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1941-1945

Eastern Travels

FORWARD

This account of my travels and experiences during four of the six and a half years I served in the British Army was written very much from memory, 45 or so years after the events, but with the invaluable help of two albums of photographs taken in those far off days. Consequently, I hope that any errors of detail will be excused.

The diaries of events and descriptions of military actions were researched for accuracy, they are perforce very abbreviated but are included to show their influence on my own story.

C J CALLIS 1988

CONTENTS

1 Voyage to the Unknown Page 1

2 Central India Page 6

3 Catastrophe in the Far East Page 12

4 South to Ceylon “Sri Lanka” Page 13

5 Kandy and Colombo Page 15

6 The “Rising Sun” Scorches On Page 17

7 Unwelcome Visitors Page 19

8 Back to the Hills Page 22

9 Return to India Page 24

10 Line of Communication Page 27

11 Japanese on Indian Soil Page 30

12 Aftermath Page 32

13 Lucky For Some Page 34

Chapter One

VOYAGE TO THE UNKNOWN

Spring 1941
EMBARKATION

Catterick Camp, a large Army village is in high Yorkshire country some 12 miles south of Darlington. It has wide-open spaces, tree—lined roads, a relaxed un-military atmosphere, shops and a NAAFI canteen.

Two miles away is beautiful Swaledale, where the ruins of a great Norman castle tower straight up from the banks of the River Swale. Beyond is Richmond, an attractive old town with winding alleyways, a very large cobbled market-place, interesting pubs and friendly people. In the spring of 1941 it was quite a pleasant, peaceful area to be spending the last few days in wartime Britain before being posted abroad.

Catterick Camp was then the home of the Royal Corps of Signals Holding Battalion, where groups of soldiers were assembled and posted to various Units overseas.

We were not told where we were going, that would be kept secret until we had almost arrived. However, my party knew it would be somewhere hot because we had been issued with tropical kit. It was ill-fitting, old-fashioned Regular Army Khaki Drill, a temporary issue. Nothing fitted properly, we had a “dress-rehearsal”, it was hilarious.

A hot country? Where could it be? There was much conjecture — North Africa, the Middle East, India, Singapore, Malaya, Burma, Hong Kong?? Anybody’s guess. We all made bets, promised to settle up later!

On May 31st we were on parade early in the morning with full packs and kitbags. We heaved ourselves into the backs of army lorries and “Goodbye Catterick”, we were on our way at last! An hour later we arrived at a railway station, a long troop train pulled in, already nearly full, we piled on board.

During the War the names of all the stations were removed, signposts were taken down and maps withdrawn from sale. This was to confuse enemy agents or parachutists and delay invasion forces. Consequently, after about three hours traveling through unknown country some jocks with us recognised the outskirts of Glasgow. Some time later the train pulled into the docks at Gourock, on the Clyde, where we saw several large passenger ships lined up at the quayside.

We boarded the ”Empress of Japan”, previously a luxury liner, now a troopship. Later, when Japan declared war on Britain, December 7th 1941, her name was changed to “Empress of Scotland”. In peacetime her complement was about 800 passengers and crew, but on this voyage, painted grey and with a Bofors gun on her bow she carried 3000 troops.

That evening she weighed-anchor and sailed quietly down the Clyde, the hills of Arran and Bute dark against the low sun. Right-hand-down round the Mull of Kintyre, then North-west into the Atlantic. And, yes, we sailed away into the sunset.

“WE ARE SAILING”

These were sad times for some of the lads, those leaving behind sweethearts or wives, and perhaps young children; but for the single, independent fancy-free such as myself, it was the start of a “Great Adventure”. I was then 21 years old.

Our quarters were well down in the bowels of the ship, “F” deck I think, just above the waterline in a long low saloon in which we ate and slept. There were long narrow mess-tables for meals and for playing cards, reading, writing or whatever. Our hammocks were slung above these tables and we soon became expert at swinging up into them, after a few comic attempts. They were so close together that every time one occupant turned in his sleep the entire row of hammocks began to swing.

In the mornings there was always a scramble to wash and shave, as washbasins were very limited, and fresh water was available for only an hour in the mornings and an hour in the evenings. We were issued with salt-water soap, which gave a fairly reasonable lather. We had to wash our mugs, plates and utensils in salt water, which was on-tap all day.

The Empress was a good ship to be on, there were lots of open decks and it was possible to walk right round the ship on the main Promenade deck. You could get up a good fast walk of even a jog-trot and, providing everyone went the same way round, usually clockwise, there were no collisions.

