Spitfire Singh

by Mike Edwards

  On the ground, the technicians managed to occupy their minds in the waiting game a little better than the day before, but all stopped when the first aircraft engine was heard. In the head of each man, the Lysanders were ticked off one by one until all were accounted for. They touched down perfectly, and relieved faces looked out from their high perches in the cockpit. As engines stopped, the grins on the ground were finally joined by the grins in the cockpits.

  The whole Squadron was now to become famous. How did they know they were famous? The Japanese told them so. A Japanese radio broadcast announced: ‘We know that the Indian Air Force Squadron has come to Toungoo. They are brave, unlike the RAF, but they should be ashamed to serve British masters. The British are using them as cannon fodder. Why are they sending only the Indians on these raids? Where is the RAF? We warn the Indians that we will hit back harder next time, though we are friends and we want India to be free. They should remember this when they are ordered next time to fly.’

  Harjinder wrote; ‘We were jubilant. We are superior to the RAF; even the Japanese say so!’

  The Japanese held their promise and subjected the IAF to more raids, but by now these attacks held less fear. In fact, it was already becoming a problem for Harjinder to order the nonchalant men into the trenches. It sounds amazing that bombs and bombing can become routine only three days after their entry into the World War II, but Harjinder reported; ‘We had two more raids today. The Airmen have become fearless. The messing staff reported a raid on the stocks of cigarettes from the mess during the air raid. I warned them against the dangers of splinters from bombs, but apparently they love their cigarettes more than their lives.’

  Along with Singha, Harjinder saw a sight during one of the raids that snapped him back to reality. A Burmese guard, on duty, was marching up and down near the aircraft. It seemed that they were also getting blasé about the bombings. However, the deadly intent was brought home when a bomb splinter completely cut through this guard’s neck. Harjinder said that the headless body, with the rifle on his shoulder, walked two more steps without the head before it collapsed and fell. Robert Keaton, the AVG test pilot, was also caught in the raid and saw the Burmese guard fall. Keaton had jumped into a car with two technicians when the sirens sounded. He jammed his foot hard down on the accelerator pedal and promptly careered into a ditch! Trapped by a jammed door he had a ringside seat to the bombing, counting thirty direct hits on the runway, causing dirt to fill his car. The deadly shrapnel whizzed around him like machinegun fire but unlike the poor Burmese guard, the car’s occupants escaped injury.

  The next day they were metaphorically, and for one poor airman, literally, caught with their trousers down by the Japanese bombers. They relied on observers, using heliographs, to flash warning signals to the control tower but with the Thai border so close there was never much more than a few minutes’ notice. This day they had no notice. Did it perhaps mean that the observation team were also getting a little complacent? Saigal, and the rest of the armourers, had just finished hanging the large bombs under the wings of the aircraft when the Japanese came. The humming noise of these aircraft had become familiar to their ears. As Harjinder took cover he had time to ponder, and find it very curious, that the raiders always followed a Burmese Tiger Moth which carried mail for the Station. Were they following him; was he leading them in, or was it just coincidence?

  As the jungle erupted with the noise of the attack, for some, the distance to nip into the trenches was too great, so they threw themselves flat on the ground. The natural instinct is to seek shelter and some of them dived under the outstretched Lysander wings. Not a wise choice as the aircraft would naturally be the main target for the attackers, if spotted through their camouflaged dens. ‘Corie’ Singha was one of those under an aeroplane and he had a narrow escape. His Lysander, P-9120, had been loaded up with bombs and he had just finished writing ‘A Present from India’ on the fins of the bombs with chalk. He laid himself flat under the wings of P-9120 as the bombs detonated around him. Not normally one to pray, Singha made up for lost time by getting a lifetime of praying into those few seconds. One bomb explode dangerous close to him with the shockwave moving through him as the super-heated air moved around him. The bomb splinter flew inches over his head and body. The clanging of dirt hitting the machine was complimented by a ‘ping’ noise letting Singha know that shrapnel had struck the aircraft above him. Then came the sickening thud, and pain, in his leg. He had been hit! After the raid was over he was the last one to be seen gingerly trying to stand. Once successfully sitting up he bent over to pick up his own bomb fin from his legs. The fin, still with ‘A present from India’ written on it, had been sheared clean off and dropped on to him. It had stunned him so much that he sat there for some time thinking one of his legs must have been sliced off. When he confirmed he was not only fully intact, but unharmed, he showed the ‘Present from India’ trophy to everyone, grinning from ear to ear. The Indians’ luck was still holding out.

