by Carl Muller
‘Sir, the sick bay says he is all right. Only that he has lost a tooth. He has been patched up. He wants to press a charge, sir.’
‘Of course he wants to, and he may. Guffey, you may go. Both of you. Remain in the wireless cabin at my orders, do you understand?’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
Baird was asked if he had a good eyesight. He didn’t understand.
‘You seem to have some difficulty, chief. You don’t know black from white. And also, who is your father?’
‘Sir?’
‘You heard me, chief. Who is your father? Is he a merchant, or a tram conductor, or a chief magistrate or what?’
‘I—I don’t very well know, sir.’
‘What? Are you telling me you don’t know your father?’
‘No-no sir.’
‘Then you don’t know much, do you? Ever heard of the pots that called the kettles black?’
‘N-no sir.’
‘Nuttall, place this man on a charge. Captain’s defaulter. Nine hundred hours tomorrow!’
On the Vijaya Yeoman Louis blanched. ‘What?’ He screamed, ‘He did what? My God! Now there’ll be a huge inquiry and—and—I told you fellows to behave, no?’
Sims scowled. ‘Calling us black bastards. We didn’t go to get insulted.’
‘Must have said to the Goanese. Did he look at you and say it?’
‘No, Yeo, but—’
‘But what? This is too much. Too much! One of you keep bridge watch. Go and relieve Gibbs. signal is sure to come. God knows what the Captain will do.’
On the Superb Carloboy was asked, ‘Who’s your signals officer?’
‘Lieutenant Wicks, sir.’
‘Well, Signalman von Bloss, you may go. You will take my greetings to Lieutenant Wicks. Wait outside till I write him. It is to be given to him personally, you got that?’
‘Yes sir.’
The coxswain on the boat taking him to the Vijaya grinned. ‘Broke Baird’s tooth, did you? Say, you’re the piano man! Next time you come ashore I’ll buy you a drink.’
Lieutenant Wicks was puzzled. A most cryptic letter. ‘Above all,’ Captain Clarke had written, ‘don’t call him a black bastard. He should be kept away from buckets.’
‘What is all this?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Told me to give it to you.’
‘What the devil have you been doing?’
‘Me? Nothing sir.’
38
History—End of the Honeymoon
With the coming of the South East Asia Command to Ceylon, great big NAAFI buildings were erected. Also cinemas and concrete tennis courts and reinforced concrete roads. There were armies of local workers, many of whom did not work for the wages they received, and local contractors made big bucks. The labourers were paid wages they had never ever dreamed of receiving.
Army trucks went around, collecting estate labourers to work in the camps. This caused havoc on the plantations. Both tea and rubber were considered essential crops and both were hit by alarming labour shortages.
As contract rates for work and wages began to rise dramatically, bribery and corruption was rampant. Coconut thatch for roofing and timber for building rose drastically in price. Cement could only be obtained on permit and soon the whole island seemed to be operating on a permit system.
The war was costing the British government an expenditure of fourteen or fifteen million pounds a day, and in Ceylon, the military seemed determined to spend as much of it as it could. It had 15,000 people on the register, paying wages to all even if only 8,000 worked, while thousands of others held jobs about which they were totally ignorant.
Also, the Wrens moved in, as well as the WAAF’s and the Americans who had their own signalling company. The RAF had a ‘C’ camp in the hills and the Air Officer Commanding, Air Commodore Chiton, also had his bungalow ‘up-country’ which was called Air Cottage. Naval Headquarters was at Upper Chatham Street, Colombo.
As far back as 1917, during the World War I, Ceylon was divided into three military areas—Colombo, Southern and Northern. Colombo was commanded by the Officer Commanding Troops; the Southern division by the Ceylon Mounted Rifles; and the Northern sector by the Ceylon Planters Rifle Corps.
By 1940, all the district planters associations formed internal security schemes in their districts. But, as everyone knew, there was an appalling waste of money. In fact, for the first ten years up to 1941, the Government of Ceylon was almost bankrupt with the excess of expenditure, about rupees fifty million, caused mainly by all kinds of appointments and emoluments.
