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 Further Tiger Victims Return the Malayan Index E-Mail Frank Britain's Small Wars

Attack by the Man-Eater I pulled up the collar of my woollen shirt with two short jerks and then yanked a section of the nylon panels over my face as protection from the mosquitoes. I stretched out my legs and, just as I began to drift off to sleep, an unusual sensation came over me. The hairs on the back of my neck slowly began to prickle and, simultaneously, a heavy concentration of a dusty, musty aroma saturated the air. I lay there momentarily trying to fathom out the unusual smell. [It came from the tiger's coat]. I listened intently, but apart from the sound of the rivers, everything else was deathly still and quiet. Then I felt the parachute panel slide off my face and, suddenly, I was aware of repeated beatings over the head and upper body. The attack was so swift I have no vivid recollection of being dragged off the bamboo platform or of even hitting the earthen floor. Initially, I thought I was dreaming about being beaten up in a fight but with the sensation of a backwards motion, I realised it was no weird dream. My mind was in overdrive racing rapidly, totally confused. The uneven 'jungle carpet' wasn't at all soft and as I was dragged along, jungle debris and various vegetation prodded, jabbed and slapped me in the face and body. This unnerved and bewildered me further. Everything was pitch black and from my prone position, I couldn't identify a thing. What was happening? I couldn't understand my predicament. What . . . what the bloody hell was happening? A tiger was the last thing on my mind! If, at all! There aren't any tigers in New Zealand! I had the impression of moving along at a considerable rate. I frantically struggled to free myself from the constricting panels and then, somehow, I managed to free and extend one hand in a desperate effort to grab at . . . anything . . . in an endeavour to slow my momentum. However, my efforts were fruitless and resulted in only adding to my panic. My adrenalin was well in action at this stage as the repeated 'swishing' sounds of the overhanging undergrowth went past me, accompanied by the constant swaying, rocking and bumping. Then the backward motion ceased abruptly and a ripping commotion drowned out everything else. Then the dragging renewed again as I continued with my struggles. My breathing was most restricted and, as I tried to gasp for air, the overpowering mustiness nauseated me . . . and the pounding of my heart never let up. I was totally and completely in a state of fear. Fear of the unknown! I knew, instinctively, that something was terribly wrong; it was just that I couldn't figure out what it was exactly. Then the backward motion stopped yet once more and there was an instance of uncanny silence. Then . . . a noise erupted that completely engulfed the whole of my head. It was almost impossible to identify. Then the sound subsided to a more audible and comprehensible level. It sounded to me like an enormous circular saw was labouring under pressure at cutting some very tough wood.

Map of Perolak attack

I seemed to be in an elevated position somewhere above…I looked down upon a scene wherein a tiger dragged me toward a dense bush. He lay down on all fours and then prepared to devour my left buttock. Furthermore, in this 'dream' I felt . . .absolutely at peace. It was wonderful! I had no sense of urgency or panic, whatsoever. A calm, warm, wondrously serene atmosphere completely engulfed me, which seemed expressed with an overall feeling of overpowering love. In addition, although the whole scene was in a nighttime mode, I was able to witness everything quite lucidly. In reality, the events had occurred rapidly, yet this segment of the experience seemed to be in slow motion.

The sound of ripping and tearing began all over again. Moreover, the deep 'sawing' sounds were repeated, but even louder than before. This commotion was terrifying, to say the least. But, finally, I recognised the guttural sounds and the realisation of what was happening registered in my numbed brain with such an impact that an agonised and desperate scream surged from deep in my throat.

My struggles renewed with desperation inspired by pure panic and then for a brief mini-second I managed to resist the pull of his powerful jaws. However, my fleeting efforts were ineffective and futile. Somehow I disentangled my left hand from within the twisted and tattered black parachute panels and attempted to ward off the blows but searing pain in my left hand as the frenzy continued flawed my efforts. Intermingled with all this turmoil was the unforgettable guttural sounds coming from the tiger. The next instant, an ear-shattering staccato of sub-machinegun fire rent the blackened night. The tiger gave a cough as he bounded off into the surrounding jungle, leaving me like a discarded, tattered rag doll.

Corporal Joe Donnelly felt the bamboo-slatted platform move, but he wasn't too concerned at first as he imagined I had rolled off the edge and on to the ground. He lay there for a moment or two, thinking that I would soon get back on the sleeping platform and go back to sleep. After a while he reached out and felt around in the darkness . . . but he was alone. Then he heard my screams for help. Instantly he snatched up his Sterling, and rolled over and off the platform in one motion. Then he stood in the entrance of the basha and fired a burst toward the night sky. He was sure of the direction from where the scream had come and his intention was to alert and awaken the rest of the camp, and perhaps to distract the tiger(1).

Almost immediately, Pat Power was at Joe's side and he yelled out: "Cease firing . . . Stand to . . . tiger!"

In the following stillness, the only distinctive sound heard was the tiger forcing his way through the undergrowth.

Colin Campbell, the medic, also heard the scream, the retort of the Sterling and the officer's orders, but what concerned him more was the sound of the tiger bursting through the undergrowth . . . and coming in his direction. He grabbed his FN rifle, but hesitated to fire. The next instant he heard the tiger pass in full flight less than one and a-half metres away between Pte Robin MacGibbon and himself(2).

