Elephant Company: The Inspiring Story of an Unlikely Hero and the Animals Who Helped Him Save Lives in World War II

by Croke, Vicki Constantine

  But at the moment, the colonial government, from the top brass down to the lowliest office clerks, lived in a bubble, confident that, despite the fact that Japan was at war with China, there would be no Japanese attack in Burma. To Susan, and most of the other British citizens, the country seemed a safe place. Jim thought otherwise. At HQ in Shwebo, he erupted during a dinner party, upset over the complacency of those around him: “I tell you here and now that we shall all soon be deeply involved.”

  Treve was a capable little boy. By the age of three, he was trusted to ride his own pony and carry a jungle knife, or dah.

  THAT YEAR, WHEN THE HOT season arrived, the Williamses decamped for a house in Maymyo, forty miles from Mandalay. Called the “summer capital,” it was a tony hill station and the closest thing to a slice of Britain in all of Burma. British officials relocated to Maymyo from Rangoon as temperatures climbed. At an elevation of nearly four thousand feet, it was shady, cool, and filled with flowers. “To be lifted from the airless plain into the soft breezes and cool air of the hills breathed new life into us all,” Susan wrote. The Williamses’ cottage was surrounded by cherry trees in full bloom, and Bombay Burmah’s well-liked and respected manager Geoff Bostock lived nearby in a grand house called “Woodstock,” with his wife, Evelyn, and sons, John and Hugh. Jim would be working in the nearby Shweli Forest. Here, Susan felt, “the war seemed further away than ever.”

  In the spring of 1940, Jim’s young niece and nephew, the children of his brother Tom, came from India to live with them for about a year and a half after their mother’s death. Three-year-old Diana was inconsolable from the loss and sick with dysentery. Michael was still a baby, just under a year. In this happy home, they would soon be calling Susan and Jim “Mummy” and “Daddy.” The family of five was sheltered, but the war was growing by the minute. Japan made things official in September 1940, entering into a pact with Germany and Italy.

  Susan reveled in the cool air of Maymyo where, she wrote, “the war seemed further away than ever.”

  Burma didn’t seem so secure anymore, and in November 1941, Tom Williams arrived to collect Diana and Michael. He argued that Susan and Treve should go along to the safety of India also, but Susan refused to be parted from Jim. As the house emptied, Jim, Susan, and Treve prepared for what they did not know would be their last jungle tour.

  Brothers Tom (left) and Jim Williams were very close, but they disagreed about sending Susan and Treve to India.

  It started off well. The weather was still beautiful, and everything they could need was carried on the backs of the elephants, who formed an enormous line of more than twenty. The forest was their constant home, no matter which forest it was. The three were happy to be together, and they still shared life with their wider family circle of Aung Net, Joseph, and now Naw Lah.

  Jim, who had spent a decade on his own, never took his new life for granted. As his family marched together in the uneven forest light, the sound of the kalouks behind them, he felt blessed. In the evenings, he and Susan would retire to a quickly constructed hut for cocktails and news on the wireless. It was a treasured routine. But one early December day, deep in the jungle, Jim had gently turned the tuning knob until a broadcast from the BBC World Service materialized. Drinks in hand, he and Susan listened to a horrifying report: Pearl Harbor had been attacked. The Japanese had also landed in British Malaya, not so far from Burma. The next days brought more developments. The United States, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, the Netherlands, the Free French, Yugoslavia, China, and others declared war on Japan. Then the HMS Repulse and HMS Prince of Wales were sunk as they defended Singapore, killing nearly a thousand men. Together, Jim and Susan tried to make sense of the news, what it meant for their country, for Burma, for them. Regular mail continued to reach them, and, as far as Jim knew, he was to continue his duties extracting teak. For most of December, that’s what he did.

  But before Christmas, the war hit home. The British evacuated an airfield in the southern tip of the country that was targeted by enemy planes, and the Japanese began air attacks on Rangoon. On December 23, 1941, air raids sounded in the capital, and about a thousand citizens were killed when they spilled out to the streets to watch the battle in the skies. Though no formal evacuation had been announced, that night refugees began to abandon Rangoon, the Indian workers and civil servants the city depended on among them.

