Descent into Hell: The fall of Singapore - Pudu and Changi - the Thai Burma railway

by Peter Brune

  The 22nd Brigade was packed into railway carriages and taken to the state of Negri Sembilan: Brigade HQ and the 2/18th and 2/20th Battalions to Port Dickson on the west coast of Malaya and about 320 kilometres from Singapore; and the 2/19th to Seremban, roughly 32 kilometres inland from Port Dickson and about 330 kilometres from Singapore. The HQ of the 8th Division and its signals were established at Kuala Lumpur, the capital of the Federated Malay States, while the artillery, general hospital and supply units were based at Malacca. The motor ambulance convoy was stationed at Kajang, about halfway between Seremban and Kuala Lumpur.

  The Australians were stepping into a world totally new to them. There was no following in the footsteps of the ghosts of the First AIF here: through the training grounds of Egypt and the Bible Lands; or the fields of Flanders or leave in the ‘old country’; and there were no train convoys with original AIF autographs cut into the timber of the rail trucks. On the basis of their limited education in geographical and cultural terms, this was an alien world.

  Probably the troops’ first impression of Singapore was the heat and humidity, the resulting heavy perspiration and the on and off again rain. And there were sights and sounds and smells unique to this new world: the predominant vivid green of the palms and striking colours of tropical gardens, the multitude of aromas of the crammed open-air food stalls—some curious and others, such as the drying fish and their accompanying flies, utterly repugnant. Then there were the streets. Through a seething mass of hawkers, food stall owners and coolies moved a seemingly dysfunctional mass of bikes, rickshaws and horn-blowing cars—all making their hurried way against a background of crammed and densely occupied buildings with washing hanging from bamboo poles high above the busy scene below.

  On leave in Singapore, the Australian soldier could venture to the Great World, the New World or the Happy World, which were the Singaporian equivalents of Luna Park. Here the usual sideshows and stalls were prevalent as well as picture shows. But there was another attraction. Soldiers could buy their alcohol and visit the taxi-dancers in dance halls. For around 25 cents each, tickets could be bought and honoured by either attractive local or Eurasian women who danced with the soldier for a set period of time. To those seeking ‘horizontal refreshment’, there was the lure of Lavender Street—the extensive red light area of Singapore.

  At the time, as the other ranks of the 22nd Brigade 8th Division began training and adjusting to a totally new military, physical and cultural environment, few—if any—could have contemplated the undercurrent of hostility, and at times intrigue, that was to be played out within 8th Division HQ.

  When Major-General Henry Gordon Bennett arrived in Malaya, he knew that he had been overlooked three times for command positions he felt he was both qualified for, and entitled to; he knew he had both bitter and powerful enemies; and critically, that his arch enemy Blamey was in command of a corps in the Middle East. And if all this were not enough, he was to be forced to work with two Staff Corps officers on his staff—Rourke and Broadbent—and one of his brigade commanders, who were not appointed by him, and it will be shown, would prove to be recalcitrant subordinates.

  5

  MALAYA COMMAND

  When General Bennett and Brigadier Taylor’s 22nd Brigade Group arrived in Singapore in February 1941, a number of critical changes to Malaya Command had been made in the context of events in Europe and a rapidly escalating potential for war in the Far East.

  By October 1940, the Chiefs of Staff had become acutely aware of the antagonism and resulting lack of cooperation in Singapore between General Bond and Air Vice-Marshal Babington. They now recommended to Churchill that a Commander-in-Chief Far East be appointed with the responsibility for the land and air defence of Singapore, Malaya, Burma, Borneo and Hong Kong. The Commander-in-Chief ’s command did not include the Royal Navy. On 17 October 1940, the Chiefs of Staff nominated Air Chief Marshal Sir Robert Brooke-Popham.

  Lionel Wigmore in The Japanese Thrust:

  From 1898 to 1912 Brooke-Popham had been an infantry officer. Then as a captain he had joined the Air Battalion, Royal Engineers—the beginning of a British Military air force, later to become the Royal Flying Corps and later still the Royal Air Force. He gained distinction as an air officer in the war of 1914–18 and when it ended was one of its senior leaders. In the following nineteen years he held a series of high appointments, including command of the R.A.F. Staff College and the Imperial Defence College (school of future senior commanders of all three Services) . . .

