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

An Over-Suppy of Ration Packs Pat Power gave orders to build bamboo rafts to float downstream, where the Sungei Betis and the Sungei Perolak converged. This would prevent negotiating difficult country, and accordingly, we scouted about for thickets of bamboo. A sturdy growth was discovered across the river about 12 metres away. Harris, Hicks and MacGibbon crossed to the furthest bank, climbed out, and hacked away at the bamboo. Webb and McKenzie guided these poles, haphazardly tossed into the river, toward the riverbank to where Orr sorted the various sizes. Progress was steady until a red headed snake swam toward the men. This caused a sudden break in the proceedings as Webb and McKenzie judged they were on a collision course with the reptile. Webb scrambled for the safety of the bank with no difficulty. However, McKenzie froze. He stood as rigid as a bamboo pole and the snake swam past, ignoring him completely.   Construction of the rafts had already commenced when Pat Power arrived and cancelled the rafting schedule. He explained the aborigine guides considered rapids further downstream were too dangerous to negotiate after the recent heavy rainfall. The officer noticed our quiet mood and gave us the rest of the day off as compensation.  We had all returned to our bashas by this time and it was at this point that a tragedy nearly occurred. Nimmo was sitting crossed-legged cleaning his jungle carbine when suddenly his rifle discharged! The bullet went through his basha, into the next and between Harris and Hicks and, fortunately, without injury to either. It was a serious event and although Nimmo was most apologetic, Harris and Hicks never spoke to him again.   We broke camp early next morning and had travelled about 1800 metres when Webb stumbled over a half-submerged tree root during a steep descent. As he attempted to arrest his falling, he snatched at some bamboo, only to lacerate his hand. On dressing this wound, it was also found that he had torn the nail from his big toe. With the wounds dressed, we continued for 4500 metres until the next rest period. We had reached where the Sungei Enching and Sungei Betis converge and we were all very tired and hungry. In fact, we had had only meagre rations of late and had relied on tapioca root supplied to us by the local aborigines. This tuberous root has a very thick, rough skin, but when peeled and with ample salt added, the taste was something like potato and, although the root had little sustenance, our immediate hunger was staved. The aboriginal name for the tapioca root is ubi kayu. I was lying on my hammock having just finished a meal of tapioca and I was sipping a pannikan of tea when the two guides approached my site. Suddenly, they jabbered excitedly and pointed at the small bush right next to my hammock. I peered at the bush but I couldn't see anything amiss, at first. Then my eyes focussed on a long, greenish snake lying asleep along one of the lower branches. As nobody could identify the snake as poisonous, it was decapitated, just in case. Anyhow, there was no way I was going to sleep with the snake lying next to me. I finished off my mug of tea in two gulps, tossed my last two dry biscuits back into my Bergin, slid into my hammock and stretched out. I was tired and still hungry, too.

I kept tossing and turning about all night and next morning I felt as if I hadn't been to bed at all! I felt bloody awful. I brewed up some tea, laced it with extra sugar and greedily eyed the remaining biscuits. However, in the end I slowly nibbled on the biscuits. I poured myself some more tea and sipped on that as I prepared for the ensuing early morning airdrop.

The British aircraft, a Valletta, seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry and the crew didn't waste any time disposing of the cargo. His aim was well short of the mark and more than one 'chute went well astray. However, even without a tally check of the cartons it was obvious that a stuff-up had been made. We had piles of seven-day ration packs stacked together on the edge of the DZ that would have needed Superman, Captain Marvel and Batman to shift. It was plain that the load was beyond the patrol's ability to man-handle. Lieutenant Power called for volunteers to proceed to the next village to hire porters to assist carrying the extra rations. Harris, Hicks and Hayward offered and together with Chan and one of the guides, they immediately set off. Meanwhile, the rest of us retrieved the cartons from the DZ and hauled them back to camp. We spent the rest of the day cleaning weapons, washing socks, yakking and just relaxing.

Early next morning Chan and the men returned with a group of porters. The loading of the carrying frames commenced while the porters stood to one side. By their physical appearance I was doubtful that they could carry any of this heavy load. Hicks and Hayward were obviously amused about something else, but whatever it was, they kept it to themselves. It wasn't long before the source of their amusement was revealed. The patrol was all heavily laden down and when the last porter was loaded up the whole party immediately decamped. Our gait was affected by the weight, of course, and it wasn't long before the extra load really began to tell, and the slower pace didn't make one iota of difference at all . . . it was just extraordinary hard yakka! The porters' litheness certainly gave a false impression of their capability to carry heavy loads, as they didn't even appear to suffer any affect from their burden at all.

