Twenty-One: Coming of Age in World War II

‘His main principle was age-old,’ noted Chris, ‘to outflank the enemy.’ This Wingate was going to do by inserting these brigades by glider or plane far behind the enemy lines. Once there, each brigade would make a base – a ‘stronghold’ – that would be inaccessible to wheeled vehicles but which would include a hastily constructed airstrip and drop-zone (DZ) for resupplying the brigade and for evacuating the wounded. The enemy was to be encouraged to attack the stronghold while ‘floater columns’, operating like guerrillas in the jungle, would assault the Japanese in turn.

Wingate’s abilities and character have been the subject of fevered discussion ever since the war – some claim he was a genius, others that he was militarily myopic and too eccentric for his own good. This is not the place to join the debate, but Chris Brown, for one, was deeply impressed by him. ‘His speech was magnificent and enthralling … He made everything appear so straightforward and easy,’ wrote Chris, who was won over despite Wingate’s ‘very anti-doctor’ comments. ‘The presence of doctors, he thought, made the men soft, illness-conscious and apt to “give up the ghost,”’ recorded Chris. After briefing the officers, Wingate talked to all the men as well, and, noted Chris, ‘took them from suspicion to quite enthusiastic support’.

As February drew to a close, Chris began to sense there were ‘big things in the air’. He knew their ‘show’ was about to start, but there were also rumours that the Japanese were about to launch an attack on Imphal and Kohima, the gateways to India. ‘We used to look eastward over the hills and wonder what the Japs were up to,’ he noted, ‘and if they really were coming.’ Then on 5 March, as they sat over their evening fires, they heard planes going east and looked up to see shadowy gliders following behind. Operation Thursday, as the launch of the expedition was called, was on.

Wingate had originally planned for there to be four landing-zones (LZs) established on areas of clear ground, to be called Piccadilly, Chowringhee, Templecombe and Broadway. Using gliders, men and even small bulldozers were to be dropped into these four places and an airstrip hastily constructed at each so that the rest of the troops, mules and equipment could be landed in the heart of the jungle. The 111th Brigade was due to be dropped at Piccadilly, but at the last minute, aerial reconnaissance showed it had been blocked by newly-felled trees. Instead, 41 Column was sent to Chowringhee, and 46 to Broadway.

Chris watched 41 Column loading and taking off on the evening of 8 March, ‘with that deep roar of the twin engines and the headlights sweeping past us down the runway.’ And then the following evening it was their turn. Chris was in charge of four plane-loads, each consisting of three animals, thirteen men and packs of equipment and supplies. At midnight, four Dakotas came back from Broadway and Chris and his party hurriedly began loading them up again for their second trip that night. The mules were naturally reluctant to get aboard, but ‘with a little coaxing and much pulling of ropes and pushing of hindquarters,’ they clambered in.

With the animals and supplies securely tied and after a roll-call, the doors were shut, the engines opened, and Chris felt himself bumping along the runway, with a dryness in his throat and nerves mounting. ‘Really off now,’ he noted, ‘no turning back, fingers crossed, please God we all come out of this all right, Mum and Dad!’

They landed safely in the early morning of 10 March. ‘Burma!’ wrote Chris. ‘Was it really possible this was it and we were now miles behind the Japs?’ The landing-zone was dry and dusty, filled with men, supplies, animals, planes and even field guns. But already the mission had changed somewhat. The brigade had been due to head to an operational area near Indaw, picked out by Wingate as an important railway junction. Nor was there much talk of establishing ‘strongholds’ – which were to be inaccessible to wheeled vehicles. Rather, they were to establish ‘blocks’ instead, defensive positions along key lines of communication, such as roads and railways, from where they would carry out demolitions and ambushes. 111th Brigade’s task had been to operate south of Indaw in support of 16th Brigade, who were the only columns travelling entirely by foot and who were to secure the two Japanese airfields at Indaw. But by landing at Broadway and Chowringhee, rather than Piccadilly, 111th Brigade now had much further to travel to the Indaw area and were already behind schedule to link up with 16th Brigade. Broadway, where Chris and 46 Column had landed, was more than fifty miles from Indaw as the crow flies – and much further than that when marching through the jungle.

Despite this, after a day resting and gathering themselves together, they set off, crossing the west end of the airstrip just as the first Spitfires came in to land. This, Chris noted, was ‘thrilling to watch’, although when he saw the large number of wrecked gliders he was glad they had landed by Dakota.

After marching just two hours, he began to feel thirsty and a slight sinking feeling came over him. ‘What on earth will I do with the seriously ill and wounded?’ he wondered. Even in 1944, he felt they lived in such a protected society that ‘it is hard to grasp the fact that from now on there’s no hospital around the corner, no ambulance to give a ring for, no surgeon to ask for an opinion, or policeman round the corner if the Japs start getting tough.’ He felt a very long way from home and as a doctor, completely on his own. Whatever the problem – illness or wound – he would have to deal with it himself.