  Three years before the war he had retired from the post of Inspector-General of the Air Force to become Governor and Commander-in-Chief of Kenya.1

  There would seem to be two major criticisms of this appointment. The first was the nature of Brooke-Popham’s responsibilities. He had no control over the navy in the Far East; that whilst Bond and Babington were subordinate to him, both retained control over their respective finances and administrations; both were still to report directly to their service chiefs in London; he had absolutely no control over the civil administration in Singapore; and, although he had access to intelligence from the Far Eastern Intelligence Bureau, he had no operational control over it. Further, Brooke-Popham had a miserly sized staff of seven. The second point concerns the suitability of Brooke-Popham for the position. At 62 years of age, and given the nature of his preceding appointments—and recent retirement—he was hardly an energetic or inspiring appointment. As Wigmore has pointed out, ‘General Gort, who had commanded the British Expeditionary Force in France, was aged 54; General Wavell, then C-in-C Middle East, was 57; and General Auchinleck, soon to become C-in-C India, was 56.’2

  If Brooke-Popham’s powers were limited, and his staff small, he deserves great credit for one of his very early initiatives: the removal of the troublesome Defence Committee Chairman, Mr Vlieland (‘Starchie Archie’). Brooke-Popham would later state that: ‘I have seldom met anyone who is, with two or three exceptions, so universally distrusted’, and that Vlieland had developed “procrastination as a fine art”.’3

  After being briefed in London, Brooke-Popham acted swiftly after his arrival in Singapore. Obviously the Governor, Sir Shenton Thomas, had also been briefed in London and then by Brooke-Popham in Singapore, and knew what was coming. Vlieland has left us with his account of the fateful meeting of 13 December 1940:

  When I entered the council chamber and took my old seat at his right hand, Sir Shenton did not greet, or even look at me. He opened the proceedings by inviting B.P. [Brooke-Popham] to speak. The C-in-C Land and Air then made a savage attack on me. It was, in effect, more of an attack on Sir Shenton’s previous regime than on myself. No one else said a word. Bond and Layton nodded their approval and my friend the A.O.C. [Babington] could not rally to my support in defiance of his Air Chief Marshal. Sir Shenton remained silent with bowed head.4

  It would seem highly likely that ‘Starchie Archie’s’ fate was sealed by two unforgivable misdemeanours. The first was his obvious efforts to isolate Bond on the Defence Committee by siding with Babington, and thereby acting as a divisive influence upon a coordinated defence plan. But his second transgression—Bond and Babington must bear most of the blame for their poor professional and personal relationship—was by far the more serious. We have noted that as early as August 1939, the Chiefs of Staff had recommended the stockpiling of six months of rice supplies. On 2 July 1940, the Colonial Office had asked for information on the stocks of rice; on 14 July, ‘they told Jones that all possible steps should be taken to increase food stocks to the utmost extent practicable’;5 and that the War Office ‘considered that the storage and milling capacity for rice should be dispersed throughout the country’.6 Jones was also told to consult Bond concerning these arrangements.

  Jones’s reply was extraordinary: on 2 October he stated that no action had been taken, nor planned, to implement the request because ‘the policy of retaining rice stocks in the north appeared to be consistent with the views expressed in the appreci
ation by Chiefs of Staff, which pointed to the fact that the whole of Malaya should be held rather than only Singapore Island’.7 According to Kirby, Jones’s reply was based on Vlieland’s advice. After further pressure from London, although Jones finally acted, it was discovered that Vlieland had ‘failed to inform the Food Controller in Malaya that stocks had to be built up to 180 days; a decision taken a year earlier’.8 To label Vlieland’s participation during the fateful months before the war in the Far East as mischievous is to understate his negative influence.

