Sgt E. E. Houghton

This is not an endeavour to write a complete story of my life. It is merely a collection of memories,
which return readily to mind, between May 30, 1920 and the present day, Sunday, August 12th,
1945.

I’m writing this while serving with the jungle Air Force-“somewhere in Burma” - primarily as a means
of escape from boredom, which, coupled with disease, forms an enemy more formidable than the
Japanese Imperial Guard; for here we are deprived of all the luxuries of modern entertainments - to
which we have naturally become so accustomed - no radio, very occasionally we have a film show,
commonly nicknamed “The Mepacrine Movies” - although we do possess one gramophone
and a few records, much the worse for wear as you can imagine, since these are passed from tent to
tent daily, each tent being allowed to retain it for one night.

I intend to take this “manuscript” home to blighty, as it may give someone a pleasant few minutes
reading - it may even cause a smile. If so, my efforts to escape boredom have been amply repaid.
If my writings are found to contain a sentimental strain please realise that at this time I am between
six-thousand and eight-thousand miles from home, and on account of this fact I am deeply grateful,
for our sergeant’s mess (merely a tent) contains some of the best comrades one could ever wish to
be with, and in the middle of nowhere it is a great test, for we are compelled to share each other’s
company during both the hours of daylight and darkness. We work side by side on the aircraft and
at night we either sit side by side in the mess or stand side by side in the trenches. Therefore, as this
is intended as a collection of my memories, I would like to note their names for future reference as,
at some date hence, they too will be a memory, although I sincerely hope I have the good fortune to
meet them in civilian life.

Sergeant Richardson (Bob); Sergeant Priest (Alf); Sergeant Jenkinson (Pop or Ted), who has refused
his release to get a smack at the Japs out here, also a veteran of the last war and who remembers
the Boer war too; Sergeant Jones (Taffy); Sergeant Silverthorn (John); Flight Sergeant Davey (Dave)
whom I knew at Wick; Warrant Officer Stenhouse (Jock) who has just gone home after completing
four years out here, and also his second tour. He started his tour in Rangoon before the Jap invasion
and he finished his tour there, after they had been driven out; Sergeant Manahan (Cliff) just finished
his fourth year, and unlike Jock his features shout out that fact; last but not least there is Sergeant
Puddicombe (Bill) a typical cockney who was really the life and soul of our party, the short time he
was with us, prior to his return to be demobbed, after which he intends being a “Bookie” on the
racetracks - and believe me he will not lack for either the gift of the gab or sharp wits.
I have “special” friends too, amongst the pilots of our squadron – who unfortunately share a
separate mess - Flight Sergeant Smith (Ted) very quiet and reserved; Flight Lieutenant Lewis (Ned)
who is always cheerful and smiling, and Sergeant Dobbins (Dobby) who is much the same. Then
there is my officer, Flight Sergeant Jarrett (Joe), one of the finest officers in every sense of the word,
that I could ever hope to meet. He is the perfect gentleman, as was group Captain Goddard with
whom I came in contact quite a lot; and last but not least Squadron Leader Pegge (Peg) of him I need
only say “he is one of the best” and a perfect Squadron C.O.

Although in the services it is an unwritten law not to be sentimental and say such things aloud, in my
heart I wish these men every success, good fortune and happiness in their future lives.
There are two more who did not share our mess, but who were two of my best friends, both of
whom were first class pilots, but who were killed in flying accidents whilst carrying out their duty in
monsoon weather and under very difficult conditions. If I had anything to drink right now, I would
give a toast first to:-

Flight Sergeant Round - Johnny as we all knew him, he was always happy, smiling and never
panicked, had a quiet but likeable nature and was a great friend to me. He had The D.S.C for the
Battle of Britain and the D.S.C for his flying in Burma, although it was a long time before I even found
this out. He was in fact one of the “First of the Few” who gallantly faced the hordes of NAZI
bombers during the critical early days of the war. He left college and straightaway entered the RAF.
He used to confess to me, when alone, that since he had never worked in “civvy street” he
wondered how he would fare when all this was over. Yes, Johnny was one of those quiet fellows
who unselfishly left college and “joined up” because they knew their country was being threatened -
although I doubt if he fought for any other reason.

And secondly I’d give a toast to :- Warrant Officer Goodenough (Goody) - he was another youngster, although a veteran pilot who gave up his job in New Zealand to come and fight for the old country in its hour of need. I came to
know him first when I had to do a journey of 400 miles to deliver a truck. He was my “bodyguard” in
effect, as well as my companion. It was a sticky journey, one of those when anything can happen,
and as we bounced along over the shell-torn roads to the front, when Goody wasn’t dozing we
talked away to break the monotony. Naturally each one spoke about what he was thinking, so it’s
good to tell where one’s thoughts lie in times like these. “Goody” talked continually of his home; his
parents and his girl; of New Zealand, where he had been there, and where his girl and he were going
to spend their honeymoon.

During the several days the journey took our friendship was well and truly cemented as we had so
much in common to talk about, and we were real pals, sharing whatever we had, for rations were
meagre, and it wasn’t long before we even broke our last cigarette and had half each.

Yes, Johnny and Goody were two of the best, and perfect gentlemen. A quotation from “John
Halifax gentlemen” (if my memory serves me right) goes as follows :- “Any man who could support himself and is beholden unto none except god, he’s a gentleman.” The term “gentlemen” means more, much more than the above quotation - and I honestly believe
the world, as a whole, has been deprived of a great prize, as I have, of two good and loyal friends.

