But that evening, he told me, Malaya was suddenly a horrible place to be, shamed beyond redemption.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Late in December 1941 I was present at a meeting between British Intelligence and the leaders of the Malayan Communist Party. It was a highly secret meeting – so secret in fact that even now its existence is nowhere acknowledged in the official records, and that it took place at all can only be inferred by subsequent events. But I was present nevertheless, and I know what was said and by whom, and I know what was agreed.
How I came to be present – a lowly civilian uncleared to any security level – is a matter of wonder to me even now. No doubt the extraordinary circumstances of the times and the unique personalities of those involved were contributory factors, but I dare say that the deciding factor was that Denis himself wanted me to be present. And given his mood at the time – his bitter cynicism after the evacuation of Penang, and his resolution following our discussion about Burnbrae – he was not to be denied.
The meeting was held at Whitelawns for security reasons – there were ears everywhere in Singapore, and Fort Canning and the Naval Base were quite out of the question. Colin McKenzie chaired the meeting, flying out from Ceylon to preside. He was now head of SOE’s Oriental Mission and an important war leader, but he turned up at Whitelawns in modest style, driving his own brown-painted Army car with a Gurkha sergeant sitting beside him. The others began to arrive just after lunch – as disparate and colourful a bunch as one could wish for. There was Colonel Freddie Spencer-Chapman, the dashing, moustachioed commander of No. 101 Special Training School, Ivan Lyon, looking superb in the uniform of his Scottish regiment, and John Dalley, unfamiliar in webbing and gaiters with hand-grenades dangling from his belt. Two Chinese were the next to arrive, both in civilian dress and wearing dark glasses. Loi Tak was the Secretary-General of the Malayan Communist Party and Chin Peng was his Deputy.
‘Is this meeting going to stay secret?’ Loi Tak asked as soon as he arrived, one foot poised on our verandah steps as if he were still deciding whether or not to come inside. He was a stocky individual, Vietnamese to my eyes rather than Chinese as he claimed. ‘My life is at stake, you know. I believe that the Japanese will be here in Singapore within weeks, and if the Kempeitai get the slightest hint of my involvement with this group, I will be a dead man.’
‘All our lives are at stake,’ Colin said mildly. ‘I’m certain nobody here on the British side is a traitor. I’ve known all of them for years and count them as my friends.’
‘We must trust each other,’ Chin Peng said. ‘Have we any alternative?’ He was a quiet, slim young man about my own age and when he took his off his dark glasses I saw he had intelligent, expressive eyes. He looked more like a university student than a dangerous Communist revolutionary.
The last to arrive was Bob Chrystal, and in Bob’s typically nonchalant way he turned up still dressed for the golf course and half an hour late because he’d had a puncture. ‘Sorry, everybody,’ he drawled as he came up the steps. ‘I’ve had the devil of a day.’ We were all sitting in cane chairs on the verandah, sipping tea from my best Green Dragon pattern Chinese tea set.
‘We are all busy people, and some of us are risking our lives to be here,’ Loi Tak said sourly. ‘If you were in my organisation I would have you on punishment parade.’
‘That’s why I wouldn’t be in your organisation if you paid me,’ Bob rejoined. He was smiling but I could feel the tension in the air.
Colin McKenzie cleared his throat in an official sort of way, and assuming the meeting proper was about to get under way I got up to leave. ‘Don’t go,’ Denis said firmly, waving me back to my seat. ‘I’d like you to sit in with us, Norma. And jot down the odd note if you don’t mind – I’d like an aide memoire of everything that is agreed here today.’
Loi Tak objected immediately, standing up importantly to add emphasis to his point. ‘I will not allow any written record to be made of this meeting,’ he said harshly. ‘And I object to an English civilian sitting in and overhearing secret conversations. I have no idea who this woman is, or where her loyalties lie.’
‘Oh, rubbish,’ Denis snapped. ‘As for taking notes – I suspect we are all going to make our own record of what is agreed here today, and I’d prefer Norma to take my notes for me. As for your objection to my wife’s presence here, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you said, Loi Tak. But if you say it again I will personally boot you off the premises.’
