Out in the Midday Sun

by Margaret Shennan

  A month before the recovery of the Exford, the Emden saga had been finally concluded. Mr Walker of Klang succinctly recalled:

  The ‘Emden’ left Penang and sailed down the Straits of Malacca and then on to the Cocos [or Keeling] Islands in order to destroy the Wireless Station. Before she did so a message was sent to the Australian Navy. At once the Cruiser ‘Sydney’ was ordered to proceed to the Cocos Islands at full speed. (This was on the 9th of November). After a short battle the ‘Emden’ was destroyed, and the Captain and the Crew surrendered. So ended the escapade of the German cruiser.34

  Still imbued with the traditions of nineteenth-century chivalry, the British Admiralty directed that the Emden’s survivors should be accorded the honours of war and her officers should retain their swords. In the meantime, the story of the Emden and the Battle of the Cocos Islands was reported in the British press in a way that betrayed a certain admiration for the enemy captain. Like the German air ace Baron von Richthofen, Muller belonged to an age of gallantry in tune with British sentiments of ‘playing the game’. In this he differed from his subordinate, Julius Lauterbach. As a captured officer, Lauterbach was treated leniently by the British authorities in Singapore, but when offered parole he declined to accept, since to do so would have denied him the right to escape. Later, the authorities in Malaya judged to have underestimated the danger behind the coldly dispassionate mentality of Lauterbach and others, just as they were slow to appreciate the implications of modern warfare. But, as the Great War dragged on in Europe, gentlemanly values were submerged in the impersonality of massive artillery bombardments and the obscenity of trench and gas warfare.

  5

  Mutiny!

  With the removal of Muller from the scene there was a sense of relief in Penang and Singapore: more so when news came through that almost the whole German fleet under Admiral Graf Spee had been defeated in the Battle of the Falkland Islands on 9 December. Christmas 1914 passed, the New Year came, and ostensibly all was well.

  Since the withdrawal in 1914 of the 1st Battalion of the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry for service in France, Singapore had relied for protection on a battalion of the Indian 5th Light Infantry, a mixture of Pathans and Rajputs, who were due to transfer to Hong Kong on the troopship Nore. This would leave much of the responsibility for defence in the hands of the Volunteers. Meanwhile, the job of guarding the German prisoners of war and internees at Tanglin Barracks fell to soldiers of the 5th, based at Alexandra Barracks, about seven miles from the town. It was easy to be wise after the event but the Bishop of Singapore was dismissive of the Rajputs, ‘descendants of Hindus who had been forcibly converted to Islam … These people, as I knew them in India, were always a discontented lot.’1

  A young British resident later remembered how there was an unpleasant mood abroad early in 1915:

  my Aunt, Mrs E. F. Howell, who had lived for many years in Singapore and who knew a fair section of its races, had been told by one or two of the officers in the Regiment, friends of hers, that trouble was brewing … My Aunt did not take their warning very seriously beyond advising me, her niece, not to wander too much alone, whether riding horse or bicycle. I was eighteen at the time, and certainly did not pay great attention to my Aunt’s friends and their warnings, although I did once or twice remark to my Aunt that some of the Indian soldiers guarding part of the road to Tanjong Katong, down which we often rode on our way for a bathe, looked extremely unpleasant.2

  As it happened, Mrs Howell was well informed. ‘Every Officer in the Command knew there was something wrong in the Regiment,’ Major Thompson wrote later:

  The Regiment was very short of British Officers, and it was unfortunate that there was a certain amount of discord between the most responsible. The trouble … was a legacy from the former C.O. and was in the nature of a feud between the two most forceful men amongst the Pathan Officers … This had become very acute, and had spread down until even the Sepoys had become partisans.3

  There was also uncertainty about the Regiment’s transfer, as rumours circulated that their destination was to be France or Mesopotamia, not Hong Kong.