Recollections of Life Overseas – India and Burma

Since peace has now been declared some days, and the “ceasefire” has sounded, I think I will be in
order in writing some recollections of life out here. (18th August, 1945)

On boarding the ship we were shown to the officer’s lounge, where our duties as troop deck NCOs
were explained to us, and also our duties when the troops began to embark. We were allotted
various decks which were our responsibility, and “Taffy” and I had charge of H9. The following day
the lads began to arrive and at this stage our job was to guide them through the ship to their mess
deck, the long procession of troops continued all day until about 6.00 PM in the evening, then
followed the inspection by the Port Authority and a meal. On Friday, the 5th of January we got
underway –it was a typical Scotch morning – cold, drizzling and misty, and at 7.00 AM that morning
as the screws started to turn, I think everyone was on deck to look longingly at the shore, and envy
the few people who could be seen strolling about. We sailed steadily down the Clyde and as we
approached the open sea we formed a convoy along with four other troopers, two corvettes, and
one flat top (aircraft carrier). From now on, until reaching the Med we sailed a zigzag course, and
also at some rendezvous in the Irish Channel we picked up the rest of our convoy, now totalling
some 16 ships. At 1.00 PM on the sixth we watched England recede into the distance, everyone
pretty quiet and thoughtful – wondering how long it would be before they saw their native land
again, and wondering if they would see it again. Probably some of the Fellows in that convoy never
will - any how we steamed steadily on towards the Bay of Biscay. By now we were having lifeboat
drill every day. That day we started being followed by a submarine which continued to follow us for
three days, and at night we had to sleep with our clothes, life jackets and life light on and water
bottle at hand. On the third day, however, a smokescreen was laid and depth charges dropped and
that was the last we heard of the “sub”. Passing through the “Bay” the weather was pretty grim,
terrific waves and wind, and at one time the crew were standing by the boat station as the old ship
did a roll of 47° - I honestly thought it was going right over, and to make things worse it groaned and
creaked as though it were going to fall apart. On the 10th at 9.00 AM we saw land – Gibraltar – a
huge rock tapered upwards to a fine point, whilst one side appeared as a sharp slope. Spain
appeared rocky and barren with small fishing villages dotted along the coast, and small white houses
appeared to be scattered about at random. Looking to the South we could see North Africa and
Morocco which also seemed rocky and barren. The weather was now hot and sunny and when off
duty we used to lay on the decks in the sun. At 10.00 PM that evening we passed Mellila, which was
ablaze with lights and it was certainly a treat to see one spot which had no blackout. We sailed on
past Oran, which was barely visible through the mist, and Algiers which appeared to be of some size;
built on low ground and surrounded by mountains. The houses seemed to extend for miles and to
be dotted about in some semblance of order. The Atlas Mountains where towering and impressive,
yet rather forbidding with their snow-capped peaks reaching towards the sky. It was strange going
through the Med as the sea was a deep blue and in other places a pale green, and to all intents and
purposes there was a distinct line where the two colours met. At night it was like sailing through a
sea of luminous paint, as the water alongside the ship glowed and sparkled due to the
phosphorescent nature of the water. Shortly after passing Algiers we had another rough spell
although not so bad as the previous one. The next places of interest we saw were Pantalario, Malta,
Derna and Mersa Matru, places which previously had been “headline news” in the North Africa
Campaign. Pantalario is an island about 12 miles in length, rocky and hilly, with woodlands running
down to the shore on the eastern end of the island, the rest of the island being sheer cliffs, with little
white dwellings dotted around in nooks and crannies. The island was originally occupied by the
Germans who had hangars and runways tunnel into the solid rock.

Don’t for one moment think that life aboard a trooper is a pleasure cruise – far from it, for each ship
is crowded to capacity and, to put it rather crudely, its – well – “hellish”. Personally I only ever want
to go on one more, and that is the one which takes me home.

The sun by now sank very rapidly in the evenings, giving very little twilight. On the 15th of January we
sailed into Port Said, which has tidy buildings both of modern and eastern design, and from the boat
it looked rather nice, although I should imagine that it will in reality possess the stench, filth and
squalor of most eastern towns.

We passed through the harbour and entered the Suez Canal (approximately 99 miles long and 99
feet wide). The first thing was to pick up some natives and their boats, for the purpose of slipping
ashore at frequent intervals and tying the ship’s cables whilst another ship passed. On each side of
the canal was desert, with exceptionally green patches here and there. At intervals of about 10 miles
there were small shore stations which looked very neat and tidy, also Egyptian police stations
complete with camels!! We passed the Suez memorial, native families living on houseboats, a
hospital ship. We also passed through a lake with a beautiful lido, and during this time by the way,
there was no blackout aboard the ship. We also saw a huge camp, brightly illuminated, stretching
for 10 or 12 miles, which was most likely a POW camp. The roads and railways ran straight and flat
alongside the canal for miles and miles.

On the 16th at 10.00 AM we left the canal and entered Port Suez, where we dropped anchor, this
being our first stop. Here we saw native dhows, and queer barges which were barely clear of the
water, and it wasn’t long before our ship was surrounded by “bum boats” selling fruit, leather ware,
sandals and goodness knows what. Water barges and oil tankers came alongside and our supplies of
oil and water, and food were replenished. The natives were dressed in shirts, dresses anything at all,
although the better class ones wore European dress with a red fez.

The natives came around in boats begging and the lads threw down pennies really hard from the
deck, and by the time the coin reached the native far below it was travelling almost like a bullet; and
natives were jumping about as the coins hit them, almost capsizing their frail craft, until orders were
given that unless this ceased the canteen would have to close as there would be a shortage of
change!!

Days there were spent with boxing competitions, Brains Trusts, and spelling “bees” on deck and
evenings in community singing on the after deck in the floodlights, with the lads perched
everywhere – in the lifeboats, up the riggings etc. On the 21st we left Port Suez and travelled down
the Red Sea where gun practice was carried out. The ship was followed now for days by dolphins
and, during our trip through the Red Sea, we saw Mount Sinai and the Twelve Apostle Islands. It was
certainly hot by now and we were wearing tropical kit and topees. Now, during the most part of the
day if we were sheltered from the direct rays of the sun, we were only wearing shorts and sandals.
Everything you touched was hot, the “cold” water was hot, your hair cream was now a liquid, and
the interior of the ship was a veritable furnace, so that at night we slept on the open decks. The
evenings were warm and there was a tropical moon, beautiful, as it was so dazzlingly silver.

At 6.30 AM on the 25th we entered Aden, and it was the barren appearance of the place which at
once struck you. It consisted of rocks and crags and the buildings appeared to be so ridiculous as
they were perched on pinnacles, in nooks, anywhere in fact, where a spot large enough for the
building could be found. Here the native boys swam around the ship, diving for silver coins which
were flung from the boat, and returning to the surface with a coin clenched firmly between their
teeth, incidentally they seem to store all the coins in their mouth.

