by Mike Edwards
The Squadron had developed very clear-cut tactics by this time, a necessity for survival. They took off from their several dispersed airfields to rendezvous at a predetermined landmark, forming up as a complete squadron for their attack. After completing their mission, the procedure was reversed but to make use of every second they were flying they broke off into individual Flights to carry out reconnaissance for the Army until their fuel ran low. The Japanese had not discovered the various locations of the IAF aircraft but Jumbo and team were building an unrivalled picture of the Japanese positions. On one occasion, an Army Liaison Officer, Captain Watson, attached to the Squadron, didn’t believe the airstrip at Ywathit, Siam, was in enemy hands. Nonchalantly, Jumbo told Watson to jump in the back of his Lysander; they would go for a look. After the brief tree-skimming flight, Jumbo pointed to what looked, from the air, like a stretch of road in front of them and told Watson that it was, in reality, a Japanese airstrip. Watson refused to believe this and foolishly said so to Jumbo.
He regretted vocalising his doubts a few minutes later.
Jumbo moved away from the area and climbed the Lysander to 10,000 feet before, to Watson’s horror, shutting down the engine. He then glided the silent aircraft down, back towards the airfield. Initially the trees seemed to slowly grow below them but suddenly they were just feet above the last trees surrounding the disputed clearing. Jumbo rolled the wheel down the runway, calmly pointing out enemy soldiers on both sides. He flicked the magnetos back to ‘on’, and the engine sparked backed into life. That certainly attracted the attention of the surprised enemy gunners who managed only a few shots in their general direction to punctuate Jumbo’s point. On the way out, Jumbo shot up a few gun positions as he exited at tree top height, with a speechless Captain Watson in the back. When Watson was back on the ground, and finally finding his voice back, he said; ‘I have not met another pilot of such cool courage in my life.’
In Rangoon, James Lansdale Hodson had taken up residence in a deserted house. All the owner’s belongings, right down to the shaving kit in the bathroom, remained. In the street, abandoned cars were daubed up with slogans like; ‘To Blighty via Tokyo’ and ‘To let’. An RAF Wing Commander told him; ‘The Japs are good and brave pilots who make their machines do things they never intended to do.’
An Army Officer described the ground war to him. ‘Most of the fighting has been at close quarters, often hand to hand. In the jungle, you can’t see more than 10 yards, often less. At times, our men fought anything from 2 to 6 days with little or no food. Crossing the Sittang River was possibly worse than Dunkirk, for, as troops swam, they were subjected to gunfire and dive-bombing. The River seemed full of bobbing heads.’
Life for the IAF was tough, but life in the jungle for the Army was brutal. Another man hewn from the same Punjabi rock as Harjinder was Sam Manekshaw, a Parsee who’d grown up in Amritsar. When Sam’s father refused to send him to Cambridge to study medicine, he joined the Army in a fit of rebellion. Thus, he found himself as a junior Second Lieutenant in the 4/12 Frontier Force Rifles, a Baluch unit, in Burma, with orders to counter attack the advancing Japanese in Rangoon. His objective, Pagoda Hill, was the key position on the left of the Sittang bridgehead. Half of his company lay dead around him as he flushed the last of the Japanese from their positions. Capturing the hill would give the troops more time to cross the Sittang River and escape the noose closing in around them. The enemy knew it, too. They hosed the hill down with machine gun fire and the young Parsee Company Commander was the main target. When Sam arrived, by stretcher, at the initial CCS, or Casualty Clearing Station, Major General ‘Punch’ Cowan spotted this man who led the charge of Pagoda Hill. The seven bullet wounds in his stomach told the story. Fearing the worst, Major General Cowan quickly removed his own Military Cross medal ribbon and pinned it onto Manekshaw’s bloodstained tunic saying: ‘A dead person cannot be awarded a Military Cross.’
