大象传媒

I was born and brought up in Newport, South Wales. I left school at the age of 14 and began work in a local haberdashery before becoming a bus conductor. After war was declared I joined the Home Guard and then, when I was old enough, the RAF. I had wanted to join the merchant navy but my parents felt that the Air Force was a safer option and insisted that I joined the RAF - parents are not always right! For my intial training I was based in the Midlands, near Birmingham, for ten months.

I sailed in the Warwick Castle, a Union Castle liner, which had been converted to carry troops, on December 7th, 1941, the day of Pearl Harbour. The men on board were a mixture of Army and Air Force. Our original destination was the Middle East and our aircraft had been sent in that direction. All troops were kitted out for that area. However, as a result of the Japanese entering the war, we were re-routed to the Far East.

The voyage was uncomfortable but the food on board was better than we had been used to at home, the ship having been provisioned in Canada. After a few days on board a routine was established with organized PE and the usual boat drill. On our first pay day I received ten shillings (50p); although not a princely sum it was a fortune compared with being ashore - a tin of cigarettes cost only two shillings and six pence and you could get a pint of beer for six pence. Mates sat around and nattered or played cards, life became quite pleasant (once you had got over sea sickness). The weather improved as we traveled south and I spent a lot of my time on deck. It was nice to find a sunny spot, sheltered from what little wind there was, and sit and watch the activities of other ships in the convoy, which were spread out almost from horizon to horizon.

By the beginning of the third week we approached Freetown. Freetown was an amazing study in contrasts, the colours we had noticed from out to sea were still there but many of the red roofs turned out to be rusty corrugated iron and many of the startling white buildings, as seen from afar, were less prepossessing from where we were anchored. There were ships of many nationalities in the harbour mingling with the tramp steamers and odd native sailing boats with their patched and faded sails. To me it was a wonderful, exotic sight. I had always wanted to travel. I had an uncle who was a merchant seaman and, as a boy, had hung on his every word as he had described his travels. In fact I had would have prefered to have joined the navy and would have done so if my parents hadn't intervened. Thinking back I cannot remember any gung ho feeling of wanting to get to grips with the enemy. We were, of course full of national pride. The uniforms we wore proved our commitment and a wish to be part of the war. Perhaps it just hadn't sunk in how bloody serious war could be.

Our passage down the coast of Africa was pretty uneventful. We had the usual panic stations that most convoys suffered and rumours would abound about enemy submarines but always the presence of the Navy gave a lot of confidence.

Our next port of call was Capetown, where we were allowed ashore. We received lectures on how to behave and busied ourselves preparing our gear for going ashore. Soon, with a few bob in our pockets, we were making our way out of the dock area into Adelaide Street, the main thoroughfare through the town. Much to our surprise the road was lined with cars; the good people of Capetown had come to welcome us and to take as many of us as possible out for the day. My mate, Edgar Howlet, and I spent the day with a lady who had been born in the Welsh Valleys and who lived on the slopes of Table Mountain. We returned to the ship to hear from many others who had received the same kind of welcome from the citizens of Capetown.

By the end of January 1942 we were aware of the Japanese advances in the Pacific. Hong Kong had gone and the Japanese were advancing seemingly where they liked. We were in no doubt that we were heading in their direction. Some ships had already left the convoy and were making for Singapore, the Japanese having started to make a push for Malaya.

After a nine week voyage we finally landed at Batavia on Java on February 4th 1942. I was 19 years and 6 days old. Part of the convoy had put into Singapore which was on the point of being taken. This part of the convoy consisted mainly of the 18th Division, most of whom were conscripts with only basic training. My Squadron 605, and 232 Squadron were sent to Palembang in Sumatra after a week.

A week later the Japanese invaded Sumatra. The aircraft we had were not match for the number of Jap fighters and bombers. The Japanese landed on the coast and our fighters did considerable damage to the landing barges etc. Then the Japs dropped a strong force of paratroopers on the aerodrome where we were based. Prior to this we were heavily bombed with anti-personnel bombs, which did a lot of damage and caused a number of casualties. I volunteered to help break an ambush on the road to the aerodrome. I felt that it was the thing to do because my cousin was with a party trapped near the control tower. We were stopped a few miles out of Palembang and told by an RAF officer that it was not possible to go any further.

