As I said before on the previous page, one can have too much of a good thing. I'd spent two good years in Ceylon and I was still only twenty one, I honestly couldn't say at this present time why I volunteered for the Chindits. Youthful bravado, sense of guilt, I really don't know to this day, but I did and it wasn't very long before I and a couple of others were off on another extended train journey, this time to Gwalior in Northern India, Headquarters of "Special Forces".
It wasn't that far from Agra and I did get to see the Taj Mahal, but this sure was a change from the good life in Ceylon.
A Little Sketch I did later:
Now I must admit here that memories are a bit short on detail for this episode. Firstly let me explain to the unitiated that the Chindits were a Long Range Penetration Group formed by General Ord Wingate to infiltrate the Japanese positions in Burma. There had already been two expeditions, which although expensive in lives had been a success in most peoples eyes. A third one was planned but after the unfortunate death of Wingate and the appointment of his successor General Lentaigne it was decided in early 1945 to disband the Chindits.
However ,in what would be the latter part of 1944 we were being formed up to provide reinforcements for 77 Brigade who had and were still suffering horrific losses.If you are wondering what part the RAF played in these army operations let me explain.
A Brigade was made up of a number of Regiments. At my time of joining we had the 3/6th Gurkha Rifles, the 6/9th Nigerians and , I think the 1st South Staffs and the 1st Lancs. Fusiliers. Each Brigade was comprised of columns of approx. 400 men with it's own HQ. and the "soft heart" of each column was the RAF signals contingent. A Flt.Lt., F/Sgt and a wireless operator. Our task was to provide communication with the RAF with to regard to air drops of supplies and close air support if needed. A vital task for survival of the column.
Firstly, came a radical change of self,. Jungle Green uniform, putties, jungle boots, bush hats and removal of all personal identity. Issue of a lovely American Carbine 9mm rifle, all up weight 4lbs.and an Army 22 Radio set back packed and heavy. I may be wrong here but I think 60lbs was the all up weight we carried
Now, if my memory serves me rightly we moved out to Jhansi. several miles east and trained until we dropped. At least until I dropped. Discovered that maybe I wasn't quite cut out for this sort of thing, too small and lacking in bulk. However, persevered, marching miles behind a Mule, living on "K" rations and generally improving day by day. The Gurkhas were great, terrific sense of humour. Also, from our column Commander, a Lt.Col. I think, I learned a phrase that has stayed with me and one which I have applied until this day. "When in doubt, brew up".
Then came December, my 22nd birthday and Christmas. We were under canvas out in God knows where but no shortage of booze thanks to a good supply drop of the good stuff.
Throwing our bush hats in the air and taking pot shots at them with our lovely Carbines. Meanwhile, the Nigerians had been given Plastic Practice Grenades to play with, ran out of them, broke into the armoury and started throwing real 36 Grenades about. Blew a British Sergeant to bits. Which brings me to a little story.
Sitting outside our tent on Christmas day supping the good stuff it happened that a Nigerian Sergeant passed by. Well spoken SNCO Have a drink we said. Aye he said so we supped together for a while and he went on his way. The next day my mate and I were called in front of the Colonel in charge of the Nigerian regiment and torn of the strip of a lifetime. Never never ever drink with a Nigerian soldier. So many were straight out of the bush of course and very much feared by the Japs, the Machet being their favourite weapon.
Our next move was to fly into Comilla, one of the airfields used by the RAF for supply drops, and then into Kalewa not far over the Burmese border. It was here that on waking up one morning under my groundsheet that I found a large purple lump in my right groin.
Luckily, within staggering distance there was a field hospital, tented and sparse but there thank God. I managed to get to the main tent, come face to face with a Captain Bird the Doc, and show him my problem before collapsing. I seemed that I had contracted Scrub Typhus.
How long I was out I don't know, but thanks to the good old M&B, sulphanilamide, the Grace of God and Capt Bird who I'm sure is well passed on by now, I recovered and it wasn't long before I was becoming impatient to move on. I was told by the Doc that the requirement was two weeks in hospital followed by six weeks convalescence.. Well, I'd already spent something like two weeks already in the field hospital. A bottle of beer a day and reasonable grub wasn't to bad but...................where will you go he asked?..........., not sure I said but I think they'll be down in Monywa or thereabouts. I often think about the fact that firstly he had only my word for who I was, no personal ID, no record exists on my personal medical records of this episode and I could have shoved off and dissapeared for ever but OK he said if that's how you feel off you go so collecting my pack and my Carbine I headed of to the track that ran past the Hospital, thumbed a lift from a guy in a Jeep and asked to be taken to the airfield.
All seems a bit sureal now but when I got to the Airfield a Dakota was sitting there looking as if it was going somewhere, so I asked the American Pilot if there was any chance of a lift to Monywa. Amazing really but he said yes but I've got a few drops to do on the way so I climbed aboard.
The "few drops" entailed flying at about 200 feet above some foot hills in the middle of god knows where and bouncing all over the sky in the process. The guy with me who was kicking the stuff out, free drops, was fine. I was so sick that I stood at the open door and seriously considered jumping out. No sympathy from the guy of course, he was just rolling about laughing, rotten bastard.
However, we eventually arrived at Monywa and I climbed down fron the aircraft. I felt like death and must have looked like it. Unwashed and unshaven, dirty jungle green, pack and rifle. The first thing I see as I climb down is a group of Officers with two WAAFs looking as if they had come straight off of a recruiting poster. My gawd!
Making my way across the airfield to what I assumed was some sort of headquarters, a large Burmese house in reasonably good repair I climbed some stairs and arrived at a door which had Wing/Cdr someone written on it, knocked and entered.
The Wing Commander sitting behind a desk looked up, stared at me and said "My God what are you"?. LAC Mockford I replied, Special Force and I'm looking for my unit. A moment of silenced was followed by "Ah! yes, there are is a funny lot of yours down at the other side of the airfield". Thankyou Sir I said, saluted and left.
I found them about a mile away under canvas.
From here on in things are a bit vague. I certainly wasn't all that well which is understandable I suppose but the next clear memory I have is that two of us are needed to go to an American base and help out with a communication problem.................I heard after that some of the guys wound up in tanks, would you believe?
Anyway the American base in question was at Fenny way up past the Arakan in what is now Bangladesh. !0th Airforce, 12th Bombardment Group flying B25 Mitchells.
Old WOPs won't believe this but we loaded a R1084, thirteen valve superhet receiver with its coils in a big box, bloody great 6Volt 40AH acks, a T1083 transmitter and Type 'E' Jenny and a chawhorse into a Mitchell bomber and flew off northwards to Fenny. I remember most vividly climbing over the balloon barrage at Akyab
It seemed that the Yanks with there sophisticated half brick and basha built communication center were having difficulty getting rid of some of their traffic so,in the nice comfy tent they had given us , me and my mate, who's name unfortunaely I can't for the life of me remember, set up our gear, slung our ariel up to a cocnut tree and cleared what traffic they couldn't get rid of. One up for Tommy Tickle.
They sure lived well those Yanks. Eggs done on a hotplate, turned or sunny side up, a whole can of Carnation milk on your cornflakes if you so wished, Steak and Ice cream twice a week. They even let me borrow the Padre 's Jeep to drive around in. Crazy Man. Couldn't last long could it.................. It didn't.!.
Again, details are a bit hazy, but I do remember having time to visit Calcutta before embarking on my longest train ride, five days but in far better conditions than previously. 2nd class with green leatherette "let down" bunks and meals at Spencers every day. Calcutta to Bombay, smashing.