  After witnessing the acrimonious relationship between Babington and Bond, Brooke-Popham’s next initiative was their removal. Babington’s replacement was Air Vice-Marshal C. W. H. Pulford. Pulford had seen service during the First World War with HMS Ark Royal at Gallipoli during 1915; as commander of 1 Squadron 1917–18; and 201 Squadron during 1918. Prior to his appointment in Singapore, he had been AOC 20 Group during 1940–41. Bond’s replacement was Lieutenant-General Arthur Percival. It will be remembered that Percival had been General Dobbie’s GSO1 in 1937, and had submitted an astute appreciation on a possible Japanese invasion of Malaya. Lionel Wigmore in The Japanese Thrust:

  He [Percival] had gone to France with the British Expeditionary Force soon after the outbreak of war in Europe; but in April 1940 had returned to London to become one of the three Assistant Chiefs of the Imperial General Staff. After the fall of France he asked to be transferred to a field formation and was given command of the 44th Division, recently evacuated from France and needing extensive reorganization.9

  It is highly likely that the Chief of the Imperial General Staff (CIGS), General Dill, chose Percival for four reasons. First, he was a protégé of Dill’s and had his complete professional and personal trust; second, Percival had graduated from the Army Staff College at Camberley, the Naval Staff College, and had attended a course at the Imperial Defence College. Given the poor relationship between the services in Malaya, Percival would have been seen as being able to relate to, and establish cordial relationships with, each of the services. Third, having served under Dobbie in Singapore/ Malaya, Percival would have been only too well aware of the pedestrian and muddlesome workings of the civil service and the Governor, Sir Shenton Thomas, as well as having had prior opportunity to experience the unique conditions of service in the Far East. Last, he must have been aware of the current policies of the Chiefs of Staff to the Far East.

  If Brooke-Popham’s decisive action in removing Vlieland, Babington and Bond deserves high praise, then his subsequent appraisal of the ability of the RAF to defend Malaya and Singapore from a Japanese invasion, and his resultant decision making, were at best flawed, and at worst, incompetent.

  In considering the RAF’s chances of successfully defending Malaya and Singapore from a Japanese invasion, four areas deserve close scrutiny: the disposition of airfields; the quality of the protagonists’ planes; the relative training and experience of their pilots; and the RAF’s infrastructure—leadership, intelligence, communications and airfield defence.

  The ongoing arguments between the army and air force regarding the location of airfields in Malaya have been described. There were three airfields in Kelantan on the north-eastern coast of Malaya: Kota Bharu, Gong Kedah and Machang. Kota Bharu lay a mere three kilometres from the coast, and only sixteen kilometres from the Siamese border. Gong Kedah, about 48 kilometres south-east of Kota Bharu, lay only about 9.5 kilometres from the coast, and Machang was at that time not operational. Clearly, the RAF chose these locations to provide maximum range for reconnaissance and offensive strikes over the Gulf of Siam and Indo-China. But if the Japanese, undetected or at least partially screened by the north-east monsoon, managed to bomb or shell these airfields, and land on the coast at or near these sites, the airfields would more than likely fall, and fall quickly. Further, the only ground supply link to Kota Bharu was by a single line railway—also highly vulnerable.

  The main airfield on the west coast of Malaya was at Alor Star in Kedah, which was a mere 48 kilometres from the Siamese border. Further south lay the airfields of Sungei Patani and Butterworth, while two airfields in Perak were to be found at Taipang and Ipoh.

  Airfields at Kuala Lumpur in the west and Kuantan in the east served central Malaya while further south in Johore was to be found an airfield at Kluang and a landing ground at Kahang. Three RAF bases were located on Singapore Island: at Seletar, Sembawang and Tengah. There was also a civil airfield at Kallang. It is now pertinent to examine the RAF’s ability to carry out its allotted task.

  The front-line fighter on which the British placed their faith was the American designed and constructed Brewster Buffalo. Rejected for service in Britain—considered not good enough for service against the Luftwaffe over Britain, or in the Middle East, but a match for anything Japanese—some 167 were sent to Malaya from February 1941 to form four squadrons. This aircraft had numerous faults—the adaptation of the original model used by the RAF had been ‘developed beyond the limits of the airframe’10—and with a more powerful engine and increased weight caused by such additions as armour, radio and more armament, its top speed, manoeuvrability, climb and ceiling were all adversely affected. Known as ‘the flying beer barrel’ it was to prove a disaster in action. As late as November 1941, 21 Squadron RAAF stationed at Sungei Patani reported that ‘the undercarriage of the Buffalo gave frequent trouble by sticking in the locked position; even the manual release device was not efficient’.11 Further, difficulty was experienced with the Buffalo’s .5-inch guns: ‘two of which were synchronised to fire through the propellers, were affected by corrosion and rusting in the electrical system which meant that the squadron “never had efficient armament”.’12

