大象传媒

We returned by way of the next section trench, to find out why the others had not rendezvoused with us. I got as close as possible and called out but received no reply, and saw no-one.

(This chapter is part of Len Baynes' book '
The Will to Live
', an account of his wartime experiences with the Cambridgeshire Regiment, his capture in Singapore, and the four years he spent as a prisoner of the Japanese.)

A machine gun opened up on us from a hundred yards away however, and we knew that we had been heard by the wrong people. Later we discovered that our boys were in the trench but could not put out their heads as a machine gun was trained on them.

On the way back to our trench we passed Company H.Q. which was also situated in the centre of an open space. We could see no sign of life there either, and returned to our own position; I landed feet first on Cpl. Malin.

All this time we had continued to hear the mortar barrage that our boys were laying down and it proved successful in preventing the Japs from breaking through over the hill, until we had re-deployed to face our rear.

Our platoon area was separated from the rest of the battalion by coils of triple dannert wire. This consists of coils of springy barbed wire about three feet in diameter, two stretched out on the ground closely wired together, with the third coil on top of the other two.

We had not been back very long when an officer from another platoon, Lt. Doans, called to us from the other side of the wire, saying that he did not think B.H.Q. realized that we were still holding out on that side, and suggested that I bring my men across to join his company. I told him that Capt. Stick had told us to stay put, so he went off shouting that he would see Stick and get his instruction confirmed.

About an hour later Capt. Stick appeared from among the trees the other side of the wire, shouting and waving his arms. The firing prevented us from hearing what he was shouting, but we took it for granted that he was confirming Doan's earlier instruction to cross over.

Triple dannert is no mean obstacle, and this was under direct small-arms fire, so I knew that we should be very lucky to get over unscathed. I instructed each man where he was to cross, so that we should be widely separated targets and then gave the order to go.

I have always been a very poor jumper with my shortish legs, and back home in shorts and sports shoes no reward could have enabled me to clear even four feet. Now I was in heavy army boots, carrying full equipment loaded with Bren Gun ammunition, bombs, and with a short Lee-Enfield rifle in my hand.

As I charged across open ground towards the wire, I silently prayed wordless prayers, and felt something pour through my veins before I sailed through the air to clear the wire. Reaching the cover of the bushes we gathered together panting; miraculously, we were all there.

Capt. Stick came striding up, face black as thunder. 'Is this what you call defending your position to the last man?' he growled. 'I suppose you realize this means a court martial?' He would not listen when I tried to explain why we had returned, and for the moment I hated him more than I feared the bullets out in No Man's Land.

My men had been standing around listening to the one-sided conversation; I turned my back on Stick and shouted, 'Come on boys, it's back over the wire.' A terrible groan went up, and Beacon, who was close to breaking point, breathed 'Oh Sarge' in a way that said all.

Stick looked back over the wire, and said grudgingly 'You'd better stay over here now and dig yourselves in.' 'You did hear me say that I am prepared to take the men back, didn't you, Sir,' I emphasized. 'I'm ordering you to stay where you are now, so don't argue!' was his reply.

So we wearily dug ourselves yet another trench; but by now we had learned a little more and our new position was the best so far. We were in the edge of the trees, with a good field of fire, and, as we thought, with barbed wire between us and the enemy.

There was even a lull in the firing to enable us to dig a good trench; however the firing had stopped only to enable the Japs to re-deploy so that they could try to find a softer spot on our front. During this lull also, the men from our other two sections, who had been pinned down all day, were able to leave their trenches and join us - those of them who were left.

Thus we found ourselves under the direct command of an officer for the first time since the fighting started. It was good now to have someone to look to for direction, with so many lives at stake. Capt. Stick came round again at four thirty that afternoon, asking for volunteers to return over the barbed wire to look for wounded. The firing had more or less died down now so Sgt. Hanton and I decided to go ourselves.

We found a gap that had been cut in the wire a few hundred yards away, and made a dash through. A short distance along we found three of our boys lying in the grass with bullet wounds. I examined them, and found out that they all had flesh wounds, so after binding them up with their own field dressings, we shouted for some of our men to come over and assist them to our R.A.P. (Regimental Aid Post).

Before the action, and back at home, I had been very apprehensive as to how I would react to torn flesh, never having even witnessed a bad accident. When the crunch came I was surprised how calmly and competently I was able to carry out first-aid, and indeed found that I had a definite gift for this work.

Next, we found dear old Simpkin. He was a Gloucester man, slow speaking and thinking, but the salt of the earth. Although both of his legs were badly smashed he had managed to drag himself all that way through the scrub, until stopped by the barbed wire. He had lost much blood and was in considerable pain; there was unspeakable joy in his eyes as he saw that we had returned to help him.

I had always found it rather difficult to understand his rich brogue; now as I heard him croaking I put my head close to his face in order to catch what he was trying to say. 'Zorry oi've laast me bombs zarge, but oi've still got me rifle.' It lay in the grass beside him. It had been drilled into us all never to part from our rifles, and he had dragged it along with him.

I thought then of Colour Sergeant Whiskin, old soldier who had left the reserve troops he was leading earlier that day, dumped his rifle and made a dash for our trench; he lay in the bottom of it through the firing, and later persuaded the stretcher bearers that he had dysentery and was carried to safety. His reserves lay useless in the grass where he had left them.

I stayed with the badly wounded Simpkin while Hanton returned over the wire for help, and a few minutes later a party appeared carrying an old charpoy (Indian bed, made from wood and string). Gently we lifted Simpkin onto the bed, and he was taken back to our R.A.P., where our doctor sent him off to base hospital.

Hanton and I next found Parkhurst, who was also wounded in the legs and could not walk, but appeared to be without broken bones. We decided to carry him, by fireman's lift, back up the hill to our R.A.P. rather than risk waiting for stretchers; I took first turn, with Hanton carrying our rifles.

We got through the wire and were half-way up the slope that was between us and our destination. I was just about to stop to exchange roles with Hanton, as I was beginning to tire, when I noticed spurts of dust rising from the ground as a machine gun opened fire on us. Tired or not, I managed to run flat out up the steepest part of the hill, staggering with my burden into the R.A.P.

Although it was some time before I was to have an opportunity to remove my clothes, when I did I was to discover that I had sweated blood. Until then I had thought it to have been a figure of speech, that Our Lord had sweated blood in the garden of Gethsemane. During the whole of the battle I seemed to bear a charmed life, having been missed so many times.

Towards the end I began to realize that I was not going to be hit, and consequently became a little less frightened. We rested only a few minutes, then made the return trip through the world of bullets to rejoin our comrades, finding that our positions had not yet come under fire again.

Chapter 8

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