by Peter Brune
Wahlert has pointed out that the incidence of arrests, offences and courts martial within the 8th Division in the period February 1940 until January 1942 was far less than for the AIF in the Middle East—even allowing for ‘differing activity rates and methods of recording offences . . .’54 Both Bennett’s diary and the diary of the 8th Division Administrative HQ reveal two critical points concerning discipline in the AIF in Malaya: the heavy-handed attitude of the Red Caps and the behaviour of a number of British troops.
Bennett’s diary, 9 August 1941: ‘Heard of several cases where British MP are trying to irritate our men & apparently deliberately.’55 The 8th Division Diary for the same day was more illuminating: ‘Received information that British Military Police (Red Caps) deliberately irritated our men, result—a fracas in Kuala Lumpur. Similar irritation tactics in Singapore.’56 It did not take Bennett long to react to the incident. The Division Diary stated later on the same day: ‘Arrangements were made with the G.O.C. 3rd Indian Corps and the G.O.C. Malaya Command, that Military Police [British] should not in future touch members of the A.I.F.’57 The ‘fracas’ apparently involved soldiers of the 8th Division Signals, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Kappe. Bennett’s diary the next day (10 August): ‘Kappe called—apologetic re fracus in KL in which his men went out in a mob to deal with red caps. He fined them £3 & 14 days CB.’58 However, it seems that the problem continued to a degree through late August and October 1941. The 8th Division Diary on 22 August:
G.O.C. called on Major-General Keith Simmons formally re hand over to the A.I.F. He showed the G.O.C. a letter from the Union Jack Club, complaining of misconduct of Australian soldiers 15th, 16th and 17th August. Investigation showed that the report was grossly exaggerated, and proved a prejudice against Australians by the secretary of the Club.59
It would seem that the Union Jack Club was an ongoing concern, and by mid-October, soldiers of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders—most of whom were tough troops indeed—became embroiled in conflict with members of the AIF, and significantly, a second party. The 8th Division Diary:
The relationship between British and Australian troops is giving concern. A number of men of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders severely handled four of our men at the Union Jack Club. This threatens to be followed by several organised displays. The R.A.A.F reports similar experience with the Argylls.60
On 17 November 1941, General Percival complained to Bennett about the behaviour of the AIF at the Union Jack Club. Bennett told him that ‘we were blamed for all the trouble & that Secry [secretary] was biased against A.I.F’.61
Bennett had every right to demand sole authority over the behaviour and discipline of the AIF troops under his command. Given his First World War experience of the 1st AIF—a volunteer, citizen army—and his observations of British soldiers during that war, he understood the differences between the two. On 22 October 1941, Bennett attended a conference concerning the shortage of enlistments and difficulties in training of the Malayan Volunteers. He drew a broad comparison between the Volunteers and the AIF: ‘The British regular cannot realise that Volunteers must be catered for on a different syllabus from regulars. Percival realises this but others not.’62 He also pointed out that AIF volunteers were not raised in the same mould as the British regular. Glenn Wahlert has surely left us with a thoughtful explanation of Bennett’s reasoning: ‘To the Australians, the British MPs were simply too heavy-handed and officious, and their formality and bearing often brought out the worst in the Australians.’63 And added to this ‘cultural’ problem came the age-old conflict between different forces, such as the Argylls and the AIF, either at or near the Union Jack Club.
While apportioning blame for such clashes is futile, the value in each army defusing the situation by imposing its own discipline measures is not judgemental but simply pragmatic. Percival’s biographer has criticised Bennett for ‘refusing even to have their [the AIF’s] off-duty behaviour regulated by the British Military police’.64 The reader can imagine the reaction of a number of Britain’s allies—such as the Americans—if the British had sought the right to ‘regulate’ the behaviour of their troops on leave. It would seem that Malaya Command, and a number of British postwar historians, have confused the difference between the terms ‘colony’ and ‘dominion’.
