by Boris Hembry
In the following March I was appointed to the Perak State Security Committee, to represent the planting industry.
It had been made a treasonable offence to print, distribute, or even to be found in the possession of communist literature, the penalty for which was arrest and detention without trial. Sometime towards the end of 1949 the then Dean of Canterbury, Dr Hewlett Johnson, known universally as the ‘Red Dean’ because of his support for all things Russian, passed through Singapore en route for Australia. Within a very short time of arriving in Singapore he had started to distribute communist tracts, in spite of being reminded by the authorities that it was illegal. At the Security Committee meeting the following day I demanded that this stupid old man should be instantly arrested and thrown into Changi, as would be any of the millions of citizens of Malaya, in accordance with the law. But I was overruled by the civil servants, and accused of overreacting. With my Canterbury connections – John by this time was at the King’s School – I knew that Johnson was only a mischievous, silly old man, but the majority of educated Asians and Australians thought that he was the Archbishop of Canterbury, second only to the Monarch in order of precedence, and therefore a personage of immense importance.
Christmas 1948 was spent at Silver Sands, a beach bungalow out at Batu Feringgi, way beyond Tanjong Bungah on the outskirts of Georgetown, on Penang. It was a great relief to be able to chuck my Sten gun on to the top of the wardrobe – where it promptly went off, half a magazine of bullets ploughing through the wooden wall and disappearing into the ulu. Later that afternoon, when driving to the local kedai for stores, we were stopped at a police roadblock on the beach road. The whole area was seething with police and soldiers looking for the CTs that had been reported to have opened fire earlier in the day. In all innocence I said I would be on my guard.
Half a dozen Labour MPs and one Tory, Walter Fletcher, came out to Sungei Siput during the first 12 months or so of the Emergency, ostensibly on fact-finding missions. I think they chose Kamuning because it was very definitely in the thick of things, but also on the main road and easy to reach and return from to the safety of Ipoh during half a day. I do not remember any of the socialists, most of whom appeared to be time-serving trades union officials, but Walter Fletcher was a big man, full of Churchillian anecdotes which I remember to this day.
On 11 February 1949, at a formal dinner in KL attended by senior government officials, military brass and planters, the High Commissioner Sir Henry Gurney said: ‘The Malayan Government could not contemplate that the Emergency would continue for two years, or any time of that sort.’
It was my duty to propose the toast to the Security Forces, and Major General Charles Boucher to respond. As I write, the newspaper cuttings are in front of me. Only the speeches of Gurney, Boucher and myself were reported.
I told the assembly: ‘Without a strong government, planters may never again be able to go about their duties in peace and quiet’. I went on, ‘We planters have never ceased to voice our disappointment at the lack of progress to eradicate the communist menace. In fact, it would be wrong to claim, even, that honours were even. But, we must all agree that if it were not for the Security Forces, our homes and livelihoods would have been untenable by now. For this alone our gratitude is due to the Security Forces.’
I recalled that I lived in the notorious district of Sungi Siput, Perak, and so could claim to have been in the forefront of the struggle from the beginning. I acknowledged the disadvantages experienced by the Security Forces in tracking down and bringing to battle an elusive enemy, an enemy that carried a tapping knife at one moment and a gun the next. I emphasised my view that the need to control the supply of food to the terrorists was of paramount importance, and ended by acknowledging that whilst I had never hesitated to criticise the methods of the army and police, for their part they had never presumed to tell me how to perform my job. ‘Such forbearance, I think, speaks volumes for the understanding, co-operation and goodwill that exists between planters and the Security Forces.’
Boucher prefaced his reply by saying, ‘Any praise from Mr Hembry of Sungei Siput is praise indeed.’ He then went on to echo Gurney’s optimism by stating, ‘It is obvious that neither the planters nor the economy of the country, nor the overstrained Security Forces are prepared or willing to do two more years under the present strain. It is for this very reason that we are determined to end this situation within that time.’ He added for good measure, ‘I think that by the end of two years, by which time the last militant communist will have been hanged or deported, our enlarged and re-organised police force will have picked the final red plum out of the Malayan pudding’.