  Just as serious a problem for the military authorities was morale and discipline in the Sikh battalion of the Malay States Guides, who, with the Mountain Battery of Indian mountain tribesmen, were also part of Singapore’s defence command. Two of the Malay Guides were befriended by an Arab-Indian merchant of Singapore, Kassim Ismail Mansoor, who fed them anti-British propaganda encouraging them to abscond. The Sikh Guides were also turned against the war by an agitator, a Singapore Sikh named Jagat Singh. Thompson recalled that, although they were

  officered from the Cream of the British Indian Army … they [the Malay States Guides] never moved from Taiping [in Perak], except for the Annual Manoeuvres. When War came (1914) they came to Singapore ‘but they did not want to go to War. They owned all the Coffee Shops in Taiping, 90% of the Bullock Carts in Perak. Many were Money Lenders …

  The Sikhs refused to volunteer for Active Service [in December 1914] and we were all relieved to see them returned to Taiping.4

  In all, given the rumbling discontent, there was a disaster waiting to happen – or, as Major Thompson said, ‘the only thing that would have been “inexplicable” would have been if something had not happened’.5

  For all that, when the trouble came to a head at Chinese New Year, Monday 15 February 1915, it seemed to catch the British community entirely by surprise. Despite her friends’ warning, Mrs Howell and her niece found that ‘suddenly it happened’.

  We had been riding one late afternoon in Tanglin, and on our way home … in Orchard Road were passed by dozens of cars filled by men in khaki, some with rifles, more without. ‘Probably some manoeuvres by the Volunteers,’ my Aunt remarked, wondering why some of the men gestured violently to us to hurry and others called to us that there was trouble and we should hurry home. It still did not occur to us that anything serious was happening.6

  Victoria Allen remembered there was ‘a curiously tense atmosphere’ that afternoon, ‘like that preceding a violent thunder storm, only more so, and very disturbing’. It was a fact noted by several other people. Yet when her brother-in-law returned from a walk he mused, ‘Can’t think what’s happening.’7 One woman ‘had heard shooting all afternoon, but thought it only the Chinese New Year crackers firing’.8 Several loud reports like rifle shots were heard by people in the Tanglin area, and some wondered if there had been a break-out by the German POWs. Since it was a public holiday, the Lowther Kemps were due to play tennis with friends that afternoon and were dressed in their whites; ‘when we got there we heard that there had been some trouble with the 5th Light Infantry’.9 The news caught up with Major Thompson at Singapore Cricket Club. He ‘had been tempted to linger at a Cricket Match being played on the Padang. About 3 p.m. I noticed Mr Richard Page [an official] stop his car outside the Municipal Offices and cross over to the pitch. Stumps were immediately drawn and the players returned to the Pavilion.’10 That something serious had occurred was now obvious, but some people found it hard to assimilate.

  Lieutenant M. B. Shelley was then part of a contingent of the Malay States Volunteer Rifles undergoing a month’s training at Normanton Barracks. (He rose later from District Officer to the heights of Chief Secretary of the Federated Malay States.) There had been a strenuous morning’s musketry practice – followed by tiffin – which had sent the men off to sleep.

  I was, perhaps, the only one in that camp who heard a few shots fired about 3.15 p.m. I was seated on my bed writing a letter and I remember wondering what the shots meant, but I gave no further thought to them. About a quarter of an hour later two officers of the 5th desperately out of breath, rushed up to the guard tent of the M.S.V.R. and called to turn out the men. One of the guard came running up to my tent and repeated the message. I went at once to Captain Smith’s tent, and found him asleep.11

  Shelley wakened his CO, who assumed it was ‘a false alarm, just to give the M.S.V.
R. men a little more practice in turning out quickly’. Captain Smith replied, “Tell them to go to hell”, and he turned over and went to sleep again.’12 Mrs Howell and her niece, Majorie Binni, were equally sceptical, despite the fact that on returning to their flat ‘w were met by our Chinese boy, who urged us vehemently not to stop but to go into the town as the “sepoys” were killing all the “orang puteh” (Europeans)’. Marjorie admired her aunt’s sang-froid:

  a typical Victorian, not to be hurried or flurried unduly, [she] ordered our baths and dinner to be served immediately afterwards. I remember feeling very excited and somewhat alarmed at the idea of mutinies and massacres, but as my Aunt did not seem unduly perturbed I bathed and changed … Then the ‘Cookie’ appeared … and urged us not to wait – not even to finish our dinner. My Aunt took no notice except that she ordered the boy to put the heavy iron bar … across the front door, and see that it was securely in its sockets … Just as we finished our dinner’, heavy footsteps came clattering up the stairs. Frankly, I was terrified.13

