Malayan Spymaster

by Boris Hembry

  The handover took only a couple of days, after which the Murrays duly departed, and I was on my own again, the start of a five-year period, which was to be full of interest, excitement, sorrow and anger, and which was to culminate in my first coronary, at age 42.

  Bandits (September 1947 – January 1951)

  I very soon settled back into the familiar routine. Ian Murray had continued the good work on the estate during my absence, and Kamuning was rapidly regaining the air of prosperity it had always had prewar. Alagamah – Ayah – fulfilled her duties as cook/boy most admirably. But the nights were lonely without Jean, and the four months of her absence dragged. I spent a lot of time in the garden as an additional kebun determined that it would be a show place for Jean’s return.

  Some evenings I spent in Ipoh with friends, some from before the war and others of a later vintage. Among these was Donald Wise, the junior assistant who had been recruited during my absence.

  Donald was a character. Tall, bearded, thin and angular, he had arrived on Singapore with the Suffolk Regiment in February 1942 only a few days before the surrender, and had spent the next three and a half years in captivity, both in Changi and on the Railway. On release he had returned to England and resumed his army career, volunteering for the Parachute Regiment. He had also found that, as he had been reported as ‘missing, presumed killed’ in the final battle for Singapore, his wife had married someone else and had moved to America. Then, after a brief spell at journalism, he had come out to Malaya again. His second wife was delightful – as were to be his third, fourth and fifth.

  In 1957, at the time of the EOKA insurgency in Cyprus, Jean and I were watching television when Donald appeared on the screen, arguing with Barbara Castle, a senior and leading left-wing figure in the Labour Party, over the rights and wrongs of the situation on the island. We were particularly interested as John was serving out there in the Army after having taken part in the Suez landings late the previous year. Of course, Donald knew what he was talking about, whereas the lady manifestly did not. Donald by then had become a world-renowned war correspondent. I immediately telephoned the BBC and within moments was speaking to him and arranging to meet at the East India Club the following evening.

  Donald told me a story that was connected with Colin Park. After he had left the Army he and Colin had shared a flat, together with their Turkish girlfriend. One of the men worked during the day, the other at night, a Box and Cox arrangement that suited all concerned. However, they became aware that someone seemed to be watching the house, and they began to fear that it might be an irate father or elder brother. Shortly afterwards their young and beautiful Turkish girl was arrested and deported. She was a Russian spy. I met Colin months later, when he was in Ferret Force based in Ipoh, and he confirmed the story.

  Donald was transferred to another estate down in Negri Sembilan early in 1948, but planting was not the life for him. The next time we met he too had joined Ferret Force, a unit of former SOE, SAS and other similarly adventurous types, who penetrated deep into the jungle in small patrols in search of communist terrorists, showing the regular army what could be done with proper training and determination. Towards the end of the Emergency, in the late 1950s, such operations were commonplace.

  As a correspondent Donald later went on to cover all the world’s major conflicts, and most of the minor ones as well, from the Congo to Vietnam, before settling down to a desk job with the Far Eastern Economic Review in Hong Kong, with his charming and gracious fifth wife, Daphne.

  I spent Christmas with the Reynolds, staying at the E&O Hotel in Penang. It was during a drinks party given by Molly and Freddy that a distinguished-looking elderly lady approached me and expressed pleasure on hearing that I was from Kamuning Estate. Introducing herself as Mrs Crawford, she told me that she had once been there and had taken tea with the manager, ‘but it was a long time ago’. I knew the names of most of my predecessors, so started with Humphrey Butler, the manager from 1928 to 1938, then Roy Waugh, 1920 to 1928. Then I suggested Shelton Agar, 1912 to 1920. Still no recognition. So I said triumphantly, ‘Then it must be Machardo.’ That drew a blank, too. In desperation I said, ‘Then it must have been D’Estere Darby.’ She cried, ‘Yes, that’s the name!’ ‘But,’ I said, ‘you must have gone there sometime in the 1880s.’ She agreed. Her husband, an engineer, was working on the main Singapore to Penang railway line and they were living in Ipoh. She had travelled the 19 miles to Sungei Siput, and back again to Ipoh in pony and trap, along unmetalled roads. I was all agog and plied her with many questions. Here was someone who could remember Kamuning before the turn of the century. She had landed in Penang, taken a local steamer to Port Weld, the port for Taiping, and then travelled by bullock cart to join her fiancé in Ipoh where they were married. In those days, of course, the dirt road would have been cut through virgin jungle.