At the end of their first day’s march, having travelled a little over five miles, they bedded down where they were, and got stuck into their American K-rations, universally despised by GI and Tommy alike. Short of calories, K-rations did not give the men the nutrition and energy they needed when undertaking punishing jungle marches. They were boring too, but they had one overriding virtue: they were light and easy to carry.

Chris woke the following morning feeling terrible, with both vomiting and diarrhoea. But he had to soldier on and after heading through tall teak trees and along a beautiful grassy path, he began to feel better. At lunch they looked back and saw Japanese planes bombing Broadway and the Spitfires climbing to meet them. It reminded Chris of watching the Battle of Britain in Kent during the summer of 1940. A Japanese Zero roared low over them as they pushed on. The going improved in the afternoon, so that by the time they stopped for the night, Chris reckoned they had travelled ‘11–12 miles for the day’. There was, however, still a very long way to go.

They continued their march through the jungle for the next fortnight. Progress was often slow. All ranks carried heavy loads, even doctors. In addition to rifles and other weapons, they had a 40lb pack each, using pre-war designed webbing that had no padding, frame or waist-belt, or any of the comforts that modern-day hikers would take for granted. On only their second day of marching, Chris noted, ‘So stinking hot, and the big pack feels like lead by the end of an hour’s march.’ The mules were also slow, weighed down by huge packs. Each radio – the one link the column had to the outside world – was so big and cumbersome it took a staggering three mules to carry.

The lack of water and food was a constant problem. ‘One bottle of water per day is not sufficient in this heat,’ he noted. ‘Should have 7–8 pints.’ Most water came from streams that they passed, but if they could not find one with clear water they were in trouble. ‘No water anywhere,’ noted Chris on 19 March, ‘so spent a beastly thirsty night.’ Food, on the other hand, was dropped by air. Their first was on the evening of 13 March. Chris had been lying under a tree dreaming of cool beers when a plane came over. ‘Another seven K-rations to carry,’ he noted in his diary, but often they had to wait several days for supply drops. Sitting exhausted at the end of the day, they would watch planes tantalizingly come over and fly away again. When a drop was finally made on 17 March, the packages landed far and wide and were difficult to gather; then they had to wait a further week for their next drop and had even resorted to sending an SOS. Four light aircraft then found them and delivered a case of emergency rations.

Inevitably, more and more men became sick. Jaundice was a particular problem. Those afflicted by it were left sapped of energy, but there was little Chris could do for them except arrange for them to be relieved of their packs. ‘Poor lads can’t eat a thing,’ he wrote, ‘and how they manage to keep up in this march is a miracle.’ Another man was kicked by a mule and had broken his elbow, which Chris splinted as best he could. The following day another man fractured his ankle; he had to be carried by mule, but it was clear both men were now useless as fighting soldiers and Chris hoped to have them flown out as soon as possible.

Although during their training they had been repeatedly told that complete silence was to be maintained at all times, this soon proved impossible. Chris was initially alarmed by the loud crunching noise they made as they marched through the jungle. But despite this, during the first part of their journey they encountered no Japanese at all. Two men disappeared when looking for supply boxes and were never seen again, while a few days later four further men vanished. ‘Hard though it is to believe,’ noted Chris, ‘they must have deserted and returned to the last village.’ Later, he added, ‘They were never heard of again.’

Finally, 46 Column reached their rendezvous, some twenty miles southwest of Indaw, on 27 March, having slogged well over a hundred and twenty miles and having safely crossed a main road and railway line without incident. When they got there, however, they discovered no sign of Brigade Headquarters, whom they were supposed to meet, but did hear the news that General Wingate had been killed in a plane crash. ‘We all felt pretty upset,’ wrote Chris, ‘as tho’ the life had gone out of the campaign before it had properly started.’ And there was further bad news: the Japanese had finally invaded India and were assaulting both Kohima and Imphal. With this change in the situation came new orders: the brigade was no longer to concentrate on the railway south of Indaw, but to move further west; north of Indaw, the 16th Brigade were to establish a block with an airstrip to be known as ‘Aberdeen’.

By 2 April, when they finally linked up with Brigade HQ, 46 Column had reached their area of operations. The following afternoon they set off to prepare a roadblock. The going was hard and it was dark before they reached their destination. Chris had to walk through a hornets’ nest in order not to lose touch with the people ahead and was badly stung. When they eventually reached their forming-up point for the block, the column was split into two: a fighting and tail group. Normally Chris was at the tail of the column but in the anticipation of battle casualties was sent up front to join the fighting group.