Back in Rangoon, reports came in about the jails in the city and Insein, the lunatic asylum in Tadegale, and a leper hospital nearby. The Indian warders had fled North in a desperate attempt to make the long trek back to the Indian border. A single, junior officer was handed the dilemma of releasing his inmates or leaving them to starve. He chose to release them, but the criticism that was heaped on him was so intense that he finally shot himself. Of the 1,500 criminals and 800 ‘lunatics’ he had released from prison, the rational ones joined the ‘human crocodile’ that was crawling past the airport and heading North. The rest headed East and directly up to one of the bridges that crossed the Sittang River, just as the Japanese arrived at the other side, having finally recaptured Pagoda Hill. The Japanese began their customary demonstration of yells and war cries with hand grenades exploding to disconcert the enemy. They were completely outdone by the ‘lunatics’, who appeared to think that the Japanese were playing a game with them, and so responded with fanatical gesticulations, comic dancing, and complete disregard for their own safety.
However, as a British Captain told James, some of those released turned their attention on the city; ‘The disorder, the looting, the attacks made by the criminals, or insurgent Burmese, on poor Indian servants, will never be a tenth part known.’
The main fire raging in Rangoon was at the docks, pushing great columns of black smoke skywards, driven by belching red flames. The dying city had smaller fires everywhere. The pavements glittered with shards of glass from shop windows and smashed bottles. Rangoon no longer functioned as a city.
The IAF knew that they would soon be leaving, but with perfect timing, General Wavell, the overall Commander of India ‘dropped in’ at Lashio to address them all before the inevitable withdrawal from Burma. Had he heard of Jumbo’s plans? It certainly seemed so from his speech.
‘I have come to Lashio to personally congratulate No. 1 Squadron of the Indian Air Force. You have made history within this short time. I need not tell you that the RAF have acknowledged your bravery and skill with respect and the Air Officer Commanding Burma, has nothing but praise for you. I am also aware of your ambition to expand your Air Force to ten squadrons.’
That caused a ripple of shock throughout those who were listening intently. He continued;
‘I promise you all the help to fulfil this ambition. This is a gentleman’s promise. The best place to build up an IAF is in your own country, where you can pick and choose from the young men. I would also like to tell you that we shall have to fight and ward off Japanese attacks on India; the Japanese dream of the invasion of India must be shattered. This will be your main task when you get back to India. I congratulate Squadron Leader Majumdar for his superb leadership; and also his pilots, who have performed miracles in the present crisis. The ground crews have won the admiration of all of us for keeping all aircraft flying under the most adverse conditions.’
Wavell was just disappearing when Jumbo added his bit to the assembled men: ‘May I add to the Supreme Commander’s words. I would like to say that it has all been made possible because of the Airmen’s devotion to duty. I owe them a lot. We pilots would have spent our days sitting on the ground and perhaps in trenches if there had been no aircraft to fly.’
Then came the words that probably saved Jumbo’s, and Harjinder’s, careers, and the reputation of the IAF; ‘Our aim is to expand to ten squadrons; where and how we raise them is immaterial. I would be quite happy to go to India after what General Wavell has promised.’
The Chinese adventure was off just like that, but when alone with Harjinder, Jumbo recognised that things were not going to be that easy. They had painted themselves into a corner. ‘The last ship for India has sailed from Rangoon, there is no motor transport left anywhere here, no trains running. Animal transport is out of the question. How do we get our men back? The aircraft can hardly carry a dozen men and we have 250. In any case, the Army needs these aircraft to provide cover.’
Harjinder didn’t see this as a major disaster, just another problem to overcome. He told Jumbo that if he wo
uld entrust the withdrawal to him, he would not let the Squadron down. Jumbo agreed, although you could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe it. Had his Chinese dream just condemned his men to capture, and probable slaughter? Harjinder rushed off to Lashio bazaar to see what he could scrounge. On almost his first stop he came across a shop which contained five Chinese lorries undergoing repairs, two of them could only really be described as junk. He struck a deal of sorts on the spot and returned to Jumbo, telling him that they would be in Magwe within 36 hours. Harjinder only ever worked to ridiculously tight time scales.
Having commandeered the five lorries, Harjinder put his technicians to work on them. After the Lysander’s battle damage, the lorry seemed a very basic machine. They succeeded getting all of them running even if one vehicle was completely devoid of any foot brakes, but beggars can’t be choosers, so they decided to take that one, too! By Harjinder’s magic, and no doubt some tea, a motor column was soon formed.