  Jean arrived in Penang at last at the end of January 1948 on the Canton, then the newest P&O liner. We stayed her first night back at the E&O, dined at the Penang Club, saw the latest Marx Brothers film, and got back to Kamuning in time for a late tiffin. The Tweedies had just moved into the new house that Reid had built on land that I had leased him for 25 years, situated on a hill on the Sungei Buloh division, with most magnificent views looking over to the Kamuning bukit, the whole of the Sungei Siput area, and the jungles behind. In fact he was to die in the ‘White House’, as the bungalow came to be known, 40 years later. Reid and Ruth arrived for tea and stayed to nearly midnight; there was much to talk about.

  Laurie Brittain had been made manager for Nestlé in northern Malaya, based in Penang. Whilst with ISLD in Australia he had met and married Jean, a journalist. We saw quite a lot of them, as we tried to spend at least one weekend a month in John Treaby’s beach house out at Batu Feringgi, and they visited us in Sungei Siput as often. Laurie liked a good ‘beat up’ at the Ipoh Club. We tended to rely on our Ipoh friends from prewar, as the old Sungei Siputians had been drastically reduced by retirement and death in the war. Apart from the Tweedies, there were only the Ferguson brothers and Jumbo and Helene Morford left.

  The first few months of 1948 were uneventful and saw steady progress on the estate. Most of the area laid waste during the Japanese occupation had been rehabilitated. The price of rubber was reasonable and we were making good profits. But to anyone with an ear to the ground, and an eye capable of gleaning snippets of information from obscure corners of the newspapers, it was obvious that trouble was brewing. The Communists – as they had in Great Britain – had penetrated the Malayan trade unions which had been so enthusiastically promoted by the Labour government, against the advice of the Malayan civil service, the police and employers of labour. There were just not the moderate labour leaders available; there simply had not been the time since the end of the war to train them. By comparison, those now in positions of power in the unions had all been schooled in communism by the MPAJA or had arrived from Mao Tse Tung’s cadres in China. I recalled my prognostications in ISLD, and Bob Chrystal’s post-war reports to the Malayan authorities, all of which had been ignored. Claude Fenner told me, when we had tiffin together at the Lake Club in KL at about this time, that he doubted whether a quarter of all the weapons that Force 136 had parachuted into the jungle had been returned, so there was a lot of firepower out there somewhere.

  Unknown to Guthrie’s, I established a small secret fund on Kamuning, from which I paid Chinese contractors to keep me au fait with the local political situation. These men, who were totally reliable, made me aware that trouble had been planned for Kamuning. Being the largest estate in the area it was an obvious target. The size of my resident Tamil labour force was inadequate so we made up the shortage with Chinese contract labour. In addition, I had also engaged a Malay contractor who supplied a score or so Malays from local kampongs. This was Eusoff, my splendid platoon sergeant from the Perak FMSVF, who had turned up looking for work when he had heard that I was back. He was not oversupplied with energy, but he was reliable a
nd had proved himself in battle. He would be a tower of strength in the days to come.

  Special Branch, commanded by my old friend John Dalley, had repeatedly warned Sir Edward Gent, the high commissioner, that the former MPAJA were assembling in their jungle camps, and strongly advised that the leaders, who were still out in the open and known to the police, should be arrested. Gent declined, no doubt acting under the orders of the Colonial Secretary in London, James Griffiths. By the time that such action was sanctioned it was too late. The communist leadership had taken to the jungle.