  So, too, was a Tanglin resident who miraculously avoided a fusillade as she and her husband drove at breakneck speed into town. ‘I never felt more frightened in my life … The Indian Mutiny flashed into my mind,’ she confessed; ‘also the fact that we had no white troops … they did not hesitate to kill women in the Indian Mutiny.’14

  The Allens had ‘decided on an early dinner, determined to be ready for any emergency’. Mr Allen, a Singapore Volunteer, rang the Drill Hall and was told to report there immediately.15 An English woman and her husband [S–], a senior officer at the gaol, were told ‘two soldiers from the Indian Regiment were “running amok” and shooting all Europeans … the doctor at the hospital (the very nice man who operated on S– and was so kind) shot dead in his car just below our house’.16 Two more women fled from Tanglin when ‘a volunteer wounded in the throat rushed down from the barracks and said … “For God’s sake get the women and children away, the Fifth have mutinied and are shooting down the guard.”’17 Major Thompson, meanwhile, had learned that a full-blown mutiny had broken out:

  there was serious trouble with the Native Troops and [an official] had been requested to instruct all volunteers to report immediately to the Drill Hall. Leaving the … Cricket Club for Headquarters I met the G.O.C. [Brigadier-General Ridout], who told me ‘the lid was off’ at Alexandra [Barracks] – MacLean commanding the Mountain Battery, Malay States Guides; Elliott and Boyce of the 5th having been shot down, the other British Officers barely escaping with their lives. It was reported that the Guard over the German Prisoners of War at Tanglin Barracks had been attacked and several killed, also a number of Civilians had been murdered around Pasir Panjang … Unfortunately Major Galway and Captain Izard of the R[oyal] A[rtillery] had been murdered at Sepoy Lines whilst on their way to Jardine Steps from the Garrison Golf Club.18

  Various versions of the Mutiny began to spread. One person after another came into the Europe Hotel with tales of horror going on outside. Mrs Howell heard one account from a breathless cleric on the staff of St Andrew’s Cathedral – his were the heavy footsteps up her stairs – when he urged the two women to leave.

  ‘Don’t wait another moment – go down to Johnson’s Pier and you will be put on a launch going out to the P. & O. Nile or other ship. The 5th Light Infantry mutinied about 3 o’clock and have been shooting up people – don’t know how many – the place is full of wild rumours but I can’t wait – I’m rounding up all women and children round here – most of the Tanglin people are already down at the Pier or at the Singapore Club. Don’t stop to pack, and cut through the Cathedral grounds, it’s shorter that way …’19

  They quickly snatched up a few odds and ends and hurried off, but decided to avoid the Cathedral grounds and keep to the seafront, ‘as if by chance we did meet the mutineers, we could at least jump into the sea and swim for it, said my undaunted Aunt’. Later they heard ‘that the ringleaders did not intend to mutiny until nightfall and then to split into parties, and take the various residential districts by surprise and assault until the whole island had fallen into their hands’. Yet they remained confident that help would arrive to quell the rising.20 However, those who had a fuller picture knew the situation was more complicated.

  Major Thompson, appointed Provost Marshal at the height of the Mutiny, found that a plot had been hatched by some of the Emden POWs, led by Lauterbach, who were set on escape. By an unfortunate accident – or was it incompetence or crass stupidity? – the Indian soldiers chosen to guard the prisoners from the Markomannia and the Emden were unreliable, and a number of the Germans, who spoke Hindustani, played on their susceptibilities. ‘There was no check on this Guard, except a perfunctory daily visit by the Commandant of the Prisoner of War Camp [Major Cotton or Captain Gerrard, second-in-command] … and apparently the Guard and the Prisoners mixed freely. The Corporal of the Guard used to salute a picture of the Kaiser which had a place of honour in this Barrack Room.’ It was the section of the Pathans led by this Corporal of the Guard, ‘a man of strong personality … the man who turned the rankling dissatisfaction into open mutiny’, who led the assault on Tanglin Barracks. Thompson was later shown a tunnel which had been almost completed, the burrowed soil from it having recently been removed to make a flower bed by unsuspecting coolies. The tunnel was never used, but sixteen POWs escaped in the chaos when the Tanglin sentries were attacked. Six were recaptured, but ten, including Lauterbach, successfully escaped by boat from the Jurong river across the Straits of Malacca to the Dutch East Indies. Thompson concluded that a handful of Germans had bamboozled the Pathans, who were already excited by anti-British propaganda coming from India. ‘The Mutiny, in my opinion, was the work of a few desperate men who were fooled by certain Germans into believing the “Emden” would come to their assistance if they would aid them to capture the town, and that they could then reach safety in the independent Mohammedan State of Johore.’21

