Brian in Burma

Brian in Burma

Recollections of my wartime service with the Royal Air Force


In the beginning...

I was nearly 14 when World War 2 started on 3rd September 1939 and I immediately joined the ARP Service (Air Raid Precautions) as a Messenger.    My job was (or would have been, if there had been an air raid) to cycle from one command post to another, delivering messages.   I had no idea how long the war would last - I don’t believe I ever gave it a thought - but I knew that if I became involved I wanted to be in the Royal Air Force and so, as soon as I was 16, I joined the ATC - Air Training Corps - to receive preliminary training for what I hoped would be my future in the RAF.      

I had a Grammar-school education - first at Tiffins, Kingston-upon-Thames, then at Hove County School for Boys - and left when I was 15 to start work in a local accountancy practice.   Because everyone older than me was being “called up” (for war service) I made rapid progress and was soon, in effect, the Managing Clerk - though far too young for such seniority.

Quite literally on my 18th birthday I received my calling-up papers - “a letter from the King”.   It told me that my Country needed me and that I was to report to a depôt at St John’s Wood (London) on 19th December 1943 to be received into the Royal Air Force as an air-crew trainee.   Stockleigh Hall, a block of flats in Prince Albert Road, had been requisitioned and my first billet was quite luxurious but there were no communal catering facilities for the large number of inhabitants and so each morning we were marched off to breakfast at...............London Zoo!  By 2012 those flats were selling for £7+millions!

Like every young man of my age, my ambition was to become a Spitfire pilot but whilst we were still in the introductory stage it was made clear to us that there was no shortage of pilots and we would be trained for other airborne duties, mainly as Air Gunners.   This was not at all to my liking; I sought to re-muster to an alternative ground job and my request was granted.    As I was already a trainee accountant it seemed that the pay corps would be most suitable but I wanted to contribute more positively to the war effort and  asked if I could be involved in RADAR - the exciting new discovery that was to play such a significant part in our eventual victory. This was agreed, subject to my passing the requisite examinations, in physics and mathematics.




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Here was a problem: at school I had been good at maths - that was why I had gone into the accountancy profession - but I had never done physics and knew little about it.   Before the examination I was told that the  pass mark was a modest 40% but it must be achieved in both papers.   When I was interviewed after the exam, the presiding officer said I had presented them with a difficulty: in physics my score was a miserable 10% but in maths I had achieved 100% - a feat I was told had never been achieved before (recently, one of my now grown up children said “I expect they say that to everyone who scores 100%!”).  

Luckily for me, the view taken by the examining board was that, if  I was capable of scoring full marks in one paper, I must be of at least average intelligence and they were prepared to take a chance and enter me for training as a Radar Mechanic.   So, after a temporary spell at a bomb store at Lords Bridge, Cambridge waiting for a suitable course to be available, off  I went to Lincoln where I was to be trained and where I spent many happy hours in the gardens of the Bishop’s Palace, revising and debating .

My first billet there was at the George Hotel for which any of my fellow-trainees would have died but was wasted on me because (at that time) I was not a drinker and  never frequented pubs; so the landlord did not take to me and asked if I could be moved.  For the rest of my time I lived with a very nice middle-aged couple on a small estate where I was much happier.

Outward bound...

As soon as I “passed out” - no, not fainted: qualified as a Radar Mechanic (Air) - I was told that, as the war in Europe was nearing its climax, I would be of more use in the Far East and I was duly shipped out to India.   I had the normal Embarkation Leave and so got to see my first “doodle bug” as it passed over our family home at Burgess Hill, Sussex on its was towards London.

When leave was over I travelled by train to Glasgow, embarked on (I think) the Tierra del Fuego, and set sail a day or two later.   The journey was uneventful but as we slept in hammocks below the waterline I was always conscious of the position in which I would find myself if we should happen upon a German U-boat.

Of my arrival in India I wrote home: “The sea was calm all the was except for a couple of days and I very much enjoyed it but was not sorry to land.  You can imagine the excitement as we saw Bombay drawing closer and closer.  As we approached the docks we all crowded on deck and sang everything we could think of - the natives seemed rather impressed!”

