3328422 Sergeant Arthur Lawson REME

Arthur Abraham Lawson was born on 19 April 1922, the second of four sons of Jack (Jacob) Lawson, a jeweller who later became a gentleman’s tailor, and his wife Rachel, eldest child of Solomon Gordon (né Stowller), draper and clothier, of 15 Richard Street, Glasgow, who was originally from Kovno in Russia (now Kaunas in Lithuania).

When Arthur was young, the family lived at 268 Albert Road, later renamed Tantallon Road, Glasgow; however, they later moved to Ardvarrie, 30 Langside Drive, Newlands, Glasgow and Jack died at Hemel Hempstead, Hertfordshire on 8 June 1939.

Arthur attended Landside Primary School, in the street in which they lived, explaining: "I have very happy memories of my schooldays; at my Primary School, Miss Gray taught me English and Mr Bicket taught Mathematics. My next school, Shawlands Academy, was very different and much tougher because we had so much more to learn. I left school at 14 and, to begin with, went to work for my grandfather, who owned two stores, one on Union Street and the other on Trongate. My mother thought that I was being spoilt – which I was – and she insisted that I left and earned a proper living so I got a job at Lewis’s, the department store.

"From the outbreak of war until joining the Army I volunteered as an ambulance driver. This service was auxiliary to the regular ambulance system. Its function was to deal with casualties from air bombing. Our family car, a Wolseley Six, was fitted with a towing bar and, when on duty, it had an ambulance trailer attached. My station was at Craig Road School, off Cathcart Road. With practice, I became proficient at reversing the car with the trailer attached. Night driving was difficult with blacked-out street lights and the absence of illumination from windows. The car headlamps were fitted with hoods.

"On 12 December 1941, as instructed, I attended a local centre for medical examination where I was classified ‘A1’, fit for any and all duties. Then I received orders to report to the 6th Battalion, Highland Light Infantry (6 HLI) which was then quartered on the estate of Gosforth House at Longniddry, East Lothian. It was 16 January 1942, there was deep snow on the ground and it was very cold indeed.

"I was one of 100 members of a Recruit Company attached to 6 HLI, which had a mixture of regular soldiers and Territorial Army Reservists, making a total strength of some 600 men. As I came from a comfortable home, the induction was traumatic. Luckily, I was physically fit and I had done some camping with the 155th Scout Troop, which softened the pain of transition. Twenty recruits and one corporal slept on the bare floorboards of wooden huts. There were neither beds nor mattresses. Each man had a space on the floor about 6 feet by 3 feet and a small cupboard on the wall above. We had three blankets of very rough material and no sheets or pillows. The hut did have a wood-burning stove in the centre which was only lit in the evening; it went out during the night so only tempered the chill very slightly.

"The whole initial training period was a really tough ‘boot camp’. Discipline was tighter than one could imagine. We rose at 6 am and went out into the snow for PT wearing boxer shorts and sleeveless singlets. Then we had a wash and shave with cold water in the ablutions hut and dressed before breakfast. Then we had kit inspection in the hut before going back in the snow for rifle training and foot drill or square-bashing. I still remember that the brass plate on the butt of the rifle grounded in the snow and packed it into ice. A block of ice would stick on the butt and when the rifle was shouldered, one was holding a block of ice weighing seven pounds in one’s bare hand. Then one learned to dive prone on to the snow and take aim. It is interesting and amazing that not one man caught a cold, a chill or pneumonia.

"At the end of the twelve weeks of initial training, the recruit company was disbanded and we were (almost) all classified as proficient soldiers. We received an increase in pay, were released from the boot camp, were transferred into various companies in the battalion and were granted seven days’ leave. The most important thing was the joy of my mother. My three siblings were all away from home and she was obviously relieved to see me fit and well. I spent the days mostly at the family business and the evenings visiting relatives and friends. Of course, the week passed very quickly and I was soon on the train back to East Lothian, taking my sleeping bag with me this time!