  The Williamses spent a disquieting Christmas acting brave and cheery for Treve, but feeling the weight of the world pressing in. Back home, friends and family had suffered through the Blitz, much of Western Europe was in the hands of the Nazis, and that night the crown colony of Hong Kong surrendered to Japan.

  Finally, in early January, the telegram they dreaded but assumed was coming arrived: The family was to return to Mandalay immediately. Considering that the dispatch had taken more than a week to reach them, they knew the situation must have worsened since it was sent. As the elephants were quickly loaded, and their journey began, the family had no idea what they would be facing when they came out of the forest.

  CHAPTER 21

  FLEEING BURMA

  THE BOMBINE MAN WHO MET THE WILLIAMSES WHEN THEY ARRIVED in Mandalay provided a grim assessment. The Japanese were, indeed, bombing Rangoon. And on January 20, 1942, the Bombay Burmah Trading Corporation had ordered that wives and children of all employees be evacuated immediately. They were the first of the European companies to do so, and some thought it premature. Jim had already missed his chance to get Susan and Treve on the first contingent of evacuees up the Chindwin.

  An exodus of biblical proportions out of Burma had begun, and the Williamses were caught short—recalled from forest tour, they had none of their important possessions with them. Jim hurried back to Maymyo. The company would allow one piece of luggage and one bedroll per person. Photographs, books, diaries, gifts, and clothes were abandoned. Horses and pets were left in the care of hired locals, though many of their fellow evacuees shot their dogs, thinking they were better off dead than in the hands of the Japanese if it came to that. Many of their neighbors had buried valuables in their gardens and transferred cash out of the country. Hardly thinking things were so dire, Jim grabbed a few essentials for travel—one small suitcase each for Susan and Treve and a grip for himself containing a clean shirt and a few toiletries.

  The family was directed to travel by rail and boat to Mawlaik, their old headquarters on the Chindwin. If necessary from there, they would receive orders to march about 170 miles by foot to a rail station in Manipur, India. Susan was skeptical; the very notion of a march seemed alarmist.

  But the Japanese were advancing rapidly. They had begun their invasion of Burma from bases in Siam, or Thailand, and were now infiltrating in the south of the country. During January and February 1942 they poured into Burma in strength—moving forward more quickly than anyone would have dreamed, pushing the ill-prepared, ill-equipped, and poorly supported British forces farther and farther back. The Seventeenth Indian Division dug in at the Sittang River, hoping to make a stand against the onslaught, but after heavy fighting they were outflanked, as they would be again and again.

  Burma was an objective of the Japanese, not so much because of the country itself, but for its strategic location. It blocked an overland supply route for the Allies to China, Japan’s bitter enemy. Along the famed Burma Road came ammunition and fuel. Later, Burma was seen as a stepping-stone to India, part of the ever-growing ambitions of the Japanese. It was not far-fetched considering that there were plenty of Indians tired of British rule. At one point, Japan would count forty thousand Indian soldiers on their side, many of whom believed this would be their path to independence.

  In Burma, the British began to see that their confidence was misplaced. The Williamses had some hard decisions to make. Who should come along with them? They perceived several so-called servants as members of their family. But were they better off staying in their own country? The Japanese were after the British, not the Burmese, and so man
y people in Burma appeared to have no political allegiances.

  Burma was full of many different ethnic groups. And when it came to loyalties during the war, there was no one national reaction. For the most part, Burmans, who were in the majority, hated colonial rule and longed for independence. For many of them, there was the prospect that the Japanese might just turn out to be liberators; after all, they promoted an attractive ideal with the slogan “Asia for the Asiatics.” A large portion of the Karens (one of the country’s largest minorities who had largely converted to Christianity), Kachins, and Shans sided with the British. Some in Burma fled to the jungles to avoid the Japanese, some welcomed them, some fought alongside the British. About eighteen thousand nationalists joined the Burma Independence Army, which was allied with the Japanese. Of course, later, some who had hoped for liberation encountered only occupation and “Japanese racism and brutality.” A report at the time found that 10 percent (mostly minorities under the thumb of the Burman majority) were pro-British, 10 percent anti-British, and the vast majority “lukewarm, assisting whichever superior forces they are forced or persuaded to.”