  Before the war there was a young Tamil boy on Kamuning named Perumal who showed great intelligence and an appetite for education, and very soon outgrew the small estate school. With Bob Chrystal’s agreement I had used some of the profits from the estate toddy shops to subsidise his education at the Sungei Siput village school, as I had thought that he had great potential as a senior office clerk. He was still on Kamuning after the war, but I found him a totally changed man. He was now surly and deliberately offensive in both manner and speech. He was no longer interested in becoming one of the clerical staff but, together with his constant companion Aramugam, joined a tapping gang. Early in May 1948,I happened to visit the factory one morning and found my factory clerk Kandasamy lying on the concrete floor, having very obviously been felled by Perumal and Arumagan, who were standing over him looking very aggressive. I knocked Perumal to the ground with a blow to the head and was ready to do the same to Arumagan when he was grabbed by a kangani who pinioned his arms. I instructed a clerk to telephone the police, and then I lambasted the two miscreants with my tongue, whilst trying to find out exactly what had happened. It seemed that Kandasamy had reprimanded them for being insolent and they had attacked him. When the police arrived I said that I would be laying charges against the two for assault, and they were taken away. I did not realise it then but these two men were avowed communists, Perumal the local commissar. They were fined, and imprisoned for 14 days. On the day of his release Perumal passed by my office and swore that he would kill me. At the time I thought it merely bravado. I was to learn differently. The two men disappeared into the jungle, only to sally forth to commit more than 20 cold-blooded murders in the district.

  Our old friend S. E. King would tell me many years later in England that, towards the end of May 1948, John Dalley had told him that ‘the balloon will go up in about three weeks’ time’. He was not far out. Just prior to this a planter had been killed in Johore, on his way back to his estate with the wages. And about two weeks later a Chinese towkay had been ambushed and murdered a few miles outside Ipoh, the terrorists leaving a note pinned to his body saying: ‘So perish all traitors and running dogs!’

  After these incidents the Special Branch again advised the high commissioner to order the arrest of all known communists, but as before the Colonial Office would not allow it. Eight years later the casualty toll at the hands of these communists and their terrorist henchmen was in excess of 20,000. Such was the criminal stupidity of British politicians and much of the ruling class. Will they ever learn?

  Following the murder outside Ipoh my Chinese informants warned me that we were in for trouble on Kamuning. Sure enough one day a young Chinese woman presented herself at my office and introduced herself as the local representative of the Malayan Chinese Estates Workers Union. She told me that she intended to negotiate better terms for the Chinese tappers. I enquired as to the terms she had in mind, knowing full well that they would in fact be demands, and so outrageously high that she had no intention of reaching any agreement. I bandied words for a little while and then invited her to come to my bungalow at 5 pm when I could have one of my Chinese contractors present to act as interpreter in case her Malay was insufficient. I wanted no misunderstandings.

  She duly appeared and, together with Ah Fat, we sat on the lawn. We talked for over two hours. Compromise was impossible. She made no threats, other than that of calling all the labour out on strike, including the Indians if they would ‘follow’. She meant, of course, that my Tamil workers would be terrorised into withholding their labour. I broke up the meeting and she departed. I never saw her again, but heard that she had gone into the jungle and joined the communist terrorists – shortly to be known throughout Malaya as ‘bandits’, and later as ‘CTs’.

  At the end of the first week in June, and as I had been warned, the Chinese labour struck. I had previously been to see Innes Miller, the British adviser in Ipoh, and had got him to arrange for a company of Gurkhas to be placed on stand-by in case of trouble. Lakri Woods, their colonel, had come out to Kamuning, in plain clothes so as not to warn the Communists whom I, quite rightly, took to have spies everywhere, to recce the area and to discuss what course of action to take should there be insurrection. I had already been made aware that my Indians were being got at, and I had called the Tamil kanganis to a meeting in my office and had assured them that they would have adequate protection if they stood by me.

  I also called a meeting of all the other estate managers in the Sungei Siput area, suggesting that, to show solidarity, they should all lock out their Chinese. They refused to a man, stating that (a) the quarrel was a matter between Kamuning and its labour force and nothing to do with them; and (b) their managing agents in KL would not approve.

  It was ironic that on the day ‘the balloon went up’ every European in the district descended on Kamuning. We did not let them down. I even suggested that we parted with some of our Gurkhas, billeted in the Kamuning hospital grounds, so that others could have some protection.