"We soon left Gosforth House and were quartered overnight in Crieff Hydro Hotel, which had been requisitioned by the Army. We left Crieff and moved next to Nairn, where I slept in the town museum: I made up my bed on the floor under a display case housing a crocodile. The next leg of our journey took us to Caithness, our destination in the far northwest corner of Scotland. My carrier platoon was camped in the village of Hallkirk, near Thurso. There were lots of defensive drills to repel the invaders. In Caithness, we were having strenuous training, mixed with night alarms, such that we were mostly too exhausted to make the effort to visit Thurso during our free time. One day, I was ordered to report to the Battalion Orderly Room. On reporting, I was informed that I had been selected to go on a mechanical engineering course. I was to collect a travel warrant and orders the very next day, hand in my rifle and ammunition, and catch a train out of Thurso for London in the evening with all my kit and report to Mitcham Technical College in Croydon – Technical Training Centre 11 – on arrival. When we started the course, we were told that it would last for six months: the first three months would be devoted to theoretical learning and the final three months to practical training on vehicles and mechanical equipment. However, any student deemed to be falling short would be returned to their regiment immediately. Also there would be an exam at the end of the first three months and again any failing would be returned to their units. My resolve was to work hard and ignore the pleasures offered by Croydon and London.

"After a few losers had been packed off back to their origins, the remaining majority sat the final exam. We were then given seven days’ leave, with travel warrants to our home towns and orders to report back to a depot of the Royal Army Ordnance Corps (RAOC) at the end of our leave. Just a few weeks after being transferred to the RAOC, my group of men from the Croydon course were addressed by a colonel, who told us that a new army corps was being founded [in October 1942]. It was to be called the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME). It would be taking over from RAOC all trades’ work of this nature and would incorporate all tradesmen presently enrolled in other units. We were issued with new uniform headgear in the shape of black berets and new cap badges so, within the space of just a few weeks, I had had three completely different hats and badges. Immediately after becoming a craftsman in the REME, I was summoned to be informed that my exam result had gained me an ‘A plus’ pass. Additionally, an excellent report had been received from 6 HLI. I was therefore promoted direct to the rank of sergeant and would be classed and paid as a first-class tradesman. There were three grades of tradesman, so I was now in receipt of pay for the rank of sergeant as well as that of a Grade One tradesman. My elder brother, Ernest, had joined the Territorial Army Reserves before the war and was mobilised as soon as war broke out. He was later commissioned into the Royal Artillery but only went overseas after Europe had been invaded [Arthur’s stepson, David Green, told me that he parachuted into Occupied France on no fewer than three occasions and achieved the rank of lieutenant colonel]. My two younger brothers were both schoolboys and were evacuated: Raymond to Castle Douglas and Leslie to Lockerbie.

"I was granted seven days’ embarkation leave and told to report back to an army depot at Didcot. Soldiers were never told their destination when going overseas but some assumptions could be guessed by the kit issued. I was given tropical kit and assumed that I was bound for North Africa. For going overseas, I was not attached to a unit but was part of a draft of ten REME sergeants going out as reinforcements, or founders, of new workshop units of the new Corps. We travelled to Southampton and boarded the MS Moreton Bay. This former merchant vessel had been converted to carry troops. I think that its original function had been to transport large numbers of bananas and there were almost as many soldiers on board as there would have been bananas. The troops were quartered in mess decks where they slept and ate in the most crowded conditions imaginable. The crew were a most awkward and difficult lot whose main activity was stealing from the soldiers. We sailed on the day we embarked and then loitered off the Irish coast while a large convoy of ships assembled before setting off to zigzag about the Atlantic before anchoring off Freetown in West Africa. We then sailed for several days more to Durban, South Africa where we disembarked and went to a transit camp.

"Less than two weeks later, we embarked again on a ship now called the Empress of India, which had previously been called the Empress of Japan. This was an ancient ship with three funnels and coal-burning boilers. We disembarked in Bombay on 7 December 1942 and were transported to a massive transit camp. There we slept in bell tents on a type of bed very common in India called a charpoy: a wooden frame on short legs with jute strips intertwined up and across to serve as a mattress. The first shock was to be wakened in the morning by an Indian bearer, who started to shave me with an open razor. I thought that he was just about to cut my throat. Having completed my shave, he trotted off to bring me a mug of tea or char. As a sergeant, I was entitled to a personal bearer. I’ll tell you a funny story. After we had disembarked, we had to attend a briefing from an officer. His main subject was warning the soldiers to stay far away from the ‘Red Light District’. He didn’t give us directions and he was very adamant about it but I don’t think many of us knew what he was talking about! The standard of British officers was terrible: they became officers because their parents could afford to educate them but most of them were not leaders. When we got to India, I was amazed at the standing of the British Army in the country – and then I realised that we were there to protect a British colony. Initially, I did not appreciate that the British did not want an independent Indian government. It was news to us and a surprise that the British Empire operated like that.