We had orders to retreat the following day, being by this time down to our last few aircraft. As Sumatra could not be held it was decided to make a stand on Java. We had to leave our kit behind and after a train journey to Oostavern we embarked on small inter-island steamers and eventually got back to Batavia. During the march to the railway station we had to cross a river. Whilst crossing the bridge we were stopped by a Dutch officer. He suggested that I might like to climb down a rope ladder to one of the bridge supports and stuff cartridges of dynamite into holes, which had already been made. I had to go over the parapet and down into the bastions and drop the cartridges into the holes. Having put in the contents of a small runabout, I got back up to the road where I was violently sick from dynamite fumes. The officer took my name and number and said I would hear from a grateful Dutch Government. (I have never heard a thing.) To this day I do not know if they blew that bloody bridge!!

Back in Batavia we were re-equipped with a mixture of clothing and we still had our small arms.

On the 17th February 1942, two days after the evacuation of Sumatra, I was with a party of 36 members of 605 Squardron, who landed with some Australian sailors at the port of Oostavern. Apparently a train had been left at Oostavern by the Dutch, which contained the latest in wireless equipment, equipment which we had brought out from England. Several trucks of ammunition were also with the train. We were to load the wireless equipment into the corvette we had travelled in and blow up the ammunition. The corvette was the Ballarat of the Royal Australian Navy. She was, I believe, built in Sydney and launched on August 30th 1941. The RAF contingent were all volunteers. At first light, some three miles off Oostavern, the ships' guns fired three shells into the town. It was hoped that this would draw fire from the Japanese if they had already entered the town. The only reaction was the sight of cars belting along the coast road out of town. After landing, a cordon of men was thrown around the dock area whilst the ship was loaded. When the job was finished the ship was piled so high with equipment that the decks were only a few inches from the drink. On leaving, the trucks containing ammunition were blown up and it was then that the only injury happened. Although we were by then some distance from the shore, a sailor was hit by flying debris.

On arriving back at Batavia, we gathered on deck and were addressed by the Captain. He told us that if we wished we could sail back to Australia with the ship. We would not be considered deserters as our Units were dispersed all over the place. A few, I believe, took the opportunity but most of us decided to try and rejoin our mates.

We were then sent to a satellite aerodrome about 45k from Batavia for a short time. After which, we were instructed to move on to Bandong.

Bandong was soon being bombed and strafed by the Japs. We were in a cavalry barracks in one raid and dived under the long plank beds. The chaps who dived out of the windows had a shock as the Navy O's were coming in by twos, one aircraft strafing the long huts and the other, slightly behind, shooting up the grass in between. I don't remember many casualties, but there had to be some. We were soon ordered to move out in convoy and were badly strafed on the mountain roads ... the roads were narrow and wound around the sides of the mountains; sometimes with drops of many hundreds of feet, in fact you could look out of the back of a Bedford and see tree tops like a green carpet in the valleys below. A truck in front of us went over the side spilling men out as it fell to the valley floor.

We spent several days travelling, staying in plantations overnight and moving on during the day. Eventually we arrived at the coast and occupied a small valley. We slept in native huts made from split bamboo, the floors of which made one feel as though you were walking on a trampoline.

The idea uppermost in our Officers' minds was to get a ship in to take us off. Other than small arms, we had with us a few anti-aircraft guns and a wireless truck, the latter being used to contact ships out at sea. Unbeknownst to us the Japanese Navy, after some heroic fighting by such ships as the Perth, Exeter, Van Dam and Houston (which were all sunk), controlled the seas. It was soon obvious that no ship could get to us and that we were surrounded by Japs. With food and ammunition gone, we would have to comply with the request of the Japanese Commander for us to surrender. We were also by this time under the command of a Dutch General and, as the Dutch government had capitulated, all troops under his command were forced to lay down their arms. I was by this time with members of the 77th Ack Ack Regiment from Cardiff.

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