Another matter concerned the use of motor transport for recreational purposes. When General Percival attempted to apply British regulations to the Australians’ use of motor transport—strictly limited regulations where the cost was to be borne by the troops—Bennett explained to him that it was Australian Government policy that morale and health, and therefore vehicles for leave, were to be provided at government cost. Bennett’s diary, 11 November 1941: ‘Wrote fully to Min For Army on use of M.T. for recreational purposes & the controversy with the War Office.’65 Once again, Bennett was acting within the bounds of his charter, in the best interests of his troops, and communicating his decisions to the Australian Government.
Malaya Command’s attempts to interfere in the internal administration of an independent force even extended to the Australian ration scale. When Percival wanted the Australian meat ration reduced to a comparable level with that of the British, Bennett once again informed him that it was an 8th Division AIF and Australian Government matter.
Another sore point with the British seemed to be Bennett’s relationship with the press. Lionel Wigmore in The Japanese Thrust:
The arrival and activities of Australian troops in Malaya, with their unusual characteristics, naturally had made a newsy subject, useful for emphasising Imperial solidarity and the accumulating strength of British defences in the area. Thus the force was given extreme publicity, and Australian news was increasingly featured in the Malayan newspapers with the aid of a service established by the Australian Department of Information. At one stage, however, steps were taken by the Services authorities to soft-peddle news about the A.I.F. on the ground that the prominence given to the Australians tended to create ill-feeling on the part of other troops who had gained less recognition.66
Wigmore acknowledged that while a ‘soft-pedalling’ of such publicity pleased the British, it aggrieved both Bennett and ‘newspaper correspondents who gathered in increasing numbers in Malaya as the Far Eastern crisis approached its climax’.67
The point is that, according to Wigmore, there was a need for an expert press to foster a ‘favourable influence upon the American public’, increase awareness of events in the Far Eastern area, but most importantly, to instil in the civil population of Malaya and Singapore a sense of realism and vigilance. In short, the Services Press Bureau was frequently in conflict with the press because it lacked officers who had experience in dealing with it.
Gordon Bennett most certainly had a number of problems to deal with as a commander of an AIF division under overall British command. But there is little evidence that such matters were not conducted with a measure of goodwill and certainly, from an Australian perspective, with correctness. Brett Lodge:
Although he appreciated the consideration he had received from Bond on his arrival and the strengths of Barstow, the commander of the 9th Indian Division, Bennett disliked most other senior British officers and their conversation. In many ways he seemed to regard the British as much as adversaries as allies.68
Bennett’s actual diary entries concerning the above tend to offer far more illumination: On 8 April 1941, on hearing of Bond’s replacement by Percival, Bennett ‘Wrote him a letter of regret. He has been considerate to me.’ On 3 April 1941 he ‘Called on . . . Barstow—9 Ind Div & discussed tactical plan. Seems good sort.’ And on 17 July 1941: ‘Gen Barstow (9 Ind Div) dined with me. Very tall & very lean, blue eyed, thin—very charming. Doesn’t stand on ceremony.’69 Such entries would seem to indicate both a respect and liking for these officers. In a letter to Kent Hughes on 25 August 1947, Bennett stated that both Shenton Thomas and Percival ‘were unusually kind to me’.70 But there exists far more substantiated evidence
as to Bennett’s relationship with the British.