"Soldiering was really very peculiar and there were soldiers everywhere, all trying to defend the British Empire. Before the war people had joined the Army because they couldn’t get a decent job. There were soldiers who had been serving for three or four years who didn’t even know how to put a detonator into a grenade. We all knew, though, because we’d been properly trained. We started our jungle training in the south of India but we then went to the west coast for a bit. I can’t remember the names of the places now. It was really a question of learning to live with mosquitos and being eaten alive by them at night. Our training was a continuation of those conditions. I was soon posted to a large army base in Poona where I had to go to work in a large vehicle workshop. There I was in charge of a bay holding about forty Sherman tanks which had just arrived from America and were being de-waterproofed having shipped as deck cargo, and having some modifications done for desert warfare before being sent on to North Africa. I wondered whether I would be going there, along with the tanks. Instead, I was told that I was about to be transferred from India Command to South East Asia Command (SEAC). This entitled me to fourteen days’ embarkation leave: I spent it in Bombay, in or beside the swimming pool of the Breach Candy Club.

"I was given orders to find my way alone to the Chin Hills in Burma. There I was to report to the 48th (Indian) Infantry Brigade Light Aid Detachment (LAD), 17th (Indian) Division (17 Division). The journey was full of interest. First a long trip from Bombay to Calcutta on a troop train. Then the next 250 miles on broad gauge rail to Parbatipur, followed by 200 miles on narrow gauge rail to Panbu. Then I sailed by ferry boat across the Brahmaputra river to Gauhati, before travelling a further 350 miles by rail to Dimapur. I had travelled some 1,000 miles from Calcutta and I learned that I still had a further 300 miles into Burma on road transport which did not have real roads on which to travel most of the way. My destination was Tiddim in the Chin Hills, some 8,000 feet above sea level. It is difficult to describe the 300 miles to get from Dimapur to Tiddim: mountains and valleys all densely covered in jungle vegetation which supported lots of wildlife. The Sappers (Royal Engineers) had developed a road for the first 140 miles to Imphal Plain where 17 Division HQ was quartered and there was a small airstrip. The only place of interest on the way to Imphal was Kohima at about 80 miles from Dimapur. Both these places later became very hotly disputed and famous. The Sappers had placed milestones all the way and that was how all locations were identified.

"The road was single track with occasional passing places, cut along the side of the mountains, always with a steep drop on one side and no kerb or barrier. It was just wide enough for three-ton trucks and small bulldozers – but for nothing bigger. As far as we were concerned, it was all extremely primitive. The powers-that-be had decided that they would give priority to the war in Europe so we were starved of resources. 17 Division was called a light division because it was equipped specifically for jungle warfare and the only vehicles in the entire division were American army jeeps. These wonderful four-wheel drive vehicles could go almost anywhere. The exceptions were, of course, our guns: 29th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery was equipped with 25-pounder field guns, with a wheel track too wide to take them beyond Divisional HQ for the time being. The Japs were in much the same position. We did have the support of an Indian howitzer unit, though. Their contraptions dismantled into sections which were split up between several mules, which had special saddlery designed to mount the various parts of each gun. They could move up and down the mountains through the jungle to reach anywhere.

"At last, I found myself at milestone 170. The LAD was on one side of the track where there was some level ground and the growth was less dense than normal. It could not have been described as a clearing, but it was possible for jeeps to move between the trees. I was greeted by a naik, the Indian Army equivalent to a corporal. He was in the IEME, the Indian counterpart of the REME, and was genuinely delighted to meet me. His actual words were: “Am I glad to meet you, Sergeant”. I asked him why he was so pleased. He told me that, until my arrival, he had been in charge of the unit – and now I would be in command. I seemed to have inherited responsibility beyond my training or capability. Since leapfrogging to the rank of sergeant, I had only commanded men for a few weeks. Units located themselves in defended enclaves which we called ‘boxes’. My LAD was in a box containing Brigade Headquarters and a battalion of Gurkhas. The other two battalions of the brigade were in nearby boxes. Each was defending a strategic point on tracks, river crossings or access routes which the Japanese might use to invade India. The country was very mountainous so, taking advantage of this, our box was pitched on the ‘lee’ of a hilltop, where Jap shells could not land. Of course, we could be – and frequently were – bombed from the air, mortared or subjected to small-arms fire at any time around the clock. The box, which was to be my home base for the next 18 months, was irregular in shape and may have measured something like three acres in area. Level of personal comfort is a very relative experience.