When I left the UK the talk of the war out there was all about the Japanese advance in Burma to the very gateway to India - and of the fierce fighting at Imphal.   On arrival in Bombay we were all allocated to various centres and I was horrified to hear that I was being sent to...........Imphal!    Of course, the war had moved on in the meantime;

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the Japs had been beaten there and were now on the threshold of being beaten back to Rangoon and beyond.   But I thought I was being thrown to the wolves!

Letters home were censored during the war: we had to hand them in unsealed and an officer would read through them to ensure we were not giving away any secrets.  It was a requirement that you indicated on the reverse of the envelope - or Air Letter form which was more usual for correspondence (as we had three a week free of charge!) - the language in which they were written.  On one occasion, a bored censor had written against my “Written in English” - “That’s what you think!”.  I wonder what became of him?

In Burma...

In fact, it was not as bad as I feared.   A three-day train journey across India was  followed by a day or two in Calcutta where we saw at first-hand the effects of communal strife: bodies floating down the Hooghly river, often with vultures perched on and feeding (they, too, met a grisly end: having gorged themselves they were too heavy to fly and drowned further down river).   Then followed the rest of the journey to Assam - across the Brahmaputra River by ferry, then by truck over precipitous mountain roads to Imphal.   I will never forget the majesty of the famous memorial at Kohima with its renowned inscription “When you go home, tell them of us and say - For your tomorrow we gave our today’.”   We spent several months there, servicing the equipment for which I had been trained.  

Rebecca/Eureka...

In a much earlier phase of the war it had been realised that dropping supplies to the French Resistance was somewhat haphazard: if the drop was made in daylight, the Germans were as likely as the French to obtain the goods and in any case would know the location of the Resistance: if it was made in darkness there was a good chance that
no-one would find it.   So was developed “my” radar, the Rebecca/Eureka system : a ground transmitter sending signals which could be received on a small tv screen by the supplying aircraft which could then “home in” on the signal and drop the supplies with great accuracy.

Obviously, this was of enormous significance in the Burma campaign: the whole concept there was of infiltrating behind the enemy lines, setting up strong positions which had to be supplied by air, and then launching frontal attacks on the Japanese, at the same time attacking from the rear.  

Behind the lines...

On one occasion we were told that the ground equipment (“Eureka”) held by a unit operating behind enemy lines at Meiktila had broken down and needed urgent repairs.   It fell to me to service it and I was flown down in a small aircraft to join this unit “deep in the jungle”.    On landing we were met by a young officer in a Jeep, my

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luggage and equipment was unloaded in seconds, and the little plane immediately took of again.   When I asked where we were in relation to the Japs the officer turned through 360°, indicating that they were all around us, and urging me to get moving FAST!   We entered the “box”, as the fortified area was known, and I was taken to a tent which was to be my home for the next few days.   It appeared to have four open graves in it and when I expressed my puzzlement it was explained to me that it was necessary to sleep below ground because we would constantly be under attack by Jap snipers and you were only safe if you were below ground level!

The “box” was quite large - perhaps a mile square - and contained trees and other shrubbery as well as open fields.   It was quite common for Japanese snipers to infiltrate in the night, hide up in various vantage points, and then pick off  a few of our  troops the next morning.   These Japs must have been the original suicide bombers, for there was no escape for them once they were discovered.   I encountered this once when queuing up for breakfast, the sniper was identified as hiding in a tree a few hundred yards away, and a flame thrower made short work of him.

Towards Rangoon...

As the army moved down towards Rangoon we followed on in comparative safety - Monywa...Meiltila...Pegu...though there was always the chance that we would come across a few isolated Japs who had been left behind when their comrades retreated.   We made camp at various places on the way; on one occasion there were about six of us in a large, canvas covered lorry and we pulled into a small clearing for the night.  