It was just as well. Later in the night they heard the ‘most foul and nerve-shattering screaming’ coming from the tail. For a moment Chris stood petrified, then dived for cover as shots and explosions rang out. After the initial confusion, a platoon was sent to the rear to help the tail group who, it seemed, had been attacked. ‘It was an eerie night,’ wrote Chris. ‘We lay for hours listening to spasmodic firing and staring out into the moonlit trees, imagining one heard Japs’ footsteps coming over the crunchy leaves.’

Morning brought news of the previous night’s events. A platoon of men at the tail had become slightly separated from the main column and had inadvertently walked straight into a party of Japanese. Chris’s great friend Captain John Busby had been cut down by a sword and killed along with several others. ‘I put up a thankful prayer that I was not marching in my normal place behind John,’ wrote Chris. ‘How I pray he didn’t suffer too much. Felt hellish that I hadn’t been there to look after him when he most needed me.’

The next day they had their revenge of sorts. Having established their block, they waited for any enemy traffic to come their way. Sure enough, late in the afternoon a number of trucks rumbled towards them, the first blowing up as it struck a booby trap and in turn detonating explosives that had been laid under a bridge across the river. ‘What a gorgeous sound,’ noted Chris. ‘I felt like yelling in excitement, and kept thinking, “That’s one for John Busby, you bastards.”’

After holding the block for forty-eight hours, they were on the move again. Chris had had a busy time tending to wounded from their first encounter, treating ongoing sicknesses, and also one casualty who had been badly concussed when an air drop – a box of hob-nailed boots – landed on his head. As they headed west they crossed another road and accidentally walked into the middle of a stationary column of Japanese vehicles. ‘I was never so surprised in my life,’ wrote Chris, ‘when I found we were walking past a camouflaged truck.’ Fortunately, the Japanese seemed to be more alarmed than they were and fled into the jungle, the men of 46 Column firing after them. Later that day they had another run-in with a Japanese patrol – and again came out on top. ‘Very close fighting this is,’ noted Chris.

The next day they captured a Japanese-held village, but their promised air support arrived too late and opened fire on them instead. Two men were shot. One was not too badly hurt, but the other had been hit in the liver, a wound Chris knew would prove fatal. In the night, the man died.

The next few days they were constantly on the move, but Chris was discovering that marching was now much more of a burden. ‘Not only are we all tired,’ wrote Chris, ‘but I have to stop so often to pick up sick men who’ve fallen out.’ He would then have to get them onto a pack mule or pony and then catch up the rest of the column. By 16 April, he had two men desperately ill with cerebral malaria. Chris called for a light plane to evacuate them, but it didn’t arrive until the following day, by which time their condition had worsened. Both men died as they were being carried towards the nearest airstrip. And as if disease and exhaustion weren’t enough, they had the added strain of almost daily run-ins with Japanese patrols.

New orders arrived. The role of the Chindits had changed yet again and they were now under overall control of the American General Stilwell, who was planning an attack from the north to take two important Japanese railheads at Myitkyina and Mogaung. Indaw, for which the 16th Brigade had sacrificed so much, was now to be abandoned. So too was Broadway and the blocks at Aberdeen and White City. The latter had also been fiercely fought over, but now the main effort was to be further north: the Chindits, while continuing to make life as difficult for the Japanese as possible, were to try and link up with Stilwell’s US-Chinese forces. In the meantime, 111th Brigade were to set up a further block on the road and railway south of Mogaung at a clearing to be known as ‘Blackpool’.

But 46 Column faced a long, circuitous and arduous march to reach Blackpool, made worse by several torrential downpours, the first sign that the monsoon was on its way. Sore feet were now getting damp too. ‘I am giving poor comfort to a line of sick men,’ wrote Chris on 27 April. ‘They seem to be sitting everywhere with their big raw feet held ready for inspection. Flavine, elastoplast, more elastoplast, iodine, and they put their boots back on and hobble off.’ A man with a temperature of 104 degrees was given decent treatment; a man with a temperature of only 101 was given a dose of sympathy and told to get back in line.

On they went, one day catching some fish by lobbing hand grenades into a pool, another day getting completely lost. After rendezvousing with several other columns, the officers were called to Brigade HQ and given a briefing on the situation. Afterwards Chris noted, ‘It looks as if we will have some fighting now.’ How right he was. First, though, they still had to reach Blackpool. The closer they got, the harder the march. Climbing a particularly steep hill, one of Chris’s medical mules slipped and somersaulted twenty feet back down into a thicket of bamboo. It took two hours to free it and get it back on its feet again. ‘Yes, very bad country,’ noted Chris.’ Very