"My LAD had a total establishment of 30, including four senior ranks: Captain Nicholson, the OC; Warrant Officer II Raymond ‘Syd’ Walker; Sergeant Ernie Batty; and me. We rarely, if ever, actually had that number, though. There was no workshop. It was a question of maintaining equipment, mostly jeeps but also machine-guns and artillery pieces. It was a time when we had only recently changed from horses to mechanical equipment. Let me describe our food situation. Probably the most unusual feature was the fact that we kept live chickens and ducks which provided us with fresh eggs, which were a really luxurious addition to our diet. Supply was so restricted that only ammunition was allowed to be transported up by the road. Everything else, including food, had to be brought to us by mules over the jungle-covered mountains. As a result, we got no fresh food and, even then, rations were reduced. Some months later, we started to get supplies dropped from aircraft. Our food shortage was partially mitigated by purchases from the wholesale NAAFI 300 miles away. Ernie went on a trip and returned with a huge wooden crate on the back of his jeep. In the box was a collection of live chickens and ducks, which he had bought from local villagers. He assured us that, from now on, we would enjoy a regular supply of fresh eggs. We constructed a large cage using camouflage netting where the two species lived together in harmony. Having cut a 40-gallon petrol drum in half, it was sunk into the ground and filled with water to provide a swimming pool for the ducks. For a few days, there was no production. During these days, Ernie took a lot of banter but he assured us that when they settled down they would start to lay. Indeed, they did. So our poultry justified their presence. Later, when the unit moved, the poultry were packed into their crate and came along with us on the back of a jeep. We frequently begged Ernie to kill a duck or a chicken to eat but he would not allow it. He maintained that they were to be kept for fresh eggs only and he was responsible for our livestock.

"As a result of the impossibility of sending back to Divisional workshop anything which we could not repair, we took upon ourselves jobs which we were neither equipped nor intended to attempt. We improvised. Obtaining possession of articles which had not been either issued or purchased was known as the act of ‘liberating’ them and usually no questions were asked. A very popular item to liberate was a Samurai sword, as carried by all Japanese officers. The reason for their popularity was that they fetched a large price from American air crews landing at the airstrip in Imphal. I have mentioned ‘liberating’ items in order to explain that our LAD managed to liberate an oxy-acetylene welding kit, which became one of our most important and frequently-used tools. But we ought not to have had it. The main application was in welding broken springs and broken chassis. In normal conditions, these things virtually never break. There was a weakness in the early model jeep shock absorbers, which were hydraulic. The oil content leaked and was not replaceable. The component then ceased to absorb the shocks suffered in travelling on the unmetalled surface of our apology for a road. Therefore, the springs or chassis broke. The surface was so bad that I once drove for several miles after sustaining a punctured tyre. The tyre was cut to ribbons and, only after discovering it, I remembered that my jeep had lurched peculiarly when crossing a bridge – miles back – and I had been driving on three tyres and a bare wheel the rest of the way.

"On joining 48 Brigade LAD, I learned that I was in a ‘box’ which was under fire on a daily and nightly basis and the perimeter was defended by components of our three infantry battalions. I decided to pass on the benefit of my infantry training to all our personnel. REME and its Indian army counterpart, IEME, are not regarded as combat units. Their soldiers are selected mainly for technical ability. As they are not expected to be involved in combat unless they are initially recruited into an infantry unit, they are given minimal, if any, weapons’ training. As a matter of course, each man is issued with a rifle but it is not usually believed necessary to tell him which end the bullet comes out of, let alone give him an opportunity to practise firing it. In our present situation, I decided that this gap in their training should be filled. As I was quite fresh from a very thorough indoctrination, I was confident that I could teach them to shoot accurately and rapidly and instil confidence in their own ability. My OC readily agreed that it was a good idea. Later, all concerned were glad that I had taken that initiative as we had to take our places on defensive perimeters on several occasions.