There was a shocked silence, and then Chin Peng waved Loi Tak back to his seat. ‘I – we – have no difficulty with Mrs Elesmere-Elliott being present,’ he said firmly. ‘On the contrary, it is her right as our hostess to do what she likes.’ Chin Peng may have been Loi Tak’s junior in the Party hierarchy, but it was clear that the younger man was in charge. Loi Tak sat down but continued to glower at me.
I thought Colin was going to object as well, but Denis was staring at him and he seemed to change his mind. He cleared his throat again. ‘That being settled, gentlemen, I’ll start by putting a few bald facts on the table,’ he said. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, the Japs are rolling up our forces in Malaya like a carpet. We have lost the Battle of Jitra. The Japs are in Alor Star. They’ve crossed the Peninsula and are coming down the West Coast like a train down a hill. Ipoh will fall in a day or so, and I give them a week to take KL. In a word, we are running out of time to put our people into the jungle.’
He got up from his chair and perched on the edge of a cane table, one leg swinging. ‘Time is therefore of the essence. What I’m hoping for today is an agreement by the Malayan Communist Party to join us in fighting the Japanese. The most effective way they can do that is by contributing their soldiers to the groups we are organising to leave behind enemy lines. Our stay-behind parties. If the MCP agrees to work with us, to put their fighters under British command, we will arm them, and we will re-supply them in the jungle. And we’ll give them good leadership . . .’
‘And after the war? They will be rounded up and put into your British gaols?’ Loi Tak said roughly. ‘We need also speak about what happens after the war.’
Colin exchanged glances with Denis. ‘If your people fight as loyal citizens of this country, I assure you that when the fighting is over they will have the same rights as all other loyal citizens. But that is a long way in the future. I suggest we focus on the here and now, or there will be no future for Malaya to worry about.’
I thought Loi Tak was going to say something but Chin Peng forestalled him. ‘Thank you for that assurance, Colonel McKenzie,’ he said quietly. ‘I will convey what you have said to all Party members.’
Then it was Freddie Spencer-Chapman’s turn, and the tall, spare Scotsman put his cards on the table. ‘I’ve got twenty MCP fighters training at Tanjong Balai at the moment, and they are about the best men I have. Fit, keen and competent. I want more. I could take at least a couple of hundred more.’ He turned to Loi Tak. ‘In a word, can I have them?’
Chin Peng answered for the Communists. ‘The twenty men you already have are our best, Colonel. We intend that they will form the cadres on which we will build the Malayan Peoples’ Anti-Japanese Army of the future. If we do agree to work together, perhaps I can give you a couple of hundred more men for training, but they will not be of the same quality.’
‘A deal is worthless unless both sides benefit,’ Loi Tak cut in loudly. ‘In the deal you are proposing, Colonel McKenzie, you British get our Communist fighters to use in your war against the Japanese. What do we get in return?’
Colin gestured to Ivan Lyon, who hitched his chair around to face the group. ‘Denis and I and a few others have been working for years to establish secret arms dumps up and down Malaya,’ he said. ‘They contain enough arms and ammunition to maintain a small army in the jungle for twelve months or more. They also include spare parts, explosives, fuses, radio sets, medical kits, iron rations – everything you need to fight a guerrilla war. Our stay-behind
parties know where the dumps are, and we are prepared to share them with the MCP units. Of course, after a while, we’ll need to top up the supplies. As Colonel McKenzie has already said, we will do that by air drops, either from Singapore, or – heaven forbid – from Ceylon if Singapore were to fall.’
‘We’ve also got the Sakais on our side,’ Bob Chrystal chipped in. ‘We’ve developed good relations with several of their communities. Up in the Telom Valley and at Tasik Bera . . .’
Loi Tak suddenly hawked and spat contemptuously, his spit clearing the rails and falling into my petunia bed. ‘The Sakais? The little monkey people? What use are they?’
Bob carried on as if Loi Tak hadn’t spoken. ‘The Sakais know all the jungle pathways, so if you want to move around in the jungle you need them on your side. They are also pretty handy with their blowpipes. If they wanted to, they could pick off an entire patrol without being seen, just taking potshots from the bush. I’ve seen their darts bring down a monkey from forty feet up in the treetops. Stone dead before the poor little beastie knew what hit him.’