  The Japanese were to deploy a number of fighters in their air arm during the Malayan campaign. One of the most prominent was the Army’s Nakajima ki 27, code-named ‘Nate’ by the British, which was the most numerous of the Japanese fighters during the campaign. Its great advantage over the Brewster Buffalo was its superb manoeuvrability. But it was another fighter which captured the imagination of the Japanese people and the great respect of the British during the early part of the Pacific War: the Japanese Navy’s Mitsubishi A6M Zero-Sen, which became universally known as the ‘Zero’. Christopher Shores and Brian Cull, in Bloody Shambles: ‘It combined almost unbelievable agility with a tremendous range, a fair top speed, a rocket-like climb and the heaviest armament yet carried by a Japanese fighter. Undoubtedly the A6M was the supreme fighter in the Far East at the start of the war, and its achievements were to be substantial.’13

  Another formidable Japanese fighter was the Mitsubishi A5M or ‘Oscar’. Often confused with the Zero, the Oscar also performed admirably during the fighting. In their detailed summation of the fighters used in the Malayan Campaign, Shores and Cull, in Bloody Shambles, point out that the attributes of Japanese superiority in fighter performance were not speed nor ceiling but in ‘the lightness of their aircraft, which thereby enjoyed greater manoeuvrability, higher climb rates and faster acceleration’.14

  Four squadrons of Brewster Buffalo fighters were destined for use during daylight operations against these Japanese fighters, while one squadron of Bristol Blenheim I medium bombers was modified and used as a night fighter squadron. The Blenheim I was ‘old and in poor condition’15 and suffered from poor armament and a modest bomb load.

  Turning to a comparison between the Japanese and British bombers, the British relied upon two squadrons of Blenheim I and IV light bombers and two reconnaissance squadrons of Hudson bombers. The Blenheims were not a formidable opponent to the Japanese aircraft, and further, while the Hudson operated with a reasonable armament of five machine guns and an acceptable bomb load, all four bomber squadrons were required to operate on both reconnaissance and bomber operations during day and night. This decision affected both the quality and duration of training for either. There were also two torpedo bomber squadrons consisting of Vickers Vildebeeste biplanes—ruled obsolete by the RAF in 1940 and
due for replacement.

  But the most telling Japanese advantage over the RAF, RAAF and the RNZAF came down to arguably the most critical component of air warfare: the training and operational experience of the pilots. Douglas Gillison, in Australia in the War of 1939–1945: Royal Australian Air Force 1939–1942:

  . . . at this time [7 December 1941] about 6,000 Japanese pilots had graduated from training units, 3,500 of whom were assigned to the navy and the remainder to the army. About 50 per cent of the army pilots had been in combat either in China or in the border fighting against the Soviet air force, while 10 per cent of the land-based navy pilots had been engaged in the China operations. About 600 of the best navy pilots were assigned to aircraft carrier units. Japanese pilots were receiving about 300 hours in training units before going to tactical units. The average first-line Japanese pilot in 1941 had about 600 hours and the average pilot in the carrier groups had more than 800 hours.16

  In contrast, the training of the RAF, RAAF and RNZAF pilots varied enormously. By late 1941, the Australian content of the total squadron strength in Singapore and Malaya was around 25 per cent. As late as September, 21 Squadron RAAF was still converting to Brewster Buffaloes, and ‘experienced’ pilots were still being transferred to other units for training purposes. Douglas Gillison:

  In the same month a temporary advanced flying training unit was formed at Kluang in central-southern Malaya in an endeavour to meet the training needs of Australian and New Zealand pilots who were arriving direct from flying training schools. More than four months of training was required before such airmen could be expected to be ready for operational flying. To help in the establishment of this unit five of No. 21 Squadron’s most experienced pilots and six of its Wirraways were transferred to it. The squadron was handicapped also by a decision of Air Headquarters, made simultaneously, that it should change its role from general reconnaissance and become a fighter and army cooperation squadron. Not all the pilots were readily adaptable to the change—they had not been selected as fighter pilots in the first place and inevitably some were unsuitable.17