We all wanted to sleep in the back of the lorry but it seemed a bit crowded to me so I said I would sleep in the driver’s cab.   During the night something slithered in through the open window and I leapt out in alarm, waking every one up because a huge snake had got into the cab.   In the morning we gingerly opened the door - only to find that my snake was just a branch that had fallen from an overhanging tree!

I was with 181 Signals Wing, RAF, SEAAF (South East Asia Air Forces) when the war in Europe ended but it meant nothing much to us, except we realised  that thousands of families all over the United Kingdom would no longer spend sleepless nights wondering about their loved ones.  Our only celebration was a Victory Parade through Rangoon on15 June 1945.

Rangoon

We arrived in Rangoon in May 1945 and the war in Burma was at an end.   When the prisoners-of-war had been released and repatriated we had a few weeks of relaxation before setting off on the next stage of the journey.   North of Rangoon is Lake Victoria (now Inya Lake, I believe).   It was created by the British towards the end of the nineteenth century to provide a water supply for Rangoon.   Wealthy families built luxury holiday homes on the shore of the Lake and all had boats, a yacht club flourished - a typical British expat colony.   When the Japanese arrived in 1942 they

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took over the homes and the boats; when we arrived we took over the homes but not the boats - as they had all been destroyed and sunk by the retreating Japs.  Nothing daunted, we set about salvaging and repairing the boats and formed our own flourishing yacht club.   Our first boat was called “Eureka” and subsequently Eureka I and Eureka II.

We had a thoroughly enjoyable and relaxing time, but my pals were anxious about me because I was the only one who could not swim.   So they set about encouraging me - in the nicest possible way - and gradually I lost my fear of getting my face wet and was able to swim half-a-dozen strokes before submerging.   The day came when I thought I had mastered it but then I was given the challenge - you must prove yourself by swimming across the lake.   I said I would if someone came with me in the boat but they said “No, you’ll only rely on us then” - so one day I set off and ploughed across - I thought it was about half a mile but I expect I overestimated it.

Anyway, with great pride I hauled myself ashore on the other side - then realised to my horror that the only way back was to swim!   After resting for quite a while, wondering whether a 20 mile walk was the better alternative, I decided to risk it and with a mighty effort I reached home.   Inevitably my pals accused me of making the whole thing up but eventually they were persuaded.

[On a much later visit to Rangoon I looked in on the War Criminals Tribunal. The President of the Court was sitting on a big, gilt ‘throne’ with an assistant at each side and a huge Union flag for background.   On the left-hand side were the Japanese accused: about 16 of the most vicious-looking thugs I had ever seen.  I did not wait for the verdicts but 1 got death by hanging, 4 by shooting, 8 to life imprisonment, and 3 to 12 years.]

Malaya and Singapore

All to soon our happy days were coming to an end as we prepared for the invasion of Malaya.   We sailed towards the end of July 1945 in a huge invasion fleet, collected from Burma, India and Ceylon and progressed south.   On August 6 we heard of a mighty explosion at Hiroshima but it didn’t mean much to us.   Three days later another huge explosion shook Nagasaki and by now it was obvious that we had a devastating new weapon.   Then what really registered with us was the news of the Japanese surrender on 14 August.

There was no point in our turning back and we continued to Singapore which we reached in mid-September.   There was much excitement and I made a fool of myself (again?) by diving for cover when the shooting started, not realising it was fireworks to celebrate the Chinese New Year.   Most of us imagined that this was the end of the war for us but it was not to be.   The Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia) had been promised a degree of self-government by the Japanese for after they won the war, and the native Indonesians were not going to be put off by a little detail like Japan not winning the war.   There was a bloody insurrection and British forces were sent to help the Dutch put it down.

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Java and Sumatra

My first posting was to Jakarta where I had two of my more bizarre wartime experiences.   One was the free issue of money.   As part of the natives rejecting Dutch sovereignty, they refused to use the Dutch currency which was being reintroduced.   As we had captured the Japanese printing presses, it was an easy matter for us to churn out millions of notes and flood the market with them, so destroying their value.  We were called on parade one day to be told that we were each to have a free issue of money - with just one condition attached: we MUST SPEND IT!   It worked like a dream and in no time at all the Dutch had resumed control.