  Once the last of the Japanese had set course back for their base, no time was lost. The team sprang from the trenches and ran to the Lysanders. The final preparations were completed as the pilots and air gunners strapped in. Engines were started and without waiting to form up for an organised takeoff the individual aircraft blasted off the ground, and went after the Japanese. Despite their slow speed, they appeared over the Japanese air base just as the last Japanese aircraft had landed at their home airstrip. In went the IAF, and once again their approach was undetected. They went about their task with gusto, bombing and strafing, with the air gunners enjoy this ‘game’, spraying gunfire over the aircraft that still taxied around. When they had finished with their bombs they resorted to an old World War I trick. Empty beer bottles were thrown out. Not an attempt to take out an enemy soldier, or even to register disgust that the Japanese were restricting their supply of beer, but when the bottles fell they also made a whistling noise similar to a dropping bomb keeping the Japanese gunners’ heads down!

  The next day, another IAF raid went ahead. This time, on landing, Pilot Officer Gill put one wheel into one of the many bomb craters. The aircraft was fine except that the undercarriage was spread out by nearly 2 inches on one side. Harjinder told Gill everything was fine but the pilot was dubious. Jumbo came to know about the incident and Gill’s apparent lack of conviction. His answer was straight forward. Jumbo offered his Lysander P-9120 to Gill and he took over the ‘damaged’ one. True to his word, Jumbo flew the aircraft on the next mission, shaming Gill into asking for his own aircraft back.

  Despite the daily raids, the precious IAF Lysanders remained serviceable and the men untouched; except for one of Harjinder’s men performing an overzealous dive towards the ground, and Singha’s bruise from his own bomb fin. On the 5th February, the Japanese attacked with 17 bombers and 13 fighters. One of the RAF Sergeant pilots was injured very badly in the raid, and he was found by Harjinder’s Sergeant Sud, who bandaged him up by tearing strips off his own shirt. The IAF Equipment Assistant, Sohan Singh, had a narrow escape after finding himself alone in a trench. Photographer Gurmukh Singh called him over to his trench; a bit of mutual support perhaps. Sohan Singh had taken a few steps when he was blown forward, arriving face first, into Gurmukh’s trench. Sohan picked his face out of the dirt to look behind him. His recently vacated trench smoked from a direct hit. The two looked wordlessly at each other knowing how close Sohan had come to be scattered across the airfield. In the distance four RAF aircraft were burning, pouring smoke over the airfield as a beacon to the enemy. Later, in the debris, 5 more RAF planes were found to be badly damaged.

  6th February, under a week into combat, and the Japanese knew that the IAF had arrived. Jumbo led another raid, this time on the Moulmein railway stations and dockyards. Three fires were seen burning brightly as they left. Just as importantly, the action was seen by the allied army on the West bank of the river. Seeing the Japanese have some of their own medicine was heartening for the down-cast tr
oops. The Air Officer Commanding, Burma also announced that the AVG had shot down their 100th aircraft in the defence of Rangoon. Some good news was getting through.

  Meanwhile, the Japanese had also made it clear that they wanted to dispose of the Indians. Things were getting too hot on the ground at Toungoo, so the Squadron was split into three Flights at different landing grounds. After all, they could rendezvous in the air for bombing missions. It also meant they could assist local forces in their own areas. There was plenty to organise. Harjinder decided to split the repair and salvage section, placing the two halves under Flight Sergeant Bhaskaran and Flight Sergeant Mohd Siddique. Their training on the North-West Frontier, and the experience gained in repairing the crashed IAF aircraft, had given them valuble experience, which Harjinder now intended to make full use of, in order to maintain 100 per cent serviceability. Harjinder’s men had worked non-stop whenever the need arose – carrying out repairs in torchlight, in the dead of the night – Harjinder wanted to maintain this ethos, even when they were split up.