In Rangoon, James met with General Wavell and Air Vice-Marshal Stephenson, the former fresh from his visit to the IAF in Lashio, the latter fresh from his meeting with the babbling Corporal Tara Singh! James was full of admiration for Wavell who flew over the battlefields, through the danger zones, to carry out his meetings as if attending the races at Ascot. Also reporting to them was a Wing Commander who had been exploring the road running North of Rangoon, and what was fast becoming their only escape route. This Officer had been compelled to drive over the dead bodies of Indian refugees lying on the road. It was time to accept that Rangoon was lost. It was time to leave; but how?
The IAF ground crew prepared their collection of battered vehicles in anticipation of the push Northwest towards the coast. Flying Officer Rup Chand was detailed as Officer-in-Charge of the road party but he gave Harjinder full freedom to organise this extreme version of a road trip. Harjinder distributed 45 men per lorry and asked them to carry only light luggage because of the long journey, and the breakdowns he was expecting along the way. He wasn’t wrong!
As dawn broke over 3rd March 1942, the majority of No. 1 Squadron IAF ground troops pulled out of operations in Burma, although the aircraft would continue to fly. An Anglo-Burmese family living opposite their quarters came out to wish them good luck. The head of the family came out to shake hands with Harjinder and said: ‘Officer, I would like to tell you that your Airmen are perfect gentlemen. They have stayed here under war-time conditions, but we have never had any cause of anxiety. They have behaved most chivalrously. My family has nothing but praises for them. We wish you good luck and pray for your success wherever you go.’
If you can fight a war and keep the locals on your side as the bombs, meant to obliterate you, disrupt their lives, you are doing something right. But it was time to go, and these villagers would soon have Japanese masters.
The beard on the recently arrived RAF Regiment officer made him stand out; RAF officers should be clean shaven. The Australian accent added to the melting pot of national tongues in Lashio. A self-proclaimed ‘Defence Officer’, he fitted right in with the Indians at Lashio because he was there having arranged his own transport to the front-line. Glen McBride’s only qualification as Defence Officer was a brief chat with a man who, allegedly, had once worked in that role. He started the process of handing over the defences to the Chinese troops. He was shown the sketch map of the various locations of aviation fuel supplies, piled high in cans over several sites under camouflage netting, down many winding, dirt tracks leading away from the airfield.
Glen watched the ragtag convoy of IAF ‘acquired’ lorries heading out of town along one of the muddy tracks. They rattled and shook over 180 miles when, while crossing a river, one of the transports got bogged down. All attempts to free it failed even with all the men pulling, pushing, sweating and swearing. It was hugely frustrating for Harjinder, there was nothing mechanically wrong with the truck but time was slipping through his fingers. There was only one thing to do; they loaded all its occupants into the other four lorries and abandoned the vehicle there. One vehicle down already, and now severely overloaded, they couldn’t afford to lose another. Towards evening they reached the hills around Mandalay. This stretch of road had hairpin bend after hairpin bend. Naturally, this was a big issue for a lorry without brakes, and, of course, Harjinder had volunteered to drive it (although we don’t know if the passengers ‘volunteered’ to be in that lorry!). The only way to make it around each turn was full use of the hand brakes hoping it wouldn’t burn out. The tension in the swaying cab stayed at heart thumping levels as the smell of hot brakes from the rear wheels indicated total, imminent failure. The rear parking brake continued to slow the bucking vehicle until the slope eased and the life-threatening track straightened. Somehow, they got across the hill section without an accident, and parked at 6 pm on the crest of a hill for a break and a brew. As the tea came to the boil, Flight Lieutenant Rup Chand brought out his battery operated radio set and tuned in for the news from Delhi. The grins broke out all around as, totally unexpectedly, they found themselves ‘mentioned in despatches’ on the All India Radio broadcast news. Sitting in a convoy of bolted together, mud covered, battered, trucks in the jungle of Burma, with Japanese hot on their tail, the words from home seemed unreal:
‘Units of the Indian Air Force operating against the Japanese in Burma have been so successful in their bombing and reconnaissance raids over enemy territory that they have been especially commended by the Commander-in-Chief, General Wavell, who has sent the pilots and crews a congratulatory message, in which he said “Well done! Your raids made all the difference.’