We only stayed in Aden for a few hours, then continued on our way. During the trip we had lectures
on India, the money, customs etc, and before we reached India we had advanced our watches by 5 ½
hours. In the Indian Ocean we saw several shoals of the remarkable flying fish, which actually fly for
quite a number of yards, above the surface of the water.

On the 30th of January at 3.30 PM we caught our first glimpse of land again – India; we now had no
blackout, and that evening as we lay at anchor offshore, we held another open air concert on the
after deck, an officer of the RCAF – “Johnny” being the “star turn”. The following day we entered
Victoria Docks, and the whole city resounded with such songs as “Take me back to dear old Blighty”
and “There’s a long, long trail a winding”, rendered lustily by several thousand troops aboard our
ship. Office workers and people of all nationalities stopped work, and crowded the windows and
roofs to see us arrive, waving and cheering us as we docked. Since all the troops were crowding to
one side of the ship – the ship developed a terrific list to port, and half the men were ordered to the
starboard side to balance it. From the deck we could see several of Bombay’s most notable
landmarks chiefly the Taj Mahal Hotel and “The Gateway to India”.

The following day at 9.30 AM (February 1st) our draft disembarked and was driven through the
streets of Bombay in an endless procession of trucks to the reception camp at Worli, several miles
out of the city and situated on the coast, with a sort of promenade road, forming one boundary of
the camp. The first person I met at Worli was my old chum Jimmy Dawson.

Now, in quick succession, we were booked into India, received lectures and Indian rupees, and
received more kit (as though we hadn’t enough. Already we had two kit-bags, full pack with two
rolled blankets folded around it, and steel helmet strapped on, Sten gun, two ammunition pouches
containing eight magazines and several hundreds of rounds of ammunition, side bag and water
bottle, to carry!!)

Then at 6.15 PM one evening we climbed aboard the Gharries, and proceeded for several hours
along the extremely dusty roads until we arrived in Kalyan in complete darkness. Here a troop train
was awaiting us, and we were ushered aboard, with all our kit and arms, four or six to a
compartment, in which we were to live, eat and sleep for the next few days. The train started away
at 1.00 AM and we settled down to sleep on the folding wooden bunks, which were certainly hard.

The country went from extremes, in one part it would be flat, barren and dusty, whilst in other
places it would be hilly and wooded, somewhat resembling the Lake District except for the fact that
the woods were alive with monkeys; and in some places the gradient was so great that two engines
had to be employed, whilst on the down gradients you almost thought the train was running away.
On the third day we reached Raipur where the train stopped for about 1 hour. Here was a free
canteen, run by a white family, consisting of man and wife and daughter. The tea and cakes were
most acceptable, but what was appreciated most was the smile and the kindness of this family and
their words of “Good Luck”. The daughter brought out a portable gramophone and a huge pile of
Bing Crosby records so, until the train departed, we had a “jive session” and boy did we enjoy
hearing some dance music again. As the train pulled out, the windows were crowded by the troops
who waved and uttered words of thanks for this family’s kindness and self-denial in devoting their
time to the canteen whilst the family smiled, waved and wished us “Good Luck” for they had a rough
idea we were “Burma bound”. A journey by rail in India is pretty grim, and at every station it is a
bedlam of Noise. “Backohees” shout the thousands of beggars – “Char Wallah” shouts the tea
vendor, this accompanied by the calls of fruit wallahs and vendors of all description almost drive you
to distraction. On speaking to one of the native boys we learned that the Allied armies now
surrounded Berlin. On the fifth day in the early morning we passed around the outskirts of
Calcutta and continued on our way without stopping. The following day we had to change trains, as
the Assam Railways are of narrow gauge, and after transferring our kit we had breakfast in a native
camp at 3:00AM, and in the darkness.

There was no sleeping accommodation; and the carriages were also occupied by huge cockroaches
etc. Nevertheless there was nothing else for it, but to sleep on the floor. We found the lavatories in
these trains particularly amusing as they were of the native type – no pan, just a couple of footprints
raised about 2 inches and a hole in the floor – when you pulled the chain it flushed the whole floor
hence the raised footprints to keep your feet dry!!

Being of narrow gauge the train rocked alarmingly as it steamed through the jungle, and huge gaps
kept appearing down the side of the door as the carriage distorted, so that at any moment you
expected it to collapse in a heap of matchwood. Finally we reached the Brahmaputra River, where
fortunately we were able to get hold of some coolies to carry our kit the two miles to the ferry. The
ferries were, in reality, barges, which were towed through the strong current by tugs. At the other
side, after three miles walking, we arrived at Pardu, where we stayed the night in a camp. What a
treat it was to have a haircut, a decent shave, a shower and to sleep in a “charpoise” again, beneath
a mosquito net once more. Our accommodation was tents; and here too we had our first real meal
since Bombay. Here too, there were native vendors, and on speaking to one I found he used to be a
hawker around Huddersfield and Halifax!!, And he produced his hawker’s licence to prove it.
The following day we left at 1.45 PM in trains which were worse than ever, they were just crawling,
and would have got there in time without having an engine. That night was spent sleeping, if that
were possible, on seats about four feet long! However, the next morning at 7.30 AM we arrived at
Manipur Road, the end of the railway tracks, and I suppose the outpost of pre-war civilisation. We
were met here by trucks, which conveyed us to the RAF transit camp at Dinapur, where we were to
spend the next few days, a break which was greatly appreciated after almost 10 days of rail travel
and for the most part really having to rough it.

