In training, Wingate led his men through the worst privations. Training, he said, had to replicate operational conditions exactly. Heat, hunger, thirst, mosquitos, leeches and everything else deep in the jungle would have to be endured and ignored. His attitude toward health and medical services were reflections of his pride in his own hardiness.
After seven weeks of hell, the King’s Liverpool had almost three quarters of its men on sick parade. Certain measures were taken, including pointing out that passengers could not be accommodated on operations. Being sick would mean being left behind for capture by the unsympathetic Japanese. By the end of the training, hardly anyone was reporting sick.
Wingate later wrote: ‘Hypochondria is the prevailing malady of the Englishman and of civilised nations. From earliest youth all are taught to be doctor-minded. National Health Insurance, necessary and beneficial in many ways, plays its part in inducing this disease complex. While a native of India or Africa will not, unless encouraged to do so by a European, even bother to mention a temperature of 103°F, an Englishman will throw himself out of work on account of the slightest deviation from normal. Even common colds are regarded as serious excuses for idleness. To this kind of self-indulgence there is no end.
‘The first thing that had to be done when training the Long Range Penetration Groups was to root out the prevailing hypochondria. For this, the co-operation of the medical profession was necessary. Although one would suppose my theory to be contrary to their interest, I must admit to having had the full, although sometimes misgiving, co-operation of medical officers.
‘I am at last getting Platoon Commanders to be their Platoon Physicians for minor ailments and treatment. I never allowed this to interrupt our marches or operations. Gordon said, “A man is either his own physician or a fool at thirty.” On this standard a great part of our nation must be classified as fools. I do not sit and take that as an unalterable fact, but set out to alter it, and I hope to succeed in doing so.’
By January 1943, Wingate had 3,000 men ready to go, arranged in seven marching columns, to leave Imphal as part of a larger attack by orthodox forces. When the larger attack was cancelled, it seemed clear that Wingate should be cancelled too. Anything he might achieve would be short term only: with nothing else going on, the Japanese would simply repair the damage. Men would die for nothing.
Wingate argued on a number of different points. If he couldn’t prove the effectiveness of LRPGs now, the influence of non-believers at HQ would be strengthened. His men, moreover, were in peak condition; postponement would mean decline. It was imperative that we learned about Japanese jungle methods, for we knew nothing yet. If we did not attack the Japs, they would be free to attack us as they pleased. And finally, the last enclave of British forces in Burma, the Kachin Levies in the area around the only British-held airfield, at Fort Hertz in the north, would be left to its fate and overwhelmed, with consequent loss of morale among the indigenous peoples.
Somehow Wingate won the day and the game was afoot. It was a very elaborate game, with bluffs, feints, double bluffs and deceptions, including an impersonation of Wingate by an ex-Royal Navy, Royal Irish Fusiliers commando Major, John Jefferies, planting false information in a brigadier’s uniform with Jap-sympathising village chiefs. There were no roads into Burma; the only way was up and over the mountain tracks. That done, the 77th Indian Infantry Brigade began crossing the Chindwin on 13 February.
Things went wrong from the start – small things, unforeseen things, such as the ropes being used to pull boats across the river Chindwin sinking to the bottom. The mules, of which there were hundreds, refused to swim and, once cajoled into it, would get halfway over then turn back. Here is a passage from Wingate’s Raiders by Charles Rolo, based on an eye-witness account:
‘The sun rose that morning on a fantastic scene, naked men fighting madly with plunging mules; tiny boats, rocking precariously as shaven-headed little Gurkhas loaded them with precious cargoes of mortars, Bren guns, and rifles; men inflating their rubber dinghies; elephants ploughing majestically through the water, long lines of mules tethered to trees waiting their turn to cross.’
Improvisation and imagination overcame all obstacles. Whatever the chaos, Wingate’s subterfuges were sufficient to keep Japanese eyes elsewhere, and his main force crossed the river without being discovered, and with only one man lost; drowned. Even when reports of the incursion reached the Jap high command, the generals could not believe the British were doing anything more than a little reconnoitring.