My heart sank at the expressed optimism of Gurney and Boucher, and I thought back to my letter of 6 October in which I stated it was apparent that the top brass in KL were out of touch with the actual situation. The two years developed into seven and by then, amongst thousands of others, Sir Henry Gurney and General Boucher were dead, the former murdered, and the latter from sheer exhaustion.
I see in my scrapbook a newspaper cutting dated 18 January 1977 which reads: ‘Malaysian army troops have seized a Communist camp in the jungle near Sungei Siput, Perak State, after a running fight in which two soldiers were wounded. About 20 guerrillas occupying the camp escaped.’ A very prolonged two years!
There was a sequel to the ambush and murders of the Fourth Hussars. In the middle of 1949 Anthony Eden, as shadow foreign secretary, visited Malaya to see the situation at first hand. He worked his way up from Singapore and eventually reached Ipoh, where the leading lights of the Asian and European communities were invited to meet him over a buffet lunch at the Station Hotel. Jean and I found him a most charming man and, more importantly, well versed in the situation, not sharing the official government view that the Emergency would soon be over. He asked some extremely pertinent questions, and I took the opportunity, yet again, to press for control of the squatters. The British Adviser asked if we could entertain Eden the following day on Kamuning, as Churchill had asked him to visit the scene where so many of his old regiment had died. Winston was colonel-in-chief of the Fourth Hussars. Of course, I said that we would be delighted, but stressed the need for a very strong escort.
The party duly arrived and, after Eden had spoken a few words to Jean and other assembled Sungei Siputians, he and I got into his government limousine and set off for the ambush scene. We had two armoured scout cars at the front and behind, and at least one lorry full of troops following up. Then, at intervals of every quarter of a mile or so there were at least a section of soldiers positioned on both sides of the road. Altogether I had over an hour’s talk with the future prime minister with no one else present except the driver. We got out at the ambush scene and a Hussar survivor explained what had happened. We then drove down to the Tikus valley and to the road’s end at the river. He saw at first hand the squatters’ houses and clearings, and could appreciate how the CTs could receive sustenance. On our return Eden asked if I could have some photos taken of the ambush spot for the Old Man, and send them to him care of the House of Commons.
I returned to the scene the next afternoon to take the snaps, driven by my faithful syce Abdul, completely unescorted, and feeling very exposed. I was pleased to get back to the estate. Jean asked Abdul whether he ever got frightened when out with the tuan. All Abdul said was, ‘Where Tuan goes, I go.’ I think that Abdul and his wife Puteh were the two people we missed most when we left Kamuning.
The full glare of publicity began to shift away from Sungei Siput, because many other areas throughout Malaya had by now experienced the same high level of terrorist activity, the same atrocities and the same degree of communist beastliness. However, there continued to be incidents every day and night on and around Kamuning and the neighbouring estates, and Chinese and Indians continued to be murdered and security forces ambushed. But the Specials became better trained and armed, and made it difficult for the bandits to attack estate factories without risking death o
r capture, and planters and miners went about their normal business, rather as one did in England during the blitz, always mindful of the security risks. Our wives, especially, lived under a strain, for they never knew when they said ‘Cheerio’ in the morning whether they would see us again. By now each bungalow had its Malay Specials, so the men were able to get around their estates moderately confident that their wives and homes were protected. I endeavoured to use my wartime training to advantage. I developed eyes in the back of my head. I never followed a set routine, even varying the time I went the few hundred yards to the office, and rarely returned from anywhere by the way I went. I never took Specials as escort, as we had been strongly advised to do, because I felt safer on my own. I would not have to worry about them if we were ambushed. Unfortunately Abdul was a sitting duck, but he would have been very indignant had I left him at home.