  Be that as it may, in the first twelve hours there was a fair degree of confusion on all sides. A town guard of older civilians of all races was hastily formed, yet no one thought to alert the Inspector-General of Police about the Mutiny until late on the Monday afternoon. Despite the introduction of martial law, in the coming hours more British soldiers and harmless civilians were shot, making a total of forty-four European victims. One of the first to die was a young man in the MSVR, Private Leigh, who had gone into town on his motorcycle to fetch the mail and was fired at as he passed the quarter-guard of Alexandra Barracks. Another fatal casualty was Private Drysdale, son of the pioneer James Drysdale and a childhood friend of Lillian Newton. Three young newcomers to the agency house of Guthrie’s – MacGilvray, Dunn and Butterworth – were shot dead while lounging in the garden of their bungalow at Pasir Panjang, and a planter, harmlessly reading the paper, received a bullet through the forehead. His whisky tumbler was found intact beside him. However, what most shocked the European community was the murder of a pair of newlyweds, particularly the shooting of ‘such a sweet, pretty bride’. ‘Mrs Woolcombe had thrown herself across her husband when their car had been stopped by mutineers who had fired at Mr Woolcombe and a second shot killed his wife,’ Marjorie Binnie remembered, deploring what had happened.22 In a separate incident, a woman caught up in the Mutiny related, ‘Another car was attacked and in it one woman and three men. Her husband stood up to protect her, but was shot, and the other men too. Three dead men were on top of the poor soul, but she got out and … took shelter in an empty police station, from where she was rescued.’23 At a different section of the town, one of the Volunteers, who walked in his sleep, was challenged by a sentry. On failing to receive an answer, the sentry shot and killed the unfortunate man. Yet a Mr Gibson, who was ‘accustomed to taking long walks, often talking aloud on his way … in the fierce heat’, was spared by the mutineers as a lunatic: a case of mad dogs and Englishmen!24

  Women and children evacuated by launch from Johnson’s Pier to ships in the roads were bemuse
d, unprepared, many fearful of the worst. Victoria Allen and her small son, who had boarded the Straits Steamship coaster Ipoh, found the conditions tough: ‘twenty women and children were using the captain’s own cabin as a dressing room, and mattresses were placed on the deck for those who hoped to sleep’.25 For three days on the Niles open deck, ‘We slept where we sat; the ship was packed to overflowing,’ Majorie Binnie reported.26 Others were more outspoken and petulant about their experience: ‘… we numbered 2,400 people on that boat [the Nile], mostly black people. What we suffered is beyond description. The blacks [including Eurasians] simply took everything, food, berths, cabins, lavatories, and as we white women would not and could not fight them, we fared badly.’ Yet, to ease their misery, ‘Our quartet played bridge in the smoking room. I wish you could have seen one of our number storm the bar for a bottle of whisky and carry it down the deck.’27 However, even this aggrieved woman was more fortunate than some public-service families. A woman with two babies told of her alarming, not to say bizarre, experiences:

  Night was coming on and it would have been madness to stop in our isolated house, with the jungle so close round, so we went down to the gaol to see where the whole family could go for the night, and this room amongst the punishment cells seemed to be the safest place, except the old prison, which was already crowded with all the warders’ families and wives and children of men at the docks. We took the babies and the amahs [nursemaids] and all the absolutely necessary impedimenta wanted, down the hill in the pitch darkness, with a guard of three warders armed with loaded rifles, and felt and looked just like the cinema pictures of Belgian refugees.