Two of the columns were directed to the great railway that ran from Rangoon to Myitkyina (with a Jap extension built by POWs to Bangkok via the bridge on the River Kwai). It lay 100 miles beyond the Chindwin and was reached in three weeks, while the other five columns were sent in various directions to find and attack Japanese army units. Supply drops were organised by wireless operated by RAF volunteers, itself an innovation. The drops were mostly successful although representing Wingate’s first serious error.
Long-range patrolling was a novelty; long-range rations had not been devised. Without giving sufficient thought to the balance between nutrition and activity, the answer had been simply to multiply the numbers of short-term ration packs to be dropped from the aircraft.
In reality, the provisioning for men expected to march twenty miles a day in jungle heat was no more than living on cheese and biscuits. The cheese came in tins, one for two days. The biscuits were hard tack, as easy to eat as Bonios, so the men usually made a sort of porridge with them, stirring in some of the nuts and raisins they also had. The ration was completed by three tea bags, some sugar and dried milk, a bar of chocolate or other sweets, some salt, and cigarettes.
When Japs were suspected close by, the men couldn’t light their fires so it was cold Bonio for supper. As the expedition progressed, air drops became more irregular, so the usual five days’ supply might have to be stretched to seven or eight days, or even more. Cut an inadequate day’s food by half, while keeping up the work-rate, and deterioration must be expected. Thankfully, some of the marching was surprisingly easy.
Two of the seven columns were ambushed. Mules stampeded, and men scattered according to the dispersal plans they had rehearsed during training. In both cases, some elements managed to join up with other columns. Most of the rest headed back to the Chindwin and the safety of Assam and some wandered far to the north.
The majority kept going largely unmolested, with the Japs still confused about what was happening. Number 3 Column led by Major ‘Mad Mike’ Calvert of the Royal Engineers, and Number 5 Column led by Major Bernard Fergusson of the Black Watch, found the railway. They blew it up in scores of places, brought avalanches of rock down on it in others, and destroyed several bridges. Where the Japanese interfered, they were beaten off with considerable slaughter to them and small losses to the British. Wingate could have gone home in relative triumph.
He also had the news that his C-in-C, Sir Archibald Wavell, had unexpectedly ordered the formation of another LRPG, to be called 111 Brigade, consisting of the 1st Battalion Cameronians, 2nd Battalion King’s Own, and two battalions of Gurkhas, all under the command of Brigadier ‘Joe’ Lentaigne DSO. This was high-level ratification of Wingate’s ideas, although he wouldn’t have picked Lentaigne, a fine soldier but not one to take readily to Wingate’s unorthodox ideas.
Instead of going home, Wingate devised a new plan. His force could set up a stronghold in the mountains, supplied by air, from which he could make raid after raid, driving the Japs out of the region and setting up a situation where the LRPGs could be relieved by regular troops from Assam. The other possibility was the original Plan A, to cross the Irrawaddy.
After consulting his right-hand men, Calvert and Fergusson, he decided to continue with Plan A, cross a river a mile wide, and harass the Japs some more. Plan A had assumed greater forces attacking elsewhere, with Wingate’s men disrupting the enemy response, but those greater forces had never set out. Their mission had been can
celled long ago, as Wingate well knew.
Calvert and Fergusson were what was known in the RAF as ‘press-on types’, and Wingate was too. He was persuaded, and they pressed on, encouraged by their success so far. They believed that the locals on the other side of the river would be friendlier than they turned out to be. Wingate had been promised this east of the Irrawaddy, but how far east had not been specified. Also, they wanted the experience. Wingate gave the order on 16 March. In any case, two columns operating many miles away were already across.
Again, as at the Chindwin, the force paddled over the river by various means, planned and improvised, without being spotted by the enemy, but that was their last stroke of luck. Supply drops were becoming less reliable; some groups who had lost their radios could not call for supplies at all. The men were flagging. The country was more open, leaving them liable to observation from the air, as indeed soon happened. After believing that their ambush successes had defeated the British altogether, the Jap generals now heard that their enemies were across the Irrawaddy. Three divisions were sent to correct the situation.