The convoy consisted of 30 ships, sailing in 3 lines astern, parallel and about a mile apart. The “Empress” was the largest ship, the Convoy Commodore was on board, so we were the Flagship in the front of the centre line.

These were very dangerous times at sea, more so than we knew. German warships and U-Boats (submarines) were roving the Atlantic attacking any convoy they could find. The U-Boats hunted in packs, attacking and sinking merchant ships bringing desperately needed supplies of food, oil and munitions from the USA, South America and many other countries. Convoys of passenger and troopships were attacked indiscriminately even in the Mediterranean and South Atlantic. Dozens of ships were being sunk, some convoys were decimated.

We had heard of some of these sinkings before we had left England, so were relieved to see our convoy was escorted by a light cruiser and three busy little destroyers. We first sailed North-West almost to Greenland, then on a zig-zag course down the centre of the Atlantic. There was a strict black-out at night, all port-holes closed, we were not even allowed to smoke on deck. There was a life-boat drill every day, when the klaxons galvanized us into action. We had to drop everything and dash to our life-boat or life-raft station wearing life-jackets.

When we encountered rough seas we soon discovered who were good sailors and who were not. I was one of the lucky ones and enjoyed a real rough sea.

In stormy weather some of us would go up on deck, as far forward as possible, and watch the ship carve her way through the mountainous waves, some of them crashing in white foam over her bow. We could see other ships of the convoy ploughing their way along, pitching, rolling and wallowing as they battled with the elements. The little destroyers would disappear behind huge waves and we would wait and watch for them to bob up into sight again. With such stormy conditions we really appreciated the meaning of the expression “the Mighty Sea”.

TROPICAL MOONLIGHT

As we progressed farther South the weather got warmer, then hotter. Soon we were spending most of the daytime up on deck, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, soaking up the sun. At night the crowded mess-decks became hot, humid and stifling. It got unbearable and most of us took our blanket and hammock and slept up on the open decks under a tropical moon. There were very few places one could hang a hammock, so we made the most of it on the hard teak planks with a life-jacket for a pillow. Every bone in the body was aching the following morning but it was infinitely better than down below, and soon at night every open deck was covered with serried ranks of sleeping bodies.

One day we saw land for the first time for over two weeks. First, a long, thin strip of green, then a low mountain. The ship’s Captain announced over the tannoy that we were approaching Freetown on the Gold Coast of West Africa, and would anchor there overnight. The Gold Coast was known as the “White Man’s Grave” due the oppressive, exhausting climate. Freetown has one of the largest natural harbours in the world.

As soon as we had anchored in the bay a fleet of small native “bum-boats” came out and surrounded the passenger ships. The local boys dived for sixpences, their elders plied us with fresh fruit, vegetables, various merchandise, souvenirs and even livestock. We had been advised not to make any purchases, but bargains were made and money changed hands by containers lowered on strings from decks and portholes. It was a cheerful, happy scene after two weeks of nothing but sea in every direction.

We anchored in Freetown at midday, the heat was the worst we had experienced. Temperature over 100F, humidity in the high 90s. In the evening before flopping down on desk to try to get some sleep, we watched a terrific electrical storm over the land. For hours the sky was continuously ablaze with sheet and forked lightning, yet not a rumble of thunder, just a heavy silence.

In the early hours of the morning, when we all finally got off to sleep, a tropical storm suddenly broke directly overhead. The skies opened and rain came down in solid sheets. In less than a minute the decks were awash. In the pitch darkness clothes, blankets, hammocks and life jackets were floating around and being trodden on. We just had to grab what we could and join the mad dash to get undercover, or down below! This was our first experience of rain in the tropics where 10 —12 inches a day is not unusual in the monsoon season.

Soon after leaving Freetown we crossed the Equator. The “Crossing the Line” ceremony was held in a small swimming pool (Officers only, for the use of) on the lowest deck. Hundreds gathered to watch on the surrounding deck and hundreds more on the tiered decks above. Each time a victim was caught, lathered, shaved with a huge wooden razor and tipped into the water a great roar of cheers and laughter went up. It was one of the lighter moments in a rather boring, monotonous routine of days.

There was very little entertainment on board and little one could do to pass the hours away, except read or play cards. There was little point in writing letters because we could be unable to post them until we got to our final destination, which we still did not know. Consequently, many hours were spent leaning on the shop’s rail watching the other ships in the convoy, and with an eye open for enemy raiders. Many were the times we imagined we could see a periscope or a conning tower, but were always disappointed, fortunately!