Major Charles Moses began his service in Malaya with the 2/20th Battalion. He was subsequently posted to 8th Division HQ as a liaison officer in August 1941. The fact that Moses was born in England and had graduated from Sandhurst might suggest that he was an astute choice as a LO, whether Bennett personally selected him or not. Moses communicated by letter with Lodge for his research for The Fall of General Gordon Bennett. Given that he was a liaison officer and therefore had frequent contact with British officers, it might have been opportune for Lodge to have asked Moses his thoughts on Bennett’s relationship(s) with the British. Sir Charles Moses:
. . . the criticism that he didn’t get on with the British, that he didn’t get on with various other people—I can say this: that his relationship with General Barstow was a friendly one. Now Barstow was highly regarded in the British Army . . . I know that he and General Bennett got on extremely well. Colonel Coates who was the G1 of that division spoke very highly of our general in Sumatra after he got away . . . Now the AQ of that division was Colonel Trott—by the way an Australian—he later became the brigadier commanding the 9th Indian Brigade when Brigadier Lay was removed from his command . . . now those men couldn’t have spoken more highly of General Bennett . . . And this suggestion that is through this book [The Fall of General Gordon Bennett] that he didn’t get on with the British; well, I’m sure there were times when he felt that he would have disliked some of them or not agreed with some of the things that were done. I wonder what the author of that would like to say about Montgomery—a very difficult man in his relationships with the Americans . . . and some of his own people. Our general got on extremely well with the British who were working with him and the only exception being Brigadier Duncan of the 45th Indian Brigade.71
Major-General Gordon Bennett was, in some ways, a difficult subordinate: he was strong-willed and certainly forthright, and at times lacked tact. But throughout history there has been a significant number of army commanders who have often not been docile, even-tempered men, but highly ambitious and forthright. Lieutenant-General John Lavarack, Major-General Jack Stevens and Brigadiers ‘Tubby’ Allen and Arnold Potts are Australian examples—but all were considered capable commanders. Major-General George Vasey’s diary entries and letters concerning many of his peers during the Second World War—both regular and citizen soldiers alike—also bear ample testimony as to the ambition, competition and personal opinions of high ranking officers. Moses’s point concerning Montgomery would seem entirely fair—and General Patton might readily be added to such a list. Further, it will be shown that Lieutenant-General Heath also had disagreements with General Percival. The plain truth is that antipathy between commanders and subordinates in wartime is hardly rare. Surely the issue is whether or not General Gordon Bennett was in any way guilty of injustice towards either his 8th Division HQ or Malaya Command. On the balance of all the evidence it would seem that he adopted an even-handed approach to both his own HQ and the British.
7
THE ENEMY
After China’s eventual defeat in the Opium Wars, Britain, followed by other European powers, forced the Chinese to sanction a string of treaty ports along the Chinese coast, which enabled European trade into the interior to prosper. Shanghai and Hong Kong became lucrative symbols of British growth in the region. The Japanese saw the so-called ‘Unequal Treaties’ and the resulting ‘open door’ policy towards trade with the Europeans as a humiliation to the Chinese, and determined that Japan would not go the same way.
When Commodore Perry and his American squadron of four steamships arrived in Japan in 1853, Perry was under instruction from President Fillmore to ‘obtain from the government of that country some relaxation of the inhospitable and anti-social system which it has pursued for about two centuries’.1 His diplomacy was in fact an ultimatum: the Tokugawa shogunate had to conform to the demand that Japan allow trade and diplomatic rights to foreign nations or suffer a display of force that it was clearly unable to counter. Upon his return to Japan seven months later, this time with seven ships, Perry received a signed treaty. The Japanese door was now open to the ‘western barbarians’.
The subsequent Japanese transformation from a disjointed feudal collection of autonomous domains ruled by the shogun overlords and administered by the samurai into a modern industrial and military power was extraordinary in both its methodology and time frame.
In 1868 the shogunate was overthrown and a central government was formed under the authority of the Emperor Meiji. Japan’s leaders during the Meiji period set out to redefine the very nature of their country’s politics, its economy and the nation’s armed forces, chiefly for the purpose of giving it the strength to resist the West. Their methodology was simple: they utilised Japanese tradition to protect them against the potential poison of westernisation.
Rather than construct a duplicate of the democracies of the West, they adopted the Shinto principle of the divinity of the Emperor. Japan and its people had been created by ‘other gods’ and were both of divine origin, and therefore racially superior to other countries and their peoples. Further, and most important of all, the first Emperor Jinmu was an earthly descendant of the Sun Goddess Amaterasu. It followed that the present Emperor and his descendants were also the worldly and spiritual descendants of Amaterasu. The Japanese, therefore, lived on sacred soil; they were led not by a mere monarch but by a living God; and, critically, they saw their path in life as a dedicated exercise in complete and utter servility to that order. From around 1905, this Shinto belief became much more than a premise for a constitution, but more a means of social unity. And through this social unity shone the family, the community and the nation.
