Index Sons of the Brave New Zealand's Contribution The Triple-Headed Banner The Kelantan Jungle An Over-Suppy of Ration Packs Panthera Tigris Corbetti Attack by the Man-Eater Return of the Tiger Newspaper Report Meeting with the Tiger Hunter Special Operational Reports Combined Operation A US Marine served in the Emergency! An Unenviable Job Return the Malayan Index E-Mail Frank Britain's Small Wars

The Triple-Headed Banner I have no doubt, literally thousands upon thousands of New Zealand children were brought up listening to intriguing narratives on episodes regarding relatives who had either fought, been wounded or died on many foreign battlefields during either of our two World Wars. Most of these battle names still call up hallowed memories, such as: Gallipoli, Ypres, the Somme, Passchendaele, Tobruk, El Alamein, Casino, Guadacanal, New Guinea, Impala, Kohima, Bougainville, the Solomons and Singapore. Moreover, I admit, I was no different. God, King and Country . . . was the triple-headed banner that was proudly unfurled over this land. A fervent, nationalistic pride, coupled with a strong sense of duty had been deeply ingrained upon the minds of that generation of young children. I responded to the New Zealand Government's call for volunteers for the Malayan Emergency in the only way I knew how. The triple-headed banner had flapped at my conscience and those heroic stories of so long ago filled me with pride. The fact that my cousin was on Active Service in Korea mingled in there as well, as I strode my 5 foot 9 inch body off to the Army's recruiting centre in Rutland Street in Auckland. The Army recorded my hair as brown; my eyes as grey! I always thought they were hazel! My weight was 11stone (154 lbs); I coughed successfully! Fortunately, I had sufficient teeth to gnaw at the toughest of Army cooking. I went home in the knowledge that the die was now well and truly cast. I later received instructions to attend Papakura Military Camp in July, 1957. I was not completely naïve in military affairs, for I had already experienced the taste of Service life with my obligation to the Compulsory Military Training Scheme in 1952. I underwent normal basic training for CMT and then, I attended the Electrical and Wireless School in the signals training course. This was at the Wigram Air Force Base at Sockburn, in Christchurch, and the initial period was of three months followed by two weeks every year thereafter at Hobsonville Air Force Base in Auckland. Therefore, my introduction to Army routine was not too much of a shock! Nevertheless, after basic training, confidence course instruction and many, many route marches and fitness schedules, I was posted to the Signals Platoon. I was not in the least surprised. Lt. D.G. Rodda with Lt B Redshaw as his second in command and Sgt John O'Brien as senior nco commanded the Signals Platoon. The signals training was to establish the Morse skills of 70 per cent of the platoon from zero to eight words per minute. Although several operators including, Stan Beleski, Dave Mortensen, Barry Lavery, Morrie Nimmo already proved capable of more than twenty words per minute. During this training, instruction was given on a range of equipment then in use by Commonwealth forces in the Malayan jungle: wireless sets 19, 62, 48, 68, 88 and the Australian A510 in particular(1). The signallers discovered that information conveyed in the British Army's handbook, Malaya in the Emergency, pointed to significant problems: Four-fifths of the land is trackless evergreen forest. A hundred and fifty to two hundred feet above the ground the trees make a solid roof of green, shutting out the sky. From their branches curtains of vine creeper join the undergrowth to make a jungle so dense that a standing man is invisible at 25 yards. The average room temperature is 90 degrees F. (31 degrees C) and torrential rains fall almost every day.

Alpha Company and Charlie Company shared the facilities at a camp known as Sungei Kuang, located in the vicinity of the city of Ipoh, in Perak State, in northern Malaya. This camp was a tent-infested site. It was isolated and open with a small rubber plantation on the left, a chopper pad to the right, with the terrain at the back covered in bush, while in the foreground stretched a plateau extending toward high-protruding foothills. These foothills, pitted with numerous caves, harboured several well-entrenched Communist terrorists.

A week after our arrival at Sungei Kuang a series of nightly bombing raids was launched with great intensity upon the terrorists' locality and, during daylight, jet aircraft continually straffed the area with cannon and rocket fire. This barrage continued for a week, until finally, during a lull our patrols searched the area surrounding the caves, for any 'shell-shocked' terrorists willing to surrender.

One route to the caves consisted of crossing a vast plain completely encompassed by tall llang grass. This somewhat hampered a patrol's progress due to the energy-sapping conditions. Another less exhaustive route offered an option - however, it was susceptible to ambush. Its path wound through the rubber plantation, along a pipeline directly to the caves region. We learned later from an SEP (Surrendered Enemy Personnel) that Security Forces patrolling along the pipeline had escaped from being ambushed only because the terrorists were unsure as to just how many men were actually in the patrol. The patrol's inconsistent spacing between men caused confusion to the terrorists and they allowed the patrol to pass unharmed.