  Jim and Susan gathered together a few of their closest workers to discuss what to do. It was decided that Aung Net, Joseph, Naw Lah, and San Pyu would all be safest sticking with the Williamses. Others in their group had families at home who needed them. This seemed like the right decision, though they had no idea what would happen when they reached the border of Manipur.

  THE PARED-DOWN WILLIAMS GROUP took a train to the river station of Monywa. Jim would stay long enough to see them safely onto the company launch, then, while they traveled up the Chindwin to Mawlaik, he would return to the men and elephants he had left behind in the forest near Maymyo.

  When they reached Monywa, they discovered they weren’t so far behind the rest of the company’s families: The second group of evacuees from Bombine was still there, in limbo with no information, as they waited for the launch. The company, now nervous about sending women and children off on their own, took advantage of the arrival of Billy Williams. He was ordered not to return to Maymyo on his own but instead to escort the entire group of more than fifty as far as Mawlaik. Williams argued with his superiors, desperate to return to his own forests to pay the riders and to secure the animals at home. But he was overruled.

  Then the company launch arrived. Originally built to provide luxury for half a dozen people, it was now nearly swamped by the crowd. The open deck became a dormitory, with women and children sardined from one end to the other. Behind them, a little boat containing a quarantined family with measles was towed along. Williams had arranged this setup to keep the other families safe, and he was surely thinking of Susan—who they had just discovered was pregnant again.

  When they arrived in Mawlaik, the rugged little river village Jim and Susan knew so well, the anxiety of the other travelers deepened. The town was remote and rustic, far from what was considered civilized, and had no access to any kind of major transportation. To be herded to the very edge of the country’s borders and pressed up against a mountain range made it clear that the British had lost control. If Rangoon and Mandalay weren’t safe, what was?

  For British refugees in particular, the logging companies and the tea plantations in India would be a godsend, providing supplies, basic shelter, and help. The tough, knowledgeable employees would be invaluable to the British Fourteenth Army, too. As one high court judge wrote at the time, “It was an affair of ‘tea’ to the rescue at one end and ‘teak’ to the rescue at the other.”

  There was a great deal of fear and confusion as everyone waited for a directive from the company. Williams put the time to good use by organizing supplies, equipment, and elephants in case the women were to march toward Manipur on foot. Wisely, everyone was inoculated against cholera.

  Williams’s friend and boss Geoff Bostock had already been gathering emergency supplies, and halted all logging work so the elephants could be available. To Williams, this was the beginning of elephants entering the war. It was February 1942. The animals were conscripted to carry supplies, to ferry the sick and elderly, and even to widen paths where possible. The company quickly established rest camps, though their administration was soon taken over by the government.

  The news continued to be dire. Singapore, Manila, and Kuala Lumpur had fallen to the Japanese. Tokyo was relentless, even dropping bombs on Australia.

  Jim understood what this all meant for the families stranded in Mawlaik. They had to get to the safety of India. A march on foot was ordered. The evacuation plan wouldn’t have a chance if not for the elephants who could carry the fresh and tinned food supplies, bedding, and tents. The group would be hiking from Mawlaik to the Burmese village of Tamu, on the border with the state of Manipur, a trip of about six days. This would serve as a staging area to prepare for the next leg: up and over the treacherous mountains that loomed behind Tamu, and then to the Imphal Plain.

  The past few weeks had galvanized the foreign population of Burma. By now, countless refugees were fleeing for India. With the larger roads packed, Williams judged it best to keep to the smaller paths. The elephants simply could not contend with such crowds, and where great masses of people were concentrated without access to toilets, conditions were already becoming dangerously unsanitary.