The other oddity was rearming some of our Japanese prisoners.   When the situation looked like getting out of hand the Jap POWs were persuaded that it was the wish of their Emperor that they should assist the British forces and this that accepted without hesitation.   A small group was temporarily issued with rifles and small arms and assisted our troops and things were under control again.   I had several long conversations with Harry, our interpreter, and found him to be (almost) a normal family man, happy to show me photos of his wife and family back home.

After Jakarta I moved to Medan in Sumatra.   The “powers-that-be” seemed to have assumed that the Dutch women who had been prisoners-of-war of the Japs would be  pleased to see British servicemen, so we were all issued with ............condoms!!  

It was in Sumatra that I had two of my most terrifying experiences of the whole war.   On one occasion a group of us were travelling in the back of one of the covered lorries we used all the time when we came to a level crossing where the gates were closed.   As no trains were running it did not occur to the driver to wonder why the gates were closed but he soon found out - when we came under fire from the signal box.   We scrambled out from the back and took shelter as best we could behind/beneath the lorry, until the army arrived and took control.   Sadly, our driver was killed - having survived the war proper.

The other incident was even more remarkable.   Three of us were in a small car being driven by a young Flying Officer to a radio outpost.   As we passed though the market square of a small village we were stopped by a Scottish soldier, obviously lost (and miles away from barracks) who demanded a lift back into town.   Our Officer said he was sorry but we couldn’t help as we were on a duty call, whereupon the soldier cocked his Sten gun and said “You’re not leaving without me!”.   We made to drive off and I am absolutely certain he would have fired if we had continued: but just at that moment an army truck pulled into the square, excited voices called “Over here, Jock!” and he ran off to join his comrades. We assumed he had been “up to no good” with one of the native women.  

My task in Medan had been to install navigation equipment at the airstrip so that some of the Dutch women and children who had been prisoners-of-war could be evacuated
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by air.  A most rewarding incident there was when a pilot came into the mess one evening and yelled “Where’s the Radar King?”.  Assuming that I had made some terrible mistake I rose nervously to my feet and he came over to me - to punch me on the nose I assumed - and sure enough his hand came out - but only to shake my hand.  “Very pleased to know you”, he said “I have to thank you for saving my life and, of course, the lives of the whole crew and passengers of the aircraft.”   It transpired that he had run into very bad weather soon after taking off and decided to turn back  By that time visibility was down to nil and, without the help of our navigation equipment, he would never have found Medan again.  

At this time my Section of 181 Wing was the only one of its kind in SEAC (South East Asia Command) and the three of us were reputed to know more about the equipment than any other mechanics in the area.   The result was that we tended to be kept in reserve for the sticky jobs no-one else could (or would) tackle.  Hence most of my work was visiting aerodromes were some snag had arisen, putting it right, then moving on to the next problem.

My job done in Medan, I left for Air Headquarters in in Kuala Lumpur early in 1946 and spent the next 18 months travelling between there and Singapore and Rangoon.  Best of all, I had “mid-tour leave” in August 1946 and was lucky enough to come back to England for four weeks.   Worst of all, I had to return to Burma.  We returned on RMS Samaria and the only interest on that voyage was a Revue for which I still have the programme.  I said at the time in a letter home that the best act was “No. 11 - Two boys on two guitars - Jock Hamilton and Bill Mays” and I recorded that “Bill Mays was a Merchant Navy chap who could almost ‘make the thing talk’ he was so good.”

Home again

Naturally we were all anxious to get home and be “de-mobbed” and in due course I made my way back to “Blighty”.   I recall that the weather got colder and colder as we neared home and made our way - in my case - to Brize Norton in Oxfordshire where I spent several months getting used to (a) English weather and (b) the discipline expected of peace-time RAF personnel - gosh , that was almost the hardest part of the war!   Eventually, my turn came and I was transferred to RAF Fairford prior to de-mobilisation.   I was kitted out in civilian clothes, given a rail pass, and off I went.  And here I am...............