We spent nine days here, looking around the native bazaars in Dinapur; fishing with pieces of
bamboo, string and bent pins; hitch-hiking to a primitive native cinema about 4 miles away; lazing
about the basha; or eating in the Chinese café – I remember we had pancakes in there on Shrove
Tuesday!! There was only one officer on the camp, and he seemed pretty lonely dining in the mess
alone, so he invited we senior NCOs to dine with him during the time we were there. Down in the
bazaars at Dinapur you could buy almost anything (at a price). Some objects were cheap whilst
others were extremely dear, one example being Gillette razor blades –one Rupee (1/6) each.
Squatted on the ground in front of the Chinese café was a Tibetan with hair tousled and looking as
though it had never been cut, and he himself looking as though he had never had a wash in his life –
his hair was so long it was hard to distinguish whether he was a man or a woman. In front of him on
the ground was a heap of wares which looked as though a dustbin had been emptied there. There
were animals’ feet, birds’ claws, stones, locks of hair, bits of wood and brass etc. These were sold as
lucky charms to the natives and the price of them appeared to be their weight in silver. Also, in a
small tin he had so-called precious stones (probably glass) in the form of rubies and sapphires,
resting on a piece of dirty cotton wool.

Behind our camp was the jungle, alive with monkeys, baboons, tree-rats and birds with dazzling blue
or green plumage, and one night we had a stray leopard wandering about the camp, although at
night, in any case, you daren’t wander about without a light on account of the black panthers which
lay in wait in the trees. We used to amuse ourselves by going out into the jungle with our guns
shooting, and as we were breaking through the undergrowth on one occasion a huge baboon came
swinging down to the ground from the trees; - our guns were ‘cocked’ in a flash, although we daren’t
fire except in self-defence as the camp lay in the line of fire. Fortunately, however, it disappeared
into the undergrowth.

At 8.00 AM on March 2nd we proceeded on another stage of our journey, in “Lines of
Communication” trucks to Imphal. It was very beautiful scenery, as the road climbed the mountain,
through the clouds which were low lying, and at times you could see miles upon miles of jungle in
the valley thousands of feet below. The roads were treacherous with hairpin bends etc, and were
carved out of the mountainside, with nothing to prevent you going over the edge, where a sheer
drop of thousands of feet to the valley below awaited you. In some places the road ran along the
mountain ridge, with the drop on both sides, and the road was barely wide enough for two vehicles
to pass. In the valleys, all alongside the road were trucks which had gone over the edge. The native
drivers averaged four trips before crashing over the edge!! On one hill, which was exceedingly
steep, a ten ton truck ran backwards into our truck, whilst on another occasion a tanker ahead of us
crashed over the edge and hurtled down into the valley, where it burst into flames.

At Kohima the destruction created by war was vividly apparent. What had been trees were now
mere scorched stumps – a whole forest of stumps, with Jap war equipment, tanks, guns etc. littering
the countryside. Small white crosses were dotted about, to mark the place where some British or
Allied soldier lay, whilst large wooden cenotaphs were erected to men who had fallen, by their
respective regiments –men, some boys, who had given their lives for us who are left, without even
seeing the fruits of their struggle – yet the country celebrates on Victory night. It is hard to
determine whether one should celebrate victory or pay respect to those who had paid dearly that
we might reap the benefits of a democratic world.

We continued from Kohima to Imphal where an aircraft, (a “Beechcraft”) crashed on the road in
front of our “gharri”, luckily, however, the occupants of the plane escaped injury. During the
journey our driver was checked for dangerous driving and his license taken, and I don’t mind
admitting my hair stood on end several times for he insisted upon overtaking wagons at a speed of
40 or 45 miles an hour and at times the “gharri” seemed to be momentarily in mid-air over the sheer
face of the cliff. It is without doubt the most hectic journey I have ever made or hope to make, for
the driver seem to possess no road sense or even common sense whatsoever. We arrived at the
transit camp at 17.30 hours (in Imphal) - a camp of falling down bashas, overrun with rats which
insisted upon running over our beds.

After a most uncomfortable night, we left at 5.30 AM the following morning by lorry, for the nearby
airstrip, and strangely enough I met a fellow there from Gomersal – it is a very small world!! At
11:15 we left the strip in a Dakota and, being a hot day and extremely mountainous country, it was
certainly a bumpy trip. We flew over dense jungles, dried up river beds, dry barren dusty patches,
saw the primitive native villages, with their domesticated animals close by. Two hours later at 11:15
hours we touched down at Sadaung – I had finally reached my unit, almost a month after leaving
Bombay -7606 S.E.

I found a place to sleep in one of the tents, along with Jock (W/O Stenhouse and Cliff (Sgt
Managhan) and Ted (Sgt Smith). The following morning I “booked in” at the various tents – pay
accounts, orderly room, etc. and received a couple of jabs from “Doc” Graham (F/Lt) as protection
against cholera contracted from the water, and scrub typhus which can be contacted by a scratch
from the bushes, as these are infected with germs from the dead bodies.
“Doc”, I later found out, was a wizard “type” – one of those officers you can talk to and joke with,
and he did wonders with his meagre medical Supply, and always had the health of our party at heart.
Disease is one of the greatest enemies here in Burma, but we have good faith in our medical
authorities. Common diseases are dysentery, foot-rot, jungle sores, whilst malaria, due to the
preventative measures taken, is becoming less prevalent. In the campaigns here, the ‘Supremo’
(Lord Louis Mountbatten) forced the battles in the most malarious places, since we had protection
against this disease whilst the enemy suffered great handicaps due to their inability to cope with it.
However, to continue, after completing booking in, I reported to the E.O. (F/Lt Jarrett) and was told
that the following morning I was to take over as N.C.O. i/c 607 Squadron Flights. 607 Sdn by the way,
is a spitfire squadron and also is the “County of Durham Squadron”, or the “Griffins” as it is more
commonly known, as that it is our crest. A description of the crest of being “a golden lion rampant,
feet also winged, against a purple spear-shaped background.”

Work on the squadron was pretty arduous, as the day started with the “Dawn Patrol” taking off at
5.00 AM and ended with the return of the last section at night, and often we were refuelling in
darkness, and it was really a handful to “keep them flying” as they say. So this was the “jungle Air
Force”!!!

We relied entirely on transport aircraft for everything, food, supplies, mail, news – well, just about
everything and, at times when weather was bad, we were left without mail and rations had to be
cut, unless the supplies were dropped to us by parachute as they were on occasions. Food, for the
main part, was tinned – dehydrated potatoes, carrots, mutton and the old bully beef and hard tack
biscuits, and for three months each Tiffin time we had the same dish – salmon, cheese, dehydrated
potatoes and beans, until none of us could bear the sight of these things and just pushed away our
plates untouched, or never troubled to go for that meal.

