We, the RAOC contingent, were trucked from the docks to Alexandra, a suburb where the Corps’ administrative base on Singapore Island was situated. The complex here was well established from pre-war days and was one of the most comfortable and attractive military establishments that I encountered during my service, certainly belying the word ‘barracks’. Our accommodation was in spacious, airy dormitories with ceiling fans and balconies. There was a NAAFI, of course, also a garrison cinema, swimming pool and tennis courts. Furthermore, it was only a stone’s throw from teeming Singapore City. Officers and senior NCOs with families occupied the bungalows dotted about in the park-like grounds, amongst the flowering tropical shrubs and palm trees. Unfortunately, I was only to remain in this five-star resort for a few days!

Once we had been sorted out and our usefulness assessed, we were dispatched to our permanent units. I became separated from my shipboard friend, Peter Button, who was posted to the ammunition depot, one of the main Ordnance establishments in FARELF command. It fronted the Johore Strait and, by its very nature, was fairly remote from other habitation. It was near here, at Belaya Creek, that the Japanese had made their first landing on Singapore Island in 1942 and it’s early capture, together with most of the defenders’ ammunition supply, had hastened the collapse.

Peter Button gets in some Egyptian PT at Alexandra

My own assignment was to another prominent Ordnance establishment, 221 Vehicle Battalion, which was on the mainland, a few miles inland from the state capital. The camp lay beside the main road from Johore Bahru to Khota Tinggi and was named Majeedi Barracks. It covered both sides of a shallow valley, bisected by a meandering stream. Ordnance personnel occupied the northern side, known as Shillong Lines, and some ancillary units occupied the other slope, about half a mile away. On three sides we were surrounded by rubber plantations and the fourth ran down through some secondary jungle to the Tebrau River, which emptied into the Johore Strait, a couple of miles downstream. The buildings were owned by the Sultan of Johore and had been built pre-war to house his own troops, the Johore Military Forces (JMF). Since being relinquished by the Japanese, after the surrender, they had been commandeered for use by British personnel, who were accommodated here.

The vehicle depot, however, was a few miles further up the road at the village of Tebrau, on a disused military airfield, built by the Japanese, and was surrounded by a stout, eight-foot, wire fence. Inside was one of the largest collections of military vehicles in the Far East. It was said to number about seven thousand items of various kinds, ranging from Jeeps to giant earth working machinery, but nobody was really sure. The liberating armies – British, Australian, American and Dutch – did not take their vehicles with them when returning to their home countries. 221 was supposed to be a receiving depot where they could either be refurbished for continued military use or de-commissioned and disposed of in the civilian market.

Frankly, the whole exercise had been a complete shambles. The homeward-bound troops, anxious to be on their way, had in many cases simply dumped their vehicles outside the gates, without records or documentation, and departed. The best that could be done for the time being was to drag them inside and padlock the gates. There were too many for them all to be placed on the hard standing afforded by the bitumen runways and those parked on the bare ground quickly subsided into the thick red mud, their tyres rotting and their chassis’ rusting in the tropical rain and heat.

The lack of accountability had been a boon to the more unscrupulous and opportunistic members of the battalion and a roaring back door trade in spare parts and even complete vehicles soon developed. The extravagant lifestyles led by some of the junior ranks, who managed to maintain flash private cars and apartments for their mistresses, alerted the suspicions and attentions of the Military Police. The whistle was finally blown one night when a large truck, overloaded with batteries, tyres and spare parts, broke down between the main gates, which had been obligingly opened by the duty piquet, preventing them from being closed again. Defying all efforts to restart it or tow it clear, come daybreak it offered mute evidence of the scam for all to see. When I joined the battalion, a number of these entrepreneurs were still expatiating their sins in the Military Prison at Changi.

On the day of my arrival, a herd of marauding elephants had torn down a section of the boundary fence on the far side of the airfield. For the locals, this was tantamount to leaving the bank vault open but, mercifully, they seemed to be unaware of the damage. My first duty, with others, was to guard the breach against all comers, elephants included. Unfortunately, this requirement had been seriously neglected in our basic training program. I didn’t know what effect a .303 round might have on an elephant and I was not anxious to find out. My comrades and I barricaded ourselves inside the cabs of the largest and stoutest vehicles we could find and conducted our vigil from there. Fortunately, no interlopers appeared, either two- or four-footed, and the welcomed dawn arrived without incident.

A battalion should, to conform to conventional military organisation, be comprised of a number of companies. Ours was a bit of a maverick. We British troops formed ‘A’ Company, a small number of locally enlisted personnel (LEPs) made up ‘B’ Company and our large civilian work force constituted the third, ‘C’ Company. In this unorthodox fashion we managed to satisfy the definition.

The greatest need in the battalion was for drivers, fitters and mechanics and when I arrived, the few storekeeper/clerks on the establishment were already gainfully employed, so I was put into Headquarters Platoon, to be employed on administrative duties. There was an upcoming vacancy in the pay office and I was earmarked for this position, understudying the incumbent, who was due for release. The establishment was for the position to be occupied by a sergeant and, with luck, I would assume that rank when he departed, provided that I was sufficiently conversant with the job to take over. It was not a particularly difficult task but it was a responsible position and a fairly interesting one. It sure beat the hell out of pushing paper at Chilwell!