It was the military occupation that increased the revenue. During the war years the civil defence commissioner had millions to spend and play with. Above all, no accounts were allowed to be published. Many, especially in the state council of the time, were emphatic that a great deal of money had been wasted. They were at a loss to understand how the expenditure of the civil defence commissioner had any real influence on the war.
And yes, there was the opposition. An opposition that voiced itself in the most vituperative manner and which spoke volumes for the mood of the Ceylonese members of the state council.
One minister: ‘Ceylon is a small country and the people have not the force to establish their rights. The mighty British have played ducks and drakes with them.’
Another minister: ‘There is no getting away from the truth that only a bloody revolution as happened in France years ago can find a solution of these economic ills.’
Some of the remarks of the state council bear repetition:
•‘There will soon be a parting of the ways, not between Sinhalese and Tamils, but between the people of Ceylon and the Britishers.’
• ‘When the bombing took place, what happened? First, the non-Ceylonese disappeared; the exploiter, who was exploiting Ceylonese labour went 3000 miles away, and we could not get at him.’
• ‘Gratitude is a word unknown in history of imperialism. The European is now safe, and England is now safe with a litter of broken promises and pledges.’
• ‘If all the Europeans were to leave Ceylon tomorrow, I shall be very happy, provided they take away the Tamils they have brought from India with them, and do not leave them here.’
• ‘The English are not fighting the countries like Ceylon and India.’
• ‘Churchill and England are fighting for freedom of the world? This is not so. Churchill and England are merely fighting for the freedom of England and English people.’
• ‘For 116 years of British rule, the people of this country were reduced to a condition of destitution and the government coffers were left in a condition of financial distress.’
• ‘The freedom of Ceylon would come with the liquidation of the British empire.’
• ‘A very curious order was given to all English people to get out. It would have been a very good thing if everybody had left the island and left us in peace.’
• ‘Ceylon wants a hundred per cent severance from the British yoke.’
• ‘We must fight now if we want complete independence.’
• ‘The British empire is one of the greatest barriers to the progress of the world.’
• ‘We do not want the British language spoken at all in this country and the earlier it goes the better.’
• ‘The outside power is not interested in the true welfare of the people but is only anxious to preserve its prestige and the interests of the outside capital that is invested in this country. The Britisher is here to protect his tea and rubber for export or to sell his goods from England. All he wants is that the people should be kept above subsistence level to work his estates and buy his goods.’
• ‘This is an administration that is doing all that is possible to facilitate the amassing of wealth by foreigners.’
• ‘The stumbling block to progress of the Sinhalese nation is the menace of foreigners.’
It seemed that the honeymoon (if there was one) was over. What was galling, during the
period of the war, was that Ceylonese had to die in Trincomalee solely because of the British presence there. Worse still, the small east coast town of Batticaloa, which was in no way ready for anything like Japanese bombing raid, was also targetted. Why? Because British ships, racing downcoast from Trincomalee to avoid being attacked in the harbour, were also chased and bombed by Japanese Stikas off Batticaloa. That’s when the British aircraft carrier HMS Hermes went down.
The question was, why had Ceylon to bear the brunt of a war she had no part in? It was easy to whip up anti-British feelings in the island. Whatever Ceylon had gained from the military occupation, indeed the whole British occupation, was being buried under an avalanche of nationalistic fervour.
Freedom was what Ceylon looked for. World War II had shown the island that this freedom was worth fighting for!
39
Of Darken Ship and Night Strikes and a Cobra in the Heads
Night watch is a dreary thing, especially when in port. Signalman von Bloss leaned against the binnacle, his eyes straying ever so often to the diamond arrangement of lights that was the NHQ yardarm. All around the Vijaya the fleet lay at anchor. Some creaked, some made little gaspy noises, some glubbed in the water. Carloboy knew that on every bridge there would be a signalman, blearily looking around and counting the minutes just the way he did. Eight to twelve. He would rouse Daft at midnight. And Daft had his orders too. Wake Sims at 4 a.m. and also the duty officer. The duty officer was Sub-Lieutenant Hugo. Now why the devil had Hugo to be roused at four?