We lived in tents – my flight office was a tent, the workshops were tents, as was the Sergeants’ Mess
and our sleeping quarters. Our comforts were limited as we were only allowed to have 60 lbs of kit,
and therefore you carried the things you only really needed – the bare essential clothing and things
you treasured most, like photographs. We improvised lots of things, such as baths, showers, tables
and chairs, out of petrol and oil drums and bamboo, to make things more comfortable.

We were a “rag-tag” looking bunch, in torn and worn jungle green battledress, and battered bush
hats, and sometimes in need of a shave when the precious water was scarce, for at times it meant
foregoing half a mug of tea for a shave, and to forfeit even an eggcup full of tea under those
conditions really was something. Sometimes we were lucky and had a nearby “chaung” (a stream or
river) where we could wash and bathe and “boy oh boy” was it a luxury to be able to relax in the
lukewarm water. Our drinking water came from all kinds of sources, dirty little ponds, cholera
infected streams, for the Japs usually poisoned the wells and so it was only fit to wash in. Our water
was chemically treated, which gave it a strong taste of chlorine which was putrid. Everything tasted
of it, as the tea was made with it, potatoes were boiled in it, and you had it in your water bottle. We
each had our own sterilising outfit for treating water we may have to pick up from any old source
when on the move. At Sadaung the water was found to contain enormous quantities of natural salts
- we certainly knew about it for we couldn’t stop running!! As the lads used to say “we had the
screamers”, and it wouldn’t have been too bad, had it not been for the terrific pains you used to get
in your stomach and everyone was the same. Poor old “Doc” was helpless, but finally he got us
stacks of the eggs flown in, which we had at almost every meal. This saved at least 10 or 15 trips to
the bushes each day.

Our camp at Sadaung was situated amongst the palm trees, to offer us cover against the Jap aircraft
– Tojos –Sallys – Dinahs etc, and on one side the artillery was hammering away to get the
bridgehead across the Irrawaddy river, whilst on the other side in the hills we had several thousands
of Japs with no army between. The surrounding countryside was dotted with pagodas, one of them
being our signals office, as this was situated right in the centre of the camp. You never went
anywhere unless you had a rifle or sten with you, and almost everyone carried either a kukri or
jungle knife. You didn’t have to be told that your sten was your best friend here and at nights you
would strip it down and clean it, and also clean and check and recheck your magazine to make sure
they were feeding properly as sometimes they jammed.

When the alarm sounded it meant a Jap patrol was approaching, and the officers and senior N.C.Os
with their “section” dashed to their allotted slit trench. It wasn’t so bad during the day, but if the
alarm sounded at night first you extinguished your light, then went to your trench. After that the
suspense was terrific – your eyes were straining to pierce the darkness, and everyone was dead
silent – ears strained to pick out any sound, whilst every one of the guns were cocked ready. It was
certainly a relief if anything moved or the tins on the barbed wire rattled, for letting off a burst of
fire seemed to relieve your feelings – it was those times when you remained there for hours, keyed
up and nothing happened……

When we were completely surrounded by the enemy we never had the tents then, it was a case of
living in dug-outs, even the flight office was a dug-out then, and meals were twice a day – corned
beef and biscuits. During the day we just had look-outs, but at night, every night, everyone had to
do a spell in the trench, the Sergeants being detailed for the last watch before dawn, as that was the
likeliest time for an attack.

Letters meant an awful lot, being the only link between home and civilisation, and yourself, and for
weeks you’d carry them around in your pockets, reading them at odd moments, until at last they
became dirty unintelligible bits of paper. There was bitter disappointment when the mail failed to
arrive, as sometimes it did for several days, and when it did arrive, everyone was so keen for a letter
that they hardly dare go for the mail in case it was the day they didn’t receive one. Yes, they are
only sheets of paper, but what precious sheets!! They start a man talking of his town or village, of
his parents or girl or wife, may be “Alf” will tell you about the impish tricks his little boy used to do
just before he came away, he may have just had a photo of him – then he will turn the conversation
and tell you how he’s grown and that he hopes he still knows him when he goes back, scared in case
his son has forgotten him. Maybe as one fellow reads his letter his face will grow serious and lose
the smile, then he will walk away and you know he has had bad news. Still he wants to share the
news with someone, and as the motto here is to keep smiling the only way he can say it is in a joke,
so he will probably return and say “well, I should be alright for a bit of chewing gum now – the wife
has run away with a yank.”, then, half under his breath he’ll say “she might have waited though, I’m
due home in three months.” Then we all sympathise with him (knowing he has looked worried for
weeks) and he’ll turn and tell us the whole story, knowing he’ll feel better to tell someone.
Nevertheless, they’re great things these letters, they can take you home to England and all you hold
dear for a brief spell at least.

We used to get stage shows occasionally, although usually they turned back before they
got to us. Two stars who did come right to the front were Francis Day and Vera Lynne and although
George Formby and Beryl returned to England and spoke over the radio and wrote articles on how
Beryl bathed in a petrol tin, and how they visited the boys at the front, they actually turned back
before they got as far as us. We did, however, get cinema shows and R.A.F. Gang Shows
occasionally. These were held in paddy fields and we either sat on the ground or took a box to sit
on. Once, when a gang show came, it was getting close to the monsoon season, and the floodlight
attracted thousands of monsoon flies. The scenery was black with them, the actors got them down
their necks, and when they opened their mouths to sing the flies popped inside – still they carried on
and by the end of the performance they were ankle deep in insects –needless to say they got a
terrific applause for carrying on and giving us a show under such conditions.

Life in camp was as you made it, you either joined in and became one of the “big happy family” or
else you remained an isolationist. You must remember we worked together, played together, ate
together, shared the same tent at night, so it was the duty of everyone to remain cheerful at all
times.

