大象传媒

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My grandfather鈥檚 story is one of individual moments, shared with my mother and myself. His wartime memories brought a joy and excitement to his voice that was rarely seen in his dying days. Sadly, he died on 4th July 2004, but he left us with his happy memories, his much deserved medals and the hat that symbolised his unit and brought cheer to the non-combatant who saw it. The hat is that of a member of the Duke of Wellington鈥檚 Regiment; the non-combatants were the native peoples of Burma who were mistreated by the Japanese, but befriended by the Allies; the medals were the usual array of war medals as well as two Burma Stars. The first one he earned by leaving Burma with the Japanese at his heels. The second one he earned when he, along with the rest of British Empire forces, stopped at the Indian border, turned, and fought back.

My grandfather left Burma defeated. He returned as a Chindit.

Clifford Edward Smith answered the call to arms with a journey from Barmby Moor 鈥� a small farming village near York 鈥� to Barnsley. However, it soon became apparent that he required an operation and so he went to nearby Harrogate for three weeks. He then went to Halifax (my Grandad had a saying 鈥� 鈥淣ever go to Hull, Hell or Halifax!鈥�) and was promptly posted to Iceland. He was issued with Arctic gear and paraded to the town centre where he was told to go back to the depot and return the gear. The next week it was Middle East gear, then North Africa gear, and so on. Three months later, he was issued the surprisingly light India gear and, upon asking when he would be giving it back, was told that this wasn鈥檛 going to happen.

He waited in Halifax with friends George Limerick and Alfred Dear as embarkation leave extended and the number of men around him decreased until St. Patrick鈥檚 Day 1941 when he boarded a train to Glasgow and then a boat to India.

Since he was a lorry driver in civilian life, Grandad Smith (鈥楽mugger鈥� to his comrades) was given the task of driving a 3 ton truck. On the way out of Burma ahead of the Japanese advance, this lorry was filled with mortar bombs. At the end of the day, each man was expected to dig a slip trench to sleep in. He would dig his ditch, then sleep on the lorry.

One such night, Grandad remembered, one of his friends (who鈥檚 name, disappointingly, escapes me) did not dig a trench and tried to sleep in Sergeant-Major Sparks鈥� trench. 鈥楾wink鈥�, as he was known, took annoyance at this and told the soldier to get out. My grandad offered the man his empty trench and the night passed without further incident. The following morning, as the 9 o鈥檆lock Japanese Recon plane flew over, Twink made his usual full length dive into his trench.

During the night, every man in the unit had鈥� relieved himself in the sergeant-major鈥檚 trench. Twink came up, covered from head to toe in excrement. Even the commanding officer 鈥� Colonel Owen 鈥� found this funny.

Speaking of commanders, Cliff stated that they were not only brave and (usually) good leaders, but always perfect gentlemen. Sadly, Colonel Owen was murdered by a Burman. Colonel Faithful, who was my grandfather鈥檚 C/O from 1942 to 1943 died in action. Colonel Stevens led Smugger鈥檚 column - Chindit Column 76 鈥� into Burma and was described as a quiet man. I did say 鈥渦sually鈥� earlier, because my grandfather was a Private for most of the war. Twice he was promoted to Sergeant, and twice he punched out the commanding officer for issuing stupid, costly orders.

Good old grandad.

As a Chindit, he was given basic veterinary training. He was tasked with looking after the mules which carried the heavy equipment. This included stitching where they were cut by bamboo (which was cut to a razor sharp point by the passing machetes) and, amongst many other tasks, cutting out the creature鈥檚 voice box. Obviously, when creeping through the Japanese soldier infested jungles of Burma, the last thing you needed was all the pack-mules screaming and complaining. Unfortunately, the voice boxes grew back, which, I am told, came as one hell of a surprise to the soldiers.

Apparently, mules really aren鈥檛 as stubborn as people say that they are. In fact, if it were not for certain mules, I would not be typing this. Twice, grandad鈥檚 life was saved from sliding off the side of a mountain where the path had collapsed by a mule who refused to let him pass.

Mules also have a very good memory. One in particular had had bad experiences with a former owner partial to whisky. When the Chindits were dropped alcoholic supplies, they would pour everything into a huge barrel and make an enormous cocktail. One time, with grandad鈥檚 breath smelling of whisky, this particular mule got scared and gave him a full blown kick right between the eyes!

On the subject of supply drops, Private Smith remembers that due to the amount of soldiers and lack of lorries, keeping the army supplied was a problem that was solved by the Douglas DC.3 Skytrain 鈥� more commonly known as the C-47 Dakota. When the Chindits stopped at one of the many mountaintop villages populated by the Burmese, signals officers would light an 鈥楲鈥� shaped fire. The pilot of the supply plane would fly down the long part of the 鈥楲鈥� and drop at the right angle. The RAF crew had an amazing record. Not one package ever missed. One time, when the USAAF had refused to drop for four days because of low cloud, an RAF crew followed the smoke from the fire and, despite continuing cloud cover, landed every single package on target.

The US Army Air Force was a different matter. A fair amount of supplies ended up either all over the mountain or in the hands of the enemy. One time, an air crew were told five times by my grandfather鈥檚 column that they were column 76, not 77, and that they did not want supplies that could be needed elsewhere. The plane dropped three boxes before the pilot realised his mistake and told column 76 they could keep the supplies. Hoping for extra food or alcohol, the men received rather a shock to find three whole boxes of boots. The one thing that they had plenty of.