SOUTHERN SEAS

The sea was always interesting to watch, south of the Equator, in it’s various moods and changing colours. Schools of dolphins kept us company, looping along beside the ship for hours on end. We saw an occasional shark.

Little flying fish, glinting in the sunlight, rose like flocks of sparrows, skimming along just above the sea from wave-top to wave-top, then diving out of sight. In the evening it was a relief to go up on deck and enjoy the cool breeze and to watch the luminescent wave-tops in the black swirling sea.

Sometimes at night, under the Southern Cross, some soldier would start playing a mouth organ, and soon several hundred voices would be singing in chorus to all the old sentimental songs. Someone with a good voice might give us a verse, and we would all join in with a rousing chorus. By general consensus the song “��ѿ��ý Sweet ��ѿ��ý” was never sung anywhere abroad. Many of these lads would never see ��ѿ��ý again.

As we got further south the air became fresher, the seas rougher, and the nights quite chilly. Serge battledress and pullovers came out again. It was the end of June, winter down here.

About 2 weeks after leaving Freetown land appeared again on the horizon. Long and low, then a high flat-topped mountain. Capetown! I dashed below and got my camera (banned on board) from its hiding place in my mess-tin. This was the only time I risked using it. Locking myself in a toilet and standing on the seat, I took photos through the porthole of ships in the convoy and of Table Mountain. (A7)

What a treat it was to see civilization again! With the ship tied to the quayside we could look out over the modern city, untouched by the War. At night it was ablaze with lights and all the ships in the harbour were lit up too.

The African people welcomed us with open arms. We were allowed onshore 10am to 10pm for two days. The dockside was crowded with cars and people waiting to grab us, and we were theirs for the day. They took us to hotels, restaurants, shows, tours up Table Mountain (A7), to their homes and “wined and dined us”.

One couple took me and a friend out of town, through fields of pineapple plants, to their luxury bungalow by the sea at a place called Muzenburgh. They gave us a marvellous time. They told us they welcomed each troopship convoy that called at Capetown (some called at Durban) in the same way, because they felt this was one way they could personally help us in the War effort. It was very much appreciated!

When they finally delivered us back to the ship they made a note of our home addresses. Some weeks later we heard that they had written to our folks telling them they had seen us, and that we were fit and well.

Our short visit to South Africa left us with the impression of a very attractive country in which to live, with a warmer climate than England, but not too hot, and with less rainfall. Next morning as we waved farewell to Capetown, and as Table Mountain faded into the distant haze, my mind was working on plans to one day return and take up pineapple farming. That, of course, was only the first of several fanciful schemes that were planned for after the War! Always the Adventurer!

THE INDIAN OCEAN

As we rounded the Cape of Good Hope, also known as the Cape of Storms, the South-East Trades began to blow, chilling us to the marrow. For two or three days the convoy ploughed through rough seas. By now most of us had got our sea-legs, so only the very poor sailors suffered any mal-de-mer.

We were now in the Indian Ocean, where few enemy warships or U-boats ventured. The nightly blackouts were relaxed and the convoy stayed on a straighter course. We knew by now that we were going to India and would disembark at Bombay.

Heading North, we soon reached the tropics and warmer weather again, the temperature continuing to rise even after we had crossed the Equator for the second time. More time was spent up on the open decks, where shading canopies had been erected, affording shelter from the burning sun, and a cooler breeze. On fine days the sea here was a much deeper blue, the dolphins and flying fish were with us again. At night phosphorescence sparkled in our wake, and on the bow waves, as the ship cut through the dark waters.

One thing I remember most is the glory of the tropical sunsets over the sea. The whole sky aflame with a beautiful display of vivid colours, golds, pinks, yellows, reds of all shades, and the reflections sparkling and dancing on the sea. They were a marvellous sight.

At last, on July 20th 1941, we arrived at Bombay and slit quietly into the harbour with its huge ornamented stone archway called “The Gateway to India”.

As always on troopships during the War, we had to “stand to” at lifeboat stations until the ship was tied up at the quay. This was to keep the ship on an even keel, otherwise everyone went the same side to get the best view. Three thousand people on one side and none on the other and the ship would be lop-sided and difficult to manoeuvre.

There were cheers of relief that the long voyage was at last over and we would soon be on terra firma again. It was seven weeks and 12,000 miles since we had embarked on the “Empress” and sailed down the Clyde.

We were all eager for our first sight of this strange new country, and were wondering where we would be stationed, how we would find our new living conditions, and the food, and the climate, and the native people. This was the next big step in the “Adventure”.

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