Some evenings we’d organize spelling bees, or discussion groups, and once we even got up a show.
For a while we had a wireless which Jock rigged up out of the soapbox, a steel helmet and the
necessary radio parts, and we used to listen to programmes from Blighty, all gathered round and
quiet as mice. We had one gramophone and several records, all badly worn, and these used to be
passed from tent to tent, for one night only in each tent, and we used to play the same records over
and over again. Some evenings an army officer (the A.L.O) would come along with his map and show
us what our armies were up to, and what moves they thought Nippo would make, and everyone was
keen on this, for we knew what our squadron was doing and now we saw the reason for it.

Storms were terrific – you would see the black clouds begin to pile up, and a strong wind would start
to blow – then you dashed round and fastened the aircraft down to the pickets (after turning them
nose to wind). Close on the heels of the wind would follow the rain, it was nothing less than a wall
of solid water, for you could see no more than a yard before you when it started. Soon you were
ankle deep in mud, sticky Burma mud, your kit, clothes, bed and bedding were soaked – but you had
to sleep in it just the same. During the rainy season your boots, clothes, etc. went “green” overnight
and metal rusted in the same period –your clothes were seldom dry, even in bed beside you, next
morning they would be damp. The thunder was worse than an artillery barrage, and the lightning
was terrific, yet beautiful as it illuminated the whole countryside for a brief dazzling spell. During a
storm you would get both sheet and forked lightning, the latter would dart about across the sky in
numerous forks, then dart to earth and back again, up towards the stars. When a storm was raging,
you spent half the night hanging on to your tent and hoping desperately that it would not blow away
and leave you in the open. After the storm everything seemed fresh, but evidence of it still
remained –tents down, trees struck by lightning, rivers of water and mud, and later as the sun got up
a hot steamy atmosphere resembling a Turkish bath!!

We seldom stayed in one place longer than a week (unless we were bogged) and our move from one
strip to the next was usually done by an airlift. It’s hard to realise exactly what this means, unless
you have experienced it. Reveille was sounded at 5.00 AM – breakfast was a 5.30 AM –
then out came your kit and you started to drop your tent and wrap it up, and pile it on the strip,
along with the rest of the equipment. Apart from tents there were petrol, oil, glycol, oxygen
cylinders, tool boxes, power plants, starter trolleys, benches, accumulators, spares, rations and a
thousand and one other things. If they were Dakotas we were using we had about three tons to put
aboard each one, if they were Commandos we had five tons to lift aboard each one, and with the
temperature well over 100° it was no mean task. You never knew when you would get your water
bottle refilled and before you would have a sip your tongue was like leather and your mouth really
parched – then you would take a sip and wash it around your mouth for quite a while before you
swallowed it, and all the while you were thinking of the time when you could just turn on a tap and
get cool, crystal clear water that didn’t taste of this confounded chlorine.

Then you would take off and after a short while arrive at the new strip. The first job was to get the
equipment off and start servicing the “Spits”, for during these moves we never missed a patrol or
sortie. At night after the “kites had been put to bed” we still had our tents to erect, kit to find etc.
and by this time the cooks had usually prepared a meal and some “chah” and believe me we were
ready for it – then to bed, as we still had to go on “Dawn” the following morning.

Insects and reptiles etc. were certainly a pest, there were snakes, 6 inches in length to over 6 feet in
length, from deadly silver crates to cobras. There were lizards some 18 inches long and various
colours, browns, dazzling greens, some speckled and some which said “Cuckoo” in a deep harsh
voice. There were spiders larger than a saucer, including the deadly tarantula spider, leeches were
common, as were centipedes eight or ten inches long, which, if knocked off your skin the wrong way,
left all their legs embedded in your flesh which caused poisoning. There were hundreds of bats, and
flying beetles, which looked too large to fly as they were larger than a ten cigarette packet. Some
beetles were wood eaters, they were black, could fly about, and could make a hole in bamboo in
very little time. Mosquitoes and ants were there in millions, there were black, red and white ants.
The black variety swarmed over your food, the red ones bit you, whilst the white ones would eat
your kit away in no time. At night the jungle was alive with thousands of dancing fireflies, and the
incessant, at times almost deafening, chirruping of thousands of crickets, whilst grasshoppers about
6 inches long hopped and flew about. The biggest menace, however, was the flies, rather like blue
bottles, and all the food had to be protected as much as possible, as they contaminated it with
dysentery germs. One other thing we had plenty of were big ugly black scorpions, yes there were
stacks of those.

As we travelled south we saw trees which were truly beautiful, for they were a mass of dazzling
scarlet blossoms, although flowers in the fields, as we know them, such as daisies and buttercups,
were noticeable by their absence. There was grass, too, which for a while amused as, for when you
touched it it immediately closed up, the object being, I suppose, to trap any drops of rain, for when a
raindrop touched the leaf it just closed around it.

Also down south we were able to obtain fresh fruit, which was a treat, in that heat. The chief fruits
being bananas, melons, coconuts, mangoes, and pineapples – from the palm trees by the way, the
natives used to extract “totti” – a native drink which is intoxicating, and you would see little jars or
“chattis” hanging just below the leaves, and know that some native was preparing to go on a
“spree”.

We had visits from various high officials, Lord Louis Mountbatten, the A.O.C. Sir Keith Park, etc., and
previously, I forgot to mention, that on the unit I met a fellow from Birkenshaw whom I went to
school with – Duggie Walsworth.

Our moves took us to Dwelha; flying over the Irrawaddy we saw the eleven-span bridge which was
still as it had been demolished in 1942 by our retreating forces, and the surrounding countryside
appeared to be covered almost with pagodas. These are built by the Burmese as atonement, and
they save all their lives for this – the more you build, the better your chance of going to heaven!!
Some are just wood and corrugated metal sheets, whilst others are huge ornamented affairs
decorated with gold and precious stones. Whilst we were in Dwelha I visited Mandalay, which had
just been liberated and, incidentally, it was to our strip that the British nurses who were held
prisoners by the Japs, came to be flown back. Mandalay was a typical war-scarred town – buildings
demolished, roads damaged, and I saw the work our aircraft had put in in blasting a hole in the walls
of Fort Duffrin. After the Japanese occupation the natives were starving and ill-clad, and a packet of
biscuits would buy you more fruit than you could carry, whilst you could get almost anything for old
clothing. At one time we had several breakdowns with our transport, and although we got several
Japanese lorries, we still had to revert to the older method – bullock carts!!