One evening in June 1949 Jean and I were sitting quietly reading in our bungalow when the telephone rang. It was the post office relaying a telegram. ‘I send you my warmest congratulations on the well-deserved honour which has been awarded you by His Majesty the King. Signed, High Commissioner.’ I thought it was a legpull, and began to think of which of our friends would have been the perpetrator. Then at least another half a dozen telephoned through in quick succession, including from the Commissioner of Police Malcolm MacDonald, and the GOC Malaya. The following morning the confirmations arrived, together the newspaper reporting that I had been awarded the Colonial Police Medal for Meritorious Service, in the King’s Birthday Honours List. The citation read:
Mr Hembry is the Manager of Kamuning Estate in the Sungei Siput district. It was in Sungei Siput that the first three planters were murdered at the outset of the present Emergency. Mr Hembry was among the first to volunteer for service in the Auxiliary Police Force, and his courage, initiative and high morale has been an inspiration to other planters in the district. He has played a leading part in raising and training the Special Constabulary in Perak, and has been ready at all times, often at great inconvenience to himself, not only to assist the Police and Military Forces by providing information, but also to take part in offensive patrols against bandits.
His record of voluntary public service is outstanding and he has made a most valuable contribution to the Government’s drive to thwart the expressed intentions of the Communists to paralyse the rubber industry.
Cables of congratulation came from Guthrie’s in London, Singapore and KL, together with many letters and telephone calls from friends and acquaintances. Jean and I were astonished that I should have been singled out, but nevertheless most gratified. Three other planters were similarly honoured, and in due course our medals were presented by the High Commissioner Sir Henry Gurney, on the Police Padang in Kuala Lumpur. The medal was engraved, but unfortunately with my name as ‘Maurice’. I have recently decided to have this corrected, but after 30-odd years I cannot find it.
Kamuning being on the main road certainly had its advantages. Between Sungei Siput and Ipoh there were very few places that bandits could set up an ambush, and there was constant military or police traffic, so that our visits to Ipoh were hardly restricted, and we were able to lead a more or less normal social life. This was in marked contrast to the majority of planters in Malaya who, at least in the early years of the Emergency, lived very much in a siege situation for most of the time.
The Europeans held annual balls organised by the Societies of St George, St Andrew and St Patrick, usually on the nearest Saturday to the particular Saint’s Day, and the Sultan of Perak used to attend at least one of these functions each year. In 1950 it was the turn of St George. The Sultan and his entourage were seated at the top table and, towards the end of the evening, after the various loyal toasts, Yola, the wife of ‘Cave’ Cave-Penny, the president of the society, became a little worried that the Sultana had not visited the ladies’ room all evening, so she passed the word up to her husband to ask the Sultan whether the Sultana would like to do so. The Sultan replied in a loud voice for all to hear, ‘When my consort wishes to pass water she will catch the Aide-de-Camp’s eye.’
On another occasion, Jean was present when the wives of certain senior government officials, planters and tin miners were being entertained in the Istana, at Kuala Kangsar, when their hostess, the Sultana, asked the somewhat startled ladies whether they would like to go down to the river to see the Sultan’s erection. It turned out that he had built a new gazebo which he was rather proud of.
One morning in 1950 word came that a number of trees in my 1938 clearing had been slashed. This was an obvious trap, for the inclination of any manager or assistant would be to rush out to assess the damage, and the CTs would be waiting. I was too wily an old bird to fall for that one. But when I did eventually go I was shocked at the damage. Rubber trees had only to be ring-barked for them to be taken out of production. The Communists need only to have concentrated on ring-barking the trees to have brought the rubber industry to a standstill. In this instance there was only a little damage, so I was not unduly worried.