Sims had grunted. ‘Now the bugger will come to the bridge to talk,’ he said.
Oh, there would be a lot more than talk, he knew. Sims kept his secret well. He had come to enjoy buggering the Sub-Lieutenant who had, he thought, a made-to-measure anus. He had wondered many a time whether Hugo was being served by others of the crew. There was a tall, rangy electrician named de Haan who was said to have the longest cock on board. On board, mind, for in all the Ceylon Navy nobody could match Able Seaman Warrick who had what was affectionately called a ‘kidney wiper’. It hung, it was said, when unconfined, to a close eight inches over his knee, and that too when in flaccid condition. When at red alert and rarin’ to go, it was reputed to be thirteen inches long, and that, as scores of women in Dehiwela, and Wattala and Ragama and wherever Warrick went, said, was an impalement of the most extreme sort.
Carloboy suddenly jerked up. Yes, there on the NHQ yardarm a tiny orange light had started to blink.
FFFF it said, and again FFFF. He searched his mind. What the devil was the code? His hand went to the small Aldis lamp, then checked. FFFF—Do Not Answer. And he had nearly done so!
The call was repeated several times until the NHQ signalman felt certain that every ship in port had taken note, that every watchman knew that there was a message to follow. He paused and sent BT, the break before the message: Dash, dot, dot, dot, dash. Then the message: Crash Darken Ship.
Immediately Carloboy was on the buzzer and shouting down the voice tube. ‘Crash Darken Ship, sir. Admiralty order.’ He alerted the duty electrician. The exercise, for that it was, went like clockwork. The Vijaya lost itself in a caul of black. Not a light showed. Every scuttle dropped its deadlight. All around, other ships also seemed to disappear. No, one blazed its lights and seemed to glitter more than ever in the blackness all around.
Carloboy chuckled. ‘Bloody mutt must be sleeping. He’s going to catch it.’
As the Admiralty had said, this was JET. This was war. This demanded an alertness that made all the difference between kill and be killed.
Then, in the black well that was the boatdeck, strange forms emerged. One sidled to the bridge gangway. ‘You’re up?’ a voice asked.
‘Yes. Who’s that?’
‘Never mind. How long is this darken ship business?’
‘Don’t know. Who are you?’
‘You just stay where you are. Master-at-arms will come now to see if anyone is smoking on deck.’
‘So?’
‘So don’t smoke.’
‘I can’t,’ Carloboy said, ‘I’m on duty.’
‘Just telling, that’s all,’ and the figure melted away. There were other figures. Carloboy could not make out who they were or why they chose to creep along the boatdeck. He was sure one was very like Stoker Arnie but he wasn’t certain. Then suddenly, the night was split by a cry of deep agony. That someone fell, he was certain.
‘Serves the buggers right,’ he muttered, ‘must have fallen in the dark.’ He shouted, ‘Who’s there? Is everything all right?’
No answer. Only a low gibber and the sound of scuffling, then another painful groan.
Carloboy hesitated. He could not leave post. He buzzed the duty officer. No reply. Apparently Hugo was out of his bed too. He shouted, hoping the QM would hear him, but there was no response. He looked towards the squat ghost that was the NHQ. Not a blink out of it. Then the B-29 gave a squawk. Why didn’t he think of that? All he had to do was use it as an internal telephone. He turned the needle to the harbour intercom wavelength and called the Vijaya.
Bijja’s voice came loud and clear. ‘This is M390 over.’
Procedure was dumped. ‘Bijja. That you? Can you come to the bridge?’
‘Who—who—what? Who is this?’
‘Von Bloss, men. On the bridge. Hurry up!’
‘Can’t. I’m on duty.’
‘Then stick your head out and yell for somebody.’
‘You’re mad? Wardroom is nextdoor.’
‘So yell! I think someone is hurt up here. Can’t see a bloody thing. Get some help! Over. Out. Hurry up!’
