Founded on Fear

by Peter Tyrrell

  It was on one of these marches we came to a place called Asigor. It was 200 miles south of Jabalpur. Here in Asigor was the most magnificent sight I have ever seen. It was a fort built on top of a small mountain by the Mongols 2,000 years before. We had marched about fifteen miles that day. My pal Reilly and I, when we had erected the tents, decided to take a look at the fort. It was erected of stone and the walls were fifteen feet thick. Many of the stones must have weighed a ton and even more, yet how did they get the material up the mountain? My guess is that the fort was built around a stone quarry and the material was found on the spot. The building was still in perfect condition. The architecture was good, and yet buildings which had been erected by the East India Co. about 120 years ago had in many cases fallen down. In the fort was a graveyard where a company of British troops had been buried. There was a well of delicious spring water, still intact. We saw several dungeons, the sight of which was frightening. There were chains in the walls and the floor where it is said the prisoners were held.

  In 1941 there is talk of a great battle being fought in North Africa, and the Italian 10th Army has been defeated. There are several ship loads of prisoners on their way to India. My battalion is now attached to an Australian unit at Bombay. We are to escort the prisoners to Bangalore in the South. It is not a pleasant job. I have to look after 26 prisoners packed like sardines in a train compartment. They have come straight from the desert. They are unwashed and it’s very warm. The prisoners are seated but I have to stand on guard with my rifle. But they are a rather timid and childish lot. What strikes me about them is that most of them are very fair-skinned, while others are dark. There is a senior N.C.O. amongst my prisoners who can speak a little English and I ask him who the dark lads are, and he answers saying ‘they are the dirty Arabs from the South’, and most of them sleep out. They don’t give much trouble except during meal times they rush like hungry wolves, when the food is brought. They get good food, in addition to the normal ration of the British soldier, they get dates and figs and a bigger sugar ration. They are very industrious and are always making something like cigarette lights and cigarette cases. They take away the lavatory seats and make picture frames, etc. At each station they are trying to sell to the Indians clothing and blankets which we have given them. I have just stopped a man selling a new pair of boots for a 20 packet of cigarettes. I call the N.C.O. and explain that the cigarettes cost 6 anna and the boots cost 12 rupees, and I tell him it’s a very serious crime to sell government material. The N.C.O. explains that this man is uneducated. Instead of going to school he went to church. Bangalore is called the garden of India. But we don’t see the town. The camp is several miles outside it.

  It’s June 1941, the Company commander has sent for me. I am to travel to Calcutta to work in an Indian army ordnance clothing factory, as I am a tailor. After a trade test I am promoted to the rank of sergeant. After a few months in the cutting section I am transferred to the ‘inspection’ to supervise finished uniforms, which are made by 24 different contractors, who have their own small factories outside. After a few weeks in the inspection department, it is discovered that the standard of work is far below that required. I am in charge of twenty Indian examiners and one day I am sent for. Lieutenant Payore wants to know why the quality of work was so poor and I inform him that most of my examiners are taking bribes from the contractors so that their work is passed.

  A week later I am transferred back to the cutting shop. Cutting is far more interesting. But we work much harder, 12 hours a day for six days a week. We work a week on days and a week on nights. The controller of the factory sent for me one day and told me he had made a mistake by employing me, without having passed a cutting test. This was good news because my infantry battalion were stationed at ‘Rasmen’ at the northwest frontier.

  I just had a letter from my old pal Ginger Reilly. He said it was snowing every day, and I thought how wonderful it was. I always wanted to see the northwest. I had heard so much about it from Naughton, a tailor who worked with me in 1934. He told me about the ‘Pathans’ who used to come from the hills at night to steal food and rifles. He explained that they had no quarrel with the soldiers. All they wanted was their rifles, and in many cases took only the bolt of the rifle. They could make a rifle but could not make a bolt as good as ours. The secret was in the bolt head which was made of a very hard material.

  I now realised the major was talking to me, and asked me how long it would take me to learn to draft patterns. I told him it was not possible to learn quickly. Besides there were no cutting schools in Calcutta. I did not know who would want to teach me. He advised me to speak to Mr L. Milston who had just arrived in the factory. He was a cutter and designer.

  I asked the major to allow me to go back to my regiment. I was a soldier and a signaller. I would be more efficient at the work which I was better qualified to do. The major dismissed me saying that I was a sergeant and there were great possibilities. He said if I can pass a cutting test in three months he would personally recommend me for further promotion. This word frightened me a lot. Promotion meant further responsibility for which I was unsuited. The very thought of more promotion instilled me with a new sense of fear. It simply made me freeze up.