Our next hop took was to Kwetgne, which had been a Jap strip and parts of the site were still
smouldering. Our camp was on the site the Japs had used, and next to our tent was a pagoda, the
tower of which was covered with tiny bells which tinkled in the breeze. There were several dead
Japs around the place, and until we found the foxholes they were in, we were subjected to the
nauseating stench of decomposing bodies. We used to trade bars of soap for eggs and hens to get a
decent meal, the hens we used to cook and share between the four occupants of our tent. There
was one hen “Clara” (a pet) which used to lay at 13.30 hours every day and we never had the heart
to kill her, as she had travelled by air and road with us and finally arrived at Rangoon with us, where
a snake got her.

If we were fortunate enough to get any time off, we used to make our way to Meiktila where we
would bathe in the lake, the pre-war diving platform still remained, and this was built to resemble a
huge serpent and must have looked pretty in peacetime. Then, one day, on parade, volunteers were asked for, one senior N.C.O. and five men of various
trades, preferably single. Being the only Sergeant fitter who was single I stepped forward as did
several of the fellows from whom I selected the five who were going to go with me, though as yet
we didn’t know what it was for. We were told to collect the bare essentials which we required, also
a tent and rations, water bottles etc, and later I was given a portable re-fueller and a small wireless
transmitter. With our equipment we were flown in to a rough airstrip, which was in the centre of
the Japanese held territory, and completely surrounded by them. The edges of the strip were the
army defences and were bristling with 25 pounder guns. Our task here, was to wireless our aircraft
when they flew over whether it was safe to land or not. If they landed we had to refuel them as
quickly as possible before Jap started slinging mortar shells at them. By refuelling them here, it
brought Rangoon well within their range.

After a few days we were flown out of Lewe and taken to Thedaw where I received 10 more men
and now we had to completely look after and service the whole squadron, and with such a small
party it was very hard work. Every day we worked from 4.30 AM until 8.00 PM -15 ½ hours and it is
the hottest spot I’ve ever been in, for the temperature was over 100° in the shade at 10.30 AM, and
we had no shade. We had no drinking water with which to fill our water bottles, and the only drinks
we had were 3 cups of tea, one in the morning, one at noon, and one at night, and between these
times you had a mouth like leather and felt as though you were going to die of thirst. To be short of
water is something I never want to experience again. On one occasion we managed to get half a
bucket of dirty water, and the sixteen of us washed in it, drawing lots for who washed first. Supplies
too were short, and we existed on quarter rations, which I can assure you is not very much.

Then, one afternoon, I received orders to pull out, so we dropped our tents, collected our belongings
and returned to Kwetgne by road, where we had the luxury of a bath in a petrol drum and the
pleasure of drinking as much water as we wanted even if it was lukewarm and chlorinated!! We
arrived back on “V.E.” night and at about 7.30 PM (Indian standard time) we all crowded into the
tent around the wireless to hear the Prime Minister’s speech which was not up to his usual standard.

Afterwards followed messages from people in the street, and their utter selfishness struck us rather
forcibly – they said now the war was over they could celebrate, have holidays and so forth, and
didn’t seem to realise that a war, more trying and under more difficult conditions was being waged
out here by the 14th army. There were two exceptions, however, one had been a man from London
who said he thought it time to celebrate when both wars had ended, and the other being a girl who
broadcast that her “V” night would be when her boy returned from the Far East. These two people
were the object of admiration for days by the boys, whilst the others were treated with contempt in
no mild language.

When we received papers from Blighty it was very noticeable how little people at home knew of the
war out here, the sum total being a little paragraph at the foot of the page, whilst the rest of the
paper was devoted to how the B.L.A boys were being entertained by liberated Parisiennes etc.; for
the 14th army however there was none of that, for when they liberated any place it contained just
black people, living in filth and squalor.

To continue, however, the “V.E.” night celebration ran to a bottle of beer per man, we couldn’t have
a banquet or anything, as our supplies of rations had to be still conserved. That night was one of
those nights we spent either holding the tent down or sleeping in damp beds.

The following day, anyone who could drive a lorry was asked to volunteer to drive trucks down to
Rangoon, as they were urgently needed by the army there, we were told it meant going through the
enemy lines, however, eager to get my hands on the steering wheel again, I volunteered.
The army, by the way, had just carried out to their sea-borne landing on Rangoon, but the forces of
the Japanese were still intact in Central Burma. It is a point of interest to note that the army were
surprised to see the R.A.F. flag flying on Elephant Point as the invasion force sailed up the river to
Rangoon – this had been erected by an Air Force signals unit which had been dropped in by
parachute.

The majority of the personnel were flown down to Rangoon, but a few were left behind to help load
the remainder of the equipment, rations etc., and sufficient petrol for all the lorries for the whole
journey, had to be taken with us in 50 gallon drums, as there were no petrol points between Meiktila
and Rangoon. There were enough drivers to have a relief driver for all the lorries except two so the
officer and I were the two who had to go without, and drive the whole way, and it can be very hard
for the roads are treacherous and after starting we just had a break of 10 minutes in the middle of
the morning and afternoon and a break for rations around midday.

At 5.00 AM on the morning of the 16th of May, Reveille sounded (a terrific banging on an empty
drum) and after breakfast at 5.30 AM we broke camp and loaded our kits, and tents on the gharries
– Goody (W/O Goodenough) was my companion in the front of the truck, whilst in the back I had
four of the boys with their rifles and all the kit stacked around them. And so we started out –
destination – we hoped – Rangoon. During the trip the speed of the convoy varied greatly –on the
shell-scarred roads to the frontline you could barely hold the truck at 15 miles per hour, and your
head beat a continued tattoo against the cab roof –whilst on the better roads approaching Rangoon,
I was able to get well over 50 miles per hour out of the Chevrolet I had, I was fortunate in as much as
I had one which was not governed.