The supplies in themselves were generally a bit of a let down as well. They were described to me as: 鈥淔our biscuits, a square of tinned meat that sometimes tasted of bacon or beef, two cigarettes, two matches and a chocolate bar.鈥�

Following the initial Chindit operations, my grandfather served in the sieges of both Kohima and Imphal 鈥� which, incidentally, is the name of the barracks in York where the Prince of Wales鈥� Own Regiment of Yorkshire is based today. He never really spoke much about the battles he fought. The only combat he ever mentioned was directed at a different relative who chose to join the British Army a few years ago and, after ignoring Grandad鈥檚 advice not to join the Koyli鈥檚 (who, he had said, 鈥渄o everything twice as fast鈥�), then chose to enter sniper training. Here, Cliff remembered that the Chindits had once been hit by a Japanese sniper who, once found, was subjected to fire from virtually every single soldier and was killed in a most horrific way (not that this seriously bothered Grandad, who harboured a hatred for the Japanese to his dying day. It was the thought that that situation may arise for one of his grandsons that worried him). The only physical evidence of combat on Smugger鈥檚 body was a bullet wound to the side of his foot which I am assured came from a Japanese weapon.

Grandad Smith was far too proud and patriotic for it to have been from his own gun.

While in India itself, several more interesting events occurred. Firstly was the morning shave. One morning, my grandfather awakes to find an Indian sharpening a cut-throat razor on his hand. Cut-throat razors being named so for a reason, he is obviously wary. The Indian, however, simply says: 鈥淪have.鈥� Thinking this a question, Cliff answers that he would indeed like a shave. 鈥淣o,鈥� says the Indian, 鈥淵ou are already shaved.鈥� Grandad鈥檚 hand rose to his jaw to find it silky smooth and hairless. He had been given the best shave in his live 鈥� during his sleep.

It turned out that every man received the same treatment every night, but no one knew how the man got into the barracks. One night, two of the men stayed on guard in the corridor all night. The first they heard of the Indian, however, was when he started shaving the C/O.

Also while in India, one of the men from grandad鈥檚 unit (鈥楾wink鈥�, I think) lost a very good quality coat from its hanger behind his door. He was very annoyed at this and blamed some of his comrades. Later, while walking through a bazaar, he spotted a likely looking coat that could act as a suitable replacement. He bought the coat and returned to the base. Upon putting his hands in the coat鈥檚 pockets, he found a pair of gloves 鈥� his gloves. He had just bought his own coat!

The third event described to me was a bus journey from Delhi (at least, I think it was Delhi). Travelling through a mountainous area at break-neck speed, the bus came to a turn and either didn鈥檛 turn sufficiently or just ploughed straight on! The bus landed in a valley where, by chance, some medics happened to be staying. One of these men came out to investigate and stood on grandad鈥檚 head by accident. The medic helped the men on the bus, grandad included. Much later, long after the war had ended, Cliff went to a hospital somewhere in Yorkshire to find himself being seen by the same man who had stood on him at the bottom of a valley in India.

Soon enough it was time for the Chindits to begin the counter offensive. The second attack was set to use gliders to land in the heart of the jungle 鈥� not a terribly bright idea. Luckily for grandad (and subsequently, my mother and therefore me), he didn鈥檛 go. He was one seat away from being on the last glider (which, he later learnt, crashed killing all on board). Since the Dukes of Wellington鈥檚 Regiment were generally used to fill in gaps and bolster ranks, my grandfather joined the recently arrived Merrill鈥檚 Marauders. A group of US Marines with similar training to the Chindits who were tasked with recreating the Burma Road with the aim of getting China back in the war.

Though he generally preferred the company of men from the British Empire nations, grandad found the Americans sufferable. He said they were very loud and that 鈥測ou couldn鈥檛 tell them anything.鈥� They also didn鈥檛 know how to make tea. The Chindits used to pour a load of tea leaves into the bottom of a barrel and topped it up with hot water, but the Marauders obviously preferred coffee. As is still true today, the American Army lived the comparative high life. They had a limitless supply of cigarettes, donuts and other delicacies as well as a cinema on camp!

While out with the Merrill鈥檚 Marauders, grandad was leading a mule over a path along the side of a mountain. Suddenly, a snake fell out of the tree directly ahead of him. Mules are petrified of snakes, and he didn鈥檛 care for them, either. He quickly covered the mule鈥檚 eyes to avoid it panicking and the soldier in front suddenly turned and sliced the snake鈥檚 head in half with his machete! The journey continued.

When the war came to a close, he was one day away from having served alongside American forces long enough to be considered an American citizen. This meant he had to return to Yorkshire (not America) without the US Army pension. When he did return, he was considered to be class 鈥楢鈥� healthy. As was the case with so many men, this was the lie used because the British government were in so much debt that they couldn鈥檛 afford to issue pensions. Grandad had malaria and a severe for of dysentery and was a mere shadow of his former self. Despite this, he also missed out on a British Army pension. However, every soldier received a coat. For enlisted men, this was cheap and mass produced. The officers got one tailor-made. Grandad, however, being tall and proud, would not fit into any of the enlisted men鈥檚 jackets and therefore received a very fine, tailor-made coat.

Grandad told me that he greatly enjoyed his time in India and it was obvious by the way he would wander off on a tangent throughout the conversation that he greatly enjoyed passing his memories on. Sadly, these are all of his experiences that I can currently remember. What is remembered will last internet and in the hearts and minds of me and my family.

The rest died with him - 4th July 2004.

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