  I remembered at school I would be beaten for a mistake. Later on in the army in Malta or Palestine or in the Central provinces, the lads just laughed, which hurt plenty. But now the position was entirely different. A mistake now would make trouble for others. When I failed my driving test in England my pals joked about it, saying you are a clever fellow, you didn’t want to drive so you just failed deliberately. I liked them to think that way. I done like the major said. I did learn to draft and design. It was good learning. It took my mind off other matters. I was promoted to Warrant Officer Class I. I was assistant foreman, on civil rates of pay at 450 Rupees plus expenses and overtime which made my pay about 600 a month (100 rupees = £7-10).

  We were at war with Japan. They had taken Singapore and were advancing rapidly through Burma. There were air raids, as the American ships unloaded thousands of tons of war material only two miles from where I worked.4 I went down to the docks one Sunday and talked to an American officer. I told him I didn’t think there were so many tanks and trucks in the world. He said there was much more out at sea. They had another 20 ships in the Bay of Bengal, but were short of parking ground in Calcutta. He said 2000 drivers were arriving the next day to take some of the material further north. I said I hoped they could clear the dock area before the next air raid. There were thousands of vehicles parked bumper to bumper. I hoped there was no fuel in the tanks. He laughed, and said ‘Full right to the top fella. These babies got to be driven a thousand miles north, and not pulled by your mules and oxen.’

  I wished him luck and kept my fingers crossed. There was an air raid the same night but the bombs missed by a 1000 yards and killed 500 Indians. There was now a stampede. The roads were blocked. More than half a million natives left Calcutta during the next week.

  The Japs were less than 50 miles from the Indian border. We had three fire engines in our factory which I looked after and was also responsible for the training of crews to operate them. These engines were petrol driven but had to be manhandled to the scene of the fire. I was responsible for all fires on the Alipur side of Calcutta, as the Calcutta fire brigade was not able to reach us during air raids due to the fact that the Kidderpore Swing Bridge over the River Hugli was now open in order to allow ships to escape if necessary out in the Bay of Bengal. When this bridge was open to shipping it was closed to the road traffic. Hence the need for our factory fire-fighting appliance.

  Capt. Simpson who was our deputy controller sent for me one day to explain why I had not filled in my monthly report book on fire appliances. I informed the Capt that I was more interested in the fire-fighting appliances than in writing about them. He became angry and thought I was being insolent. He jumped to his feet and asked me if I knew there was a war on. I assured him I did. He ask
ed me if I knew the Japs were only 20 miles from the Indian border. I corrected him saying they had reached a point 20 miles from the border a week ago and had advanced a further ten miles since then. He told me he had received his information a few hours ago. He told me to go back to my work.5

  The situation was now critical. The natives had been lining up at the banks for three days, demanding their money as the war was lost. After work I went straight to the British military hospital, where I was getting my information from, as there were always lads coming back from the front, wounded. My regiment was fighting at the front, and I knew if I met one of them they would keep me informed.

  Yes, the Japs were still advancing. Simpson sent for me the following day. He was now a changed man. He had a cold and was hoarse. He said my information was correct. I advised him that my regiment were at the front and I was naturally interested. He then told me that we must be prepared to leave India at a few hours’ notice. We would be going to South Africa where a factory was being prepared. We now had a new foreman, an Englishman, who had married a Japanese woman. He had been living in Japan but managed to escape into Burma and he left his two children at school in Japan. I became friendly with him and he invited me to his house to meet his wife, who was employed at the bankers’6 office. I found her a charming person.

  At this time I got to know a Burmese officer. He was a captain called Jim. The whole Burmese army was now disbanded. But those who desired to transfer to the Indian army were welcome. Jim was a jovial kind of man, very friendly, and always in a good mood, until one night he said his wife (who was known to me) had deserted him and was going out with another man. Jim had been drinking heavily and he lost his revolver belt and holster. I promised to try and replace them for him. I got him a belt and made him a holster in the factory but was unable to get him a revolver. But I said I could borrow one from the fort. It would be in my name and I should want it back every month to go to the bank for the factory wages. He said he would remember that, and was now quite happy. If he could not get a revolver elsewhere, he would let me know. I seen him again a few nights later and he told me what the Japs done in Singapore. How they killed the patients in their beds, raped the nurses and then murdered them.