We slowly, but steadily continued, and eventually a halt was made with a 10-minute break. I allowed my pack to slide off my shoulders where it hit the ground with a decided thump. Then I lay on the leaf mould and put my aching feet up on my Bergin for some ease. The 10 minutes passed all too quickly and I would have sworn it was only five. I wriggled back into the straps of the pack and with an effort followed the figure ahead. We hadn't gone too far along the track when another halt was made. This was most unusual! We had come to the base of what must have been the steepest 'hill' in Malaya - and it was almost perpendicular! A 200 metre wall!

Harris grinned as he said: "It's called 'Good Morning Hill' by the abos!" It was certainly well named, all right, as it took us a good morning to almost reach the top. If anyone had slipped, it would almost certainly have meant instant death. The hill climb was tackled in three stages in order to catch our breath and, as the patrol by-passed the aboriginal village, we moved along and down a long spur towards the Sungei Betis. We then veered west and dropped down again to the Sungei Betis where numerous huge boulders were strewn all over the place; some as big as a three-bedroomed house. Navigating between, over and around these rocks continued for over 1,000 metres and then as the river narrowed, we crawled up and over a leaning tree 'bridge' and crossed over the river.

We made camp in a small valley amid a profusion of grey-haired monkeys that bombarded us with a barrage of boisterous shrieking. I think most of the men were too tired to care or pay any attention to them let alone our sweat-soaked greens that had crusted into a thin layer of salt crystals. I was really stuffed and was glad to hit the sack. Nevertheless, sleep evaded me and I couldn't settle at all. I gazed at the faint phosphorescence glowing here and there emitting from the rotting jungle carpet. The insects began their nightly chorus, some quite distinguishable! For example, the sound of an alarm clock, and the blaring of a car horn! Nevertheless, the main background melody was a continual orchestration of monotonous jungle insect cacophony.

A low-lying, greyish mist blanketed the entire valley the next morning but even this scenario didn't prevent an early morning sweat-up. After our first rest stop I wriggled my shoulders about to adjust my Bergin into a more comfortable position and then just as the patrol altered course and took a right-angled move, I stumbled, lost balance and pitched forward. I didn't notice the altered direction the patrol had taken. It was a brief moment or two before realisation dawned there was nobody ahead of me. I glanced behind and saw MacGibbon, Cook and Barnett. Everything was still and very quiet. I quickened the pace for about 30 seconds, but still there was no sound, movement or sign of the patrol.

I knew the patrol must be somewhere about. We moved on a bit further, just to be sure and then, just ahead and along the track, a huge, fallen tree trunk completely blocked our progress. We approached very carefully. The possibility of an ambush was not one to be taken lightly. We took three paces then stopped, listened, and eagerly looked all about. Then another three paces edged us closer and closer to the trunk and, as we approached, I looked for any scuff marks on the bark or footprints close by. Nevertheless, there was none. I peered through the leafy foliage beyond the trunk but there wasn't a sign of the patrol. There was only one thing for it . . . we had to go back. We picked up our pace once more and soon we spotted signs of the altered course. We soon joined up with the waiting patrol, and immediately resumed our duties..

We climbed yet another ridge and moved along it for about 2000 metres then descended thousands of metres back to the valley floor and up a small hill and there, we sighted a longhouse and a group of aborigines just sitting idly about. One aborigine was actually perched, squatting on a narrow tree stump. How he remained in that position for that period is amazing. We were ordered to basha-up beyond the longhouse and over to the right. This was a Negrito village. No doubt about it!

Next morning, Nimmo ambled over to my site and said that he and Chan had been ordered back to base, and I would be in control of the radio communications. He gave me the frequencies, call sign and other pertinent data for our network. Then he added some good news. Our patrol was to be airlifted out and returned to Delta Company base.

But we first had to reach the village of Perolak.

I returned with Nimmo back to his site and disconnected the aerial terminals and picked up the A510 communication units and bundled together the spare batteries then returned once more and collected the aerial itself. I set about re-establishing contact and testing things out. Several members accompanied Nimmo and Chan to the LZ and started the obligatory 'maintenance' programme of clearing all LZs in the area. There was plenty of time to spare and the chore was completed just after I'd sent the morning's Sitrep (Situation Report). As the chopper took off with the two men, also on board were all the undamaged parachutes. The damaged ones were used to make hammocks - usually about nine panels was sufficient. My black hammock was extremely comfortable, and I treasured it.