Bijja did raise the alarm. He nipped out, banged on the wardroom door, had a frightened duty steward run out, then ran to Lieutenant Walid. Soon, a group of seamen led by the First Lieutenant made their way topside where they found the body. With much cursing, they carried it below where the sick bay light burned dimly. The NHQ yardarm blinked. ‘Negative Crash Darken Ship’. Well, that was a relief. Deck lights came on and the QM spread the news on the hailer.
In the sick bay, the master-at-arms lay, two puffy blue welts across his stomach and a swelling at the diaphragm where the blood had collected and was turning black. His breathing was thin, agonized. A rib was obviously broken. He was examined, then swathed in a blanket and carried carefully topside where a boat was called alongside to speed him ashore. He had been beaten with something very hard.
‘Like a length of pipe?’ Walid hazarded.
‘Yes, or—or a belaying pin. Something used as a club.’
‘Brutal assault. I don’t like it. We have a lot of this darken ship business. Where was the duty officer?’
Hugo said he had been on lower deck inspection when the order to crash darken had come. And no, he hadn’t heard or seen anything.
Carloboy sat with Daft after midnight. They sipped coffee and ruminated.
‘I don’t like it,’ he said, ‘Some buggers were waiting in the dark to hammer the chief. They must have known he will come. You know, Mendis hates the bugger.’
‘Anyway, you didn’t see anything, no?’
‘No, but one bugger spoke to me. But still, I’m not sure who he was. He said the chief will come and told me not to smoke.’
And the next night the signal was repeated. This time, at eleven. Evidently, the Admiralty was dissatisfied. One ship had blissfully ignored signals and that one ship was given a most recriminatory message at dawn. This time, it was Alfie who sat on the inner ledge of the bridge score, read the light, called for immediate darkening of the decks. Again, there was a victim. It was the Malay seaman Jambong. He was not beaten. He was held and painted. Broad daubs of Black Japan across his baby face. He howled and waved his arms and rushed to the quarterdeck steps where he broke into a stream of Javanese. The QM grabbed him, hauled him below, where he bubbled furiously while the chippie worked on him with turps and rubbed him raw with sacking.
When at war and out for blood, a ship is not expected to show
lights at night. Night exercises gave more opportunities for the new breed of Rembrandts and others who liked to prowl in the dark. With sunset the ship doused all lights and steamed on, a grey ghost.
These nights in the Bay of Bengal were very black indeed. Clouds always put the moon in purdah and even the stars seemed to have downed tools. There was little Captain Victor could do. Someone had to know what was going on, he reasoned, but he would shrug and regard his officers balefully.
‘You mean to say you have no idea what started all this?’
‘I have personally secured all stores areas,’ said Lieutenant Wicks.
‘But they’re painting each other every bleeding night? Mess inspection. There must be paint and brushes hidden somewhere.’
‘I was thinking, we should post sentries at the gangways, sir.’
‘And in the morning what will we have? Painted sentries?’
‘Paint and brushes can be well hidden in the engine room . . .’
‘What? In my engine room?’ This from an indignant engineering officer.
‘Gentlemen, let me get this straight. You may inform the men or do I have to clear decks to do it? All hands will be locked in their messes. Duty watch will sleep on the afterdeck until their turns come. Any man seen about the ship who has no reason to be about will be placed on a charge. Is that clear?’
There were some objections. Men go to the heads. Especially when they are swollen with beer.
‘And now there are no more assaults, sir. Only this painting business.’
Hugo murmured that perhaps the men would eventually work things out between themselves.
Victor grunted. ‘The one thing I do know is that I have a set of brush-happy miscreants on this ship. And it’s among the seamen and stokers. And you noticed something else? The chiefs and PO’s are keeping their heads down.’
‘That’s true, sir.’
Yes, the tongue-lashings, the overbearing attitudes of some of the chiefs and petty officers had dropped to zero. After all, it is no fun to bump into a vague form who carries a pot of Black Japan and a brush in either hand. Such men seemed to have a radar system of their own. They would stalk their quarries and when within range, paint them with broad stripes of black and vanish below in a trice.