"Kennedy Peak dominated the surrounding area. It had changed hands more than once already but was then occupied by Japs and we were about to attempt to recover it. I had a small and uncomfortable part in the operation. On the preceding afternoon, Brigadier (Snowy) Cameron [Brigadier R. T. Cameron DSO*, 5th Royal Gurkha Rifles] sent for me and briefed me for a task on the following day. At first light, 2/5th Gurkhas would launch an attack on Kennedy Peak in full battalion strength. 1/7th Gurkhas were being held in reserve to deal with any counter-attack, which may be made at any of several points. The whole battalion had to be mounted on wheels to enable it to be deployed quickly to where it would be needed. As the battalion does not have its own wheels, they will be mounted on a collection of every available jeep of the support units brought together for the purpose. My task was to take charge of this convoy of some 1,350 jeeps and drivers, keeping companies, platoons and sections together and despatching them as I may be instructed. As the attack was timed for the first light of dawn next morning, I went to sleep early. During the night, I was wakened three times by a runner from Brigade HQ as the Brigadier wanted to see me. He was sitting at a trestle table, flanked by the Brigade Major and the Staff Captain. On the table was a map, a bottle of rum and three glasses. At each visit I was given exactly the same briefing as on the previous afternoon. The Brigadier seemed oblivious that he had spoken to me before. I just had to stand and say: “Yes, Sir.” Each time he concluded the interview by saying: “Now go and get some sleep.” The one consolation was that it was normal to sleep fully-dressed as there were frequent alarms during the night so that being summoned from sleep was not an unusual hardship. Notwithstanding this episode, I have always admired and respected Brigadier Cameron.

"Before dawn the next morning, I got myself to the assembly point for my reserve transport convoy, allocated the 1/7th Gurkhas to vehicles and waited. At dawn, the Divisional Commander and the Corps Commander both came up to join the Brigadier watching the battle. As a result, I did not feel free to go to them for food. So I got more tired and hungry. All the drivers and riflemen had been issued with their day’s rations but I had brought nothing to eat or drink and I had practically no sleep, thanks to the Brigadier. During the day, on numerous occasions, the Staff Captain came with orders to move groups of infantry or sometimes to turn groups of vehicles to point in an opposite direction for anticipated movement. This may sound simple but was very far from it. The road width was hardly wider than the jeep and one side had a steep drop down a mountainside. Many of the drivers had no experience or confidence so I had to turn many myself. Every time the Staff Captain came, I asked him if he had brought me some food. Each time he apologised and said he had forgotten but offered me a drink of rum from a bottle which he carried in the pocket of his greatcoat (it got cold at night at that elevation). The battle lasted all day with three failed attempts and, bit by bit, my convoy had been sent away. By nightfall, I was left alone with no order to stand down. I had no vehicle of my own. By now, I was very tired, very hungry and very angry. I went to the casualty clearing centre and asked the doctor for some casualties to evacuate. He said that they had all been taken. I insisted that I needed some casualties because the road was only open for operational traffic and evacuation of casualties. The doctor apparently recognised my mentally-stressed state and volunteered to give me three stretcher-bearers to take down the road and he tied casualty labels on to them for the journey so that if I should be stopped by military police they would appear to be casualties. When I arrived back at my unit, my friend Ernie had somehow anticipated that I would need therapy and had had a chicken killed and cooked, waiting for me.

"I was in that ‘box’ at Tiddim for almost 18 months, subject to brief absences for leaves, missions or visits to Dimapur for the wholesale NAAFI. The Army had a leave centre in a hill resort called Shillong and we were expected to go there for our leaves. I went to Bombay for most of mine, partly to take advantage of the fact that travelling time was not counted as part of leave days, so that I had a few extra days away from the firing line, and partly because I knew no other leisure spot to compete with the swimming club which I had discovered on my arrival at Bombay. I clearly remember that, when returning from leaves, I used to think that I needed my head examined for going back to the hell which I knew and had endured. I used to think that the worst option could be detention in a military correction centre. The regime there would not be much tougher than my recruit training which I had survived. But it was really abstract thinking and invariably I reported back on time. However, the hell I was returning to was real: heat, humidity, exposure to monsoon downpour with no shelter, being wet through, operating in flooded areas, sleep deprivation, sleeping every night fully dressed, sharing sleeping area with creepy crawlies, all the time being shot at, shelled and bombed and living with an officer whom I despised [Captain Nicholson’s replacement]. On the upside, I was sharing all that with two very good friends: together we made the best of life and ran a small unit in our own image, which was unique.