I heard the Lieutenant call out and check our names and when I replied from afar, he came at the double, yelling to Campbell to bring his medical kit. Dave Orr also came running over and knelt down beside me, explaining to Campbell that he had had previous Ambulance experience and offered his help. Power illuminated the gory scene with a flashlight as Campbell and Orr hacked away at my blood-matted hair with naked razor blades to ascertain the extent of my wounds. My head felt extremely cold and, as if in answer, a voice from the encircling men exclaimed: "Jesus! I can see his brain . . . what a bloody mess . . ."

Lt Power ordered the men to fall back and for someone to brew up some tea. Campbell administered two injections of morphia into me and then called to the Lieutenant. They stood to one side, talking in quiet tones while Campbell explained the degree of injuries. All the same, I heard enough to get a rough picture as to my injuries.
"A large piece of his scalp's been ripped from his head. I thought at first he'd been completely scalped. There're several severe and deep claw marks on the back of his head with several other lacerations; and his left hand has been ripped almost in two. The top section of the hand has a puncture wound where the tiger's eyetooth has penetrated . . . he's lost a great deal of blood . . . and he's surely suffering from shock . . . needs urgent attention . . ."
Lt Power called out: "Corporal Donnelly! See if you can raise Maxwell Hill on the radio . . ."
"I don't know how to read Morse," was the reply.
"Then try the 'Voice' mode, if you must. But make it snappy!"

Joe ran back over to the basha and rummaged around in the dark. He had no difficulty finding the radio and switched on, but he was unable to read the dials. He called out for the fire to be built up. However, an over-vigorous attempt caused a calamity! A shout went up that the basha's roof had caught alight. I saw the men gather the equipment, including the ammunition and bring it over to our location, as Campbell and Orr continued with the bandaging. I also watched as Joe continued calling up repeatedly, endeavouring to make contact, but without success. I can't say I was surprised, as I was positive we were out of range in the 'Voice' mode.

I was handed a mug of over-sweetened tea. I gulped a mouthful of the liquid and almost immediately a surging wave of tiredness swept right over me. I savoured the tea and took another gulp and drew the remnants of the black 'chute around me. I was overcome with sheer exhaustion as I lay there and I had just closed my eyelids when I eavesdropped on a whispered conversation.

"He don't look too good to me!"
"Do you think maybe it's shock?"
"More likely blood poisoning. Who knows what gunk was between that tiger's claws. He'll only get worse, stuck out here."
"He's lost a lot of blood, eh?"
"Yeah…Not a lot goin' for him, besides that!"
"What do ya reckon?"
"I don't think he'll last the night!"

I lay there stunned. I'd never really given much thought to death. But, when confronted with the reality of your own death . . . like now . . . this actual moment . . . It was something else! A slow death didn't appeal to me. Just hanging around, waiting! No! I didn't like that one bit. However, I was determined not to give in and pass out cold.

At that precise moment I felt I needed to speak with someone, someone with whom I could somehow relate.

Meanwhile the men stood around and discussed whether the tiger would return that night. It was generally agreed that as he'd been thwarted, he would lay low for a while then re-attack later. Power interrupted the discussion and ordered the patrol to form a rough circle, then organised for three fires to be lit. Also there was a roster for collecting of firewood in the near vicinity and, lastly, he ordered five men to keep a watch out for any sign of the return of the tiger. The men had started to breakaway from the meeting when a terrible commotion erupted. Both of the guides had wandered over and upon the realisation that I was still alive they became what can only be described as panic-stricken! They fell to the ground, rolled about, moaned and groaned at the top of their voices. Then they shook so violently that, at times, their bodies were completely off the ground(3).

The Lieutenant went over to them and tried to calm them down but they appeared oblivious to everything and everyone and acted somewhat as if evil spirits possessed them. They both twitched vigorously in continual spasms, moaning and groaning loudly. We all just stared in disbelief at these unusual sequences. It was eerie. Then, just like that! They sat up, wide-eyed and eagerly looked all around.

There are more mysteries within the jungle environment than most people can possibly imagine. The aborigines achieve knowledge of their own surroundings from an early age and as their lives are dependent upon their environment they pay heed to their teachers' knowledge. It has been passed down from generation to generation. The shamans have this experience and knowledge and neither is distributed without caution. Some very strange occurrences can happen and it is all too easy to dismiss misunderstood ceremonies and rituals as simply superstitious nonsense . . .until one experiences some of these strange sightings.

There are some regions of northern Malaya where the aborigines will never enter, and this is especially through a valley of the Ledland River. This is a sacred burial ground of Saka chiefs; an area believed from long ago by the aborigines, as haunted. They sense special vibrations when certain spirits are in an area of jungle. However, this region lies northwest of the headwaters of the Sungei Betis, known as Gunong Grah, where the higher mountain peaks are mostly covered with a heavy mist. And, somewhere around 5000 metres the jungle completely changes, and the trees become misshapen and moss festoons the trees in a tangled mass as it intertwines from tree to tree (just like a Christmas tree). On the ground, there is a soft carpet of moss through which rivulets of very cold, brownish water run. Gunong Grah is just over 2000 metres high.

(1) Report on Investigation into Injuries Sustained by F.E.Burdett, conducted by Lt O.E. Mann, Investigating Officer. Statement taken from Corporal J. Donnelly.
(2) (As above) . . . Statement taken from Pte. C.G. Campbell.
(3) Most aborigines believed in animism. They accept that everything in the jungle has spirituality and the tiger held a very special place within that order. His aura spelled power and, mainly, there was a terrifying fear of any retribution caused by the spirit of the tiger. See "Rape of the Dream People" by Richard Noone. Also "Noone of the Ulu" by D. Holman. ISBN 019 582610 8 for further information about the Malayan aborigines.