A point worth remembering is that signallers worked longer hours than any other member of a patrol. The pack was usually heavier (although bearers of LMGs [light machine guns] overall load bearing was heavier). Physical fitness, attitude and endurance were included among the essentials for a signaller, together with his technical efficiency. On some patrols, the signaller's evening meal was cooked for him while he was still working. I didn't have that privilege.

Roughly about the same time the LZ was being cleared, and I'd completed my transmission, two young aboriginal women wandered into our camp. One had a rotund body while her companion was just plain skinny. Both of them had applied what appeared like reddish stain to their cheeks. I didn't think it was for our benefit as four aboriginal men weren't far behind. The group were just passing through our position. I bought out my tin of English Woodbine cigarettes and fumbled around for a nicotine stick when I suddenly remembered an aboriginal custom. If a male offers a female a cigarette, he is proposing marriage. I quickly replaced the lid back on the tin of cigarettes! Just at that moment, all four of them stopped and sat down on the ground. Then two of the four men placed a folded leaf into their mouths, lit up and took a deep drag! The smoke was sucked along through the fold, but I wasn't sure what type of leaf it was . . . possibly beetle-nut But I wasn't sure. What I did know, however, was that these aborigines sitting here were from a Temiar tribe - not Negrito.

When the soldiers returned from the LZ we broke camp and moved out. I'd almost forgotten how heavy all the radio gear, including batteries, could be, but I soon remembered, for as we climbed the first hilly terrain my added handicap was felt with every step. Going up the steep inclines was bad enough, but on the descent, it was worse. For the extra weight seemed to generate additional momentum and it was nearly impossible not to break into a gallop. We criss-crossed rivers on many occasions as they meandered through the jungle and, as a result, our clothing was continually saturated and our feet sloshed about in soggy jungle boots while our socks were a slushy squelch between our toes. This was our state as we arrived at the lip of a deep ravine.

The view revealed a sheer drop to the river w-a-y below and the ravine was quite impossible to traverse from this point. Nevertheless, our guide followed along the edge for some considerable distance before we came to an abrupt halt. Then, there, right in front of us, was a branchless 12-metre long tree trunk, straddling the chasm. This tree trunk would have been roughly 610 centimetres or 2 foot wide.

The patrol crossed over one at a time and as it got closer to my turn, I envisaged the trunk would be quite slippery, as each set of sodden jungle boots had deposited surplus water along the trunk. It was a challenge.

Eventually we reached the river below that we had sighted from the edge of the ravine three hours before. Then we were ordered to basha-up. We were within hailing distance of an aboriginal village on the other side of the river, but our interest was more in having a bath and a clean up. It was c-o-l-d, and very refreshing. I returned to the riverside to refill my water canteen and also fill my mess tin for a brew of tea where I reflected on how clear the water was . . . or was it? Animal urine carries Leptospirosis(1) which is a serious disease.One of our battalion members ended up in hospital because of it. We always filled our canteens from the fastest flowing sections of a river as a precaution. And, speaking of diseases, paludrine tablets were issued as protection from malaria. It was to taken to reduce the level of the disease, not prevent it!

The aborigines arrived at our camp early next morning and we shared out some of our canned food with them. It was one way of repaying the aborigine community back for the ubi kayu we had received. In addition, we figured it was all part of this 'hearts and minds' thing, anyway. Word travels quickly around these parts. Overall the aborigines were a fine people and we all got on quite well.

Pat Power decided we needed a breather and gave us the day off. Later, a small party of aborigines, armed with blowpipes, asked if we would like to go and watch while they hunted flying foxes. Three of our blokes went and witnessed just how good these warriors were with their blowpipe weapons. They reported these aborigines were extremely accurate. There was no retort, like a rifle. Just a slight puff. No noise, really. From up high came the only sound - a dead bat crashing through the foliage.

Most personnel lost considerable weight during their periods of jungle patrolling. Some of the men had to stand in the same place twice to cast a shadow! Such were the rigours and conditions in the jungle and the tiresome efforts expended daily.

My responsibilities for communication outweighed any hunting trips for me. However, as I awaited a reply to my signal, I decided to have a smoke. I lit a match, but dropped it on the ground and as I looked, I noticed this translucent ant attack the still burning match! The ant would have been about 25mm long. As the flame overcame this ant, several others of the same species immediately attacked and began to devour the still twitching body. Incidentally, there was one other species we all dreaded - the red ant. They were vicious! To feel a swarm of these tiny ants savagely biting on your neck immediately after brushing against an infested branch was always extremely painful. Patrol security went out the window, so to speak, as the victim would usually end up jumping up and down slapping at his face and neck desperately trying not to bellow out! Nine times out of ten even this was impossible.