By vesting the emperor with absolute sovereignty, making the imperial line the ultimate repository of spiritual and secular authority, and not allowing for the existence of any external moral or religious authority capable of sanctioning alternative thoughts or actions, the ruling elite claiming to act in the name of the emperor achieved a monopoly of the symbols of power and effectively made opposition into treachery.2
Japan’s economic growth during the Meiji period began with enormous strides in transport and communications. By 1871 an expansion of postal services had begun; six years later Osaka, Kyoto and Tokyo had railways connecting them to their closest deep-water ports; a national telegraph system had been installed; and foreign competition in shipping was restricted by the emergence of Japanese coastal and overseas services. A number of shipping firms amalgamated into the formidable shipping company of Nippon Yusen Kaisha, whose business grew rapidly; by 1880 the Bank of Japan had been created to regulate a national currency and the banking system in general, and a further bank had been established to control foreign exchange.
The agricultural sector began to achieve higher production through the advent of agricultural schools and experimental farms, which in turn led to better strains of crops, the employment of fertilisers and greater efficiency. In basic terms, after 1900, the growth and increased profits of the Meiji period and the fact that a central government could now more efficiently collect revenue allowed Japan to develop a major change in economic development: the growth of heavy industry.
By the onset of the Great Depression, Japan created about 60 per cent of its requirements in pig-iron; it produced around 70 per cent of its steel needs; it had a growing shipbuilding industry; at the turn of the century its engineering capacity had begun to produce steam trains and electrical equipment; and by 1930 it had over 13 000 miles of railway.3
Japan’s rapid industrial development was also fostered by a willingness to learn and adopt procedures and technology from overseas missions and paid experts brought in from abroad. But the nation lacked raw materials, a key ingredient of a modern industrial power. As Japan’s economy grew so its appetite for the resources of industry increased. This predicament was a major influence upon her foreign policy and the growth of her armed forces.
T
he slogan that inspired the resurgence of the Japanese armed forces before and during the Meiji period was sonno joi (‘restore the Emperor and expel the barbarian’).4 The Japanese armed forces, therefore, were not merely an instrument of national integrity, or the later means of the acquisition of an empire. They were primarily committed to the protection of the chosen land of the Gods and Amaterasu’s descendant: the Emperor. They were to be a shield against the corruption and impurity of the outside world. Here was a fundamental racial and cultural chauvinism of a rare intensity.
As Japan’s successful modernisation gained momentum, and its armed forces became more professional and potent, its gaze turned ever more towards mainland Asia and its two potential adversaries: China and Russia.
On 8 February 1904, in a sign of things to come, the Japanese attacked the Russian fleet at Port Arthur three hours before their declaration of war. Employing a torpedo boat attack, Admiral Togo badly damaged the two biggest Russian Far East Fleet battleships and a cruiser. After dealing with the Russian Far East Fleet, the Japanese plan was that one army would land in Korea and advance on Manchuria by an advance across the Yalu River, while a second was to land on the Liaotung Peninsula and move on Port Arthur. A third army was to later land between them.
The Battles of Liaoyang (September 1904), Port Arthur (2 January 1905) and Mukden (March 1905) were the final yet costly Japanese victories, and the final Russian Army humiliations. Undoubtedly, a major outcome of the Russo–Japanese War was the psychological impact within Japan and Asia. Japan now saw itself as a legitimate imperial power, whose international status and sense of pride had been earnt in battle against a traditional, powerful European foe; whose considerable military, economic and political growth had transcended a struggle for its own safety, and had now become a means of expanding its economic power; which saw a future outcome of this status and strength in the potential emigration of its people to new territories; and, critically, its victories reinforced its ethnic view of its Emperor, nation and people as being superior to others. Such arrogance not only applied to the white man, but applied in equal measure to other Asians. Through Japanese eyes, the future proclamation of ‘Asia for the Asians’ was really a racial decree of ‘Asia for the Asians with the Japanese as masters’.