"On the morning of 12 March 1944, Ernie pointed out to me air manoeuvres, resembling a large air supply drop several miles north-west of us. We were mystified at the RAF apparently dropping supplies to an area where we thought we had no troops, in no man’s land. The rest of that day was normal, so far as we knew. Others knew better. That night at 22.00 hrs we were wakened and told that we were to evacuate the whole area before first light. Pack up and show no lights. Leave behind anything we cannot take with us. Leave behind in one area for demolition everything we are not taking. Before dawn on 13 March, the whole of 48 Brigade was moving down the road toward our Divisional HQ at Imphal. In accordance with the standard order of march, the LAD travels at the end of the column as we need to deal with any breakdowns. Ernie was second last and I was last. It was still dark when we reached a point on the road where we all knew that the Japs kept a gun trained and opened fire when they saw any movement. All was quiet until I reached the spot.

"I heard the gun and the whine of an incoming shell. I slammed on the brakes, stalling the engine. The mountain was rising steeply on my right and dropping steeply on my left. The shell hit and exploded on my right immediately in front of my jeep. My engine was stalled and I did not know if it would restart as it might be damaged by shrapnel. I thought that the petrol system may be damaged and that there may be just enough petrol in the carburettor to take me clear but I could not see to drive due to the dust and soot and darkness. I knew that another shell would follow as soon as the gun was reloaded. I could jump and run but my jeep would be destroyed by the next shell and the rest of the Brigade had gone. I would be alone and on foot. Ernie came running back having heard the explosion, calling, “Are you all right?”, as he could not see me. I shouted: “Yes, let’s get the hell out of here.” I could not explain my dilemma about a stalled engine and couldn’t see. As soon as the dust and soot cleared enough to see, I started the engine. It fired and I drove off just in time to get clear of the next shell. Ernie was waiting for me round the next bend of the road. I would have been OK on foot. We caught up with the convoy which had stopped because the Japs were blocking the road and our infantry was engaging them. I walked down to report to the OC and the RSM, who were leading the LAD, that we were all through. Passing one of my men, I noticed that he had a lighted inspection lamp hanging on the dashboard of his vehicle. I asked him if he had driven down with that lamp lit. He said: “Yes, Sarge.” Without thinking or getting angry, I hit him so hard that he landed on the bonnet of his jeep. It was an entirely nervous reaction. When I reached my OC, he asked me what had happened to me. My face was quite black, covered with soot which I then saw in a vehicle mirror. I told the Captain what had happened and also that he would be getting a complaint about me striking a Craftsman and why I had done it. He said that he would deal with any complaint. I do not know if one was made but I imagine not as the man must have realised that he had been seriously out of order by driving with a light on and endangering my life.

"It took us three weeks to fight our way down the 70 miles to Imphal where the Division was under siege, as was Kohima further down the road. I think of the Brigade as having been like a blob of mercury, being divided up into a number of smaller blobs as a group would break through a roadblock, before it closed leaving a tail to open it again. Each group kept fighting and moving a bit further, sometimes being caught up and joined by the following group then perhaps being split up differently. Each night, every group established a defensive box wherever they happened to be and stayed there until the next block was broken through and some further progress made. The Japs were making a supreme effort to break into India. We realised that when we had thought the RAF was dropping supplies in no man’s land, we had been watching the Japanese air force dropping supplies to their troops between us and our base. Had we known, we would probably not have worried as we could have defended our box if supplied by air drops. However, we were needed to defend Imphal and deny the Japs a road into India.

"One evening, just before dusk, we broke through a roadblock and established a perimeter for the night. There were dozens of Japs concealed up trees and in foxholes. They came out and all hell broke loose. We were overrun in the dark. Firing in any direction could as easily kill or wound our own people. The Japs did not seem to suffer from the same inhibitions. As we had just occupied the area at dusk, we had not had time to dig even shallow weapon pits, let alone trenches. We were trying to scrape a hollow in the ground with our bare hands. I was lying on the ground with my chum, Ernie. Our situation was so dire that it seemed certain that, if we survived the night, we would be prisoners. He said that, to avoid being taken prisoners, we should commit suicide together because we were such good mates. I insisted that we should not. His idea may seem cowardly. It is understandable when you know – as we knew – the practices of the Japanese. When they took our men prisoner, they would bring them at night within our earshot and torture them so that we could hear them screaming. Before dawn they would kill them and boobytrap the bodies, so that in the morning, when we would try to bury them, the bodies would be blown up. Who would not want to avoid that fate? On 5 April, we finally reached Imphal, which had by then been under siege for three weeks.