I finished sending my transmission then went and sat down on my hammock. However, John Hayward distracted me. He had been sitting on the ground cleaning his rifle, when suddenly, he was jumping up and down and shouting that something had bitten him. A scorpion had stung him. A very sore butt, indeed! Just then Lt Power came over and told me that tomorrow I would be 'arse-end Charlie'. It was almost as bad as being stung by the scorpion! Nobody envied that position. Not at all! Of course, we all took our turn as last man in the patrol. It wasn't just the reason of being the last man . . . but the leading scout set the pace up front. In addition, if he became over enthusiastic with his pace, the last man would be running all the way just to keep up! Therefore, consideration had to be allowed, throughout the length of the patrol.

I don't know if it was what I'd had for my dinner, but I couldn't get off to sleep. It was a bloody awful night. Insects chirred as a tiny rustling heralded the rising curtain of the nightlife chorus from the jungle orchestra pit. While the mosquitoes incessantly blared their high-pitched voices! Next morning I just knew it was going to be one of those days! The start seemed promising as the patrol moved off and the climb of yet another ridge posed no problem either. Then we descended into a wide valley of dense bamboo that became exasperatingly difficult to negotiate. Invariably the bamboo snagged our Bergin packs or our weapons and keeping quiet was always difficult. Squeezing through between fallen bamboo then manoeuvring around, under and over it, again and yet again, repeatedly slowed the progress of the patrol no end and the effort expended was extremely tiring as well as frustrating. The Sungei Betis was in sight for two whole days, which we crossed with repetition as the river, wound back on itself countless times. We finally reached the point where the Betis and the Sungei Perolak converged. If we thought the Betis was a large river, Perolak was its equal, if not its better! We plunged into its fast-flowing waters, crossed over, then climbed a ridge and followed a track that descended, gradually uniting with another track that quickly widened into a well-worn path.

It was here that I kept pace with Webb who had been limping and lagging behind. On rounding a corner, we noticed that the pace of those up ahead had accelerated and the distance between us widened. The reason for the haste soon became apparent. Bashas could be clearly seen . . . That, of course, meant they were part of the village of Perolak. Webb and I approached to within several metres, and from what at first appeared OK from far off, fell short on closer inspection. It was soon evident the bashas were in varying degrees of dilapidation. So . . . being the last to arrive, our accommodation was the most dilapidated! Regardless of its state, it was a sigh of relief to know the patrol was now over and we were about to be choppered out, back to base.

The bashas sat upon a high knoll and offered a commanding overall view that overlooked below the grassed plateau landing strip that was large enough for three or four rugby playing fields. Beyond this was the large village of Perolak. After erecting the aerial in readiness for the afternoon communiqué back to base, I walked back to my basha. From there, I kept a wary eye on the weather and cloud formations in preparation for a preliminary report for our airlift. The transmission to base was in action; further, instructions regarding the airlift still had to be clarified. Then the news came through. It was not good at all. It referred to a surplus of rations in our possession and ordered us to return to Fort Chabai on a more direct route. In addition, once there, we were to await air transportation back to our original disembarkation point. With that the message ended. Instead of being uplifted back to Delta Company's base, we now had to utilise the rations already at hand and return to Fort Chabai. This order signified we would have completed a rough circumference of the inner Ulu Kelantan's entire region.

I reported immediately to Lt Power and handed him the message, whereupon he said that there would be a reply and to wait. His reply contained a request for a re-supply of jungle boots and a replacement of medical supplies, all to be airlifted to this location. The request was confirmed and actioned for the next morning.

The majority of the patrol decided to visit Perolak village in the late afternoon. I wanted to have an early night, so I declined. There is no twilight in the jungle and darkness descends quickly and, although this night was cool, it wasn't cold. I pulled the dilapidated basha's door shut, more as a matter of habit, lay down on a raised bamboo-slatted platform, and prepared to settle down for the night. The sound of activity from the village drifted on the still night air and during a lull in the proceedings, I heard the distinct sound of an animal's cough from outside, not far away. The unusual sound alerted me, so I sat up and listened.

Then there was another cough - right outside the door to my basha! I felt uneasy as I reached for my FN. Then, again! Still another cough! I thought, maybe, it was a bear. Which posed a very big problem - the basha's door would not have stopped a wounded mouse on crutches! I quickly rummaged through the pockets of my olive green jacket trying to find some matches. My fingers grasped the matchbox and I slid the cover open and struck one, which spluttered and went out. I hastily grabbed two matches, struck them against the striking pad, and in the flickering light I peered about, looking for my makeshift oil lamp. Then I heard a movement from inside the next adjoining basha. Slim fingers of light poked through between the bamboo walls, casting dancing shadows all around.

