on her knees. She didn't have the strength to regain her feet under the weight of the loaded cradle, so I started to unload her. As I was thus occupied, and everyone else was relaxing, we received the order to move.

A Sergeant appeared in a very agitated state, and grabbed the reins from my hands. He struck my poor old pony across her muzzle two or three times, with the reins, saying "tha's ter show it ooz gaffer". I objected, but could do little under the circumstances. I took the reins feeling more hatred towards him than I felt for the enemy.

We arrived at our destination, which was a long, rather flat topped hill, to find the rifle companies already digging in. An Indian Army mule team made its way along a track which wound round the back of the hill, - huge healthy strong black mules. I tethered Daisy to a tree and ran after the mule team which I found ascending a flight of shallow but long earthen steps cut into the hillside and shored with tree trunks. At the top of the steps I found the Indian Sergeant (Havildar). I explained my problem and he asked me to show him my mule. Thinking that he wanted proof of my story, I raced back down the steps and untethered "Daisy".

We hadn't reached the steps before I realised just how exhausted was this poor animal, even though now she was unloaded. She followed me slowly up the incline, pausing for a rest and that little snort, with a few seconds rest on each steps, we climbed the hill. I found the Havildar and took him to where I had left Daisy at the top of the steps.

Before he spoke, his head and hand gestures were quite emphatic. I gathered that he had thought that I wanted fodder for an army mule. He was unsympathetic. There was no doubt that he regarded Daisy with contempt.

It was getting dark when we descended the steps, so I left Daisy with the other ponies and, once again, climbed the steps. I had noticed sacks full of fodder at the end of the mule lines, so, stealthily, I put some oats etc. into an empty sack and sped off back.

A Corporal in charge of a water party was making up the numbers when he spotted me as I fed Daisy some oats from a rolled down sandbag.

We moved off down the main track the way we had come, past the dead Jap with his leg blown off, and his unwound puttee flapping in the breeze. His shinbone shone white in the moonlight. On our approach, a few hours before, I had made a dash to beat others for his wrist compass, but we had been ordered back into line. Now I noticed that the compass was missing. we obviously thought little of robbing the dead in those days.

A hundred yards or so down a track to our right, we came across some men resting on the banks either side. They were Cameron's from our Brigade and said that they had been there for ages. I remember feeling dismayed, realising that we would have to join the queue. The method of obtaining water was to push a length of bamboo through the earthen wall of the paddy field and wait for the trickle to fill each container. There was only one length of bamboo!

Eventually, with full chaguls, and after bringing in the lookouts we made our way back. Nearing our positions we discovered that they were under artillery fire, so after leaving the chaguls in the nullah by the horses, we scrambled up the hill. I was most grateful to a pal who had dug a trench for me and apologised for not being able to get deeper into the shaly ground. The two feet or so was enough to dispel my apprehension.

The shelling lasted all night, and I later learned that all the shells had landed within the perimeter, we would have been better off down the hill with the ponies, our casualties were heavy, but our ponies were unscathed. For the second time in as many days I was sickened by the moans and cries of the wounded, and the constant shout of "stretcher bearer".

Our stretcher bearers were having a terrible time, attempting to patch up and evacuate so many wounded, so it was decided to man every other slit-trench and so leave some men to help the S.Bs. to carry the wounded down to the main (Zubya) valley, from where Naga tribesmen would continue the journey back to base.

That night, the perimeter still being sparsely manned, I found myself paired off with a captain. I soon gathered that he was feeling pretty much the same as I, which was a relief. Our officer casualties had not been light and he had lost a couple of mates. At dusk he gave me the option of keeping to the usual two hours on and two hours off; or of staying awake all night. Although I was tired, I couldn't fancy going to sleep, so I said that I preferred to stay awake, realising that I was committing him to do the same. He said that he welcomed my decision, and I felt that he meant it.

We laid booby-traps in front ot the position; grenades on trip wires, and cut fire lanes through the undergrowth. I had a Bren gun and he had his revolver, and he acted as my number two.

That was without doubt, the longest eye-pricking night I have ever spent. Both of us were good whisper's (It's surprising how many fellows couldn't whisper!) We whispered to keep each other awake; what we whispered about I now have no idea, but a remark of his stuck in my mind and put us on an even keel "There's no future in this bloody life". I thought of those route marches in India, when the officers fell out on the opposite side of the road. Nevertheless, our officers at Kohima were Top-notch.

Apart from the tiredness, the waiting was nerve-racking. But, once again I had put myself through alot of mental stress for nothing. The Japs didn't attack that morning. When dawn turned to daylight, the relief was marvellous. We didn't think or worry too far ahead; say to the next attack or patrol. We just thoroughly enjoyed the immediate pleasures, which could be as simple as a drink of water, a mug of tea or just dropping our packs to the ground. A few hours sleep was a rare super luxury. We leaned that there was a stream in the valley, on the opposite side of the hill, so a party of us set off with four ponies. The hillside was steep and there were no tracks. On pins and with sentries posted, we filled the water bags, and were almost ready to leave when one of the ponies reared up and shook off the chaguls, then charged up the hillside; just as I was feeling so relieved at having completed the job without any wind of the enemy. Worse followed when a second pony did likewise. A couple of us held on to the other two, whilst the other novice `mulesters`, after an exhausting chase and scramble eventually acheived a miracle and recovered the run-aways.