The most urgent concerns for Wingate seemed to be the debilitation of the men, accelerated by lack of supplies and, as Japanese harassment increased daily, there was the problem of what to do with the wounded. The usual procedure was to leave them in friendly villages with payment for their care. This became more and more difficult as the Japanese, knowing the British would be trying to buy food in the villages, occupied them.
Wingate’s thoughts turned to retreat; to live to come back in greater strength. Coincidentally, he received orders from HQ to come home right away. He had news from his scouts that the Japs had impounded every boat along that part of the Irrawaddy. He knew what the Japanese commander would be thinking. Wingate’s operations had been a deep embarrassment, and the only way a high-ranking Japanese officer could reverse this loss of face was to ensure that none of the British expedition got back over the Chindwin.
A few boats were found from somewhere and some of the men crossed the Irrawaddy, under fire. More crossed over the next few days. With his usual package of diversions and false trails, Wingate’s retreat turned out better than it might have, but the sick and wounded had to be left behind, while those who could walk could barely do so.
Wingate and some of his immediate company had to swim the Chindwin to find boats and support for the majority who could not swim. The remains of 7 Column came home via China. Somehow or other, 2,182 of the original 3,000 got back to Assam; to Imphal. A few of the missing lived through the war in POW camps, but most of the 818 missing men were missed for ever. Of the men who returned, only 600 recovered sufficiently from their ordeals to fight again in that war.
Bernard Fergusson spoke later about his experiences on the BBC Home Service:
‘We (5 Column) went into Burma in January 318 strong, and came out at the end of April ninety-five strong. Most of our casualties were not so much from enemy action, as from starvation.’
As a defeated sports-team captain would say today, there were positives to be taken from this. They had proved that air support and supply drops could work, and that the Japanese were not so superior in the jungle – which again demonstrated that long-range penetration was a viable stratagem. Even more so, said Wingate, with larger numbers of first-rate troops. Half of the men he’d been allocated were ‘the wrong type’, but he’d come out with a group of officers who now had the experience to lead better men back in.
Weighing on the other side of the balance was the unarguable fact – at the time – that the operation had not been a military success. The enemy had repaired the railway damage. The Japs had lost more men than Wingate but they could be replaced. Disrupting communications mattered little when no offensive was happening. After the war, it emerged that Wingate’s operation had forced a rethink on the Japanese, who had believed that the Chindwin was a reliable moat for their castle. Now they knew that the enemy could and would cross it. Japanese Burma was not as secure as they had thought.
Nobody on the British side had any idea about that, of course. All they saw were three thousand good men marching in soldierly manner, turning into two thousand in a disorganized rabble of half-starved bandits and vagabonds. Staff officers at HQ were contemplating the fall of Wingate with smug glee, but they reckoned without the power of the press.
Amid tidings of early haymaking, the issue of new ration books and identity cards, and the deliberations of the Pacific War Council in Washington DC, the story broke of Wingate’s wreckers. The press embargo was lifted for Friday, 21 May, 1943, and this is The Times of that date:
‘COMMANDO IN THE JUNGLE
RAIDS INTO BURMA
THREE MONTHS IN ENEMY COUNTRY
From Our Special Correspondent, GHQ, India, May 20
One of the best-kept secrets of the war is disclosed in an official announcement today that a long-range jungle force led by Brigadier Orde Charles Wingate, of Abyssinian fame, and supported entirely by air, has come out of northern Burma after spending three months as wreckers in the midst of this wild, enemy-controlled territory ... The Wingate Expedition was brilliantly planned and rigorously trained for ... a glowing story of courage and endurance in troops who were by no means specialists, of bold decisions by an outstanding leader, and a carefully selected band of British officers ...