"Did you hear that coughing?" I called out. "Was it a bear, or what?"

Des Cook replied. "Maybe it was a tiger's cough. But I dunno for sure."

The moment slipped into history.

I lit a cigarette then extinguished the oil lamp's flaming wick and settled back on the platform as I watched the tip of my cigarette glow in the dark. The tones of the aboriginal music lulled me, so I stubbed out the fag and settled back down on the slatted platform to sleep. I didn't hear a sound for the rest of the night. Nor did I hear the blokes coming back from the village. I awoke early next morning and busied myself getting ready for communications. I didn't mention the events of the previous evening as it seemed insignificant at the time. The ETA of the aircraft had already been established and the weather report had been sent. Then in due course an Auster fixed-wing aircraft was circling the clear sky and the pilot radioed there would be one free-fall package and one 'chute package. When both of these were opened it was then discovered that a stuff-up had been made. The twelve pairs of jungle boots were there, all right. The problem was, they were ALL size thirteen!

It wasn't a good omen for our return to Fort Chabai.

We left the village of Perolak without fanfare on Saturday, February 7th, 1959, on a day that would prove to be most memorable, for an incident was about to unfold that would affect each man, deeply and quite differently. No one was in the least bit aware that we had been patrolling within the perimeter of the triangular beat of a man-eating tiger for at least three to four days. Not a single aborigine at Perolak had given any warning to us of the presence of this beast. Or, more importantly, that he had already killed five people. Not a single word at all from any of the surrounding villages that we had entered. And, the reason why? We only found the answer to that question later.

The patrol slowly descended the knoll and crossed the airstrip looking like a giant snake winding its way to the edge of the jungle clearing. As we passed this area an old aborigine crone stood quite alone. She was extremely thin with long, scraggly hair and then she suddenly raised her wizened arm and pointed at us with her bony finger. Then she commenced what can only be described as a type of chant, increasing to a high-pitched tone. It was reminiscent of someone casting a curse! Surely not! What superstitious nonsense! All the same, I felt somewhat uneasy. I have no explanation except I remember the incident vividly. However, the crone and her murmuring soon faded from hearing.

Our destination was an old SAS campsite situated at the junction of the Sungei Jak and the Sungei Perolak. It had an LZ nearby with reasonable access. The site was only 4000-5000 metres from Perolak and was reached without incident. The most commanding feature in this campsite was an abandoned aboriginal bamboo basha. There was no door to the hut, only an entranceway. Yet, even more noticeable, was a large portion of attap covering was missing from the mid-section of the roof. The basha would have been about 12 metres long by three metres wide.

Lt Power dropped his Bergin pack outside the hut and gestured to us to basha-up. I had prepared my site, near Webb and McKenzie, erected the aerial and was seated on my hammock when Lt Power called me over to his basha. He told me to re-site the radio and put my gear in the hut as he had a lengthy report to send. I paused at the entrance and glanced around as to where to put my gear. Over to the immediate right was a bamboo-slatted sleeping platform raised about 23cm above the ground. One half of this was taken up by Cpl Joe Donnelly's gear and his bedspace was nearest the far wall and furthest from the entrance. The officer and the two guides' gear were stashed in a heap at the other end of the basha. I tossed my black hammock on to the sleeping platform, dropped my Bergin on the earthen ground, and went outside to re-site the aerial. Later, after I transmitted the communiqué to base, I asked permission to cancel the next morning's fixed transmission as we foresaw a pre-dawn start on the way back to Fort Chabai and were keen to get an early start. I lit a cigarette and waited for the permission. However, it took so long that I lit up another fag. At last! Permission was finally given.

I ate only a small meal as the cigarettes had dwarfed my appetite. I checked the time. It was 2100 hours (9 p.m.). The two aborigines then went outside to hunt for frogs. They returned some time afterwards, dumped their prey on the fire, and sat down. They were up again shortly after and offered me a morsel of the food. I accepted the gift and looked at my watch - it was 2200 hours (10 p.m.). The frogs tasted like chicken and I only wished there'd been more! I turned over and lay on my back, fully clothed in a woollen shirt, olive green strides (trousers), all enveloped in nine panels of nylon parachute. The glow from the fire dimmed and slowly died down. Everyone in the basha settled for the night. Nevertheless, as circumstances were about to reveal . . . this day was not yet finished.