  My spies told me that the strike was set for the next day. At 5 am a company of Gurkhas arrived and, amidst much laughing and cheering, escorted my Tamils to work. They did this for a week. To make up for the loss of the Chinese tappers we tapped twice that day and the shortfall in the latex crop was negligible. After a few days the Communists saw that they had lost the first round and the Chinese started to drift back to work. Needless to say, Guthrie’s KL was constantly on the telephone, asking for the latest news. In return they could offer little more than sympathy.

  There had been a spate of bank robberies throughout the country; hardly a day went by when The Straits Times did not report them. The Communists were obtaining funds on a large scale. They were also extracting smaller amounts as ‘protection’ from estate and mine workers up and down the country. If a tapper refused, he would find his wife and children murdered. Understandably, few refused.

  An incident which occurred earlier in the year may have been connected with this communist fundraising. It was the routine for Ayah to place a tray of tea and fruit on the table on the verandah each morning at about six, before being driven by the syce down to the village for the daily shopping for fresh food. Having got up and had my morning ‘cuppa’, some fruit and the first cigarette of the day, at about 7 am. I would stroll down to the factory.

  On this particular morning Ayah, having set down the tray, noticed that Kim was still asleep on the floor outside the bedroom door and did not greet her as usual. Then, when she went under the house to where the syce was waiting, she saw several empty soda water bottles scattered around. Funny, she thought, what was the tuan up to last night? It was then that she realised that there was still no movement from overhead, and that Kim had not come downstairs with her for his usual constitutional. Earlier she had noticed that the refrigerator door was open, in contravention to Jean’s strict instructions concerning the rats. Curiosity aroused, she ran upstairs again shouting, ‘Mem, Tuan, Mem, Tuan!’ and came into our bedroom to find Jean and I slowly coming to as if with monumental hangovers. Meanwhile, Kim had also woken but was most reluctant to move. I staggered out of bed, reassured Ayah that we were all right, and took stock of the situation. The first thing I saw were foot marks leading from the bathroom to our bedsides, then to the dressing table, and then out by the bathroom door again. I went downstairs and saw the empty soda bottles, and decided that the intruders must have used them to blow a drug up through the gaps
in the floor planks into our bedroom and then had walked through Jean’s talcum powder on the bathroom floor into our bedroom. They had taken a $10 note that was lying on the dressing table, and some cheap costume jewellery, and then had left. Under my pillow was a loaded Luger and in the lavatory a .30 carbine. It was well that they did not look in there, and that I did not wake up and go for my pistol, as the robbers would have been armed and would most certainly have shot us.

  It later transpired that Reid Tweedie, who was then still living in an estate bungalow near the office compound, was also robbed of $100 that night, as was an assistant on Dovenby Estate nearby, and a timber merchant living on the other side of Sungei Siput. The gang was caught through an informer, both found to have been collecting money for the Party, and to have been armed. The police thought that the drug used on us would have been opium.

  For the week or so after the strike there was an uneasy peace. It was obvious, however, that something would soon break. Not only had my own informers warned me of trouble ahead, but police agents throughout the country, who had been infiltrating the upper echelons of the unions, reported that there was to be a major insurrection very soon. Unfortunately, the Government still hesitated to accept the advice of Special Branch, and gradually the Communist leaders had quit their posts and disappeared into the ulu.

  Tuesday 16 June 1948 began as most other days on Kamuning Estate, Sungei Siput. Down to the office and factory at about seven, back to the bungalow for breakfast at nine; then to the office again at ten. It was Reid Tweedie’s official visiting day when he would call in to discuss any health matters. On this particular day he reported that there had been several cases of malaria, which was worrying. We were talking about this when Devadason, my head office clerk, knocked and came in looking very worried, and said, ‘I have just heard that Mr Walker has been shot at Elphil Estate.’ I asked him how he had heard and he said that the office peon had just returned from the village and had heard it there. I told Reid that he had better get over to Elphil straight away, sent word to Charles Ross to do likewise, telephoned the police station and was informed that Bill Powndell, the OCPD Sungei Siput, was already on the scene. I went back to the bungalow to collect Jean, for I was thinking that Verna, Wally Walker’s wife, and now very probably his widow, would need comforting. I grabbed my Luger and followed Reid post-haste down the Lintang Road.