... Brigadier Wingate, a slight, compelling figure, but looking tired and ill from attacks of malaria and dysentery ... For him the expedition has proved that unsupported columns can operate in the jungle with the aid of nothing but wireless and air.’
Such invigorating news, coming only a few days after the equally astonishing Dambusters raid (16/17May), did wonders for British morale, civilian and military. Every newspaper was full of it. The Times had pictures, one of a crouching Wingate with pointing stick, supposedly ‘making final plans for the expedition’ and another of some men in their underpants fiddling with a box of tricks beside a river, a ‘signal station attached to the column’. These photographs appeared above a modest advertisement offering Bournville Cocoa at 9½d the half pound and regretting ‘that Cadbury’s Milk Chocolate is not available at present’.
Another ad could have been of interest to Wingate’s men. ‘Your blood has become sluggish and heavy. You feel off colour and listless. Step out into the Spring with a clear head and a bright eye. Just buy a bottle of Milk of Magnesia today.’
On the following Monday, 24 May, more details emerged. The Times again:
‘JAPANESE JUNGLE TACTICS SURPASSED
... an exploit that stands out not so much for the extent of the damage inflicted on the enemy or its impact on the course of the war as for the evidence it provides that a large force supplied from the air can operate for an indefinite period deep in enemy territory without being dependent on orthodox lines of communication.’
Perhaps The Times man had not spoken to many members of the large force, who would have put him right about ‘indefinite period’, but good news was a rare commodity and Our Special Correspondent made the most of it:
‘It has shown, moreover, that average British troops, and with them Gurkhas and Indians, can be trained even to surpass Japanese tactics in the jungle and, though broadly such country is best avoided if possible, there is clearly a good deal of jungle fighting ahead before the enemy is driven from the lands he has overrun.
‘For sheer physical adventure, with a Wellsian blend of modern science, there can never have been anything quite like the Wingate jungle expedition ... Chindits they were called, after the fabulous griffins which guard the Burmese temples, and Brigadier Wingate was the chief Chindit.’
Chindits they were indeed called but only by Wingate at this point. Much to his irritation, he already knew that the griffins were chinthé, the word for lion. He wanted lions, and ‘chindit’ sounded right to him so, regardless of linguistic exactitude, that was the word he decided on. It was a term nobody else had used, not even the men themselves, and The Times had picked
it up from Friday’s Daily Express or perhaps from conversation among reporters in Imphal, as a name Wingate had coined back in February, before setting out. Anyway, as well as chief Chindit, Wingate had other titles foisted on him by imaginative journalists. In the Daily Mail he was ‘Clive of Burma’. The Times reported he was also known as the ‘Lord Protector of the Pagodas by the friendly Burmese villagers, to whom he wrote a manifesto speaking of the “mysterious men who have come among you, who can summon great air power, and who will rid you of the fierce, scowling Japanese”.’ The mysterious men included experienced commando regulars, ‘but for the most part they were married men from the north of England, aged between 28 and 35, who would normally be called second-line troops, and had come out to India to do internal security work.’
This presumably refers to the men of the King’s Liverpool Regiment:
‘For months Brigadier Wingate trained them in jungle warfare, river crossing, and long, forced marches with heavy packs, until they were determined shock troops, ready for anything ... many came out comparing the relative values as food of elephant, mules, horses, snakes, banana leaves, and roots.’
Our Special Correspondent was having a whale of time writing this, the longest article in the paper that day, and he could not resist the British tendency to make light, afterwards, of an experience both bloody and awful. He put together a note on Major Calvert, ‘altogether a rather legendary figure (who) had nine fights and killed any number of Japanese’, with Major Fergusson’s tales of eating raw water buffalo and using the pages of a Trollope novel as cigarette papers. Finally:
‘They crept up one night to a village and saw four Japanese soldiers sitting round a fire as it might be round a bridge table. “I lost all my fear of the Japanese then,” said Major Fergusson, who described the look of absolute terror on their faces. He threw a grenade in the middle of the fire and that was the end of them.’
Jocks in the Jungle Page 5