‘They would be useful allies,’ Chin Peng put in. ‘But how do we know you have them on your side?’
‘Ever heard of Pat Noone?’ Denis asked. ‘Pat is up in the Telom right now, working with the Temiar.’ Most people in Malaya knew Pat Noone, the man who had ‘discovered’ the lost tribes of the ulu in the early 1930s.
‘You promise all sorts of things,’ Loi Tak said. ‘That is because the Japanese are breathing down your necks. But it was not so long ago that you were gaoling Communists. How can we be sure you will live up to your promises?’ It was clear that Loi Tak was playing the ‘hard man’ in the Communist team to Chin Peng’s ‘soft man’. It was a traditional pattern in Chinese drama, and I suddenly wondered just how much of Loi Tak’s truculence was pure theatre.
‘You have the word of the British Government,’ Colin said a little pompously. He turned to face Loi Tak directly. ‘You have my personal word, too, Mr Secretary-General. We are going to create an elite force to go into the jungle with you – Force 136. It will be made up of some of our brightest sabotage and demolition people, and they will have the most modern equipment available. When Force 136 joins up with your Malayan Peoples’ Anti-Japanese Army, surely we will be invincible!’
Loi Tak refused to respond to Colin’s enthusiasm. He scowled sourly. ‘I am struggling to convince my people that we are getting enough out of this deal,’ he said. ‘A pledge, perhaps in the form of a large sum of money in a neutral bank, would be worth a lot more than your promise of future help. My people remember other British promises. Promises that have been broken.’
Colin flushed. This time it was Denis who was the peacemaker. ‘Let us not waste time quibbling about money when the future of Malaya is at stake,’ he said. ‘In any case, money is not going to be much use to your people in the ulu. Guns and radios, and medicines, and fresh food will be.’
Loi Tak was implacable. ‘Your Dalforce is made up almost entirely of Communist Party members,’ he said. ‘What does the British Government intend to offer the MCP for their services?’
‘Dalforce comprises Chinese of many persuasions,’ John Dalley put in reasonably. ‘Supporters of the Kuomintang. Catholics. Communists. Even some old-fashioned Tories. The Communists are there not because they are Communists but because they are patriots who want to fight the Japanese.’
The meeting went on for a couple of hours. One by one those on the British side paraded the advantages of a unified front, and one by one Loi Tak would dismiss each argument with a contemptuous sneer. And then, one by one, Chin Peng would grudgingly accept the points that had been made so that the mountain of ‘pros’ began to eclipse the mountain of ‘cons’. The ‘Loi and Chin Show’ became so predictable that I almost felt like laughing. And then, quite suddenly, everybody seemed to be in perfect accord and we were scraping back our chairs and standing up to shake hands all round. I have a theory that the timing of every meeting is dictated by a sort of internal rhythm, a tempo that needs be worked through before people feel it is safe to finally agree.
I recall that as we stood in the driveway, with the Java sparrows darting overhead and the shadows lengthening around us, there was a quiet sense of triumph. No formal paper had been signed, no trumpets had sounded, but a signal victory had been achieved nevertheless: Britons and Chinese Communists, so recently deadly enemies, had joined forces against a common enemy.
Bob Chrystal, Loi Tak and Chin Peng stayed on for dinner. It was a cheerful, informal meal and the first thing I noticed was that Loi Tak dropped the surly, truculent mask he had worn during the afternoon and displayed a charm and courtesy that – almost – took me by surprise.
‘You will forgive me for my rudeness during the afternoon, Norma,’ he said at one point. ‘But I am a professional revolutionary and I need at times to act like one.’ And then he had lifted his glass of bubbling South African champagne and winked at me across its rim before downing the lot.