  One day I was called to the office and asked to engage six men for semi-skilled work in the cutting shop as the chargeman, Reggie Manklew, was absent. He usually employed all daily paid staff. I was shocked and surprised when each man offered me ten rupees. As the men were Bengalis I had to send for an interpreter who told me that it was the practice to pay the first month’s salary to the kind gentleman who employed them. This was news to me and I went to see the deputy controller who was too busy to talk to me. So I asked to talk to the controller. The controller was away on business. I met the security officer, who was an Indian, and he asked me to come to his office. He was an ex-major from the Indian army. He was a very polite and kindly man with a well-kept beard. He told me it was the custom throughout India and indeed the whole of Asia for the employee or the person who engaged them. But he added it is considered a serious offence in the army or any government department. However if I wished to put the matter on paper he would see that my complaint was forwarded to the competent authority.

  Needless to say I heard no more about it. Lieutenant Payne, who was in charge of the inspection department, was being transferred to another factory. He threw a big party before leaving. Payne got drunk and made a speech and boasted of having made 75,000 rupees in bribes in two years. Shortly after this the controller Major Holt was transferred because of a deficiency of 200,000 yards of material from the factory stores. Major Holt was a good and honest officer. He was a highly educated and efficient man, but was let down by his staff.

  During the early part of 1942 I am invited to a party at Firpos Hotel and am introduced to a very beautiful young lady who invites me to her home to meet her mother. Her name is Angela Dennison. Her mother is English and her father French. She lives in the Connani Estates near the big graveyard. We meet almost daily. Her parents are separated. After three months we talk about getting married. We go to an air-conditioned cinema once a week where there is a big bar and we have drinks at the interval. I am a member of the Hawaiian Night Club where she sometimes works as a hostess. There is a good band and she teaches me to dance.

  I am most happy in her company. It is just heavenly to be near her. We talk and laugh and make plans for the future. I take her to a Chinese shoemaker. She has her shoes made to measure. We go and have iced drinks at the winter gardens of the Grand Hotel. With each drink we get free of charge roasted peanuts and tiny sausages. When we finish work I go straight to her house. Her mother told me to. But when I leave her I suffer from the most awful depression. I feel that I am not good enough for her. I think I should leave her, and write telling her. But I am at her house next morning to meet the postman, and I destroy the letter.

  In India all favours are paid for. Bribery and corruption, although sometimes difficult to detect, exist in almost all works of life. There was little or no corruption in the British forces before the war, and the Regular Army officer although underpaid would never stoop to anything underhand.

  1942 is the year of the Bengal famine, due to the shortage of rice. Hundreds of bodies have been picked up. They just littered the streets. The reason for this was not due to any real shortage, but to the hoarding of rice and other foodstuffs by the traders and shopkeepers. The price of rice has soared and is very many times more expensive than a year ago. I have heard it said more than once that rice is being thrown into the River Hugli in order to keep the price up. The American Flyers are said to be making huge fortunes by buying gold in Calcutta and flying it to China where it is possible to get anything from twenty to fifty times the original price.

  Life has changed in this city. We could get a taxi a few years ago for 12 annas, and a rickshaw for 4 annas. But now the drivers don’t even stop for us as they know the Yanks will pay them a lot more. They will pay a taxi driver 10 rupees for half an hour, which was a British soldier’s pay for the whole week at the start of the war. Beer is rationed to one bottle a month. But we can buy it in the Hawaiian Club at 5 rupees or four times the price of a year ago.

  During this time I am finding it extremely difficult to keep my fire-fighting crews as many run away whenever there is an air raid. So far we have been lucky as there have been no fires worth talking about. As I said before, my three engines (pumps) are not self-propelled but have to be manhandled, two of them, a ‘Dodge’ and ‘Morris’ are made up of bits and pieces. They have been redeemed from the scrap heap at the local garage. But the third, a Chrysler, is new and a powerful machine.

  I have been watching carefully the unloading of American war material, and every day can see huge convoys moving north. With all this stuff at the front the Japs must lose the war. But when this material was parked in the area of the docks, thousands of trucks, often loaded with ammunition and oil, with tanks and guns, just one bomb in the correct place would have destroyed the lot, because all the vehicles were almost touching each other. The Japs were trying hard, and only missing with their bombs by sometimes only 200 yards.