"Another detached mission was planned and my mate, Ernie Batty, was detailed to take charge of it. However, I thought that it sounded a bit too dangerous for a married man with two children and that I should go instead. I arranged this with our Sergeant-Major and left without telling my friend that I was replacing him. I accompanied a battalion to a river crossing point which was being defended to enable the Royal Engineers to erect a bridge. We were there for several days and, one evening at dusk, I went down to the river’s edge to wash. While thus engaged, the Japanese artillery opened a barrage of fire. I had to decide at this point whether to run up the river bank to find a trench in which to take cover or to remain at the river bank below ground level but where I had no trench. A shell burst near me and my right leg was hit by two pieces of shrapnel and a crumb. The two pieces entered my thigh and calf while the third crumb went into my knee where it has lodged ever since and still remains. The other two were extracted when I was removed to a field dressing station and then to a field ambulance hospital.

"My stay in the field ambulance hospital was less than a week and I returned to my unit. The two larger pieces of shrapnel were removed from my leg and there was a small entry wound at the back of my right knee, where evidently a small piece had entered. As there was no exit wound, the leg was x-rayed. A very small shred was found embedded well inside the joint and the radiologist advised against attempting to remove it as it was likely that more damage would result than if it was left alone. This has proved to be the case, as it has given me very little trouble since. I do have it x-rayed at intervals and it is still in the same spot. I wasn’t evacuated – I was there to fight. Since my mother was a widow and my elder brother was also in the Army, I used to fabricate stories in my letters home so she wouldn’t worry about me. I never told her that I was in the field and fighting; instead, I used to tell her funny stories about the films I’d seen or about the pretty nurses that I’d met. Then she got a letter from the War Office saying that I’d been wounded. I only discovered that much later – she never mentioned it. My favourite cigarettes were Player’s No. 3: she used to send me 100 cigarettes a month but they were all stolen – I only discovered that much later too.

"The siege of Imphal ended on 22 June 1944, 107 days after we left Tiddim. In mid-July, I was sent to Ranchi in India as part of an advance party headed by our brigade major to prepare for the arrival of the whole of 17 Division. The Division had been continuously in action against the enemy for 29 months since 11 March 1942, when Rangoon was invaded. Notwithstanding the arrival of the relieving troops at Imphal, we learned that 17 Division was not to be rested indefinitely: we were in Ranchi to train for the assault to liberate Burma. This was to include landing by glider in occupied territory. Our training programme was interrupted by visiting generals for three formal inspections and presentation of medals in four days. On each occasion all sergeants, warrant officers and officers, plus medal recipients, fell in on parade in the blazing sun half an hour before the inspector was due to arrive. Some medallists were brought from hospital on all three days, and the same medals were taken back and presented again. Each general having brought a photographer to record his bravery. Naturally, everyone was fed up with this repeating pantomime by generals who were not field commanders.

"In December 1944, the war in Europe was well advanced, as indeed was the war in the Pacific. The Army announced a new scheme allowing soldiers in SEAC 28 days’ leave in the United Kingdom. This was designed as a break within the five years’ tour of duty in the Far East. It was therefore to be granted to soldiers who had served at least two and a half years in SEAC. I qualified and applied. My Captain objected but I persuaded him to allow my application to go through. As the numbers were limited and the demand high, the Divisional Commander imposed additional qualifications, which included having been hospitalised at least three times, having been wounded at least once, having a good conduct record, having less than eighteen months before qualifying for repatriation and having served through at least one campaign. I still qualified and was selected. So I duly went by train to Bombay, embarked on a troop ship and sailed to Southampton and arrived home for 28 days’ leave before re-embarking and returning to my unit on 17 February 1945. The voyages were much shorter as the Mediterranean was now open and safe for our ships. Naturally, the homecoming was a great joy to my mother, as well as to myself and other members of my family.