Chin Peng impressed me in quite another way. He was incredibly well read, and could speak with careless familiarity about anything and everything under the sun. He had been a brilliant student, matriculating at fifteen and being offered a scholarship to the London School of Economics – a fantastic achievement for the son of a Chinese bicycle dealer in one of the furthestflung colonies of the Empire. He had known Bob Chrystal for years, ever since his appointment as a teacher at the Chinese school on Kamuning Rubber Estate which Bob had managed. ‘Mr Chrystal has been a mentor for me, Mrs Elesmere-Elliott,’ he said. ‘I was a naïve young schoolteacher stuck out in the country, full of silly notions and quite angry with the world. Mr Chrystal put up with me. He did more than that. He gave me his time and friendship. He used to invite me to his bungalow where we would talk, sometimes until dawn. About history, about philosophy – even about Communism.’ Chin Peng laughed suddenly. ‘I could be very rude. I once told him that if the revolution ever came to Malaya, he and his kind would have to be shot. But I was a compassionate young man. I promised that if it were at all in my power I would make sure he was shot quickly and cleanly so that he did not suffer. I must have been quite intolerable!’
‘Tell me,’ I asked him. ‘What exactly is Communism? In my family it has always been a dirty word, but so many people seem to be attracted to the ideal.’
Chin Peng thought for a moment. ‘Think of what happens in a family,’ he said. ‘The mother and father provide for the children. They provide everything while the children are babies, less as they grow up and begin to fend for themselves. Then, when the children are big and strong and their parents are old and weak, the children look after their parents. That is the essence of Communism. From everyone according to their ability, to everyone according to their need.’
‘That is the theory,’ Denis put in. ‘And a very fine theory it is. In fact, it is precisely what Jesus Christ asked of us in the Sermon on the Mount. But in reality, the parents in Chin Peng’s analogy are all too often greedy officials who abuse their position and use the system to feather their own nests. Not unlike the Church in the Middle Ages, I suppose.’
There was a small silence, and then Chin Peng leaned forward, his eyes on mine. ‘There are many families where the parents exploit their children. Where there is cruelty and abuse. Does that mean that the ideal we seek in every family should be abandoned? What Denis says is quite true in respect of many branches of the Communist Party. It may be true of the Malayan Communist Party’ – he flashed a glance at Loi Tak – ‘but that does not mean that the ideals of Communism are not worth fighting for.’
There was a raid that night, the sirens sounding just after Amah served coffee. We all sat in the shelter, the pressure lamp hissing in the corner, the two boys fast asleep on their nurses’ laps. Afterwards, dead tired, I went to bed and left the menfolk to it. I know they talked for most of the night, the subdued hum of their conversation audible from the verandah. I woke about four to hear Bob’s car setting
off, and hoped that poor old Bob would not have another puncture. I knew he had arranged to run Loi Tak and Chin Peng home and the thought of the three of them – the urbane, affable Scottish businessman and two of the most powerful Communist leaders in South-East Asia – fixing a tyre together in the dark almost made me chuckle.
‘What was that all about?’ I asked the next morning as we sipped tea propped up in bed. ‘I heard the four of you chatting until dawn.’
‘Oh, this and that,’ Denis smiled. ‘We had a lot to talk about. You know of course that those two fellows are British agents?’
I looked at Denis incredulously. ‘Loi Tak and Chin Peng?
‘The same.’
‘What do you mean they’re British agents?’ I asked. ‘Haven’t we been fighting the Communists in Malaya for years?’
Denis smiled a little grimly. ‘The first thing you have to know in this game is that nothing is exactly as it seems. Yes, we have been fighting the MCP for years. But to do that effectively we have had to get our people inside the Party. We’ve been rather lucky that way – it’s not often you can get your men to the very top of the tree. Chin Peng and Loi Tak have been our people for years. I think you should know that, because one or another of them might want to contact me in an emergency, and it will be easier if you know the truth.’
I sat there sipping my tea, trying not to seem shocked. ‘How on earth did we manage to recruit them?’ I asked.
‘We put Loi Tak into the Party back in the nineteen-twenties. Set him up with all the right credentials, and dropped him into the Singapore branch at a time it was looking for credibility in the Communist world. He promptly got to the top as he was supposed to. His job now is to tell us what is going on, and to a lesser extent try and get decisions we think appropriate. Like getting the MCP to join us in fighting the Japanese. It’s often a lot harder than it might sound, though, because while he’s Secretary-General he’s still got to drag his colleagues in the Politburo along with him.’
In the Mouth of the Tiger Page 50