  Harjinder had three other Acting Unpaid Flight Sergeants: Atma Singh, Waryam Singh and Sharma. They were given charge of the daily servicing of each Flight. Harjinder would be in overall charge, but his Flight Sergeants would all be running their own small shows. Maintaining the 100 per cent record was his aim. Losses seemed likely, so all the ground equipment and spares were split into two, and the location of these sections were arranged such that in case of any damage to one by enemy bombing, the other would still be operational.

  As always in war, rumours spread like wildfire. The current rumour was that enemy agents in Burma were lighting fires around their airfields to guide the Japanese bombers to their targets easily. There were even unconfirmed reports that a Magistrate in Toungoo was an enemy spy and had been arrested. The stories about the bombing havoc at Rangoon were clearly not just rumour. The IAF team felt they were dealing out some opposition to the Japanese, but they were just twelve aircraft in a small sector of Burma. The Japanese may be slowed down slightly, but they were still pushing forward, and it seemed that a retreat was inevitable.

  The 7th February was one whole week in Burma for the IAF. They say a week is a long time in politics, but when those politics involve bombing and being bombed, a week can feel like a lifetime. The men felt like veterans; whether it was their general keenness, their professional training, or the smoke of the battle in their nostrils, the pilots took their missions in their stride like men with months of operations under their belts. However, if this Japanese bombing continued, they would soon cause casualties in both men and machines so the main party moved North to Lashio. Jumbo headed even further up the flat valley floor. The tree-covered head of the valley was visible to the North of their new airstrip. A natural pass turned right into the next river valley which led directly into China. Harjinder organised his ground party, collecting men and material at the train station in Toungoo. He loaded them all into the train, already bursting at the seams with refugees moving away from the advancing enemy. The train chuffed and rattled its way North, first towards Mandalay, where it would turn East and continue to Lashio. Harjinder settled into the slow rocking rhythm and the clanking noises from the track. The soporific sounds of the train suddenly slipped into insignificance as aircraft engines, at full power, roared overhead. The trees that had been pressing in at both sides of the track were torn apart by gun fire. The initial chaotic swirl of noise, torn vegetation, and train steam, only briefly subsided as the planes returned to strafe the train again. This time the driver, and fireman, were having no more. With the brakes wound fully on, the train screeching to a halt with carriage smashing against carriage, the two of them jumped from their still moving cab. They were last seen disappearing at full speed into the outskirts of the town they were just approaching. Whether the Japanese thought the clouds of steam indicated a direct hit, or they were spooked by allied aircraft was unclear to Harjinder, but when he jumped down and ran to the front he found the Japanese seemed to have missed the engine completely. After walking up the track he discovered they had been abandoned near the railway station at Meiktila, about halfway to Mandalay. He found the Station Master, but any conversation with him seemed hopeless. With plenty of threats directed at him, he did, finally, ring up the Area Superintendent, who proved to be equally helpless; no spare drivers were available. Harjinder now found himself separated from his aircraft, with all his men gathered together on a train which offered a perfect target for any passing Japanese aircraft. He sent a party of Airmen to search the vicinity for the driver, but they returned without success Harjinder was desperate. The aircraft would be useless without the technicians and their tools, and they had all the ground equipment on the train. No plan involving spanners and hammers, invigorated by tea or otherwise, would work this time, so another plan was required, something a little cheeky perhaps. Harjinder had officially been an apprentice on the railways during his college time. He had learnt all about locomotives in those college days, when he used to go to the Loco Shops of North Western Railway at Moghalpura for technical experience. The driving part was simple, wasn’t it? He knew the theory of how the brakes worked, didn’t he? So Harjinder approached the Station Master of Meiktila asking if he could drive. If a man in uniform, in fact, a fearsome man in uniform, asked to borrow your train, what would you say? Not surprisingly, he refused point-blank. Harjinder then told him that he was a qualified driver and in a blatant show of faux confidence, suggested that the Station Master test him. He still refused! So Harjinder went a level up, and asked him if he could speak to the Area Superintendent direct. He managed to get the Superintendent on the line, but he, too was adamant in refusing him permission. No great surprise there, then.