"By August 1945, 17 Division had almost reached Rangoon when it was taken by a British amphibious landing. Then the atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and Japan surrendered. First WOII Syd Walker, and then Sergeant Ernie Batty, both completed their overseas tours of five years and left for home. My two close friends – with whom I had shared so much – were both gone. Of course, this created a vacancy for a Warrant Officer, which I would have been happy to fill, if given the opportunity. I had a cool but civil working relationship with my Captain but promotion at that level was not in his gift. He would probably be able to make a recommendation but I was not sure whether that would be positive or negative for me. Meanwhile, my unit went to Singapore. The whole Division was to be re-equipped with normal vehicles to replace the jeeps which it had exclusively for jungle warfare. We had no big vehicles in the Division: they were all jeeps. I went to Calcutta to take delivery of American vehicles of all sizes and types to bring the Division up to peacetime specification. I had taken delivery of a mobile workshop truck for 48 Brigade LAD and had managed to book space for it on a cargo ship. Correct procedure was to have vehicles weighed before shipment and to have a label stuck on the windscreen showing the weight, whether laden or unladen. As I was friendly with the Royal Engineers sergeant in charge of loading, due to my frequent visits to the docks, I leapfrogged the queue for the weighing scale and drove straight on to the quay side. The ship being loaded had a hold and a crane at the stern for heavy vehicles, but the forward holds were being loaded first. The sergeant in charge of loading asked me if I wanted to load my workshop truck into a light hold or wait for the heavy hold. I did not know the weight but I did know that it held a generator and power tools so I said that I would wait for the heavy hold. That was a lucky decision. The next vehicle loaded was an empty 15 cwt lorry. When it was lifted by crane over the hold, the rope broke and the truck dropped into the hold of the ship. No one was hurt but there was a lot of damage, which may have triggered a Board of Enquiry – with dire consequences.

"The War Office now announced that the tour of duty in SEAC was reduced to three and a half years with immediate effect. This meant that I qualified for immediate repatriation – but I had a problem. It was that I was in Calcutta while my unit was in Singapore and I did not know where my records might be. I realised that it did not make sense for me to wait for a ship to take me to Singapore and then wait for a ship to take me to the UK. Instead, I should try to organise my own repatriation. From the office of the transit camp, I obtained a list of the documents needed for the project, together with a set of blank forms. I completed these and then visited local army units. At each, I produced a single form and asked for an officer to sign it on the ground that my unit had gone to Singapore and my OC had omitted to sign this form for me. I always succeeded in getting a signature from a genuine officer. Some soldiers were now being flown to the UK instead of sailing. One day, I was offered the opportunity to fly. I immediately said yes but changed my mind a minute later and said that I would rather wait for a ship. My reason was that firstly the change of climate would be more gradual and, secondly, as the aircraft had been through the war they may not be too reliable. Since I had survived the war, I did not want to take any additional risks before getting home.

"I spent a lot of time on the voyage writing and rewriting a long letter applying to the War Office for discharge on compassionate grounds. The plea was to assist my widowed mother with the family business. My letter was possibly six or seven pages long. On arrival at Southampton, we all went to a transit camp, where we were given 28 days’ leave and travel warrants to our home towns. Before leaving, I asked for an interview with the Camp Commandant and asked him to forward my letter to the War Office. He asked what it was – and then opened it. He said it was far too long: “Go away and rewrite it.” I reduced it to two pages and returned. He told me to write it on one page, which I did and set off for home at last. At the end of my 28 days, I kept getting extensions of seven days at a time until I received authority for immediate transfer to Z Reserve, which was as good as demobilisation. I returned to the transit camp, went through the documentation process and returned home as a civilian on 13 April 1946, six days before my 24th birthday. My Army Testimonial reads: ‘This NCO has always carried out his many and responsible duties in an efficient manner. He is hard working and a very capable NCO. He can supervise skilled labour in his own and allied trades.’

"My mother was running a department store but it was a job which I didn’t like: I didn’t want to work in the retail business. Instead, I went into the motor business, buying and selling second-hand cars. There were very few new cars on the market in those days. The group that bought my mother’s business also had a central heating business, which gave me an opportunity. Domestic central heating was then in its infancy but, in the years after the Second World War, the market opened up and I was part of that development."

On 14 October 1947 at Langside Synagogue, Glasgow, Arthur married Muriel, daughter of Mark Lewis Benjamin and his wife Bertha, second daughter of Moris (Maurice) Harrison. On 10 February 1954, his Z Reserve engagement terminated. When living at 5 Glenpark Avenue, Thornliebank, Glasgow, he joined the Burma Star Association on 11 October 1973, with membership number L/1116/73. Muriel died on 13 February 1995 at the Royal Infirmary, Glasgow, having had a son, Jack, who lives in Scotland and is married with one daughter, and a daughter, Evelyn (Evy) Yedd, who is married with five children and is the Administrator for the Glasgow Jewish Representative Council. On 24 March 1996 in London, he married Toby Green (née Sagman), who died in 2022, at the age of 97. Arthur, who is blind, now lives in a care home is Glasgow but is as bright as a button on the ’phone.