Twenty-One: Coming of Age in World War II. James Holland

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