  There was a war on, they were stranded, the IAF pilots also would be stranded with the Squadron immobilized if Harjinder didn’t take the law into his own hands. His reasoning was, better to risk a train rather than a Squadron, so he told the Station Master: ‘In the name of the Government of Burma, I take over this train and ask you to inform the next station of our arrival.’

  The Station Master wanted it in writing, so paper was produced and in his neatly formed writing, Harjinder formally took over all responsibility for the train, not knowing if he could legally do such a thing, but signing pieces of paper seemed to make everything alright! With a sweep of the pen, he was now Warrant Officer Harjinder Singh: train driver. Things seemed to come full circle to those early apprentice days, apart from the fact that he had never actually driven a train!

  Even though the fireman was missing, the mouth organ playing Sergeant Cabinetmaker rose to the occasion and volunteered for the job. He shovelled more coal in to get the pressure up as Harjinder studied the controls. As soon as he moved the brake handle forward, the brakes went off and the vacuum gauge registered; a good start. Once underway Harjinder celebrated by letting out a long blast on the train’s whistle. Well you would, wouldn’t you! Then he moved the throttle handle to the right to see if anything would happen. There was such a jolt forward that Harjinder hit his head against the pressure gauge. The poor passengers must have had a very uneasy time, possibly thinking of abandoning ship, but the train continued to move forward and so, by accident, they were underway. Going was one thing, but stopping seemed far more important, so Harjinder thought he had better put in some practice whilst they were still near a station. He travelled about a mile and then shut off steam to stop the speed building up. After about two minutes he gingerly turned the brake handle about a quarter of the movement before letting it go. The next time he moved it to one third and let go. Another minute and he pulled it fully back. There was another big jolt, although he was ready for it this time, and more importantly, the train hissed to a stop. He reversed the gear lever, released the brakes and, ever so gently this time, he opened the throttle. It was pure delight to feel the train reverse very gracefully. He repeated the operation for stopping, again with a more delicate touch, and the train came to a stand-stil
l like a well-trained horse under control. That was enough practice, time to do or die. ‘I was confident and felt sure that we could drive the train as far as it would go, but only on the plains. What would happen when we came to a hilly section? I left that in the lap of the Gods.’

  They steamed off at what they estimated was about 20 mph. This must be every schoolboy’s dream, your own steam train to drive, just so long as you can forget you are firstly, in the jungle, secondly, in a war, and thirdly, a nice, big, juicy target for fighters that have already appeared once this day! After they had gone about 50 miles, Cabinetmaker took over. Two train drivers fully checked out! Things settled down, and they relaxed into their new role. The miles clattered by but it couldn’t last forever. The Station Master at one of the more major towns must have been warned, because he had both incoming and outgoing signals down, possibly as a safety measure in case they overran the station. Experts were watching so the pressure was on to show that they knew what they were doing – after all Harjinder had told the previous Station Master that he was a driver! They started shutting-off the steam but unfortunately a little too early. The train nearly stopped so Harjinder gave it another burst on the throttle. Too much! The wheels spun on the track initially but then they picked up speed too quickly and watched the station, and various faces, chug past them as they struggled to shut off the steam and get full brakes on without taking the train off the track. Finally, they overshot the station by a whole mile. The reversing Harjinder practiced earlier came in useful, and very slowly, he drew them up, backwards, to the platform. The Station Master came rushing up to the cab. Seeing them in uniform he spoke to Harjinder very politely but certainly very firmly. ‘I have received a telephone from the Area Superintendent. He has despatched a driver by car, so please do not move any further. It is very dangerous. There is a bridge ahead; a long and twisting one. There are also hills ahead, so you need another locomotive in the rear from the next station onwards.’