We advanced to our next objective and I hadn't realised how beneficial the past couple of days had been for the horses. Down in the nullah they were rested, and I supose the grazing must have been pretty good. After all these years I have intense memories of my feelings as we lay at the foot of the next hill, which was to become notoriously known as R"Firs Hill". I was perked-up at the news that there had been an air-drop, and that bread, instead of biscuits, had been dropped with the rations; then depressed at the news of heavy casualties coming back from our two attacking companies up the hill.

Perhaps I should say here that nobody admitted depression, it just wasn't done, and attempts to hide the fact with false jocularity rarely succeeded. Fortunately there always seemed to be the odd comic who really was unpeturbable. At times of greatest depression, such as before an attack, or after the loss of comrades, the noticeable silence revealed the fact.

After unsuccessfully reinforcing the attack with a third company, the Colonel ordered every man up the hill. We tethered our ponies and joined "A" company, the remaining company, which was forming up to advance.

A sergeant relieved me of my rifle, and once more I was burdend with a Bren. We received a short briefing, and I offered up a silent prayer, then we moved up the hill.

At first the pace could almost be described as leisurely, but halfway up the bullets came zipping by, so we went to ground. Most of the shots were too high, but I remember looking back and seeing fragments of earth jumping from the ground we had just crossed. The top of Firs Hill was much more thickly wooded than the lower part, and while we lay there in the undergrowth, awaiting orders, the firing had noticeably intensified. The rapid-firing Brens contrasted with the slow rat-a-tat-tat of the Japanese light machine guns. Our Mills grenades were also much more powerful and we could easily distinguish ours from theirs.

Because we were waiting to join the attack, I was surprised to see some of our fellows coming back down the hill. At first there were just a few walking, without haste, and as they passed we heard tales of heavy casualties and hopelessness. When more men followed, at a much quicker pace, we turned and joined the retreat. (The Army doesn't like this word, preferring "strategic withdrawal", but I was in no doubt.) Then I remember men running past us and saying that the Japs were following us down the hill. I took these remarks as signs of panic and wasn't really worried.

Towards the bottom of the hill our Battalion Second-in-Command, (Major Longlands) was standing with his revolver drawn, threatening to shoot the next man who passed him. As we approached I watched him intently, wondering if he would carry out his threat, but when the next group passed him he lowered his revolver in despair.

Most of us were still walking, but I saw a man run passed whose face was covered with blood. His left-hand pouch was flapping open and the 'w' spring from his Bren magazine was bouncing about like a jack-in-the box.

We had reached our starting point, a track at the bottom of the hill, when a sergeant appeared from behind a tree on the far side. (Sgt. Bowman), He ordered me to take up a firing position with the Bren, and detailed another man to be number two; When I turned to position the gun I was astounded to see that the hillside was swarming with Japs. Two of them; among a group just across the track, not more than thirty yards away, were hauling a machine-gun onto its tripod. I didn't see any of our men on the hill. Quickly, weighing up our position, and with my heart pounding, I decided that 'discretion is the better part of valour'; picked up the gun , and did a bunk. I don't remember any words being spoken as the three of us withdrew. One of our tanks, of which we were totally unaware, started up and rumbled along the track. I looked back to see it raking the lower slope with its twin Browning machine guns. We hesitated, but I remember thinking that the crew had a couple of inches of armour plate around them; whereas we were at a disadvantage, being below the enemy and open to grenades and suicide attacks. Nevertheless, whenever my thoughts have returned to that incident I have been troubled by my decision. Should I have opened fire?

I had been too concerned with my own safety to give too much thought to Daisy, 'though I did wonder if she was still tethered; realising now, that there was little chance of a re-union. When we re-formed, next morning, we the 'Pony Wallahs', became Seven Platoon 'A' Company. Apart from losing a cushy number, most of us had become attached to our horses and occasionally someone would say "I wonder how they're doing"

Some weeks later, when the battle had changed in our favour, and the Japs were retreating, seven platoon were in trenches overlooking the Kohima Imphal road. "Them's our ponies", someone shouted, early one morning. We looked down the winding road, which appeared and disappeared around the bends in the hills. A mule team was just disappearing and we waited for it to emerge. Tagging on behind, in the charge of Sepoy, he didn't think that they were ours, but when they came closer, around a couple more bends, he started to count. Yes, there were twelve, and behind the last pony trotted the little foal!

漏 COPYRIGHT RICHARD PATTERSON 2001
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