Despite my wariness I was guilty of the occasional lapse of good sense. After a certain time living in almost constant danger one inevitably relaxes. Soon after the tree-slashing episode on the Ayer Hitam division I arranged with the Gurkhas to mortar the area to frighten off any bandits who might have returned to the scene to continue where they had left off. That evening, shortly after 5 pm, I drove out with Jean to have a look at the clearing. Round a corner we suddenly came to a tree that had fallen across the road, completely blocking it. My immediate thought was ‘ambush!’. The road was far too narrow to turn; on one side was a 10-foot bank, and on the other a precipice. There was no alternative but to clear away the obstruction. Fortunately, I always carried an axe for just such emergencies. While I chopped away, half expecting a fusillade from ambushing bandits, Jean hugged the Sten gun and kept lookout, and an eye on her watch. Remembering the last occasion when I had been shelled by my own side, I prayed that her watch had not stopped. I managed to hack sufficient branches away to enable me to slew the trunk around and push it over the precipice, before jumping back into the jeep and driving away only a few moments before the bombardment began. We could not have been more than a couple of hundred yards away from where the first rounds landed. I was very annoyed with myself for my stupidity.
The RAF from time to time bombed certain areas, usually jungle, where CTs had been reported. On one occasion the target was in the vicinity of Batu Gajah. Afterwards a very irate European woman telephoned the squadron’s adjutant on Ipoh airfield to complain bitterly about the noise and general disturbance. ‘And, what is more, a valuable piece of porcelain was shattered!’ ‘Really, madam,’ replied the adjutant, ‘I do hope you weren’t sitting on it at the time.’
The first Kamuning Estate annual report since the start of the Emergency came out in 1949 and I was gratified to see the Chairman’s speech at the AGM reported in full in The Times. ‘Sir John Hay opened his statement with a reference to the dangerous position of Kamuning and a tribute to the local manager, Mr Hembry. He reported that during these very dark days, the Company’s staff stood steadfastly to their duty and carried on their normal work. He went on by saying that such quiet and persistent courage in the face of recurring violence evokes great admiration.’
I had the report translated into Malay, Tamil and Chinese and copies pasted up around the estate where it could be seen by my staff, labour force and bandits alike. It was because of the loyalty and support of the vast majority of the estate’s employees, of all grades and races, that Kamuning withstood the first onrush of the communist insurrection so well.
Early in 1950 Charles Ross returned as senior assistant, with his charming wife Nancy, Tim Earl his predecessor was transferred, and Peter Madden went on well-earned leave. His place was taken by Paddy Jones, who had had a few years’ experience on estates down in Negri Sembilan, so I was able to give him charge of both the Banda Bahru and Sungei Koh divisions and, as th
e security situation had slightly improved, I felt it safe enough for him to live in the rather isolated Sungei Koh bungalow – with, of course, his Special guards. Paddy was a character, as one would expect of someone with Irish-Welsh parentage who had been a rear gunner in RAF bomber command in the war, but was on occasions somewhat impetuous. Whilst his refusal to yield in any way to the communist bandits was wholly admirable, he did cause me to worry about his occasional risk-taking. Eventually his luck ran out.
Jean and I were staying for the weekend in Penang with Jean and Laurie Brittain. Sir John was out on one of his periodic trips and I had an appointment on the Monday morning to meet him at the Guthrie office. I had just started talking to Sir John when Charles Ross came on the line to say that Paddy Jones had been ambushed, severely wounded, and was in Batu Gajah hospital. The Malay special constable escort had been killed, as had Paddy’s dog. I passed the news to Sir John and left at once to return to Kamuning. The attack had taken place at one of the most obvious sites for an ambush, near the boundary between Main and Sungei Koh divisions.
Paddy was out of danger when I saw him in hospital that evening. He had been very seriously injured – at least four bullets had hit him – but despite this he had managed to stop the car before it plunged over the bank. He had fallen out of the car on the side opposite from where the CTs were shooting, tumbled down the bank and escaped. The car was a complete bullet-ridden write-off. Knowing Paddy I would not have put it past him to have given chase to the bandits – we suspected that it was my old adversary Perumal, as my spies had told me only a few days before that he was in the area again
In February 1950 I wrote another appreciation of the situation concerning the security situation, and took it to the British Adviser, with copies mailed to the Commissioner of Police and the Director of Operations (General Briggs had by now replaced General Boucher) in KL, and a few members of the Federal Legislative Council, in Singapore, whom I knew.