With rear brakes shot to pieces, but straighter roads, Harjinder could run his lorry gently into the back of the preceding vehicle, allowing it to brake for both of them. Despite little control left in his own lorry, the overloaded convoy did reach their destination, albeit late in the night. They camped out in the fields adjacent to an even more chaotic Magwe airstrip. They fondly patted the torn mudguards of their trusty steeds as they parked them for the last time; though dilapidated and old, they had stood them in good stead at a most critical time.
In the morning, the team headed into the chaos that was the brick-red dust-covered Magwe airfield. A sole RAF Blenheim aircraft droned constantly overhead to try and give the four surviving Buffalo fighters from No. 67 Squadron, the four RAF Hurricanes, and six AVG Tomahawks some warning of a Japanese air attack. It was Harjinder’s opinion that Flight Lieutenant Rup Chand should go on the first available aircraft with a party of Airmen, but he had a difficult time in persuading him to accept his suggestion. Rup Chand said; ‘As I am an officer it is my duty to remain here till the last of our men leaves Burma.’
However, Harjinder got his way in the end, with the oldest trick in the book; he simply lied to him! He said that the instructions from Jumbo were very clear, the Officer-in-Charge of the party was to proceed to Calcutta immediately and arrange for the reception of the whole Squadron. Rup Chand was an exceedingly well-disciplined officer, so believing Harjinder’s statement to be true, he reluctantly agreed to go back by the next plane, but you could read disappointment written all over his face. When his aircraft rumbled down the runway, Harjinder stood to one side saluting; ‘one of the bravest men I have met. Medically unfit, senior in age to all of us, he nevertheless shared all our hardships and would have gone on every mission if the selection of aircrews had been left in his hands.’
With the Japanese only 10 miles away from Rangoon, the order was given to abandon the city. All air transport had stopped, the airfield being too dangerous for the big transport aircraft. James Lansdale Hodson found a RAF Officer with a spare seat in his car, a lumbering old Dodge, with incredibly dodgy steering. At 2 pm, the demolition charges in Rangoon were blown. At the oil refinery, the column of smoke rose to 3000 feet, with flames reaching 500 feet. As they drove up the Burma Road, they crossed over countless bridges being prepared for demolition, and aircraft buzzed overhead, IAF Machines included, to cover the withdra
wal of the final soldiers. The Governor, Sir Reginald Dorman-Smith’s convoy was just behind James.
At Lashio, Glen McBride took an axe to the first 40-gallon fuel drum at the first fuel dump. The axe dented the drum but otherwise bounced off. Finally, a pickaxe was found and the pointed end did the trick. Soon fuel was glugging into the ground around him. Three attempts at firing flares from a pistol failed, proving to Glen that his aim wasn’t as good as he thought. They were running out of time and ideas. He had already destroyed all the IAF paperwork in case he was captured, so it was with a long face, and slightly embarrassed look, his Corporal offered up the only piece of paper available them. A strip was torn off the Corporal’s sweetheart’s letter, and that provided the start to the burning of Lashio. It took all night, and careful rationing of the love-letter but more than half a million gallons of petrol went up that night. Passing through the airfield Glen saw, to his consternation, an abandoned RAF Lysander covered in netting. Presumably abandoned because there had not been time to repair it. Glen poured petrol into the cockpit and up it went. As the magnesium began to burn, it sent a white sheet of flame skywards. If any beacon was needed by the Japanese, this was it. It was time for Glen to leave, but he knew it was too late to follow Harjinder. He headed into China where the American crews of the AVG would all eventually re-group.
At Magwe, when Harjinder reported to Group Headquarters, a double-storeyed building in town, he expected the usual lukewarm reception from the RAF. What Harjinder still didn’t realise was that the IAF’s action in Burma was being told at desks, mess tables, and over the radio throughout the combat zone. The Wing Commander in-charge of evacuation shook hands with him as he entered the room and introduced him to all the other officers saying; ‘Here is an engineer officer who has kept 100 per cent serviceability in his Squadron and even fitted wooden tail-wheels to the Lysanders. He belongs to the gallant “Jumbo Squadron”.’