The first day we made good progress, travelling on after darkness had fallen, until we arrived at
Lewe after covering some 173 miles, which seemed more like 731 miles!! The cooks got busy then
and prepared a meal, whilst we washed in a nearby pond. After supper (or dinner!!) I prepared to
spend the night in the cab, as it was a case of sleeping where you could. It was certainly some job
sleeping in the confined space of a forward control lorry’s cab, that night I had tried all ways to
sleep, my legs wrapped round the steering column, through the steering wheel and out of the
windscreen and in various other queer postures, but being tired, I finally dropped off into a deep
slumber.

The following morning we were up bright and early, and whilst the cooks prepared breakfast, we
filled up our petrol tanks. By 7.30 AM we were on the road again, and we passed lorries bringing
tired men back from the front, also guerrilla band headquarters and other things typical of the
frontline areas. At one place our convoy was held up by a huge tree, which had been dropped
across the road by a Jap patrol or something, and we had to drop into low gear and four wheel drive
and plough through the mud around it. At Tongou we came under fire from the enemy mortars, but
fortunately for us they were rotten shots. The roads by now were pretty deadly and progress was
slow so that by night we had only covered a further 120 miles –you daren’t hardly go off the side of
the road as the grass verges were mined, although the verge would have been better to travel on
than the road in some places. That night we pulled in at the village of Okwina and, after we
interrogated the villagers, we found the Japs were three miles distant, and that they were in the
habit of sending raiding parties into the village at night for food.

Whilst the food was being prepared, we again filled up the tanks of our lorries, and parked them side
by side so that we could dive below them for cover in an attack and, after having supper and posting
the sentries, I prepared for another uncomfortable night, which proved worse than ever as it literally
came down in “buckets”, and the cab leaked. The night passed without any alarms of any kind, and
the next morning whilst they were getting breakfast ready, I gave my truck a thorough check, as
today we were to run the gauntlet – the corridor through the Jap lines. Everyone was tense this
morning, rifles and stens were cleaned, checked and loaded, ready for any emergency. We received
our instructions – we were to make a dash for it, and if a gharry did breakdown, the next wagon was
to pick up the chaps and kit and just abandon the truck; only one truck broke down however,
although one fanatical Jap stood in the road and attempted to throw a grenade at one of the trucks
–he was just mown down. Goody and I chatted away during the trip about almost everything, but at
times like these when anything is liable to happen, a fellow talks about what he is thinking, and
Goody talked of his home, his parents and his girl. He came from New Zealand and he told me about
it, where he had been for his holidays and where he and his girl were going to spend their
honeymoon. Little did I realize then that he would never see it, for he was killed in action, a short
time later – he was a pilot. During the journey he and I shared everything, some acid drops we had,
cigarettes, a tin of cheese and a tin of salmon which supplemented our somewhat limited rations.
Cigarettes were scarce, and we had rationed ourselves to one cigarette only when the convoy
stopped, but by now we were out, we had even shared our last cigarette.

However we got through the corridor without mishap, only to get held up at a small village, as the
enemy had cut the road ahead, and the armoured column wasn’t going out to drive them back until
the following morning, so we refuelled again, and prepared to spend the night there. The villagers
were pleased to see us, and brought us buckets or rather “chattis” of water for washing, in the hope
that we had some old “copra” or clothing to spare. The following morning as we prepared to leave
we had orders to take some Japanese nurses down to Rangoon in our convoy as they were to be
repatriated.

So we proceeded on our journey, and all was well until we approached Pegu, there the Japs had
again cut the road, so we by-passed it and travelled up the …. railway lines!! underneath the signals
etc. That probably being the only time I’ll ever drive a truck through a railway station. One gharry
broke down on the railway and was holding up the convoy, so we just pushed it down the
embankment into the river. We finally arrived in Rangoon at 1700 hours on Whit Saturday after an
arduous journey of over 400 miles!!

Here we lived in luxury, for we were in semi-detached bungalows, which had just been evacuated by
Nippo, and Japanese writing was still inscribed on the wall, as a matter of fact one Nippon warrior
was still in one billet about 100 yards away. Yes, we certainly lived in luxury now, for we
“scrounged” wash basins, baths, and rigged up a shower in our mess, and we had a roof over our
heads, and didn’t have to hold it down when the wind blew.

In Rangoon, fruit was plentiful, as were eggs – hen eggs 12 for one rupee, duck eggs 16 for one
rupee. Other things in Rangoon, however, were exorbitant prices, for example three rupees for a
torch refill, that’s about 4/6d and cotton dress material about 15 rupees (22/6d) a yard.
The town itself was a typical war city, tram wires hanging loose in the street, the electricity supply
damaged and the sewage system out of order, as well as buildings lying in ruins. The place stank to
high heaven those first few days, as dead dogs, rats and filth lay decomposing in the gutters and in
that heat it quickly started smelling.

The native shopkeepers brought out stocks of British goods, which they had hidden away during the
Japanese occupation, and I think that there were more English golden sovereigns there than there
are in Great Britain. The dock areas were badly damaged but it wasn’t long before they were fixed
up again and ships were bringing in supplies.

For quite a while now I had been having trouble with my eyes, and now I was sent to see an
ophthalmic specialist at a Casualty Clearing Station (C.C.S.) in Rangoon. I had several visits to him
but, owing to lack of electric light, he couldn’t carry out a proper examination, so it was decided that
I’d be given a fortnight’s “sick leave” to go and visit a specialist in Calcutta. I spent about three or four weeks in Calcutta, and each day seemed a round of luxuries after the
jungle. Iced drinks, decent drinking water, ices, chocolate, afternoon coffee and cakes in Farazinis,
dinner in Turpo’s or at Christie’s where you could get a real steak, one weighing about 1lb and done
just as you wished – medium, rare, or well done. A show at the Metro or the Lighthouse etc., real
cinemas again, air conditioned and cold as a refrigerator, and a fresh laundered and starched
uniform every evening before dinner laid out for me.

At the end of my leave I was unable to get an air-lift back again, so I made the journey by troop ship.
Six days it took, sleeping on deck, (if you could find room) and can the Bay of Bengal be rough in the
monsoons? Whilst I am awaiting the result of my interview with the specialist, I am doing the job of Station
Warrant Officer, which makes the followers my responsibility.

And now, at 9.30 PM, Saturday night the 25th of August, I find I have written completely up to date –
so I will sign off until I get further subject to write about.