  Last week the warship Ajax, a cruiser, was in the docks and I met many of her crew, including the Surgeon Commander. I was invited on board the following evening. But when I reached the docks the ship had already sailed. Imagine my horror the next day when I heard she had been sunk in the Bay of Bengal. There were no survivors.

  Am still seeing Angela every day and the time has come when I must make up my mind one way or the other. This is a most terrible ordeal. I love this girl most passionately. There are signs that she is getting impatient. Her mother accused me the other day of wasting the girl’s time, and just playing about. Last evening we had a date. But when I got to her house she was just being driven away in a taxi with a young German chap. I had not met the fellow but heard about him. At first I felt somewhat relieved. At last the problem is solved for me. She has another cha
p and now I shall keep away and forget about everything. But two hours after, I was going about frantic. The thought of her being with another fellow was driving me out of my mind. I went to the Grand and began drinking and from then I went to Firpos. Whilst I was there there was a brawl between the sailors and the police called and asked everyone for their papers. I was charged for wearing plain clothes and having no means of identification. I was allowed to go home, but was too worried to go to work next day. So I went to town and later to the girl’s place. She laughed the whole thing off and thought it was all so very funny. We were friends again. I got away with the charges and all was well for a few weeks. She asked me straight out one day if I intended to marry her or not. I said ‘yes most definitely’ but not at present. She demanded to know the reason why and I told her that only just over two years ago I was a private soldier. My present rank was only temporary for the work I was doing but when the job finished I may have to revert to private, as I was not qualified to hold a similar rank in my own regiment. She then said it did not matter. She would marry me if I was a private soldier tomorrow. But I fully realised that that was only part of the story. I was not well, and I would have to face this awful fact. I was being driven in opposite directions by an equally powerful force. I wanted to marry her more than anything in the world but was afraid that I would not be good enough, or that I would let her down. This was my mental conflict.

  A few days later I attend a Hindu wedding. One of my supervisors, a lad of 18 years, has married a girl of 12 years. The ceremony was over when I arrived and now it’s just a great feast, which will last for several days. I was there only a few hours during which time we had seven courses of fish, with small dishes of sweets in between. Afterwards I go to the factory. I am in charge of the night shift as the foreman is on holiday. During the night one supervisor has made a great mistake, and has wasted 4000 yards of material. We were cutting uniforms for the Chinese army out of a very thin khaki material, about the same weight as shirting. The cloth was laid out straight for 40 yards a 100 pieces thick, that is 100 pieces were placed on top of each other, on a rubber-covered floor. The top piece was marked by placing a pattern on it, and marking it by chalk. It was then cut by an electric machine. But my Indian supervisor used the wrong pattern. It was really my own fault as I should have watched him. But as soon as I seen the mistake I hit him two or three times across the back with a yard stick. Just as I did this I realized that it was the first time I had ever hit anyone and I had beaten him in the same manner as I had been beaten so often more than ten years before. I now felt sick and ashamed. I wanted to go and say I was sorry but he would just jabber away in Bengali to humiliate me. He always talked to me in Bengali even though he could speak perfect English. I couldn’t do any more work that night but walked up and down outside. I don’t know how long I was there, but Pretam Singh, a Sikh supervisor, came out to tell me he just returned from the Punjab where he had been to get married. He said he could not get married as his brother who was stationed overseas could not get home. I think he said according to his religion all the family must be present or the wedding cannot go on. He thanked me for the wedding present I had given him. But I asked what present. He laughed and said the 20 rupees you gave me going away. I answered him saying I did not know he was getting married. ‘I understand,’ said he, ‘you have been drinking, always you make very good joke when you drink too much.’ I assured him I had nothing stronger than warm water stained with a tea leaf. He then invited me inside and I suddenly remembered about his wedding. ‘I have brought you very nice drink from my home.’ He went to his pocket and fetched a half pint of ‘Rosa’ rum and poured me out a whole cupful. Just then I noticed he was drunk. I drank the rum quickly and he gave me another stiff drink. It was very good rum, a lot better than we could buy. I felt better now. He was singing an Indian song. He had his arm on my shoulder. He usually kept his beard nicely combed, but when drinking it seemed to stand straight out. I finished my rum, and I laughed and he laughed. He then said, ‘I am not care about marriage. Every day I am drink too much “Rosa” rum. Please you come to Punjab next time I am get married, and every day together we drink too much. After you come to my house for Punjabi food, and you speak with my father, he wants to know too much about your country and your wonderful schools.’