I was near the caves area, during one patrol, when we heard someone approaching. We took up defensive positions and waited. Then I spotted this old Chinese bloke gathering firewood. He was visibly shaken when confronted, and as he straightened up, he dropped his miserable little bundle of sticks in profound shock. The CTs manipulated the old and the young to gather food (rice was once found in the frame of a bicycle) and to gather information, etc., so everyone was under suspicion, and this old man was apprehended for being in a Restricted Area.

Another time . . . there was a combined military operation that totally encircled an area near the caves. This operation employed British, Malay Police, Ghurkhas, Australian and New Zealand personnel. We had orders to shoot anyone leaving this area on sight. I was positioned behind a bush adjoining a tree, when I heard some rustling to my front. I checked my safety catch was off and took a firm grip on my rifle. The next minute, there in front of me was a black-clad mandarin-type character, complete with drooping, handlebar moustache. He must have been 90 years old by the look of him! Was this my enemy? I took him captive and passed him on to a Malay police officer. Who knows if he was or wasn't in sympathy with the terrorists.

An unusual event occurred at Sungei Kuang camp. In hindsight it was amusing, however, at the time it was anything but. It eventuated during an Islamic religious holiday and because of this event, the Indian Tamils usually employed on latrine hygiene duties were excused. Within one day the fly population escalated rapidly throughout the entire camp. The marauding swarms soon plagued the cookhouse and mess areas to such a degree that the chances of swallowing numerous flies made eating any meal all the less appetising. It was frustrating enough just battling the flies to keep them away from the meal!

The ablution block and latrine complex was finally isolated as the cause of the problem and the corporal in charge was under the impression that the latrines had been 'cleared' prior to the holiday. He decided to annihilate these fly swarms in one attempt. He slowly proceeded along the first line of latrines and poured lavish amounts of aviation gasoline into each. He lit a match and threw it into the first 'thunder-box'. Nothing happened! Undaunted, the corporal made a long wick from a toilet roll, lit that and threw it into the gaping hole. He stood nearby and casually watched.

Meanwhile, the fumes had risen and suddenly a series of enormous explosions shook the whole camp, whereupon a senior officer immediately jumped into his Scout car and rushed around the area shouting a warning that the camp was under attack! Instead, the sky was littered with 'debris' floating back down to earth.

The corporal burned all the hairs from off his eyebrows, chest, arms and legs, yet was only slightly concussed by the episode. However, the corporal's initiative wasn't entirely a failure. For there wasn't a sign of even one fly for days!

My next assignment was to operate the base radio to jungle patrols and was Alpha Company's link to the Signals Office at Maxwell Hill, Taiping. However, a few months later I was posted to Headquarters Company, Sobraon Camp, at Taiping. I was ordered to train two men as signallers for the MMG Platoon. Each medium machine gun had an individual signaller, yet these men also were drilled on procedure, manhandling and firing of these weapons. This training took several weeks and culminated with a Commonwealth Brigade MMG competition. Quite some time after this event we actually had the distinction of being named as the winners.

Immediately after this, the MMG Platoon was disbanded with the men posted back to the various rifle companies. I reported to the Signals Office at HQ to inquire about my posting, but nothing was presently listed. I was told to report in one week's time. Then one day, as I was relaxing on my bed, in walked the RSM, I. F. (Bunny) Forsyth!

He barked out: "What are you doing . . . just lying there!" I replied and got off the bed at the same time and explained my predicament. Then I thought that my world had completely collapsed at his next remarks: "No posting, eh? Right! You are now to train as a drummer in the Pipes and Drums section of the band!" I tried to explain my situation more fully, but my protest and explanation, both failed.

The Pipes and Drums section at this stage comprised only a small number of personnel from within the Battalion. However, the numbers increased steadily over the next few months, but I still felt somewhat deflated. All that training . . . shelved! Eventually, I accepted my plight and it was not too long before I learned that others, too, had followed a path similar to me.

The Pipes and Drums section of the Regimental Band wore the family tartan of the Battalion's Commander, Lt-Colonel W.R.K. (Kim) Morrison - the Morrison Tartan, of course! The Battalion's March, chosen by the Colonel, his favourite tune, "Sons of the Brave."

(1) Swift and Sure by L. Barber and C. Lord (p167).