  The company evacuees—40 women, 27 children, and 110 elephants—were divided into two groups. Williams and Bostock would be in charge of the first, which consisted of 22 women; 15 children; 83 men, riders, servants, and bearers; plus about 56 elephants, including 18 tuskers. Evelyn Bostock and Susan organized the larder into a meal plan for the journey. The women were Bostock’s responsibility; the elephants were Williams’s. Since this was his old headquarters anyway, Williams even knew most of the animals, though Bandoola was not among them. The elephants were to be used for carrying supplies, not people. Coolies, the lowliest laborers from the nearby Chin Hills in northwestern Burma, were hired to bear makeshift stretchers for the littlest of the children and the infirm.

  They left Mawlaik on Monday, February 23, 1942, at 10 a.m., the beginning of the hot season, when each day would become much more stifling than the last. Many of the wives were novices, having never accompanied their husbands on a jungle tour. They did not have proper clothes or shoes for such a journey and were dressed like parishioners heading out for Sunday services. Their city footwear in particular often fell apart in the rough terrain, and to walk barefoot could be a death sentence as blisters and cuts invited infection.

  Behind the families and ragged coolies in the caravan came the long line of elephants, unhurried, regal, and laden with luggage, camp equipment, and food, including one hundred chickens and sixty ducks. The experience was new to the elephants, too, who were unaccustomed to seeing so many strangers—particularly white ones who smelled different and even behaved in a different way from the other humans in their lives. At least their familiar uzis were with them.

  From the start, the group established a routine. They woke each day at about five thirty in the morning, dressed, and had breakfast—a cup of tea, porridge, and thick slices of bread with marmalade. Within an hour, after organizing and packing, they’d set out on the day’s ten-mile walk. Williams would stay behind, organizing the loading of the elephant packs. Once the elephants were ready, he would double-time it past the human group, scouting ahead for a suitable place to spend the night. He was relieved to find much of the route rich in fodder—plenty of vegetation for the animals, and almost always good sources of water.

  The first leg of the journey was fairly flat, which helped condition the least fit among them. Everyone was able to make the marches without complaint, though Treve, much to Susan’s shock, became balky. Accustomed to hiking on his own, he railed against his imprisonment when he was forced to ride in a canvas hammock carried by coolies. He had inherited his father’s independence and stamina.

  In the afternoons, when the intense heat set in, the group would stop for the day, and each family c
ould enjoy the privacy of their own tent. The food stocks were plentiful—chicken stew, cheese and biscuits for lunch, pudding, bread and jam at teatime, and a three-course meal for supper. A pleasant feeling of community took over; Williams wrote, “The spirit of the women was remarkable, as every one of them had had to leave a comfortable home and abandon all her possessions at a few hours’ notice.” As time went on, there were inevitable tears in the social fabric. Late in the afternoons when campsites were chosen, several women would vie for the shady spots, which were at a premium. Susan did not participate, because Jim, a group leader, made a point of taking the worst patch for his own family.

  Stress was not limited to the humans; the elephants felt it, too, as Jim was acutely aware. This was a new world for them, one in which none of the normal rules or rhythms applied. Gone were their old daily schedules—morning roll call, work, afternoon bath, release into the forest for the night. Here they were marched for hours, deprived of the afternoon scrub, and then chained till morning. Being unable to forage at night was hard on them and on the uzis, too, who had to gather hundreds of pounds of bamboo, grass, and branches.

  Williams worried about how the strain would express itself in the sensitive and complex animals, especially as the days grew hotter. At the beginning, they were somewhat irritable and restless. Within days, though, their unhappiness was more palpable. Each night the elephants looked for any lapse in the riders’ attention to run away, though they were always quickly recaptured. Finally a mass breakout occurred one afternoon. A few elephants began to bolt, and in the chaos they caused, the rest were able to escape, too. With dozens of elephants stampeding for the thick of the forest, the men flew into action, racing to grab their trailing fetters, and the women and children sought safety behind big trees. The elephants complied quickly, but “it was lucky no one was killed,” Williams wrote.