Ayo Gurkha

Getting to Know You - the Stoker

During my time in Brunei I never saw a Gurkha speak with anyone, than with their own but I was witness to their efficiency as a fighting force. They would smile at you in recognition but never speak. I recall that one day a Gurkha stood on the dockside for about six hours without moving. He had to go to the dentist and was waiting for his company to return from a patrol. I offered him a bowl of rice and meat which our cook had prepared but he refused with a pleasant smile and a nod of “No thanks”.

They impressed us all with their courtesy and fighting proficiency - I was glad they were on our side !

There was intelligence that the rebels were active to the south west and could threaten the oilfields at Seria. They were near the coast and another sea-borne landing was proposed.

We had managed to off-load the JCBs by this time so the trusty Z-lighter was readied, with two launches in company. In place of the Marines we had our Gurkha friends. Getting to Seria involved a passage down the river to the sea then a 50 mile jaunt along the coast.

To avoid the risk of a pitched battle in the oil refinery, it was decided to land a couple of miles down the coast where, it was alleged, a track ran to a side entrance. 

Once again navigational data was sparse. The inshore waters of this coastline had last been visited by HMS NONSUCH (or similar) in 1860-something. There was no accurate data on soundings or tides, except for the tanker loading jetty several miles away round a headland. It was not certain whether we would be met on the chosen beach, but we were assured that there was a distinctive rock formation next to a significant gap in the trees which indicated the start of the track. 

We struck off in fine form, somewhat more cautiously with the lessons of Limbang fresh in our minds. The Gurkhas put up with an uncomfortable roll for some hours as we coasted with a cross-swell. We looked at lots of beaches and several rocks before we found a gap on the required bearing from the headland, albeit without our half-expected guide. We turned into line abreast and in the best Errol Flynn tradition started to run in to the beach. 

The master plan had been to put down a kedge anchor when about 50 yards off, but at 100 yards off we graunched to a halt. We assumed we had arrived, so we dropped the ramp. The Gurkha officer ran to the front of the boat and leapt off with what we assumed to be the regimental war cry - and disappeared up to the top of his hat! We revised our assumptions and concluded that we had found a sand bar and that said Gurkha officer was now in deeper water on the shorewards side of it. I don’t think I have ever felt so lonely as when 80 pairs of large Gurkha eyes swivelled round to focus on me in the wheelhouse with the unspoken question “What now?”

Luckily the sailors were on form.  Able Seaman Jan Booty, our topman par excellence, rescued the dripping soldier and we rigged lifelines to get the Gurkhas ashore. The gap turned out to be a false lead, but a mile up the coast was another rock and gap which looked more promising. The Gurkhas set off on a reconnaissance and we sailors spent the morning off loading the soldiers’ heavy kit and humping it to the track. The Gurkhas did eventually find the refinery and an enterprising soldier commandeered a bullock cart to collect their kit. There was no fighting at the refinery but the Gurkhas elected to return by road when their time was up.